#scoups x you

[woncheolisms]

next to you. (choi seungcheol x reader)

summary: you think you’re good at keeping your crush on your roommate hidden. you can handle it. but then you wake up to him in bed next to you, arms wrapped around you, and you have no idea how to deal with your suppressed feelings anymore.

word count: 10.8k

warnings: college au, seungcheol is a playboy and the frat kind, reader is a nerd and an introvert, roommate!seungcheol, roommate!jeonghan, angst, fluff, doremiz as bffs, smut, nsfw, oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, possessive tendencies and jealousy.

Early mornings in your apartment are quaint.

You weren’t a morning person for most of your life, but college hath changed you, or whatever. Now you are up in the morning like clockwork, even without an alarm, and even on weekends. It’s a little annoying, especially when you plan to have a lazy Saturday, so you would rather wake up much later. But there’s nothing you can do to fight the biological clock inside you. It is what it is.

Everything is dead silent as you open your door and putter into the kitchen. You’re sure both your roommates are neck deep in slumber, since it was Friday night last night. That always means a party on campus, so the next morning usually entails not waking up until well into the day and with a terrible hangover. It’s only 9am right now. You’re sure they won’t be up until at least noon.

You don’t make a lot of noise as you get the machine ready for a nice cup of coffee. All three of you had gone in on it so you could get the expensive, fancy kind. Jeonghan had called it an investment, and you had wholeheartedly agreed. Seungcheol grumbled about it a little but gave his part of the money anyway. He kept claiming he wasn’t that big on coffee, but ever since you bought it, he has had a cup every morning without fail, something Jeonghan will never stop teasing him on.

The aroma is warm and rich in your nose as it slowly infiltrates the kitchen. You contemplate if you want breakfast now with your coffee or later, and decide to grab an apple. You’re just staring at it, wondering if the brown spot on it is something you can ignore or if you should discard the whole thing, when you hear light pattering on the floors outside.

You expect Jeonghan’s slumped, languid figure to slink into the kitchen, groaning about how tired he is, or maybe Seungcheol with his head of short, spiked hair all over the place and that perpetual pout that undercuts his years of effort building impressive muscle. But it’s neither of them. It’s someone you don’t know.

She blinks owlishly at you, hair tangled on her head and wearing a bright bodycon dress, holding a pair of heels in her hand. Her mascara is smudged, but under the distressed look, you can tell that she is amazingly pretty.

“Hi.” She chirps. It’s soft and almost melodic. You manage to smile back. The air is painfully awkward, so she shifts and takes a hesitant step back.

“I should just go.” She says sheepishly, and before you can say anything (not that you were planning to), she disappears from the doorway of the kitchen. After a few seconds, you hear the front door click shut. You swallow hard, but the knot formed in your throat doesn’t go away.

Friday nights don’t just mean waking up at noon with terrible hangovers. They also mean a girl trying to tiptoe out of Seungcheol’s room. And always a stranger. Never the same one twice.

You sigh and turn back to the coffee machine, which lets out a beep. You quickly take the pot to fill your cup, deciding against adding milk and just taking a sip of the dark mixture. You wince when it slides down your throat, but it’s hot enough and bitter enough that the knot in your throat loosens. You stare at your cup, the swirling liquid, and try your best to not think about your recent interaction.

There’s no point in it. Seungcheol is just….. like that. Someone so unbelievably different that you can’t fathom how you even ended up in the same orbit.

Well, you know exactly how. Yoon Jeonghan.

Jeonghan was in your first ever introductory class in college. He was seated right next to you, and after knowing you for the duration of just one lecture, he asked if you were looking for a place off campus, and then offered you his in the same breath. Apparently he and his roommate were desperate, and they really needed a third cohabitant in order to make rent. You just turned out to be the one who was looking for a place to stay, so you ended up saying yes, because Jeonghan gave you great vibes.

Seungcheol did too, when you met him.

You were immediately taken by him. He was loud and a little rough around the edges, but so endlessly kind. Seungcheol doesn’t look it, but he’s very in-tune with people’s emotions as well as his own. He knows what he wants out of life, he has endless confidence in himself. He’s charismatic, magnetic, and it only helps that he is beyond attractive. Tall, built like a brick house (something he is very proud of), soft dark hair and that charming smile accentuated by a dimple on his right cheek.

That fuckass dimple.

You knew you liked him. It was immediate. You were excited just at the thought of sharing space with him. And so you moved in, giddy at the thought of having your own place for the first time in your life, and sharing it with two guys who looked like seemingly amazing people.

And they truly are. It’s just that you were naïve to think Seungcheol’s appeal didn’t extend to everyone else like it did to you.

He’s like a lighthouse, attracting everyone to him like lost travelers. His friend circle is huge, from the gym dudes like Mingyu and Jihoon he works out with, to the party freaks like Soonyoung and Joshua he spends weekends with. He’s not in a frat, but he moves among a lot of similar people. Then there’s their friends, just an endless network that won’t stop expanding. This means meet-ups and parties every weekend, and that means there’s a girl in his room every two or three weekends.

You can’t even fault him. If someone looks like that, it would be criminal if they didn’t get regular action.

You and Seungcheol are fundamentally different people. You have friends too, but fewer, and more tight-knit. You are a homebody above anything else, and if it wasn’t for your friend Seungkwan, who is the most extroverted person you know outside of Seungcheol, you would never even leave your house. But Seungkwan’s definition of going out is much different to Seungcheol’s. So while Seungcheol likes the gym, pregaming, bowling and frat parties, you have scheduled cooking classes, basket weaving workshops, and arcade tournaments that Hansol drags you to once every month.

You’re poles apart. And you’re content with that. You can float in his periphery, and that’s enough for you. He’s miles out of your league anyway. So you’re happy just being an admirer.

“It’s pathetic.” Hansol often mumbles, voice devoid of any real venom. He sounds disinterested if anything.

“Thanks.” You shoot back. Seungkwan looks at Hansol, offended on your behalf.

“I think it’s cute.” He defends you. You grin at him and pinch his cheek. He swats your hand away, making you laugh.

“How bad can it really be if you just tell him?” Chan pipes up, his head down as he concentrates on pouring his wax into the mold slowly, trying not to spill it. You genuinely think his candle will smell the best out of your group, since he’s the only one truly concentrating. You’re too focused on telling them about the girl in your kitchen this morning.

Hansol snorts, tapping his mold on the table like your instructor told you to. His is a strange, muddy brown color. It smells like shit, but you don’t have the heart to tell him. You and Seungkwan did drag him to this candle making class on a weekend when he could just be sleeping all day, so he could make the worst candle known to man and you will still hype him up.

“She doesn’t have the balls.” He mumbles. You look at him with a gaping mouth.

“Hey!”

Hansol raises a challenging eyebrow. “Do you? You won’t tell him you like him. Ever. I’m not wrong.”

You scowl, feeling deeply offended. He isn’t wrong, and you all know it, because Seungkwan isn’t defending you this time. He just gives you a wince, indicating he agrees with Hansol. Dammit, you’re cornered.

“Your candle smells like shit.” You shoot back.

That distracts him, and he starts doubting and fretting over his candle, leaning down to sniff it over and over. The rest of the workshop is spent trying to salvage Hansol’s attempt, so you don’t get back to the topic you were previously discussing.

Good.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol are both on the couch by the time you come back in the late afternoon. They both look bleary-eyed and half dead, hair still damp on their heads from showering, eating takeout and watching TV. They greet you brightly when you come in, and you slump onto the couch next to them.

“What did you bring us?” Jeonghan asks. You always bring your crafts home, including today. You made three candles, one for each of you, and you’re excited as you take them out of your tote, hand them over, describing the scents you used.

“I made lavender and vanilla for you.” You hand Jeonghan his. He hums and nods in satisfaction as he sniffs, smiling big.

“Oh I need to light this immediately.” He pipes up, quickly standing to trudge into the kitchen. You grin.

“And me?” Seungcheol smiles at you, still leaned back on the couch so he can rest his head on the cushion. You can tell his head is still hurting a little.

“Your favorite.” You smile. “Cherry.”

Seungcheol looks excited as you hand it over. He eyes the dark color for a little bit before bringing it to his nose, sniffing. You watch his eyelashes flutter.

“Oh.” You see his lips tug up in realisation. “It smells like my cologne.”

“Yeah. The other note is sandalwood.” You feel the sides of your face heat up. “You…. you like those scents a lot.”

You immediately feel like you’ve revealed too much when Seungcheol’s eyes soften. He watches you for a few seconds, sniffing again.

“I love it.” He says, turning it over in his hand. It looks comically small in his hold. “It’s perfect.”

You nod jerkily and fidget a little, trying not to think about how fast your heart is racing, or how gentle this moment feels. Intimate, almost, sitting so close to him that your knee almost touches his thigh, his hair half falling into his eyes, the eyes he still has trained on you, the candle you put care into held delicately in his hand.

Jeonghan walks back into the living room with his lit candle, talking about how much trouble he had finding a lighter. The air around you breaks, and you stand up, mumbling something about how you’re tired already, so you’re going to head to bed. It’s only afternoon, and the excuse is bullshit, but you know you can’t be close to Seungcheol much longer without your heart hurting. You don’t feel Seungcheol’s eyes on your back as you leave, and you have no clue about the knowing way Jeonghan looks at his friend.

…………………………

Weekdays are filled with classes. So you have no time to relax.

You think it’s a fundamental flaw in you that you are taking so many classes, but your overachieving tendencies won’t let you back down from even one of them. Some days, it leaves you annoyed and frustrated, but often, those same classes serve as a blessing in disguise, because they preoccupy you so much that you don’t have to worry about any other problem in your life.

By the end of the week, you’re so exhausted that you just want to glue yourself to your bed, vowing not to move for the entire weekend. Of course, Seungkwan always plans something and inevitably drags you out of your humble abode, but you will take what time you have, unwinding and letting your brain shut down after a long and tiring five days. You fall asleep in the middle of your Modern Family marathon, managing to get only halfway through the season before you’re shutting your laptop, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Before you know it, you’re knocked out, and you don’t move until well into the next morning.

You wake up because you’re burning hot. Sweat makes your shirt cling to your back. In fact, your back is so warm that it’s uncomfortable. Your face pinches in annoyance, and you shift a little. At your movement, something tightens around your waist.

Your eyes pop open.

Morning light filters in through the curtains on your windows, setting the room up in a soft glow. You’re on your side, staring at the far off wall of your bedroom. There is weight draped over your waist, a warm touch splayed over your stomach. When you shift again, just slightly, the touch twitches and moves.

A hand.

You almost scream, but then you feel the soft hit of air on the back of your neck, periodic and deep. Like someone exhaling. You breathe in, the smell of cherry and sandalwood in your nose. You would recognise that anywhere. Even barely half conscious, you know who that scent belongs to.

Your entire backside, your torso, your ass, the back of your thighs, are pressed tightly to Seungcheol’s front, his arm a heavy weight draped around you so that he hand grips your stomach gently. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his exhales on your skin. You’ve gone so stiff you can barely feel your body, but you’re hyperaware of every part of you that touches him. You lay there in shock, contemplating.

What the hell is he doing? How did he end up in your room? How did he end up spooning you?

You have no answers, but you do know you need to get out of here. You brace yourself, using your leg in contact with the mattress to push until your body disconnects with Seungcheol’s a little. You freeze when he groans, a low sound that cracks under the weight of sleep, and you barely hold in a gasp when he tugs harshly with the arm around you, making you lurch back so he is once again pressed into you. He curls tighter around you, like his body is melting into yours, and your heart kicks painfully at your ribs. That’s when you feel it, hard and insistent, just nestled between your ass cheeks, his erection straining against the jeans he probably wore to whatever party he attended last night.

Mortification hits your veins like ice. You’re rock still in his arms, not even able to process what the fuck is happening to you. You feel his hand move a little, squeezing subconsciously, his fingers sinking into the plush of your stomach. Your face flames, and you can’t take it anymore. You grip his wrist tight and tug hard, loosening his grip, and immediately lunging out of bed. Your feet barely hit the floor before you’re already making a beeline out of the bedroom and straight into the bathroom. You don’t look back once. You definitely used enough force to wake him, but maybe he was so drunk before he passed out that he didn’t get roused by your movements.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, the horrified look on your face, your wide eyes, and the fact that your heart is beating so fast that it’s making you breath heavily. You lean against the sink, your legs shifting, and you realise you’re wet, nearly soaking through your shorts.

Your hands tremble as you wash them, staring at nothing. You remember how warm Seungcheol was, almost unbearably so, how good it was to feel him against you, the solid frame of him, caging you in like you were meant to be in his arms. His hand, digging into your flesh like it was his, and his bulge, so prominent and urgent, pressing into your ass, inches away from where you need him the most.

You’re so fucked.

You don’t think twice before jumping into the shower, letting the water pour over your head even though it’s not hair wash day. You don’t even wait for the hot water to come in, just standing beneath the stream as it slowly warms up. The initial shock of cold does wonders, calms your racing heart and smothers the heat in the bottom of your stomach. You let out a shaky breath.

It was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. He was probably so drunk he didn’t even realise where he ended up crashing. Your room is the first one on the left, his is the first one on the right. It’s an easy mistake, especially if someone is wasted. It seems like the best explanation, way more plausible than him actually sliding into your bed intentionally, a notion that just sounds absurd in your head.

You don’t know what to do.

You stay in the shower for so long that the pads of your fingers prune and the water turns cold again. You slip your pajamas back onto your wet body, because you didn’t bring a change of clothes with you, and finally, you brace yourself and return to your room, taking a deep inhale before opening the door. The bed is empty. He’s gone.

It’s relieving, because you were in no way prepared to see him. When you look at the clock, you realise it’s almost midday. So you pick up your phone and text Seungkwan, asking what his plans for the day are.

Seungkwan is honestly confused, because you almost never initiate meet-ups yourself, but he doesn’t turn you down. Him and Chan are both free, so you decide to meet up for a simple lunch. Hansol opts out, since his sister is in the city for the weekend. You’re grateful you have someone, because keeping this inside is feeling more and more impossible. As soon as you sit down, you blurt out everything that happened in the morning.

Seungkwan is beside himself, mouth opening and closing not unlike a fish, horror struck. He gasps at every detail, but groans disapprovingly when you talk about Seungcheol’s hard-on against your ass.

“You could’ve left that detail out.” He mutters.

“But it’s important!” You insist. “Kwannie, I’m a mess. What do I do? How can I even look him in the eye after this?”

Chan huffs, looking a lot calmer than Seungkwan. “Don’t do anything. Look, you’re right. It was probably a mistake. And if he remembers it at all, he will be pretty embarrassed. So just don’t talk about it at all. Don’t bring it up. Be normal.”

Right. That’s solid advice. Be normal.

But it’s hard to do that, not when you can’t stop thinking about it. The sizzle of his touch is something you’re reminded of when you lay in your bed that night, staring up at your ceiling and remembering how it felt to have his breath hit your skin, so close that you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. And when the heat becomes too much, when your mind goes awry and shuts down, your hand slides into your shorts.

It’s too much. You can’t face him when your brain and your actions are so depraved.

When Hansol finds out what happened, he says what he always does, that this is a problem of your own making.

“You chose this.” He says on Monday, when you finally meet him and tell him everything. “You live with him. It’s unavoidable that something weirdly uncomfortable would happen when you’re in close quarters with someone. And you can’t avoid him. You will see him every day.”

To you, it was always a net positive that you got to see Seungcheol every day, any unrequited feelings aside. Your hidden crush on him was trumped by the fact that he was so endlessly charming to you, your little puppy crush urged on by seeing him, being around him, basking in his presence. But now, that very thing is coming back to bite you in the ass.

You go a whopping three days without coming face to face with him. But then, your sneaking finally fails you. He catches you before classes on Wednesday, cornering you in the kitchen when you’re there to fill up your water bottle.

“I’m really sorry about that night.” He sounds sheepish, embarrassed. You remember Chan’s words, shaking your head in the best way you can think of to placate him.

“It’s fine! You were drunk, you probably don’t even remember that you did it. Honest mistake, right?”

Seungcheol smiles a little, his eyes trained carefully on you.

“Right.” He mutters.

He’s uncharacteristically quiet, and you want to blame it on his embarrassment. You feel uncomfortable, and you wonder if it has to do with what happened between you, or if he’s just being a little weird today.

“I should go.” You mumble. “Just had to fill this up.”

You hold up your water bottle for him to see. His eyes finally leave you to focus on it, and he raises a thick eyebrow.

“That’s new.” He points to the handle. You have a small Sanrio keychain hanging from it. You’re surprised he noticed, but you nod excitedly.

“Hansol’s sister came to see him for the weekend. She got all of us little trinkets.”

Seungcheol hums. “She knows your favorite Sanrio character? That’s cute.”

You smile and nod again, more enthusiastically. “I’m sure Hansol told her….”

A thought enters your head. You tilt your head to the side in thought. “How did you know?”

Seungcheol blinks, then lets out a small laugh. “You’re not exactly subtle about it, sweetheart. It’s plastered all over your room.

Right. Your room. The room he was in because he slept with you in your bed. Your stomach twists and you swallow hard. He looked around your room? When? After waking up? While you were showering? The thought of Seungcheol being in your private space, saying all your little interests laid out everywhere makes your heart flutter. You’re very private about your space, both him and Jeonghan know this. You don’t think either of them have been in your room since they first helped you move in.

You watch Seungcheol from where your back is against the counter. He watches you. You remember that night as the air around you two holds its breath. He was so close, closer than anyone had been in a long, long time. But you bet it was normal for him, this physical intimacy. After all, he’s had a steady rotation of girls in his room for as long as you’ve known him.

Right. This is Choi Seungcheol. Popular, attractive Choi Seungcheol. Wildly out of your league Choi Seungcheol.

“I’m gonna….” You gesture to the door. There’s a knot in your throat, and you don’t think you can speak. Seungcheol blinks and nods, steps away so you can walk past him. Your fingers shake as you tug your shoes on and escape quickly through the front door.

You walk to campus alone, already in agreement with Seungkwan that you will meet him there. You’re grateful for it, because you can go through your jumble of thoughts silently, so you can try to address this deep, uneasy feeling right in the center of your chest. It’s a strange mix of dread and longing that leaves you with a strange emptiness inside, like a sinking hollow. You think, for the first time since you moved in, that maybe being around Choi Seungcheol wasn’t the best idea. Maybe this will ultimately be your unraveling.

The hollow feeling settles like a weight. You walk to class slowly.

You still arrive ten minutes early, but you don’t have to worry about distracting yourself, because Seungkwan is practically buzzing in his seat. You raise a curious eyebrow as you sit next to him, and he immediately turns to you, like he was waiting for you to show up.

“There’s a party.” He says. “In the frat Seokmin is a part of.”

You blink. “Your biology lab partner Seokmin?”

Seungkwan nods. His grin is so wide you’re surprised his face hasn’t split.

“I didn’t know he was in a frat.” You mumble, pulling your laptop out and setting it on your desk.

“Well, he is.” Seungkwan answers impatiently. “Anyway, he and I just finished wrapping up the end of semester project. And I guess he’s super happy about it, because he said we should stop by the frat this Friday night for some party they’re having.”

You eye Seungkwan, giving him an incredulous look.

“You? At a frat party?” Seungkwan really isn’t the type. But then you pause. “Wait, what do you mean ‘we’?”

Now Seungkwan has the decency to look a little sheepish. “I was hoping you would go with me.”

“No.”

Seungkwan immediately starts pleading, like he was expecting exactly this. Which wouldn’t be surprising. You despise parties. You had gone to a few at the very beginning of freshman year since you were so curious about college parties, and every single one of them without fail were horrific experiences. This was before you met Seungkwan and the guys. The people you were friends with at the time always got shitfaced, leaving you to pick up after them and get them home at the end of the night. The drinks there were usually awful unless you were bringing your own. And everyone was horny out of their minds, just chatting so they could hook up. All of this is turned up to a hundred when the party is at a frat, which this particular one will be.

“Ask Hansol.”

“He already said no.”

“Chan, then.”

“You know he’s not good with crowds. Listen,” he looks at you so earnestly it makes your heart squeeze, “I know you don’t like parties. But please, we have to do this. I’ve never been to one ever. First and last time, I promise. I’m just so curious.”

You hesitate. You understand where Seungkwan is coming from. You had the same curiosity as him way back then, and no matter how much you tell him that you already know it won’t be his cup of tea, he really needs to see it himself to swear off them like you. So you sigh painfully and nod, slightly placated by the fact that it makes Seungkwan cheer so loudly and hug you until you can’t breathe, promising he will treat you to lunch for the next two weeks.

Sounds like a good deal.

When you get back home that evening, Jeonghan is frying something on the stove. You seat yourself on the kitchen island, telling him about your day, because he’s always kind enough to ask.

“Oh, by the way.” You tack on. “I’m going to a party this Friday.”

That makes Jeonghan pause, turning to look at you with wide eyes. “A party? You?”

You sigh. “I know. Seungkwan was invited and he’s never been to one before so he kinda talked me into it. It’s at Sigma Tau Nu.”

Jeonghan looks even more shocked. He lets out a laugh. “A frat party.”

You nod.

He whistles low, turning back to his sizzling pan. “Seungcheol’s not gonna be happy.”

That makes you pause. You scowl at Jeonghan’s back. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head, not bothering to turn around again. “Nothing.”

“No, tell me. Why won’t Seungcheol be happy?”

Before Jeonghan can answer, another voice speaks up.

“I won’t be happy about what?”

You stiffen, turning to the kitchen doorway. You didn’t hear the front door at all. Seungcheol is covered in sweat, still in his gym clothes, face a little flushed. His gym bag hangs over his shoulder. You swallow tightly, looking away so you won’t stare. Jeonghan, however, has no qualms about speaking.

“She’s going to Sigma Tau Nu on Friday.”

Seungcheol’s head snaps to you, eyes wide. “What?”

You fidget. “Seungkwan was invited.”

“So?”

You can’t help but frown. “So, he’s my friend. I’m going with him.”

“Like hell you are.”

Your jaw drops. Jeonghan barks out a laugh. You want to strangle him, but you’re too shocked at how Seungcheol’s voice has hardened. In fact, his blatant and sharp refusal has only managed to irritate you.

“Why not?” You sound petulant.

Seungcheol is walking to the fridge, pulling out a water bottle. “Because that place is a cesspool.”

“You go there every weekend.” Your voice is accusatory. Something in Seungcheol’s face flickers.

“That’s different.”

The irritation in you is swelling now into more of an anger. You don’t appreciate his tone, or whatever superiority complex he has that makes him think it’s okay for him to go but not you.

“So you can go but I can’t?” Your voice is louder than before. Even Jeonghan pauses, turning to look at you both cautiously. “Why? I’m not good enough for your parties?”

Seungcheol’s face hardens, and you almost back down. He has never, ever, looked at you like that before. “You think that’s what this is about?”

“Looks like it.”

“It’s not.”

“Then what is it about?”

He huffs, annoyed. “I’m just saying. Sigma Tau Nu…. the guys there…. they aren’t good.”

“You’re a guy there.”

His face drops. It’s such a slight shift, but immediate, and his expression turns a muted and stoney smooth. His grip on his bottle tightens until the plastic crinkles a little, but his face is almost forlorn.

“I know.”

You don’t know what to say.

Seungcheol sighs, as if to break the heavy silence, hiking the bag he has on his shoulder a bit further up before walking past you to leave.

“Just don’t go, okay?”

You and Jeonghan are left standing in the kitchen after he’s gone, just staring at each other in the silence.

………………………………

“Seungcheol can fuck off.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep a straight face as you apply finishing touches to yourself. But Seungkwan is not discouraged by your silence, continuing to rant on from where he’s sitting on your bed.

“No, seriously. Where does he get off telling you what to do?”

You sigh and shake your hair out, staring at yourself in the mirror. “He’s just looking out for me.”

That earns a scoff from your friend. “As if. More like he’s looking out for himself. He doesn’t want you to see what a sleazy, pervy bastard he is and how many girls he indulges when he goes out. Wants you to think he’s a good person.”

“He is a good person.” You turn to scowl at him. “He’s been nothing but kind to me.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. You keep going.

“Let it go, Kwannie. We’re going anyway. So it doesn’t matter.”

It really doesn’t, because you’re all dolled up already and ready to go. You’re in a plain black dress, nothing too fancy, thin straps and a flared out skirt. It’s from your freshman year, and to your dismay, it’s a little tighter on you at the bodice, but nothing that doesn’t fit, so you’re rolling with it. Seungkwan also made it a point to tell you twice that you look hot, so you’re taking that as a good indication.

“Ready?” He prompts, you nod.

“Remember our agreement. One hour. You get a feel of the place. Then we leave.”

He nods enthusiastically. You can’t help but smile.

The place is packed. You feel dread already when you and Seungkwan climb out of your cab, but your friend looks alarmingly apprehensive, enough for you to suck up your own negative feelings. You’re already here, might as well try and make this as enjoyable for Seungkwan as possible.

“Come on.” You take his arm, walking up the front steps and in through the open door. The music is so loud, the lights are dim enough that you’re worried about something spilling on your dress accidentally. Seungkwan has a death grip on your hand, and you try to navigate to the kitchen.

“Boo Seungkwan!” The voice is booming, so loud and bright, and it immediately catches both your and Seungkwan’s attention. From the relief on his face, you know instantly that this is Seokmin. He’s grinning wide, and draping an arm around his shoulder is another man with spiky blond hair and sharp eyes. They introduce themselves, Seokmin and his frat brother Soonyoung, and you do the same. Soonyoung watches you closely.

“I’ve never seen you here before.” He shouts over the music, leaning closer to you to speak. You think you would have heard him just fine even without it, but you suspect he is doing it on purpose to get close to you. This may not be your thing, but you’re not an idiot.

“I don't usually come to parties.” You reply, trying to be polite. Somewhere behind your back, Seokmin is putting drinks into plastic cups. You can see the exact path Soonyoung’s eyes take as they drag down your body, lingering on your chest. You almost want to sigh.

“Want a tour?” He offers. “I’ll show you around.”

You want to say no, but a tour would mean you and Seungkwan can see everything quickly and leave. So you nod and turn around, linking an arm with Seungkwan to pull him along. He’s got a cup in his hand, already half empty, and you want to groan. Drunk Seungkwan is almost impossible to deal with.

Soonyoung doesn’t seem perturbed. He just nods and gestures for you two to follow along. You make it through the seas of people in the huge house as he points and shouts names. You don’t even understand half of them, but you’re not particularly interested. Seokmin is trailing behind all of you, and when Seungkwan’s cup empties, he exchanges it for a new one. You wince. Seungkwan is a notorious lightweight. You play drinking games all the time, and he’s always the first one to tap out, leaning heavily on Hansol as he gets dragged out of your apartment. With the way his cheeks are flushing at a concerning rate, you know he’s getting to that point already.

Soonyoung occasionally grips your arm to steer you in the right direction. Seungkwan’s hold on you keeps increasing as you navigate through the house. Then, you’re in the living room, and your eyes find the large, sprawling couch pushing against the far wall, particularly, the man lounging on the corner of it.

He has a cup in his hand, arm thrown around a girl pressed to his side. On the arm of the couch next to him is a guy you vaguely recognise as his gym buddy. You watch him bring the cup to his lips and throw it back in one big gulp, shaking it at his friend when it’s empty, who just snorts and pours more in it from the bottle of clear liquid he’s holding.

His head turns to look at his glass, but his eyes meet yours instead. You see the exact moment he recognises you.

You feel it again, that hollow feeling in your chest, mixed with something else this time. You almost don’t recognise him. His hair is tousled, carelessly swept, his top is sleeveless and tight, silver chain hanging from his neck, pants baggy, legs sprawled without a care in the world. Your eyes are still on each other when the girl on his side leans in and whispers something in his ear, following it up with running her tongue up the side of his neck.

Bile rises in your throat. You look away.

Seungkwan has downed his glass, again, and Soonyoung is gesturing for you to follow him to some other part of the house. But the music is changing into something faster, and Seungkwan’s eyes widen with a gasp as he recognises it.

“This is the first song I know!” He exclaims. You want to snort at how excited he is. “Can we dance?”

Oh no. You open your mouth to protest, but Soonyoung nods enthusiastically and points to the dance floor not far off from where you are. You can feel Seungcheol’s eyes burning holes in the back of your head as Seungkwan tugs you along with him. Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t follow, because at that moment, he’s bombarded by another group of people. You’re left with Seungkwan only, which you prefer.

Except, Seungkwan is drunk, and pulling you close so you can sway together. You snort and indulge him, fully aware of how touchy he gets with alcohol in his system. He’s singing along to the song, hands on your waist, bobbing back and forth, side to side. You grin, laughing. You genuinely didn’t imagine yourself having a good time at this place, but being here with your friend is a little fun, though you would only begrudgingly admit that.

The song picks up, getting wilder, and you let yourself go to the music with Seungkwan. He’s laughing and grinning, turning you around so his back is against you. Bad idea, because as soon as you open your eyes, they meet heated, dark ones from across the room.

Seungcheol is watching, and he doesn’t look happy.

The girl by his side is now on her phone, tapping away. He’s not interested, raising his cup to his mouth and taking a long gulp while his stare is trained on you. Your heart pounds. You feel Seungkwan’s hands on your hips, your waist. There’s a voice in your head, and you listen to it, eyes fully on Seungcheol as you reach an arm up and behind you, running it through your friend’s hair.

Seungcheol’s face pinches. His lip curls in an ugly snarl. It catches you so off guard that you immediately turn back to Seungkwan, your heart pounding.

“I need air.” You shout over the music. “It’s too hot here.”

Seungkwan nods and points to the back of the house, past the staircase. You contemplate leaving your friend there. He’s having a good time, and you can let him dance a little before you start insisting that you should leave. Sliding glass doors take you into the patio overlooking the backyard. You take a deep breath.

The patio is less crowded, though there’s still people milling around. There’s a couple a few feet to your right, making out against the wall. You make a face and walk away from them. The cool air is working, clearing your head just a little. You wonder if there’s something in the hot, humid air inside that clouded your judgement, that made you look Seungcheol straight in the eye as you let your drunk friend sway you side to side. What did you want to achieve? Did you want to get a reaction out of him? Why? He doesn’t care about you that way, so what was the point?

Part of you is still annoyed at him because of the semi-argument in the kitchen. The other part is just…. sad.

“You came.”

You close your eyes. You were hoping he would leave you alone for the night.

“I did.” You reply.

Seungcheol stops right next to you, a little closer than you would like. You can feel the heat of his body. He doesn’t say anything, but he stays.

“Don’t worry, Seungkwan and I are just going to have one more drink and leave. I won’t….. disturb you much longer.”

He says your name, a tone of defeat in his voice. Your stomach twists. You turn to him, and for a brief second, your eyes meet his. He has that same look in them, that quiet desolation he had when he was with you in the kitchen. The heat from before, the simmering annoyance, has gone.

“Seungcheol.” Your throat tightens. Your chest is so hollow. “Just make sure to crash in your own bed this time. Okay?”

You turn and walk back into the house.

……………………………………

You don’t know the longest time you’ve gone without speaking to Seungcheol. You’ve never had any reason to count. You do now, and it has been seven days.

Seungkwan thanked you profusely for going with him to the party, vowed never to go again (that made you laugh), then bought you lunch for four days straight before you felt bad and just started paying for your own. You don’t think his experience was worth two weeks of comped meals, but you have a feeling he knows you’re bummed about something, so he keeps offering to pay.

You don’t even know why you’re bummed. You just are. And Seungkwan isn’t the only one who has noticed.

Jeonghan has been walking on eggshells with you too, watching you intently when you’re having a meal together, taking note of the fact that you leave to lock yourself in your room as soon as it becomes close to the time Seungcheol is due back home. It’s easy to avoid him because he himself makes no effort to talk to you either. It should make you glad, since it means you can dance around whatever this suffocating feeling between you two is. But it doesn’t. All you feel is more hollow, more crushed.

Something has changed between you, definitely for the worse. You regret going to that party every single day.

To Jeonghan’s credit, he never asks. You wonder if Seungcheol told him, but then you ask yourself what exactly there is to tell. Literally nothing happened. You don’t even know what to call that little stint on the dance floor, or the heavy way his eyes traveled over you. As for the girl he was with, you’re just upset because the man you have been pining for your whole life has a roster of romantic prospects outside of you. For so long, you had only known about it, like it was some far away entity, but seeing it with your own eyes, some unknown girl sprawled half on top of him, it broke something in you that you don’t know how to move on from. So while you grapple with your own mess of feelings, you just know you need to stay far, far away from him.

But seven days after your self-imposed Seungcheol ban, your roommate has apparently had enough, and he decides to break it. You hear a knock on your door and hum, expecting it to be Jeonghan asking about dinner or something. But instead, a head of thick brown hair pops in through your door.

“Can I come in?”

You're shocked for a good few seconds, before nodding and gesturing to him to do so. Seungcheol lumbers in, hesitating for a second before opting to sit on the chair in front of your desk, turning it around to face you. You’re still frozen in place, crosslegged on your bed, waiting for him to say something.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

You blink. “You didn’t do anything. What are you sorry for?”

He lets out a laugh, but it’s bitter and mirthless. “For everything. For all of it. For telling you not to go to that party. For going there myself and letting you see me like that. For even being like that….”

“Seungcheol.” You protest. “You didn’t do anything-”

“I did.” He cuts you off. “You don’t know it, but I did. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that my drunk, stupid mind thought it was a good idea to end up in your room that night. That I somehow genuinely believed that I could wake up next to you and you would be mine.”

Your heart pounds. Blood roars in your ears.

“I remember all of it.” He whispers, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. “How I felt that night. How badly I just wanted to be with you. No drink was helping, no one…..” He laughs again, shakes his head as if admonishing himself.

“You know what my drunken plan originally was? I wanted to wake you up and finally just tell you how much I love you. But I was so drunk and exhausted that by the time I got to you I just ended up passing out on your bed.”

“And then the next morning. I was awake the second you first moved. And I didn’t want to let go. Call it brain fog, I don’t know. I hoped I could lie there forever and just…… hold you.”

You only break your eye contact from Seungcheol when your vision swims, getting wetter and more blurred.

“This isn’t funny.” Your voice shakes.

“I’m not joking.”

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your frantic thoughts. Never, never in your life did you expect this. You remember that morning again, how Seungcheol’s hand tightened on you, how your ass pressed hard against his-

“You were awake.” It isn’t really a question.

“I was.”

When your eyes meet his again, it’s different. Something sizzles, sharp and anticipatory, like the air around you is afraid to move. But Seungcheol isn’t. He stands up and walks closer to where you are sitting, one knee planting on the mattress, until he’s right in front of you. His eyes are like melting pots of brown, and the intensity in them takes your breath away.

“You felt it, right?” He whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. You turn me on so much.”

You can’t move even if you try. It feels like something has severed the connection between your brain and body. When Seungcheol leans in, you don’t resist. Your eyelids flutter when you feel his breath on the side of your neck, just like that morning. His lips brush just so over your skin.

“Cheol….”

He hums, shifts just a smidge, and his lips plant a chaste kiss under your ear. But you don’t say anything more. You don’t know if you can. You’re overwhelmed, both physically and mentally, and the smell of the cherry and sandalwood in his cologne is making your mind foggy.

“Let me show you.” He whispers. “Let me show you how much I love you, just like I wanted to that night, just like I dreamed of for so long.”

You’re human, after all. And you’re weak for him. You’ve always been weak for him, and that’s why you’ve let all of it happen. Him in your bed, you at his party. So you turn your head and let your lips brush over his. You can almost feel his shaky sigh just before he closes the distance between you.

It’s rushed from the start, like he’s desperate. You feel the same, hands reaching up to cup his face, your heart squeezing when you realise that this is finally happening. You’re kissing Seungcheol, the guy you’ve been deeply enamoured with for as long as you’ve known him. The guy you never, ever thought you would have in this way, but still imagined it in the depths of the night when there was no one but you and your fingers. He was here now, on the same bed that you thought filthy things about him in, kissing you like he needs to steal the air from your lungs. He tilts his head, lips sliding over yours, capturing your bottom lip between his. He nibbles softly and it makes you moan.

The sound does something to him, because he curses brokenly and reaches for you. Strong hands grip your waist and tug, pulling you closer. Your legs scramble to find purchase, settling on either side of his as he pulls you into his lap. His tongue slides into your mouth, hot and wet, and you can feel something flutter right in the base of your stomach. Your panties are already damp, but from what you can feel, he’s straining through his sweatpants too. You whine into him.

“Cheol…”

He groans, hands digging into your flesh. They slide under your shirt to run over your bare skin. You instinctively arch into him.

“Love it when you call me that.” He rasps. “Only you do. Only you.”

So you say it again, whisper it into his mouth while his tongue is in yours, and you can feel how his force increases, how he unravels just a little bit more. His hands under your shirt get more frantic, and finally he pushes up, peeling it off your body. You let him, but when the cold air hits your skin, you realise you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Fuck.” He curses softly, eyeing your half naked body. You feel your skin heat under his gaze, squirming a little.

“Beautiful. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

No, I’m not. Your mind immediately supplies. Because it’s true. You can’t help but think of all the girls he’s had like this, in his lap while he runs his tongue down the column of their throats, nipping here and there. He probably feels you stiffen, because he pulls away and looks you in the eyes, his expression cautious.

“What’s wrong?”

You swallow tightly and shake your head, leaning forward to kiss him again. But he pulls his head back before you can, watching you closely.

“Tell me, sweetheart. What is it?”

Your heart squeezes. You try to arrange your thoughts and look for words. You feel Seungcheol’s hands run up and down your back and sides comfortingly.

“I just don’t want this to be a one time thing.” You finally say, because you don’t want to tell him how much doubt you have. How deeply ingrained it is within you that you can never be with someone like him. You’re almost halfway certain that even this, what is happening right now, is some extreme exhaustion-induced dream and you will wake up to a cold, empty bed, but you don’t want to think about that.

Seungcheol’s eyes dart between your own. His face is soft, open, like he’s coming to the slow realisation of what you mean. When he sighs, you feel his breath on your skin. He leans forward so his forehead is pressed to yours. You don’t dare break your stare, even if it makes you go a little cross-eyed.

“I would never do that to you.” He whispers. “I’ve been in love with you for so long.”

Your breath hitches. Your hands on his shoulders tremble.

“I dream about you every night. I lay in my bed and I think of having you next to me. But I never did anything about it. You’ve always felt so far away. Like I can’t dare touch you or you will be tainted.”

Your eyebrows furrow. You watch as Seungcheol’s gaze dims into something like resignation.

“But seeing you at that party with Seungkwan, having you see me like that.” He shakes his head, a miniscule movement. “I knew something had to change. And it had to come from me. Whatever illusion I had in my head about us being just roommates, and me being happy with that, it wasn’t working.”

His hold tightens on you with that last sentence, hands running over your bare back again. His fingertips slide under the waistband of your shorts, just an inch, teasing you. You arch into him.

Seungcheol’s eyes travel to your lips and stay there. The air around you feels like it’s charging up again.

“Saw your little friend draped all over you, and I couldn’t stand it. Why does he get to touch you but I can’t?”

Your lips brush again. Your arms wind around his shoulders. “You can.”

“Hm?”

You can feel your cheeks heat. “You can touch me.”

Something flickers in Seungcheol’s eyes. “Where, baby?”

Baby. A shiver runs down your spine. “Everywhere.”

Your lips meet again. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. You feel his hand cup the back of your head, guide your movements like he wants them to, and it goes straight to your core, tightening it. You know you’re soaking your shorts, and you realise belatedly that you’re not wearing underwear either. Embarrassment hits you fleetingly, but before you can think about it more, Seungcheol is pushing forward to lay you on the bed, your hair sprawling on the pillow. He doesn’t break the kiss even once, fitting his hips between your legs and grinding into your heat. You gasp and cry out.

“You make the prettiest sounds.” He groans. “So responsive. I haven’t even done anything yet. Haven’t even touched you the way I want to.”

But he has. He’s all over you, taking over your every sense, infiltrating you until you can feel him thrumming in the hollows of your bones. You arch into him when he nips at your neck again, teeth digging in teasingly. If he leaves marks, so be it. You will wear them proudly. How long have you spent fantasising about having his lips on you? And here he is now, trailing kisses down until he reaches your chest. His tongue peeks out, smooths over your left nipple so that it is laved in his spit. He blows air on it, making you gasp. You wouldn’t see his smirk if it weren’t for the fact that a dimple cleaves through his right cheek. He pops your nipple in his mouth and sucks.

Seungcheol works you over while you whine and moan. Your hands meet his hair, running through the short ones on the back of his head before burying your fingers into it and tugging. He hums into your skin, and you can feel the vibration. It makes you clench desperately, making your hips buck.

“Cheol, please…”

He pops off your nipple after one last hard suck. You’re already taking in big, heaving breaths, like you’re losing your senses. You feel his tongue run up your sternum.

“What do you want, baby?”

You squirm, buck up again so that it brushes over his crotch. He chuckles.

“Impatient little thing. All you have to do is ask nicely.”

You blink through wet eyes, meeting his half-lidded, heated gaze. “I did. I said please.”

He groans. “Say it again, then.”

You make sure you’re looking him right in the eye as you buck up again. “Please.”

Seungcheol’s fingers hook in your shorts and he tugs them down. His face twists when he realises you’re not wearing underwear. He curses long and low, pushing your legs open to peer down at the mess between them.

“Dirty girl.” He moans. “No panties?”

You shake your head. “I don’t wear them to bed.”

His eyes widen as he thinks back.

“That night….”

You know exactly what he is referring to. The night he spent in your room, spooning you. You shake your head.

“Fucking hell.” His lips crash into yours, near feral as he devours you. You whimper and let him, hooking one leg over his waist.

“Could’ve fucked you back then, right? Just pushed your shorts aside and put my cock in you. Bet you would’ve loved that.”

You would, in your deep, dark fantasies. The thought of just being used by him is so hot that it lights your nerves on fire. You tug his shirt, having had enough, and he immediately obliges, pulling it off. Your mouth waters as you eyes the large expanses of smooth skin stretched over his muscles. You’ve never seen Seungcheol shirtless around the house, he’s very careful about it. The most you have seen is his arms through those tight tanks he loves so much. You run your hands over him as he goes back to licking and nipping at your neck, hooking his thumbs in his sweatpants so he can take them and his boxers off in one go.

His cock springs up and hits his navel. He’s thick, so much that it makes you suck it a long breath. All the blood that has rushed to it has left it aching hard and throbbing, shiny at the head with precum. You’re just wondering how you can even take it all the way in when he slides down your body once again, this time going further than your breasts, until he’s settling between your open legs. Your face flames, fighting the urge to close your thighs when he stares at you like that, licking over his bottom lip.

He runs his fingers down your soft, heated folds, one on each side in a V-shape. He spreads his index and middle fingers, opening you up.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He mumbles, leaning down to barely dance his tongue through your slit. Your legs jerk at the feeling. He’s holding you open, which makes his touch hit deeper, in more sensitive places. You sigh when he flattens his tongue over you finally, licking a thick stripe. His hands position themselves on your inner thighs, keeping you open and his head shifts side to side, running his lips and tongue over every part of you.

He’s amazing at this.

He’s eating you out like he’s starving for it, eyelids fluttering, nearly rolling up, and just the sight of Seungcheol like this, face progressively getting more and more flushed and he leans down and sticks his tongue as far as it can go inside your cunt, has you shaking and crying, your high approaching embarrassingly fast. You want to sob, tell him to stop, that it’s too much all at once, but it feels so unbelievably good that you won’t dare, locking your legs over his broad shoulders, hands fisting the sheets as you wail and cum with no warning. His hold on you is iron strong, holding you in place and not stopping the rapid flicks of his tongue until tears slide down your face and you push his head away. He parts from you with a loud, filthy slurp, licking his lips. He’s breathing hard, but not as hard as you while you’re shaking from your orgasm.

He uses his index and middle finger to wipe the lower half of his face, his chin, the line of his jaw. Then he shifts forward to kneel between your trembling legs again. He taps the two slicked up fingers on your mouth.

“Open up, baby.”

You do, lapping your tongue over the digits as they slide into your mouth, making sure not to break eye contact with him. He watches heatedly as you suck on his fingers.

“Jesus.” He breathes. “Why’d I stay away from you for so long?”

He pulls them out when they’re slick with your spit, reaching down and immediately prodding at your entrance. You sigh and buck up. He smirks, a sexy sight that you barely have time to process before he’s sliding both fingers inside you at once. You gasp and arch, taken aback by the sudden intrusion. He’s already curling his fingers, slowly pumping them in and out.

“God.” You whimper, instinctively reaching down to grab his arm. He doesn’t mind, letting you hold it as he fingers you. You feel his muscles shift with every movement under your palms. As he works you open, he occupies his mouth with your neck and shoulder again, nipping and kissing. You realise Seungcheol is a little bit of a biter, not that you’re complaining.

You’re barely down from your last orgasm, so this one takes an even shorter time to build up. You moan with every ram of his fingers into you, he’s murmuring little encouragements and praises into your skin. His voice is rougher, breathier, and it acts as the catalyst that hurtles you over the edge again. This orgasm is just as intense, if not more, leaving your limbs boneless and your head empty. Your breaths come out chopped and heavy as he slows down, needling out the last remnants of your high.

“Gorgeous.” He hums. “I could do that for hours. Just make you fall apart over and over until you’re begging me to stop.”

Your insides twist. Seungcheol shuffles until he’s seated fully between your legs again. He watches your cunt flutter and twitch, already used and abused. You watch him wrap a large hand around his thick girth, jerking himself harshly a few times. He slaps his shaft over your slit. You gasp and jerk. His eyes shoot up to you and he smirks teasingly.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Too much?”

You vehemently shake your head. “N-no. Want your cock.”

He hums, running the swollen, leaking head through your folds. He rubs it back and forth over your clit. You whimper.

“Sure about that?”

You nod and buck your hips up. It catches against your opening, making you gasp. “Please, Cheol.”

That does it for him, because he’s lining himself up and leaning down over you, pressing his forehead to yours before pushing forward. Your jaw goes slack as he carves his way in through your gummy walls, inch by inch, until you feel his pelvis meet yours.

“God, you’re still tight as hell.” He grits. “After taking my fingers like that too. Why didn’t you loosen up, baby? Wanted to stay nice and snug for me?”

His words are filthy, and never something you ever imagined coming from his mouth, in his delicious, raspy voice. You don’t say anything, brain wiped clean as he chooses that moment to start thrusting. It feels divine, he’s so thick that he stretches and hits all your spots without even angling his hips any which way. His tip nudges your cervix just slightly with every thrust, a fluttering sensation ensuing in your stomach. Everything is so much, so intense, that it’s hard to even breathe. Your eyelids fight to close, but you keep them open, because no way in hell would you miss the sight before you right now.

The muscles in Seungcheol’s arms flex and shift, hands planted on either side of your head to hold himself up. His skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat that shines under the lights of your bedroom. His torso undulates, precise and well aimed thrusts that hit just the right spots. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, face pinched in arousal and focus. His hair sticks to his temples, the rest is messed up because of how much you’ve run your hands through it. The apples of his cheeks are colored a lovely shade of pink that makes him look sensual, his eyelashes curling over his skin when he closes his eyes.

You wish you could burn this image in your mind forever.

He’s watching you just like you’re watching him, and you see the exact moment his face softens.

“Look at you.” He coos. “So pretty. So sexy like this. I imagined this, you know? When you had Seungkwan all over you, I imagined you under me.”

You whimper. The train of thought of last week’s party somehow riles him up again. His thrusts get harder, your skin stinging slightly with every ram of his hips into yours.

“And then there was fucking Soonyoung-” Seungcheol punches out. “Eyeing you like a piece of meat. If he got his hands on you, I would break every bone in his body.”

You mewl and shake your head vigorously. You can barely speak, but you’re desperate for him to know. “There’s no one, Cheolie. Only you. I only want you.”

You claw at his shoulders, tugging him down when you’re unable to resist, planting a searing kiss on his mouth. He groans into you.

“That’s right. Mine. My girl, my body, my cunt. All this is mine.”

You feel his hand sneak between your bodies so he can toy with your clit. It makes you cry out, already so sensitive from being toyed with.

“I’m not cumming until I feel your pussy milk it out of me.” He grunts, thrusts getting sloppier, and you keen. He’s determined to get you there one more time, and with how wound up you are, you know you will give it to him.

He cums at the same time as you, your walls contracting around his sloppy final thrusts. Your sweaty bodies writhe together, pressing into each other and on the bed, his hands digging into your hips and thighs while you rake your nails down his back. Finally, he buries himself deep and stills.

You sigh as tension slowly drains from your body. Seungcheol takes a moment before pulling out, flopping down next to you with a grunt and running a hand through his sweaty hair. You watch him and he eyes you back, a small smile crossing his face. He grips your arm and tugs, maneuvering you so you’re on your side, his front against your back. You giggle. It’s the same position, except this time, you’re both naked.

Silence descends over both of you, your eyelids heavy with slowly encroaching sleep. You’re roused when you hear Seungcheol softly speak.

“I meant it, you know?” He mumbles. “That I’m in love with you. Been in love with you for a while now.”

You can’t help your giddy smile. You rest your hand on the back of his and squeeze. “I have been too, for a while.”

You can feel his smile on the back of your neck. “Good.”

You fall asleep to his lips laying careful kisses on your shoulder.

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[hoshifighting]

— 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.

[cherryberrycheol]

Quality Over Quantity | Choi Seungcheol | 🔞

Pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader

Summary: You have one rule: don't catch feelings. But a sunday morning with Choi Seungcheol starts to feel dangerously soft, and when the miscommunication that follows sends you both spiralling—you back into your roster, him into someone else's arms—you're forced to confront the fact that no amount of revenge fucking can fill the ache he left behind.

Word count: 29.1k

Genres/warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort (?), smut/pwp (with some plot actually, wow!), university au, frat boy!seungcheol x camgirl!reader, fwb2l, idiots in love, jealousy and possessive behavior, miscommunication and assumptions, perceived emotional cheating, non-monogamous arrangements (temporary), use of sex as a coping mechanism, emotional vulnerability, public love confession (livestreamed), possessiveness as a love language, mentions of slut-shaming and social isolation, minor blood (biting, scratching), multiple sexual partners (on-page, say hi to mingyu, hoshi and woozi), soft domestic moments, found family (wonwoo & minghao), some alchohol consumption (once); oh, probably some bullshit psychology major representation i'm sorry we sacrificed logic (in other aspects too) in this fic for smut's sake; if i missed anything lmk

Smut warnings: Minors DNI, explicit sex work (solo and partnered cam performances), livestreamed sex, oral sex (f and m rec), deepthroating and facefucking, throatfucking to the point of tears, messy oral (spit, drool, gagging), vag sex, rough sex, possessive sex, creampie, breeding kink (talk of filling up, cum inside), multiple orgasms, overstim, clit stimulation, anal fingering, anal sex, double penetration (vaginal & anal, 2 partners), threesome (mmf), tit-fucking, cum on face and chest, cum eating, spitting as lubricant, degradation (name-calling: slut, cocksucker, etc.), praise kink, daddy kink/roleplay (performative, fan-driven), possessiveness during sex, size kink (implied), impact play (light face-slapping with cock), scratching and biting (drawing blood), pain play (minor), manhandling and being moved into positions, sex on camera with an audience, clothed sex (panties pulled aside), morning sex, semi-public sex (against a door at a party), soft aftercare, showering together, soft and tender sex after reconciliation, use of alcohol (drunk at a party, but all sex is enthusiastically consensual); if anything is missing lmk, i tried to make it more detailed than usual

A/N: i have seriously nothing to add here. maybe because as i prepare this post for queue i'm super fucking exhausted. i am happy to have finally written and posted something. i hope you guys enjoy it. i also thank all of my moots who i've been terrorising with tiny snippers while writing this. a special thanks to my writing wife @pochaccoups you saw the whole thing before it saw the world, including my absurd title joke lol. ly <3 as always, enjoy your read and i’ll be happy to see your feedback in any form you’re comfortable with: comments, asks or reblogs. and i will see you in my next fic ᙏ̤̫

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

Masterlist.

The bass of another noise song thrums through the floorboards, up through the soles of your shoes, and resonates deep in your chest where the alcohol has already made a warm little home for itself. The frat house is in a state of its standard party disaster—red solo cups scattered across every available surface, bodies pressed together in the living room that's been converted into a makeshift dance floor, the sharp mix of spilled beer and cologne and sweat weaving through the air in various equally sickening combinations. Somewhere in the back, someone's started a celebratory chant that keeps getting louder and then dissolving into laughter before it can really take off.

You're not paying attention to any of it, you're occupied with something else. With someone else.

Mingyu's lap is warm beneath you, his thighs solid and familiar, one of his big hands splayed across the small of your back while the other rests on the meat of your hip, fingers dimpling the soft flesh there. His mouth is hot and eager against yours, tasting like the cheap beer he's been nursing for the past hour, and you let yourself melt into it because Mingyu kisses the way he fucks—enthusiastic, a little sloppy and breathtakingly effective. His tongue slides against yours and you make a soft sound into his mouth, your fingers threading through his damp hair, still wet from the post-game shower.

"You were so good out there," you murmur against his lips, pulling back just far enough to speak, your breath fanning across his mouth. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, and he chases your lips with that increasingly more horny desperation, immediately cutting you off before you manage to finish what you were saying. "Watched you the whole time. That tackle in the second half? You looked so hot and strong. Had me clenching in the stands." Distantly, you think that if you weren't a little drunk you'd cringe at your own words right now but since you're slightly intoxicated saying something like this feels easy and right.

He groans, low and wrecked, his grip on your hip tightening. "You can't just say shit like that."

"I can," you tell him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver. "I can say whatever I want. You know why?"

"Why?" His voice is strained.

"Because in about twenty minutes, you're gonna find us somewhere private, and you're gonna bend me over, and I'm gonna let you fuck me so hard you forget your own name." You nip at his earlobe, soothing the sting with a flick of your tongue. "That's your reward for winning. You earned it, big boy."

Mingyu makes a sound that's halfway between a whimper and a growl, both hands now gripping your ass, pulling you tighter against him, and you can feel him getting hard beneath you, the thick line of his cock pressing up against your clothed cunt. You roll your hips just to hear him curse, and he does, a strangled oh fuck that makes you grin.

This is easy. This is comfortable. Mingyu's been on your roster since the middle of your second year, and he's never once made it complicated. He's gorgeous and he knows it, tall and broad with a swimmer's build that's been beefed up by rugby, and he fucks with the kind of athletic stamina that leaves you bow-legged and stupid. But he also knows the rules. He doesn't get jealous, doesn't get territorial, doesn't look at you like he's thinking about keeping you.

Unlike—

"There you are."

The voice cuts through the bass and the noise and the fog of arousal like a blade through silk. Deep. Rough at the edges. Punctuated by that quiet authority of his that makes your spine straighten instinctively, your body responding before your brain can catch up.

You know that voice. You know it in your bones, in the wet heat already starting to pool between your thighs in Pavlovian response, in the way your heart kicks against your ribs like it's trying to break free.

Mingyu's hands loosen on your ass. Not because he's scared—Mingyu's not scared of anyone, even if it's his team captain—but because he knows the rules too. The unspoken ones. He knows what that voice means when it's directed at you.

You turn your head.

Seungcheol is standing in the doorway of the living room, and he's already changed out of his rugby kit into gray sweatpants and a team bomber jacket that does practically nothing to hide how broad his shoulders are or how built he is in general. If anything it only accentuates the fact. His hair is still damp, pushed back off his forehead, and there's a flush high on his cheeks—from the game, from the adrenaline, from the victory still singing in his blood. His chest is rising and falling a little too fast, as if he's been looking for you and came straight here the second he could.

His eyes find yours and something in them flickers. Something dark and hungry and possessive that makes your cunt clench around nothing in response.

"Cheol," you say, and your voice comes out steady and a little bored, just like you intended, despite feeling anything but bored in this moment. "Hell of a game."

He doesn't acknowledge the words. His gaze drops to where you're sitting in Mingyu's lap, to Mingyu's hands on your hips, to the way your lip gloss is smeared from kissing someone who isn't him. His jaw tightens. The muscle there jumps.

"Up," he says. Not to Mingyu. To you.

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I'm a little busy."

"You're done being busy." He takes a step into the room, and people move out of his way without seeming to realize they're doing it. He has that effect. "Come here."

Mingyu sighs behind you, but it's more resigned than annoyed. "Just go," he murmurs, giving your hip a soft pat. "You know how he gets." You turn to look at the guy and there's a small teasing smirk on his face.

"I don't belong to him," you say, and you're not sure if you're reminding Mingyu or yourself.

"Could've fooled me," Mingyu mutters, but there's no bitterness to it. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, gentlemanly despite everything, and helps you slide off his lap. "Rain check?"

"Of course," you tell him with an easy smile.

Then Seungcheol's hand is wrapping around your wrist—not hard, he never grabs you hard enough to hurt or scare, but firm enough that you know you're not getting away—and he's pulling you through the crowd, past the dancers and the drinkers and the people who pretend not to sneak glances, up the stairs, down the hall, into one of the bedrooms that's mercifully unoccupied.

The door clicks shut behind you. The music muffles to a dull throb and your ears ring a little with the newfound silence.

And then you're being pressed up against the door, Seungcheol's body a wall of heat against your back, his breath hot and uneven against the curve of your neck. His hands find your waist, your hips, your stomach, like he's reacquainting himself with the geography of your body even though it's only been three days since the last time he had you.

"Could smell you throughout the whole house," he rasps against your ear, and the words send a bolt of pure lightning straight to your clit. "That perfume you wear. The one like cherry and rum. Knew you were here before I even saw you."

"Good nose," you attempt something sassy, but your voice is already going breathy, your body already starting to soften and yield the way it only ever does for him. You briefly register your hips pushing backwards, into him. And you don't care to stop yourself from it.

"Good nothing." His teeth graze your earlobe, nipping. "I just know you. You know what else I know?" You hum in response, playing along as if intrigued. "I know the way you smell when you're worked up. And you were worked up, weren't you? Sitting on Mingyu's lap like a pretty little slut, grinding on him, getting him hard."

"He earned it," you say, and it's supposed to come out defiant but lands a lot closer to needy because you are a sucker for degradation when it comes from him. Always so sweet, it makes you feel fuzzy even when you just think about it.

Seungcheol's laugh is dark and low, rumbling through his chest and into your back. "Oh, did he?"

"He won the game."

"And what about me?" His hand slides up your stomach, over your ribs, and stops just beneath the swell of your breasts. "I was on that field too. I scored two tries. I bled for that win." His lips brush the shell of your ear. "What do I get?"

You swallow hard. Your thighs press together, seeking friction, seeking relief. "Depends on what you want."

"You know what I want." His hand moves higher, finally cupping your breast through your top, his thumb finding your nipple even through layers of fabric and pressing down just hard enough to make your breath catch. "I want your mouth. Want to fuck that pretty throat until you're crying, until you can't talk, until the only thing you remember how to do is swallow."

Your knees buckle. He catches you easily, arm banding around your waist, and you can feel him—all of him—pressed against your ass. The thick, heavy line of his cock is already hard, already straining against his sweatpants, and you can feel the heat of it through both layers of fabric like a brand.

"Fuck,” you breathe.

"Yeah," he agrees, and spins you around to face him.

God, he's beautiful. It hits you every time, this stupid, gut-punch of a realization that you never quite get used to despite the fact that your roster is full of gorgeous men. No one hits like that. His eyes are dark and liquid, those big brown eyes with lashes so long they cast shadows on his cheekbones, and they're looking at you like you're something precious and something filthy all at once. His lips are parted, plump and pink and slightly wet, and when he smiles—just a little, just the corner of his mouth quirking up—his dimple appears like a secret.

"Missed you," he says, softer now, and it makes your chest ache.

"It's been three days."

"Three days too long." He cups your face in both hands, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, and tilts your head up. "You been good?"

You know what he's asking. You know what he means. And a part of you wants to lie, wants to tell him that you've been a perfect little angel, that you haven't let anyone else touch you, that you're his, just his, only his.

But that's not the game you play. That's not the arrangement you have with him or anyone else for that matter.

"Been busy," you say instead, and watch his eyes darken. It brings you its own special kind of masochistic satisfaction.

"Busy," he repeats, flat.

"Jihoon on Thursday. Soonyoung yesterday morning." You hold his gaze, defiant and terrified in equal measure. "They're on the roster too, Cheol. Remember?"

Something flickers in his expression—something that looks a lot like hurt and a lot like jealousy—but it's gone as fast as it appears, replaced by that dark, possessive heat that makes your cunt drip.

"Then I better remind you why I'm at the top of that list," he says, and drops to his knees.

You don't have time to process the sight of him there, on his knees for you, looking up at you with those burning eyes—because his hands are already rucking up your skirt, pushing it up around your waist, and his mouth is pressing hot and open-mouthed against the damp cotton of your panties.

"Cheol—"

"Shh." His breath is warm through the fabric. "Let me take care of you first. Let me taste you. Then I'm gonna fuck your throat until you forget Soonyoung's name and everyone else's except mine."

His tongue presses flat against your clothed cunt, and you moan, head thumping back against the door. Your hips cant against his face, frustrated that there's some sort of barrier between his mouth and you.

This is how it always goes with him, how it's been going since the end of your second year, when you finally collided with him at a party not unlike this one, when you'd already built some reputation and he'd already heard the rumours. Neither of you had been prepared for the way your bodies would fit together like puzzle pieces.

Before that night, you'd known of him, obviously. Everyone knew the rugby team, and Seungcheol was the captain—loud and commanding on the field, quieter off it, with a cute laugh that didn't match his build and a dimpled smile that made you want to do stupid things. You'd seen him around campus, exchanged pleasantries, maybe flirted a little the way you flirted with everyone. But you'd never hooked up with him, partly because your paths didn't cross that way and partly because something in your gut had whispered to wait.

Waiting had been the right call. By the time you finally got your hands on each other, the tension had been stretched so tight it snapped like a rubber band, and you'd spent three hours in his dorm room doing things that still made even you blush when you thought about them too hard. And there weren't many things left that could make you blush anymore.

The difference was that Seungcheol hadn't been satisfied with one night. He'd come back for more. And more. And more. Unlike all your other hookups who followed your lead and showed up or engaged with you only on your demand.

So, somewhere along the way, he'd stopped being just another name on your roster and started being something else. Something you allowed in your content, something you kept allowing more than you allowed anyone else.

"Fuck, you're soaked," he groans against you, pulling your panties to the side and swiping his tongue through your folds. The sensation is electric and sweet, and your hips buck against his face without your permission. "Taste so fucking good. Always taste so good."

"Cheol, please—"

"Hmm?" He looks up at you, chin glistening with your wetness, and the sight is so obscene it makes your brain short-circuit. "Use your words, baby."

"Please—fuck, your mouth—"

"My mouth what?" He's teasing now, the bastard, pressing soft little kisses to your inner thigh, your mons, everywhere except where you need him. "Tell me."

"Eat me out," you breathe, dignity abandoned. "Please, Cheol, please eat my pussy, I need your tongue, need you to make me come—"

"Good girl." And then his mouth is on you, tongue plunging into your hole and nose pressing against your clit, and you gasp.

He eats pussy like he's starving. Like your cunt is the only thing that's ever satisfied his hunger. His tongue is thick and clever, alternating between fucking into your tight opening and flattening against your clit, and his hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open and steady, pressing you against his face like he wants to crawl inside you.

You're babbling, you realize in a brief blink of clarity. Strings of praise and profanity falling from your lips between whimpers and mewls. "So good, so good, your tongue is so fucking good, Cheol, right there, please don't stop, please—"

Seungcheol doesn't stop. He doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and your orgasm hits you like a freight train—sudden and utterly beyond your control, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your thighs clamp around his head and your fingers fist in his hair and you come with a broken cry that gets swallowed by the bass still thumping through the house.

He works you through it, gentler now, laving at your oversensitive clit until you're twitching and whimpering and trying to push him away. Only then does he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking up at you with eyes that are practically black as he licks your juices clean off of it.

"That's one," he says, and rises to his feet.

"One?" You're still catching your breath, still trembling with aftershocks, and he's looking at you like he hasn't even started. In your haze you've totally forgotten what he said he wanted you to do for him.

"One." He cups your jaw, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, tugging it down until your mouth obediently falls open. "Now it's my turn. On your knees, baby. Show me you still know how to worship this cock."

You sink to your knees before he finishes that sentence.

The carpet is scratchy against your skin, but you barely pay attention. Which is fixed on the way he's pulling down his sweatpants, freeing his cock, and there it is—a solid length of thick, flushed, leaking cock, curving slightly upward, the head an angry purple-red that looks almost painful. His balls hang heavy beneath, swaying as he strokes himself once, twice, smearing precum down the shaft.

"You remember this?" he asks, and his voice has gone gravel-rough. Half a step forward and Seungcheol is slapping the thick meat of his cock against your face. They are soft, almost gentle slaps that make you lean in and try to nuzzle, brain going offline on his musky scent. "Remember how it feels? How it stretches your throat? How it makes you choke?"

"Yes," you whisper, and feel your mouth watering, saliva pooling under your tongue. Your eyes are glued to his cock and you barely restrain yourself from trying to follow it and catch with your mouth. "Yes, I remember."

"Then show me."

You don't make him wait. You lean forward and press a kiss to the tip, as gentle and reverent as ever, tasting the salt-bitter tang of his precum. His breath hitches. You do it again, and again, pressing soft kisses up and down his shaft, nuzzling into the thick thatch of hair at the base, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and soap and that unique musk that you have no other description for than just him, and it makes your head spin the more you focus on it. You can probably get off on that alone.

"Stop teasing," he grits out, but his hand comes to rest on the back of your head, gentle, so gentle. Even though you wouldn't mind if he just grabbed your head to steady it and started face fucking you in earnest.

You look up at him through your lashes, make sure he's watching, and then you open your mouth and take him in.

The first inch is easy. The second makes your jaw stretch. By the third, you're breathing through your nose, relaxing your throat, letting muscle memory take over. You've done this enough times—with him, with others—that your body knows what to do even when your brain has gone hazy and dumb with want.

"Fuck," he breathes, and his hips jerk forward just a little, just enough to push another inch past your lips. "That's it. That's my good girl. Taking me so well."

You hum around him, and the vibration makes him curse. Your tongue works the underside of his shaft, tracing and massaging the thick vein that runs from base to tip, and your hand comes up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm. They're heavy, full, and you can't help but imagine how much cum he's got stored up in just three days he hasn't seen you, how much he's going to pump down your throat.

It makes you moan again—the image you drew in your head—and you almost want to whimper and whine but you have a mouth full of cock and instead you just take him deeper, desperate to swallow him whole, to get more of him the only way you know how.

"Been thinking about this all game," he tells you, voice strained. "Couldn't focus during the second half. Kept looking for you in the stands. Kept thinking about your mouth."

You pull back until just the tip rests on your tongue, breath heavy, and then you sink down again, taking him even further this time, until he nudges the back of your throat and your gag reflex flutters. You push past it, breathe through it, and then you're swallowing around him and his cock is buried to the hilt and your nose is pressed against his pubic bone, cushioned with the bush of hairs there.

"Oh, fuck—" His hips buck, involuntary, and you choke but don't pull away. "Sorry, sorry, baby, you just—you feel so fucking good, I can't—"

You reach up and grab his hand, guide it to the back of your head, and press down.

He gets the message.

His grip tightens in your hair, and then he's fucking your throat in earnest, hips snapping forward in a rhythm that's just shy of brutal. You can hear the wet, obscene sounds your own mouth is making—the slurping, the gagging, the choking, the slick slide of his cock through your spit-slick lips—and it's filthy, it's degrading, it's the most liberating thing you've ever experienced. To be reduced to this. No thoughts, no responsibilities, just sucking fat delicious cock.

"Look at you," he grunts, staring down at you with something like awe. "Taking all of it. Taking my dick like you were made for it. No one— no one sucks cock like you do. No one. Fucking— made for this. My perfect little cocksucker."

Tears are streaming down your face, mixing with the drool dripping down your chin, and your mascara is probably ruined, and your throat is going to be raw tomorrow, and you don't care. You don't care about anything except the substantial weight of him on your tongue, the stretch of your lips around his girth, the way his breathing is getting ragged and uneven.

"Gonna cum," he warns, and tries to pull back. "Baby, I'm gonna—"

You grab his hips and pull him closer, taking him so deep your throat constricts around him, and he breaks.

The first spurt of cum hits the back of your throat, hot, thick and bitter, and you swallow on reflex, squeezing your eyes shut before blinking through tears. The second fills your mouth, and the third, and he's groaning like he's dying, like you're killing him, like you're giving him something no one else ever has. His hips jerk through the aftershocks, pumping more and more cum into your waiting mouth, and you take it all, swallow it all, until he's finally, finally still.

He pulls out slowly, and you gasp for air, chest heaving. Your throat feels used, bruised, incredible. Your jaw aches. Your face is a mess of tears and spit and cum, and you've never felt more beautiful. You'd go for another round all over again this very minute if you could.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes, and then he's hauling you to your feet and kissing you, deep and filthy, licking into your mouth like he's trying to taste himself on your tongue. "You're insane. You're fucking perfect. I'm not done with you yet."

"I know," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked, barely a hoarse whisper. "You said something about my tits?"

His responding grin is sharp and hungry. "Take off your top."

You do. Your bra follows, and then your bare breasts are swinging free, heavy and round with puffy inverted nipples that are already aching tight from arousal. Seungcheol stares at them like a man possessed, and then his hands are on you, cupping the weight of them, thumbs circling your nipples until they pop out and he can pinch them between his fingers.

"Love your tits," he murmurs, bending to take one in his mouth and suck on it. His tongue is hot and wet, laving at the sensitive bud, and you moan, arching into him. "Love how big they are. Love how they bounce when I fuck you. Love how pretty your nipples are." He says that in the brief pauses he takes, alternating between the two breasts.

"Cheol—"

"Lie down on the bed." He pulls back, giving your nipple one last lick. "On your back. I want to watch them move while I fuck them."

You scramble to obey, positioning yourself on the edge of the mattress, and he follows, straddling your ribcage. His cock is still half-hard, glistening with your spit, and he strokes it back to full stiffness while he looks down at you.

"Hold them together for me."

You cup your breasts in both hands, pressing them together to create a deep, soft channel. He groans at the sight, and then he's slotting his cock between them, the head peeking out from the top of your cleavage.

"Fuck, that's good," he breathes, and starts to thrust.

The slide is slick from your spit and his cum, and he picks up a rhythm quickly, hips rocking as he fucks the valley of your breasts. His cock drags against your sternum, the head brushing your chin with every thrust, and you tilt your head down to lick at it each time it appears.

"Yeah, that's it," he pants. "Tongue out. Want you to taste me every time."

You obey, sticking your tongue out so the tip of his cock drags across it with every stroke. The angle is awkward and your neck is going to ache later, but the look on his face is worth it—eyes glazed, mouth slack, a flush spreading down from his cheeks to his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his t-shirt.

"Gonna paint your tits," Seungcheol warns, pace quickening. "Gonna cover them in my cum. Mark you up so everyone knows you're mine."

The possessive growl in his voice makes you moan, and the vibration travels through your chest and into his cock. He curses, hips stuttering, and then he's coming again—ropes of white streaking across your breasts, your collarbones, the lower part of your face. He milks himself through it, groaning, until every last drop is dripping down your skin.

You drop your head back onto the mattress and you wipe your face with your fingers. Cleaning most of the mess only to lick it all from your fingers. Seungcheol collapses beside you on the bed, chest heaving, and for a moment the only sound is both of you gasping for air.

Then he turns his head to look at you, and his expression is soft, so soft, softer than it has any right to be. He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucks it behind your ear, and his fingers linger on your cheek.

"Hey," he says.

“Hey,” you croak back.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just—give me a minute."

"Take all the time you need." He leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. "I'll get something to clean you up."

He disappears into the ensuite bathroom, and you lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling his cum cool on your skin where you didn't wipe it. Your throat is raw, your jaw aches, your cunt is still throbbing with renewed need. And your chest aches in a completely different way. Which has nothing to do with the physical.

You push the feeling down. You're good at that.

When he comes back, it's with a wad of rough brown paper towels, the cheap kind that feel like tree bark against your skin, but he's somewhat dampened them under the tap and his touch is so fucking gentle as he cleans you up that you barely notice the difference. "Sorry," he murmurs, swiping carefully across your chest, your chin and anywhere else he sees that needs cleaning. "No actual towels. Fucking animals." He says it with so much genuine irritation that you laugh, and he looks up at you with that dimple and that soft, soft gaze, and your heart does the little summersault again.

"I'll survive," you manage.

"You will." He tosses the paper towels into a bin by the desk, then stands there, half-dishevelled, looking at you with his sweats slung low on his hips, showing the band of his boxers where his t-shirt rode up, and that possessive heat still simmering in his eyes. "We should go back down. It's still early, and the boys'll give me shit if I hog you all night."

You raise an eyebrow, even as you're reaching for your discarded clothes. "Since when do you care about that?"

"Since I'm the captain." He shrugs, unrepentant. "Gotta show my face. But—" He steps close, fingers catching your wrist, pulling you up against his chest the second your shirt is back on. His mouth finds your temple, lips warm and soft. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. You're with me tonight. Okay?"

The words shouldn't affect you but you feel the smouldering warmth spill through your body, heating you up from within. If he told you to drop down and fawn and do a puppy pose you would. You swallow. "Okay."

"Good girl." He says it like praise, low and private even though no one else can hear you in this room, and it makes your stomach flip even as you roll your eyes.

You both finish making yourselves look somewhat presentable. He helps you smooth down your skirt, his knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in a way that's more intimate than half the things you've ever done with other people. Then his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, and he's leading you out of the room and down the stairs back into the controlled disaster of the party.

The bass hits you again, still throbbing through the house, but it's mellowed a little as the night's gone on. It couldn't have been that long and yet people are drunker now, looser, the dance floor more of a tangle of bodies than it was before. The air is thick with beer and sweat and the faint sickly-sweet smell of someone's vape or multiple of them—it's hard to tell. Seungcheol doesn't pause. He threads through the crowd with the same quiet authority he has on the pitch, and like always people just sort of move for him, and because you're with him, they move for you too.

He heads straight for the back corner where the rugby team has claimed a cluster of battered couches and a low coffee table covered in cups and bottles. Mingyu's there, sprawled out with his long legs taking up way too much space, laughing at something Seokmin just said. Seokmin is leaning forward, beer in hand, cheeks flushed from alcohol and the residual high of the win. Joshua's perched on the arm of the couch, drink held delicately between two fingers, smiling his serene, knowing smile and thinking about something else and distant, judging by the slightly absent look on his face. Chan is on the floor with his back against the couch, scrolling through his phone but looking up when he sees you approach.

"There they are!" Seokmin crows, arms spreading wide like he's welcoming royalty. "Captain! And his—" He catches Seungcheol's eye, and whatever word he was about to say dies on his tongue. "—guest. His very special guest."

Mingyu snorts, raising his cup in a lazy salute. "Took your time? We were taking bets on whether you'd come back down at all."

"Put your money away," Seungcheol says, easy but with an edge that says conversation over. He pulls you onto one of the couches—a worn leather thing that groans under both your weight—and situates you directly in his lap, his arm banding around your waist like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he does it all the time. Like he has every right.

And maybe he does, because no one bats an eye. Mingyu just grins knowingly and takes a sip of his drink. Seokmin launches back into whatever story he was telling, something about a questionable call in the first half. Joshua offers you a faint, warm smile that you really don't want to read into so you don't. Chan goes back to his phone.

And because no one gives any big reactions you just let yourself relax into Seungcheol's chest. His thumb starts tracing slow circles on the jut of your hip, a steady, grounding rhythm. Every so often, he dips his head and presses a kiss to your temple, your hair, the shell of your ear, murmuring things only you can hear.

"You okay?"

"Mhm."

"Warm enough? Want my bomber?"

"I'm fine, Cheol."

"Need water? You should drink some water."

"You're not my mum."

"Doesn't mean I can't take care of you." He says it so quietly, so matter-of-factly, that you don't have a retort, only feel your heart clench painfully tight in your chest.

The conversation around you ebbs and flows. Seungcheol is fully present in it—laughing at Seokmin's jokes, debriefing a specific play with Mingyu that devolves into good-natured bickering because the two like to act like an old married couple, teasing Chan about his post-game ritual of eating an entire pizza by himself and then recalling that one time the youngest almost fought Seokmin when the latter accidentally took a slice. He's easygoing and he's exactly the kind of captain the boys respect because he leads with warmth, not fear. But he also knows where the line is. When one of the boys makes a joke that's a little too crude about a cheerleader, Seungcheol gives him a look—just a slight narrowing of his eyes, a tilt of his chin—and the teammate immediately backtracks, hands up. "Joking, joking. Sorry, Cheol!"

"Mm," Seungcheol says, and the conversation moves on.

Through all of it, his attention keeps circling back to you. His hand never stops moving—stroking your hip, your thigh, the small of your back. He keeps checking in, his lips brushing your ear as he asks, "Still good?" and "Need anything?" and, when you start to flag, "You want to get out of here?" The last one is said with genuine concern, his voice dropping to a register meant only for you.

You shake your head, but your body betrays you. You're slumping heavier against him, your head finding the hollow of his shoulder. The bass is starting to feel less like music and more like an indistinguishable noise causing a headache. The chatter of the team is still warm and funny, but you're not following it anymore. Your eyelids are heavy.

"You're falling asleep," Seungcheol murmurs, amused and tender all at once.

'''M not."

"You are." He shifts, adjusting you more securely against his chest. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. "Alright. Time to go."

He says it to you, but the team hears it too. Seokmin starts to protest. "Already? It's not even—" but Seungcheol just glances at him, and the protest dies. Mingyu waves a lazy goodbye, a smirk on his lips. "See you, man. Take care of her."

"Don't drink too much on the weekends. I expect you all on the clock for Monday practice," Seungcheol says sternly, and it's not a throwaway. It's a legit threat. You've heard the boys complain in the past about him making them do various exercises till failure for punishments.

He stands, lifting you with him like you are weightless, and you barely have the energy to be embarrassed. Your legs are jelly, your mind foggy. You manage a vague wave to the group, and then Seungcheol is steering you out of the frat house, into the cool night air, one arm wrapped solidly around your waist.

He takes you home. His car smells like his cologne and an old air freshener shaped like a pine tree, and he keeps the radio low as he drives, his free hand resting on your thigh. At red lights, he glances over at you, and you're too tired to hide the way you're looking at him whenever your eyes are not too heavy to do so.

Your apartment is quiet when you stumble inside. You're barely upright, and Seungcheol doesn't ask if you want him to stay. He just does. He guides you to the bathroom, and there, under the harsh white light that takes some of that sleepiness away, he turns to you with a comically determined focus, considering the task at hand.

"Tell me what to do," he says, gesturing at your face. "Makeup. How do I not mess this up?"

Your chest clenches and if you were a little more drunk and a little less restrained, you'd definitely start bawling your eyes out.

Instead, you point him to the micellar water on the counter, the cotton pads in the drawer. He soaks a pad, and you sit on the closed toilet lid as he kneels in front of you—kneels, like it's nothing, like it's exactly where he wants to be—and carefully, wipes the ruined mascara from under your eyes, the smudged lipstick from the corners of your mouth. His tongue pokes out slightly in concentration, and he's so fucking gentle and adorable it makes your throat tight and your lips twitch with a hint of a laugh.

"There," he says when he's done, sitting back on his heels and inspecting his work. "Good?"

"Yeah." Your voice is a rasp as you turn to examine his work in the mirror. "Good."

Seungcheol helps you undress next. He's done it before, but this time it feels different somehow—more intentional? You're not sure.

He unclasps your bra with practiced ease—and you let out a heavy sigh of relief,—presses a kiss to your collarbone before he strips down to his boxers, and you're both standing there in the dim light of your bedroom, skin to skin, nothing between you but the cool air and the warmth of your skin.

He pulls you into bed. You curl into him instantly, seeking warmth in the still-cold sheets, your head on his chest, his big strong arms wrapped around you. You're both still warm from the party, from each other, and the heat of his bare skin against yours is the most comforting thing you've ever felt.

Seungcheol's heartbeat is steady under your ear. His hand traces lazy shapes on your spine that make your eyes feel heavier with every curl and swirl.

"Sleep," he whispers. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."

And you do. With a deep sigh, your heavy eyes close and you immediately drift off.

You wake up to sunlight and the weight of him. He's still curled around you, his body a wall of heat along your back, his arm draped over your waist, his face half-buried in your hair, warm breath fanning quietly against your scalp. It sends weak shivers along your spine the moment your brain focuses on this little detail. And there's something else already—of course there is—the thick press of his morning wood against the curve of your ass, insistent even through his boxers.

Sometimes you think that the two of you should actually be separated and never allowed to interact ever again. There's always a high risk of turning into two horny bunnies and never leaving the bed.

But the thought drifts away as easily as it came in and you shift, just a little, and Seungcheol groans, low and sleep-rough. "Mm. Baby?"

"Morning," you murmur, pressing back against him deliberately. His hips twitch in response, a reflexive grind that makes your cunt pulse with want. You're already getting wet, you realize. Already aching. There's really no preamble with him. There never is.

"Fuck," he breathes, more awake now. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, finding your clit with unerring accuracy. It isn't surprising anymore, considering how many times he's been down there by now. He rubs slow circles, and you gasp, your hips bucking into his touch. "So wet already. How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough." You turn in his arms to face him, and his eyes are heavy-lidded but bright, the brown of them almost gold in the morning light. You kiss him, soft at first, lazy. Your hands are resting on his pecs, sliding lower to his stomach and then over to his soft sides. The kiss gets deeper, with your tongue sliding against his as his palms rest on the swell of your ass instead, squeezing you repeatedly like a stress ball, and you know you're bound to have light bruises after some especially passionate grabs. Then his hand glides to the front again, fingers dip lower, teasing your entrance, and you whimper into his mouth.

"Want you on top," he says against your lips. "Want to watch you take what you need."

"Hmm, is that so?"

There's no world in which you say no to that. You push Seungcheol onto his back and straddle his hips, your knees bracketing his thighs. He's already shoving his boxers down, freeing his cock, and it's just as thick and flushed and perfect as it was last night. Even better now that you can see it in broad daylight. You lean forward and spit into your palm—just a quick, filthy little motion—and reach down between your legs to wrap your hand around his shaft, stroking him once, twice, smearing the spit and his own leaking precum down the length.

"Fuck," he groans, head pressing back into the pillow. "You're so hot. So fucking hot."

You shift your panties to the side—can't even be bothered to take them off—and position him at your entrance. The first push is slow, a delicious stretch that makes both of you moan. Your cunt swallows him inch by inch, fluttering and squeezing and adjusting to his girth, and by the time he's seated inside you to the root, you're trembling, your clit throbbing where it's pressed against his pubic bone.

"There you go," he murmurs, his hands finding your hips and gripping tight, massaging soothing circles into the soft flesh there. "Take your time, baby. Ride me however you want. Use me."

You start to move. It's slow at first, a leisurely grind that rolls your hips against his, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscle flex under your palms, and he stares up at you with his half-lidded doe eyes like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. The sunlight catches his face—the strong cut of his jaw, the pretty flush blooming on his cheeks, the way his plump lips part on every exhale.

"You feel so good," you whisper, and the words come out wrecked already. "So deep like this. Fill me up so perfect."

"Made for my cock," he agrees, and there's no arrogance in it, just awe. "This cunt was fucking made for me. Look at you. Look at how pretty you are, taking all of it."

You feel your face heat up in your cheeks and ears. Every time you think you're way beyond getting flustered upon receiving compliments there's Seungcheol with his seemingly personal mission of proving you wrong and successfully making you feel like the shy high school girl everyone made you to be.

You pick up the pace, rolling your hips faster, and the wet sounds of your pussy fill the room—slick and obscene, your arousal dripping down around the base of his cock. He's so deep that every thrust punches a moan from your throat, and you're not quiet, you've never been quiet with him, especially not in the confines of your apartment. The bed frame creaks in rhythm with your movements. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Love your tits bouncing like that," he grunts, eyes entranced on your chest. "Love watching them move when you ride me. Fuck, you're a dream. A fucking dream."

You feel tingles run through your body and rush all into your cunt, making you clench on Seungcheol's dick with a pathetic mewl that escapes before you can stop it.

Seungcheol moans and before another would leaves his mouth you lean down to kiss him, and the change in angle makes him hit even deeper, makes you gasp into his mouth. His tongue slides against yours, messy and hungry, and he fucks up into you now, meeting your rhythm with sharp little thrusts that make your vision go white at the edges. One of his hands leaves your hip and snakes between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down in tight, perfect circles.

"That's it," he pants against your lips. "Want you to come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me. Can you do that, baby? Can you come for me?"

You can. You are. The combination of his cock driving into you and his thumb on your clit and the way he's looking at you—like you're everything, like you're the only thing—sends you hurtling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your cunt clamping down on his shaft so hard he has to stop moving just to breathe through it. You cry out, a broken, shameless sound, and he swallows it with a kiss as he fucks you through the aftershocks.

"Good girl," he rasps. "My good fucking girl. Gonna fill you up now, okay? Gonna cum inside you. Want it?"

"Yes," you gasp, still trembling. "Please, Cheol, please fill me up—"

He groans, low and wrecked, and then he's thrusting up into you in quick, desperate strokes, chasing his own release. You can feel him swelling, pulsing, and then he's coming, hot and thick, painting your walls with his cum. The sensation of it—the warmth flooding your insides, the way his cock jerks with every spurt—makes you moan again, clenching around him to milk every last drop.

He collapses back against the mattress, chest heaving, and you slump forward onto him, your forehead dropping to his shoulder. You lie there for a long moment, both of you gasping, his cock still nestled inside you, his seed slowly starting to leak out around it.

"Fuck," he finally says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Good morning to me."

You laugh, breathless and boneless, and he wraps his big arms around you and holds you tight.

The shower is a necessity after that. You stumble into the bathroom together, and he insists on washing your hair—sure fingers massaging shampoo into your scalp with a thoroughness that makes you want to melt. You return the favour, soaping up his broad back, tracing the lines of muscle, the bruises from the game that are already starting to purple on his ribs. You kiss every one of them. He pulls you under the spray and kisses you back until you're both completely out of breath and the water runs lukewarm.

Later, dressed in clean clothes that somehow smell like you and him all mixed together (no you don't have a drawer dedicated specifically to his stuff), you walk to the little cafe two blocks from your apartment. It's a Sunday, and the streets are quieter, the air crisp and clean. He holds your hand the whole way. His thumb strokes over your knuckles, and it's such a small thing, but it makes your chest ache in a way you refuse to look closer at.

At the cafe, you get a table by the window. Seungcheol orders a black coffee and a sandwich from their breakfast menu; you get a sweet latte with a syrup and a croissant that flakes all over the table whenever you as much as pick it up from its plate. He steals bites of your pastry and makes exaggerated sounds of approval. You steal a sip of his coffee in retaliation and grimace at the bitterness, audibly judging him for his beverage choices. He laughs, and the sound of it is so bright, so easy, that you feel something loosen in your chest.

You don't think about Monday. You don't think about your roster, or your own rules, or the way this whole thing is supposed to work according to them. You don't let yourself focus on the fact that you've never let anyone stay the night like this, never let anyone wash your hair and clean your face and hold your hand on a Sunday morning like it's the most natural thing in the world. You will have the time to think about it later, to reprimand yourself for it. But it's not now.

You just sit there, across from Seungcheol, your ankle pressed against his under the table, and you let yourself have this.

One more morning. One more slow, golden morning where he looks at you with his shiny boba eyes like you're something rare like the eighth wonder of the world, and you let him, and the world doesn't end.

It can hurt later, you tell yourself. The hurt will come—it always does. But right now, he's smiling at you with a flake of croissant stuck to his lip, and you're reaching across the table to wipe it away, and he's catching your hand and pressing a kiss right to the centre of your palm, lips soft and smooth after you threatened him into using your lip balm, and none of the rest of it matters.

And that's enough. For now, it's enough.

Monday can wait.

Monday morning starts with a text from Seungcheol.

It arrives while you're still half-asleep, face-down in your pillow, one arm flung out across the cold expanse of mattress where he'd been lying thirty-something hours ago. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and you grope for it blindly, squinting at the screen through eyelids that feel like they've been glued shut.

hope you got home okay. forgot to text yesterday. still thinking bout that croissant.

There's a pause, then a second message: actually you. mostly you.

You stare at it for too long. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and you type out you're such a dork before deleting it, then miss you already before deleting that too, your face heating against the pillow even though no one's around to witness it. Eventually you settle on the safest option, the one that doesn't betray the way your pulse has picked up just from seeing his name on your screen.

Your coffee choices are atrocious.

His response comes almost immediately: brutal. i'm wounded.

Dramatic.

ouch, another wound:(

You don't answer that. You put the phone down and press your face into the pillow and try very hard not to think about the way he'd looked at you at that cafe, sun catching the gold in his eyes, his ankle hooked around yours beneath the table like he couldn't stand even that small of a physical distance. You try not to think about the kiss he'd given you when you'd parted—soft and lingering in the middle of the sidewalk, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones like you were something fragile and precious. "See you later," he'd said, and it hadn't sounded like a request. It had sounded like a promise.

You'd walked away from him with your heart pounding and your stomach in knots, and you'd spent all of Sunday afternoon telling yourself it was fine, it was nothing, it was just breakfast. People have breakfast. People who fuck each other regularly can absolutely have breakfast without it meaning anything.

Except you'd let him wash your hair. Except he'd held your hand the whole walk there and the whole walk back. Except you'd sat there with pastry flakes on your fingers and coffee on your breath and you'd felt a door crack open inside you, the one you'd spent years reinforcing to be locked permanently.

Monday can wait, you'd told yourself on Sunday evening, curled up in bed that still smelled like him. Monday can wait.

Monday, as it turns out, has other plans.

Your first class is Cognitive Psych at nine, and you barely make it on time, sliding into your usual seat near the back with your hair still damp from a rushed shower and your coffee clutched like a lifeline. The lecture hall is one of those big, tiered rooms with creaky seats and inadequate heating, and Professor Hitcher is already droning on about working memory models by the time you get your notebook out. You try to focus with all your might. But your brain keeps drifting back to Sunday morning—the warmth of Seungcheol's hand around yours, the way he'd laughed with his whole chest when you'd gotten powdered sugar on your nose, the way he'd wiped it off with the pad of his thumb and then licked the sugar off his own skin without breaking eye contact.

You're so lost in the memory that you almost miss the notification that pops up on your laptop screen. A Discord message, from the unofficial uni server you're in just like the rest of the university because everyone is hungry for juicy gossip.

so apparently someone saw that camgirl with choi seungcheol at that cafe yesterday morning?? like holding hands and everything??

Your stomach drops.

You close the notification and try to pretend you didn't see it, but the damage is already done. Your phone buzzes. Then buzzes again. By the time the lecture ends, you've got seven messages across three different platforms, all variations on the same theme: Is it true??? Are you and Seungcheol actually DATING???

You don't answer any of them. You shove your laptop into your bag and power-walk out of the lecture hall, head down, earbuds in, dodging the curious glances of the girls who sit two rows ahead of you and always whisper when you walk past.

It's not that you're surprised, exactly. Campus gossip moves at the speed of light, and you've always been a favourite topic. The girl who fucks like a man. The girl who doesn't catch feelings. The girl who's slept with half the rugby team and still walks around with her head held high like she hasn't noticed—or doesn't care—that most of the women on campus treat her like a contagion. You're a fascinating specimen to them. A cautionary tale and a fantasy and a threat all rolled into one.

You've heard the whispers before. You've perfected the art of ignoring them.

But this time it's different. This is Seungcheol, and that makes it feel personal in a way you can't afford it to be.

The quad is bustling when you cross it, students streaming between buildings in that mid-morning rush that always feels vaguely chaotic. You keep your head down, but you can still feel the looks—some curious, some hostile, some just... speculative. A girl from one of your classes catches your eye and immediately looks away, her mouth tightening. Two cheerleaders huddle near the fountain, and one of them elbows the other as you pass, her voice carrying just enough for you to catch: "...seriously, what does he see in her?"

Your jaw tightens. You don't break stride.

This is the part they never understand. The part you've stopped trying to explain. You didn't set out to be the campus villain, didn't wake up one day and decide to become the girl that other girls warned their boyfriends about. You just... refused to be ashamed. Refused to apologise for wanting what you wanted, for taking what was offered, for enjoying sex the way men have always been allowed to enjoy it without consequence. And somewhere along the way, that refusal had calcified into a reputation, and the reputation had calcified into a persona, and now you're the slut, the threat, the cautionary tale—and it's easier to lean into it than to fight it. Easier to pretend you don't care than to admit that sometimes the isolation gnaws at you like hunger.

You'd had friends, once. Back in first year, before everything. Girls who'd invited you to study groups and coffee dates and nights out, who'd shared their make up with you and borrowed your clothes and told you their secrets. But one by one, they'd drifted away. Sometimes it was gradual—a slow cooling, texts left on read, invitations that stopped coming. Sometimes it was abrupt: a boyfriend who'd looked at you a little too long, a rumour that he'd been seen talking to you at a party, an accusation you hadn't even known you were defending yourself against.

The thing is, you've never fucked a taken man. Never. It's a line you've drawn in permanent marker, a rule you've never even been tempted to break. But it doesn't matter. The possibility is enough. The idea of you is enough. You're the stress test for every relationship on campus, and most women decide it's easier to cut you out than to trust their partners not to fail or to blame them for failing.

So you'd built something else. Something stranger and lonelier and, in its own weird way, functional. A network of men who knew the rules and respected them, who didn't ask for more than you were willing to give. Your roster. It was supposed to be simple. Transactional. Safe.

Only two of them had ever slipped past those defences and become something else entirely.

You find Wonwoo and Minghao in the library exactly where they always are at this time on a Monday—the big table in the south corner, near the windows, with a clear sightline to the door that Wonwoo insists helps him concentrate and Minghao insists is just his control issues manifesting. Wonwoo is already buried in a book, his glasses perched on his nose and his posture so perfect it makes your spine ache in sympathy. Minghao is sprawled in the chair beside him, scrolling through his phone with the elegant disinterest that only he can pull off, his silver earrings catching the light every time he moves.

They look up in unison when you approach, and their expressions shift into something that makes you immediately suspicious. It is especially infuriating that Wonwoo haven't even lifted his eyes from the book.

"No," you say, dropping your bag onto the table and slumping into the chair across from them. "Whatever you're about to say, no."

"We haven't said anything," Minghao points out, but the corner of his mouth is twitching.

"You're making a face."

"I'm not making a face."

"You're absolutely making a face," Wonwoo confirms while still reading. "But to be fair, you're also making a face. It's the Seungcheol face."

"I don't have a Seungcheol face."

"You definitely do," Minghao says, setting down his phone and leaning forward with his chin propped on his hand. You scowl but his eyes are sharp and knowing, dark and amused in a way that makes you want to squirm. "It's very specific. Equal parts horny and emotionally constipated. You've been wearing it since you walked in."

"I hate you both."

"You love us," Wonwoo says, and finally closes his book, marking his page with one of those little sticky tabs he carries in his bag. "We're the only ones who'll study with you and not try to get in your pants."

"Jihoon studies with me."

"Jihoon studies with you and then gets in your pants."

"That's—" You pause, and your mouth twitches despite yourself. "Fair, actually."

Minghao laughs—his laugh is a low, elegant sound that rings soothingly in the space between you three—and leans back in his chair. The late afternoon sun slants through the window behind him, catching the sharp angles of his face, the delicate line of his collarbones where his shirt hangs open. He's beautiful, objectively speaking—all fine bone structure and dancer's grace—and you'd tried to sleep with him a few times, early on, before you'd figured out that he was looking for something different from what you were offering. It had been good, because sex with Minghao is always good, but it had also been... quiet. Tender in a way that made your skin itch. Afterwards, he'd looked at you with those perceptive eyes and said, "You don't actually want this from me, do you?" and you'd been so startled by the accuracy of it that you'd laughed and felt a heavy rock drop off your shoulders.

Wonwoo had been similar. A single night, a year and a half ago, after a party where you'd both drunk too much and talked too little. You'd woken up in his bed with a pounding headache and a surprisingly gentle hand on your shoulder, a glass of water pressed into your palm, and a soft voice saying, "We don't have to do this again. But I'd still like to be your friend, if you want that."

You'd cried in front of him. Right in his bed, tears leaking down your cheeks before you could stop them, because he'd offered friendship without conditions and you'd realised, in that moment, how desperately starved for it you were. That happened exactly around the period of time when all your girl friends peaked in massively withdrawing and the new ones already heard too much to take you in without prejudice.

They've been your people ever since. The only two who see past the persona to the person underneath. The only two who call you on your bullshit and save you a seat at the library and don't look at you like you're either a threat or a conquest.

Which is why you know, with a sinking certainty, that they're not going to let this Seungcheol thing go.

"So," Minghao says, and the single syllable is loaded with enough implication to sink a ship. "Sunday morning."

Your stomach tightens. "What about it?"

"Interesting choice of cafe," Wonwoo observes, his voice dry as old paper. "Very public. Very... date-appropriate."

"It wasn't a date."

"Right." Minghao nods sagely. "You just happened to be holding hands with Choi Seungcheol over croissants at ten in the morning on a Sunday. So platonic and casual."

"We were hungry." You can hear how defensive you sound, and you hate it. "We'd just—we'd been at the party the night before, we crashed at mine, and in the morning we were hungry. It's not a big deal."

"The party where he dragged you away from Mingyu like a caveman claiming his territory," Wonwoo says, still in that same mild, unbothered tone. "I saw that, by the way. Everyone saw that. Mingyu complained about it for ten minutes."

"Mingyu's fine."

"Mingyu's very fine," Minghao agrees. "But that's not really the point. The point is that you went from caveman-territory-claiming to hand-holding-breakfast in less than twelve hours, and you're sitting here telling us it's nothing."

"It is nothing." You grab your notebook out of your bag with more force than necessary, flipping it open to a random page. "It's just sex. It's always been just sex. Breakfast doesn't change that."

"Doesn't it?" Minghao's voice is softer now, less teasing. He's looking at you with something that might be concern, and that's so much worse than the mockery. "Because you let him stay the night. You let him take you to breakfast. You held his hand in public, where anyone could see. Those are not things you do with casual hookups. Those are things you do with someone you're—"

"Don't," you warn, your voice coming out louder sharper than you intended. "Don't say it."

Wonwoo and Minghao exchange a glance—one of those silent, loaded looks they've perfected over years of friendship—and you want to throw your highlighters at both of them.

"Look," Wonwoo says, gentler, more careful. "We're not trying to push. You know we're not. But we've been watching you circle this thing with Seungcheol for almost a year now, and you've never looked at anyone the way you look at him. Not even close."

You stare down at your notebook. Your pen has left a small ink blot on the corner of the page, bleeding outward.

"He's different," you admit in a whisper, and the words feel like pulling teeth raw. "I don't know why. I don't know what it is. But he just... he gets under my skin. And I hate it. I hate how much I—" You cut yourself off abruptly, swallow hard. "I hate how much I think about him when he's not there. I hate that I keep breaking my own rules for him without even meaning to. I hate that the idea of him with someone else makes me feel like I'm going to crawl out of my own body."

There's a pause. The library hums around you—the distant click of keyboards, the rustle of pages turning, someone coughing softly a few aisles over.

"That sounds a lot like feelings," Minghao says, but his voice is kind.

"It's terrifying," you murmur.

Wonwoo reaches across the table and puts his hand over yours. His fingers are cool and dry, and the simple, platonic comfort of the gesture makes your throat ache.

"You're allowed to be scared," he says. "You're allowed to want things, too. They're not mutually exclusive."

You don't have an answer to that. So you just sit there, your hand under Wonwoo's, your chest full of something too big to name, and let yourself be scared.

Minghao breaks the silence first, his voice light but measured. "For what it's worth, I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you. I've known him for a while—we were in that ethics seminar together last semester, remember?—and he's not the type. He's disgustingly earnest, actually. It's a little off-putting."

You snort despite yourself, a wet, half-laughing sound. "Earnest?"

"Painfully so. He talked about responsibility and integrity for fifteen minutes straight during one discussion and the professor had to cut him off. It was very intense. Very captain-of-the-rugby-team energy."

"He scored two tries on Saturday," Wonwoo adds, withdrawing his hand and picking his book back up like the conversation hasn't just peeled back several layers of your emotional skin. "I don't know anything about rugby, but apparently that's impressive. Soonyoung mentioned it at least four times."

"Soonyoung mentions everything at least four times."

"True."

You look between them—Wonwoo with his glasses and his steady presence, Minghao with his sharp eyes and sharper wit—and something in your chest unclenches, just a little. This is what you'd been missing, in those days when your friends had peeled away one by one. This easy, uncomplicated affection. This space where you don't have to perform, don't have to pretend, don't have to be the persona you've built like armour around yourself.

"Thank you," you say quietly.

"For what?" Minghao asks, eyebrows raising.

"For not—" You gesture vaguely. "For not treating me like I'm contagious."

Something flickers across Minghao's expression, there and gone. "Yeah, well. We've seen how people treat you. It's bullshit."

"It's not entirely unearned," you admit. "I know what my reputation is."

"Your reputation," Wonwoo says glued to his book once more, "is largely the result of a double standard that neither me nor Hao subscribe to. You're a woman who enjoys the healthy pleasures of life and refuses to apologise for it. That doesn't make you dangerous. It makes you honest and real. The fact that most people can't handle that says more about them and the society we live in than it does about you."

You stare at him. He turns a page.

"That's—" You blink rapidly, your eyes suddenly stinging.

"It's just logic," he interferes, but the tips of his ears have gone slightly pink.

Minghao is watching you with something soft and knowing in his eyes. "You've got good people around you no matter what type of relationship you have with them," he says. "Seungcheol. Soonyoung. Jihoon. Even Mingyu, in his own himbo way. The others. You built something that works for you, and you found people who respect it. That's more than most people manage."

"It's not exactly traditional."

"Since when have you ever wanted to be traditional?"

You don't have an answer for that. You've never wanted to be traditional. Okay, at least not since you figured out the world assigned you a role and it wasn't what you wanted for yourself. Ever since then you've never wanted to be the girl who gets the picture-perfect white picket fence and the monogamous fairytale and the happily ever after (even though you don't really mind that last one, who does in their right mind?). You've just wanted to be free. To want what you want without shame, to take pleasure where you find it, to owe nothing to anyone except what you choose to give.

But Seungcheol—Seungcheol makes you want things you never thought you'd want again willingly. Makes you dream about Sunday mornings and hand-holding and someone to come home to. Makes you wonder if maybe the fairytale isn't the trap you always thought it was. Maybe it's just... a story. A story you get to write yourself, in your own way, with whoever you choose.

The thought is so terrifying you have to physically shake your head to dislodge it.

"Okay," you say, and your voice comes out steady while you feel everything tremble inside. "Enough feelings. I have a cognitive psych exam on Friday and I've retained approximately nothing from this morning's lecture because I was too busy dodging stares and whispers about my alleged date."

"Alleged," Minghao repeats, arching an eyebrow, his tone so unimpressed and dry you suddenly want to take a sip of water.

"Alleged."

"Sure." He pulls his notes toward him, but his smile is knowing. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You're about to fire back with something defensive once again when Wonwoo, who apparently got disracted to watch you and Minghao talk, pushes his glasses up his nose and opens his book again. "Start with Baddeley's working memory model," he says, and his voice has returned to its usual dry, academic tone, not without a hint of humor though. He lets you off the hook, even if it's just for now. "Central executive, phonological loop, visuospatial sketchpad. You're welcome."

You flip him off, but you're smiling, and when you finally bend your head over your notes and start to actually study, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest has loosened into something almost bearable.

Monday is still Monday. The whispers are still out there, spreading like ripples in a pond, and you know you're going to have to face them eventually. You're going to have to figure out what you're doing with Seungcheol, what you want, what you're willing to risk.

But first, the cognitive psych exam.

The messages from Seungcheol stop on Wednesday.

There is no fight or a slip up you can point to. They just... stop. Tuesday morning you'd woken up to a photo of a very disgruntled pigeon on the quad with the caption this is me when you're not around, and you'd laughed into your pillow, kicking your feet under the blanket, the sound of your giggle bright and unguarded in the quiet of your apartment. You'd typed back tragic, and he'd sent a string of crying emojis, and that had been that. Wednesday you'd sent him something about a professor with an absurd combover, and he'd replied LMAO six hours later, and you'd stared at those four letters for longer than you'd ever admit, trying not to admit to the growing unease twisting your stomach in knots as you kept waiting for the follow up that never came. Thursday was radio silence. By Friday morning you've stopped checking your phone every ten minutes, and the disappointment has settled into something dull and familiar—a low-grade ache at the base of your sternum, easy to ignore if you don't breathe too deep.

You expected it when you allowed yourself the weakness of letting him in closer than you usually have. You knew what you were signing up for.

You want to laugh, remembering Hao's words from Monday. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you. Disgustingly earnest, he'd said. Painfully so. You'd let yourself believe it, just a little. You'd let yourself unclench, open a crack more, imagine that maybe this time it could be different. Even though this is exactly how almost every week went about for the past several months. Only this time you allowed yourself this weakness. And now you're paying for it.

Stupid. You were so fucking stupid.

Friday afternoon finds you walking across campus toward the athletic complex, your bag slung over one shoulder and a half-formed plan in your head. Your subscribers are getting restless—the comments on your last video with Seungcheol have become something of a monument to collective thirst, hundreds of messages demanding Daddy's return, speculating about your relationship, leaving increasingly unhinged declarations of devotion. You'd posted a short clip from your archives on Tuesday night to tide them over—Seungcheol's face out of frame as he fucked you from behind with you in a puppy pose, just the sound of his grunts and the sight of his thick cock disappearing into your cunt—but that kind of content has a shelf life, and you're running out of it. You need fresh material to stock up on. You need him.

Or you did. Before he stopped texting. Before the silence stretched longer and longer.

Now you just need to ask, because asking is practical, because content is content and business is business, and you're not going to let whatever this is—this hurt, this disappointment, this thing you refuse to give name to—interfere with your personal little empire you've built. If he says yes, you'll film. If he says no, you'll figure something else out. Simple and transactional. Exactly the way it's supposed to be.

The rugby pitch is at the far end of the athletic complex, and practice must have just ended because there's a stream of players heading toward the locker rooms, sweaty and grass-stained and loud with the particular brand of masculine energy that comes from an hour of what you sincerely consider to be just sanctioned violence. You scan the crowd for Seungcheol's familiar bulk, his captain's armband, the way he carries himself with that easy authority that makes people unconsciously move out of his way.

You don't see him on the pitch. You don't see him near the benches.

You do see him, eventually, around the side of the building near the parking lot, pressed up against the brick wall with a girl's legs wrapped around his waist.

The first thing you register is his hands. One is tangled in her ponytail—blonde, glossy, the kind of sleek high ponytail that cheerleaders favor—playing with the hair-tie and the other is halfway up her skirt, fingers dimpling the bare skin of her thigh, and even from twenty meters away you can see the way his hips are grinding against her, the way she's moaning into his mouth, the way his tongue is so far down her throat it's a public indecency charge waiting to happen.

The second thing you register is that you can't breathe and your heart may have stopped beating entirely.

It's not like a punch. A punch would be quick, clean, a sharp burst of pain that fades. This is something else—something that creeps in like cold water, starting at your crown and sliding down your spine and pooling in your stomach until you're sick with it. Your vision goes dark at the edges. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms hard enough to sting. And somewhere beneath the shock, beneath the hurt, a hot and ugly rage ignites in your chest like a match struck against a rough surface.

You think about Minghao's words again. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you.

Fucking hilarious.

You should walk away. That's what a rational person would do—turn around, go home, nurse your wounds in private, and compose a very firm and very unbothered text about how you won't be needing his services anymore, thank you very much. You should be the bigger person. You should be unbothered, icy, the version of yourself that doesn't care about anyone or anything.

But you've never been rational when it comes to him. And you've never been good at walking away.

So instead, you start walking toward them.

Your footsteps are measured, unhurried, audible against the pavement with a rhythm that announces your approach before your voice does. The girl notices you first—her eyes flutter open, widen, and she makes a muffled sound against Seungcheol's mouth that's more surprise than pleasure. She pulls back, her face flushed and her lip gloss thoroughly ruined, and you allow yourself the brief satisfaction of watching her expression shift from dazed to confused to something that looks a lot like apprehension.

She's young, you realize. A first-year, probably. You can tell by the freshness of her face, the way it's still a little round and naive, the way she still has that deer-in-headlights look that upperclassmen lose somewhere around the middle of second year. She's pretty in a conventional way—big eyes, pouty lips, the kind of body that looks good in a cheerleading uniform—and she's looking at you like she's not sure whether to be scared or defiant.

Seungcheol, still oblivious, has his face buried in her neck. "Mm, don't stop," he mutters, and his voice is rough with arousal, the same voice he uses with you, the same voice that's murmured good girl and let me take care of you and missed you against your skin in the dark.

The sound of it makes your stomach lurch.

"Busy, are we?" you say, and your voice comes out light, almost pleasant, with just the faintest edge of something sharp and deadly beneath it.

Seungcheol's head snaps up so fast you you're surprised he doesn't break his neck.

The look on his face would be almost comical under different circumstances—shock, then recognition, then something that flickers dangerously close to guilt before it's smothered by a mask of composure. He pulls his hand out from under the girl's skirt so fast it's like he's been burned, and the girl makes a small, confused noise, her legs sliding down from around his waist until her feet touch the ground.

"Hey," he says, and his voice is strained. "Didn't—didn't know you were coming by."

"Obviously." You let your gaze slide from his face to the girl and back again, unhurried, assessing. Then you give the girl a once-over—deliberate, slow, the kind of look that makes people feel like they're being measured and found wanting. She shrinks back a little, her hand coming up to wipe at her smeared mouth, and you feel a savage little spike of satisfaction at how easily she folds. "So. This is who you've been busy with all week?"

Seungcheol's jaw tightens. "It's not—"

"Relax, Cheol." You wave a hand, the picture of breezy indifference. "I'm not here to cause a scene. I just came to ask you a question." You pause, letting the silence stretch, watching the muscle in his jaw jump the way it always does when he's uncomfortable and tense. "But I can see you're... occupied."

The girl looks between the two of you, her brow furrowing. "Who is this?" she asks, and her voice is higher than you expected, a little breathy. She's looking at Seungcheol with a proprietary tilt to her head that makes your molars grind together.

"No one important," you say before Seungcheol can answer, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost satisfying. "Just a friend. We do some work together." You let the word work hang in the air, loaded with innuendo, and the girl's eyes narrow slightly. Adorable.

"I was going to ask if you were free to film this weekend," you continue, directing your words at Seungcheol with the kind of casual professionalism you'd probably use with a business associate if you had any business to begin with. "My subscribers are getting antsy. They miss seeing you. The comments on our last video are frankly obscene." You smile, a sharp little curve of your lips that doesn't reach your eyes. "But I can see your schedule's pretty full."

Seungcheol opens his mouth, closes it. His hands are hanging awkwardly at his sides now, and he looks like a man who's been caught with his pants down—which, metaphorically speaking, he has. "I can—we can talk about this later."

"Oh, don't worry about it." You shrug, another gesture deliberately careless. "I'll find someone else. Mingyu's been asking to be in a video for ages, you know that. He's got the stamina for it… and the subscribers love a fresh face. Maybe it's time I give him what he's been wanting."

Something in Seungcheol's expression goes rigid. His eyes darken, and you can see the possessive thing that lives inside him stirring, the territorial caveman who dragged you away from Mingyu's lap at the party and pressed you against a door and told you you were his. Perfect. Let him choke on it.

"Mingyu," he repeats, flat.

"Yeah." You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. "He's got a great body. Nice cock, too. The viewers would eat him up." You let your gaze drift back to the cheerleader, who's now standing there with her arms crossed and her mouth pressed into a thin line, clearly trying to figure out why this random girl is talking to the guy she was just making out with about another guy's cock. You can't help a humourless smirk creeping in at the thought. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to... this." You gesture vaguely between them. "Enjoy your freshman, Cheol. Hope she's worth the crick in your neck."

The girl's mouth drops open indignantly. "Excuse me—"

"Have a good weekend," you say, and your smile is all teeth. Then you turn on your heel and walk away through the parking lot, your boots clicking against the pavement, your back straight, your head held high.

You don't look back. You don't let yourself. But you can feel his eyes on you the whole way, burning a hole between your shoulder blades, and you hope—viciously, childishly—that his erection has completely wilted and he's going to spend the rest of the evening trying to explain to a confused freshman why some random girl just talked to him about filming sex content.

You hope she asks questions he can't answer. You hope she realizes she's just a stand-in, a placeholder, a warm body he grabbed because he apparently thought you weren't available and he couldn't handle the silence any more than you could. You hope he goes home alone and jerks off to the memory of your mouth on his cock and feels like absolute shit about it.

But mostly, you hope the sick, hollow feeling in your stomach goes away before you have to be around other people.

It doesn't.

By the time you get back to your apartment, the triumph of your little performance has curdled into something darker. The rage is still there, simmering beneath your skin, but underneath it is hurt—raw and throbbing and so much bigger than you want it to be. You slam the door behind you, drop your bag on the floor, and stand in the middle of your living room with your hands shaking and your chest heaving and your eyes stinging with tears you refuse to let fall.

This is why you don't do feelings. This is exactly why. Feelings make you stupid and vulnerable and they give people the power to hurt you, and Seungcheol had promised—he'd fucking promised, hadn't he? I'm not going anywhere. I've got you. Liar. They're all liars in the end when you give them the upper hand.

You pull out your phone and scroll to your contacts with hands that are still trembling. You don't let yourself think. You just press the call button.

Soonyoung picks up on the second ring. "Hey, sweetheart," he says, and his voice is warm and easy, the way it always is. "What's up?"

"You free right now?"

"For you? Always." There's a pause, and then his voice shifts, dropping into something lower, more interested. "What do you need?"

"Bring Jihoon."

Another pause, longer this time. "Both of us?"

"Both of you. My place. Thirty minutes."

He doesn't ask if you're okay, and you're grateful for it. Soonyoung has always been good at reading a room, good at knowing when to push and when to let things lie. He just says, "We'll be there," and hangs up.

You toss your phone onto the couch and start undressing.

By the time they arrive, you've stripped down to a matching set of dark red lingerie—sheer lace that frames your tits nicely and a thong that barely covers anything—and you've lit a quite few candles in your bedroom and put on music, something low and thrumming with bass. You've also poured yourself a drink and you've downed half of it before the knock comes.

You open the door, and Soonyoung's eyes go dark the second he sees you. "Fuck, bunny. You look—"

"I know," you say, and pull him inside by the front of his shirt.

Jihoon is right behind him, quieter, his dark eyes sweeping over you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle as his eyebrows climb up in surprise. You barely get the door closed before Soonyoung's mouth is on your neck and Jihoon's hands are on your hips, sandwiching you between two warm, eager bodies.

"Someone's worked up," Jihoon murmurs against your shoulder, his voice low and knowing. "Rough week?"

"Don't want to talk." You turn your head and catch his mouth with yours, kissing him hard enough to bruise. "Just want to get fucked. Can you do that for me?"

"We can do that. We can do anything you want us to," Soonyoung says, and his hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your thong and finding your clit with practiced accuracy. You gasp into Jihoon's mouth, your hips bucking forward. "Fuck, she's getting wet already."

"Always so eager for us," Jihoon agrees, pulling back just enough to look at you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "That's what we love about you, gorgeous. No games. Just tell us what you need."

"Need both of you. Need to not think. Need to feel so full I can't breathe."

They exchange a glance over your shoulder—something quick and unreadable—and then Soonyoung is spinning you around and walking you backward toward the bedroom, his mouth never leaving your neck, his hands working at the clasp of your bra. Jihoon follows, stripping off his shirt as he goes, and by the time your back hits the mattress, all three of you are naked and the air is thick with the heat of skin and the sharp, musky scent of arousal.

Soonyoung settles between your thighs first, draping your legs over his shoulders and looking down at your cunt with something approaching reverence. "Prettiest pussy," he purrs, running a finger through your folds and watching the way you glisten in the candle- and lamplight. "Look at how wet you are, bunny. This all for us?"

"Yes," you gasp. "All for you."

It's not a lie. It's just not the whole truth. But that's not what tonight is about.

Soonyoung lowers his mouth to your soft pussy, and the first lick is broad and flat, from your dripping hole all the way up to your clit. You moan, your back arching off the mattress, and then Jihoon is straddling your chest, his cock thick and flushed and already leaking, tapping against your lips.

"Open up," he says, and his voice is rough but not unkind. "Want to feel that pretty throat."

You open your mouth and take him in.

The stretch is immediate and familiar, your jaw adjusting to his girth as he slides past your lips and over your tongue. You breathe through your nose and relax your throat the way you've learned to do, and he groans, his hips twitching forward just enough to push another inch deeper.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Your mouth so fucking good. So wet. So warm."

You can't answer—your throat is too full—but you moan around him, and the vibration makes him curse. Below you, Soonyoung is eating you out like he's starving, going all ravenous, his tongue plunging into your hole and then flicking up to your clit, alternating between broad, flat licks and sharp, targeted flicks that make your hips jerk against his face. He sucks your clit into his mouth and pulses his tongue against it, and the dual sensation of his mouth on your cunt and Jihoon's cock in your throat is so overwhelming that your brain starts to go hazy at the edges.

"There we go," Jihoon murmurs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. "There's that glassy look. That's what we want, isn't it? No thoughts. Just our cocks. Just how good we make you feel."

You hum around him, and he groans.

"Gonna fuck your throat now," he warns. "Tap my thigh if it's too much."

He doesn't wait for a response. His fingers thread into your hair, and then he's thrusting into your mouth in deep, steady strokes, the head of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every push. You gag around him, spit pooling and spilling from the corners of your mouth, and he groans like it's the hottest thing he's ever observed.

"Fuck, yes. Take it. Take all of it. Such a good little cocksucker."

Soonyoung pulls his mouth off your cunt just long enough to say, "She's dripping, Jihoon. Absolutely fucking soaked. You should see her pussy—it's clenching around nothing. She needs to be filled."

"Then fill her," Jihoon grunts, still fucking your mouth. "She's got three holes for a reason."

Soonyoung doesn't need to be told twice. He gets up to sit on his knees and positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He's gets himself slick with your wetness and his own spit, and when he pushes in, the stretch is so perfect it makes you keen around Jihoon's cock even with your mouth full.

"Fuuuuck," Soonyoung groans, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. "So tight. So fucking tight, bunny. This cunt was made for us."

He starts to move, and the rhythm is brutal-hard, fast strokes that drive the air from your lungs and make your tits bounce with every impact. Jihoon is still fucking your throat, and they find a tempo together, one thrusting into your cunt while the other pulls out of your mouth, so there's never a moment when you're not full. The wet, obscene sounds of your body fill the room—the slick squelch of your pussy getting pounded, the wet gagging of your throat, the sharp slap of skin against skin.

Spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and runs down your cheeks. Your mascara is definitely ruined. Your cunt is making sounds that would be embarrassing if you had the capacity to feel embarrassment, but you don't—you've gone somewhere else entirely, somewhere where the only things that exist are the two cocks using your body and the music still thrumming through the apartment and the desperate, animal need to be used until you can't think anymore.

"Switch," Jihoon says abruptly, pulling out of your mouth. You gasp for air, chest heaving, and before you can catch your breath, they're maneuvering you like a doll—Soonyoung rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him, Jihoon positioning himself behind you.

"Both holes," Soonyoung says, looking up at you with eyes that are practically black. "Think you can take us both, bunny? Think you can take my cock in that pretty cunt and Jihoon's in that tight little ass?"

"Yes," you gasp, scrambling with disoriented hands to present your tight puckered hole. "Yes, fuck, please—"

"Please what?" Jihoon's voice is rough in your ear, his chest pressed against your back, the hard length of his cock sliding between your ass cheeks. "Use your words, gorgeous. Tell us what you want."

"Want both of you. Want to be stuffed. Want to be so full I can't breathe, can't think, can't remember my own fucking name—"

"Good girl," Soonyoung growls, and pulls you down onto his cock.

The stretch is exquisite—deeper than before, the angle hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white and fuzzy. You're still adjusting to him when you feel Jihoon's fingers at your other entrance, slick with lube you didn't even see him grab from your nightstand drawer—probably too busy processing Soonyoung's dick impaling you,—working you open with careful, practiced pressure. One finger, then two, stretching your tight ring of muscle until you're gasping and pushing back against his hand.

"Ready?" he asks, and his voice is strained from watching you take his fingers while your pussy is already stretched on another cock.

"Ready."

He lines himself up with your anus and pushes in.

The sensation of being filled in both holes at once is indescribable—a fullness so complete it borders on pain but it's exactly what you wished for, two thick cocks separated by only a thin wall of muscle, moving inside you in counterpoint. You're spilling nonsence, you realize, strings of profanity and praise and broken moans falling from your lips. "Fuck, fuck, so full, so good, both of you, ah—please don't stop, don't ever stop—"

"Never gonna stop," Soonyoung grunts, thrusting up into you. "Gonna fuck this cunt forever. Gonna fill you up so good, bunny, gonna pump you so full of cum it's dripping out of you."

"Want that," you gasp. "Want your cum. Want both of you to cum inside me—"

"Fuck," Jihoon grits out, and starts moving faster, his hips slamming against your ass with wet, filthy slaps. Soonyoung matches his pace, and they're both pounding into you now, two cocks filling you completely, and your orgasm is building at the base of your spine like a scorching hot tidal wave, gathering force, unstoppable.

"Gonna come," you whimper. "Gonna come, please, please let me come—"

"Come for us, bunny," Soonyoung grunts, and reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers. "Come on our cocks. Show us how good we make you feel."

You shatter.

The orgasm is violent—a full-body convulsion that rips through you like a hurricane, your cunt clamping down on Soonyoung's cock and your ass clenching around Jihoon's in spasms so intense you can't breathe, can't see, can't do anything except scream yourself hoarse as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you exactly the way you wished it would.

They fuck you through it, relentless, and then Jihoon is groaning and burying himself deep, his cock pulsing as he pumps his load into your ass—hot and thick, filling you up, and the sensation of it tips you into another orgasm, smaller but no less devastating. Soonyoung follows a moment later, his hips snapping up into you as he comes with a guttural roar, his cum flooding your pussy in thick, hot spurts that you can feel painting your walls.

For a long moment, none of you move. You're sandwiched between them, still impaled on both cocks, your body trembling with aftershocks, your holes dripping with their cum. Your face is a mess of tears and spit and ruined makeup, and your throat is raw, and your jaw aches, and you feel...

Empty.

The moment your mind clears enough for a thought this realization hits you like a cold wave. You're lying there, filled in every possible way, soaked in sweat and cum and spit, and you feel absolutely, utterly hollow. Worse than before. Worse than when you saw him with that cheerleader, worse than when the messages stopped, worse than anything you've felt in a very long time.

Because it didn't work. None of it worked. Even with two cocks inside you, even with two sets of hands on your body, even with two voices praising you and two loads of cum warming you from the inside—you couldn't truly stop thinking about him. About Seungcheol. About the way his eyes had gone dark and possessive when you'd mentioned Mingyu. About the way he'd looked at you like you were the only person in the room at the party. About the way he washed your hair on Sunday morning while taking a shower with you. Everything is just a broken record in your head, spinning on repeat.

You blink, and a tear slides down your temple and into your hair. It startles you and you almost forget to take a breath.

"Hey," Soonyoung says, and his voice is soft now, post-coital and gentle. He reaches up and wipes the tear away with his thumb. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked. "I'm fine. Just... overwhelmed."

He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. That's not what you invited them for.

They pull out gently, and you wince at the sudden emptiness, at the wet trickle of cum sliding down your thighs. Jihoon disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth, and he cleans you up with the same quiet efficiency he's always had about him, touch careful, eyes unreadable.

"We'll head out," he says when he's done, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Unless you want us to stay."

"No," you say, too quickly. And then reach for them to compensate for it. Both take your hands, hold you with reassuring touches. "No, I'm good. Thank you. Both of you."

Soonyoung looks at you for a long moment, something flickering in his expression. Then he nods and pulls on his clothes. "Text us if you need anything, bunny."

"Will do."

They leave, and the door clicks shut behind them, and you're alone.

The apartment is suddenly too quiet. The pretty candles have burned down to stubs, and the music has stopped somewhere along the way, and the only sounds are your own ragged breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. You lie there in your bed, naked and sore and sticky with the remnants of someone else's pleasure, and you stare at the ceiling and you try very, very hard not to cry.

It doesn't work.

The tears come hot and fast, leaking from the corners of your eyes and dripping into your hair, and you don't even have the energy to wipe them away. You just lie there and let them fall, let the sobs build in your chest until they're shaking your whole body, ugly and uncontrollable and nothing like the poised, unbothered persona you've spent three years perfecting.

You think about Sunday morning. The cafe. His hand around yours. The way he'd wiped powdered sugar off your nose and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were something precious.

You think about his messages—the pigeon, the crying emojis, the mostly you—and the way they'd dried up like a river in a drought, leaving nothing behind but silence.

You think about his hands on that cheerleader, his mouth on her neck, and the way it had felt like being gutted alive.

You think about Minghao's words. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you.

You were right to be scared. You were right to keep your distance. You were right to build those walls, to keep everyone at arm's length, to never let anyone close enough to leave a mark.

Because look at what just happened. You let him in—just a crack, just a tiny crack—and now you're bleeding.

You curl onto your side and press your face into the pillow that still smells faintly of his shampoo, and you let yourself be pathetic, just for tonight. Tomorrow you'll put the persona back on. Tomorrow you'll be the campus slut, the heartbreaker, the man-eater, the girl who doesn't care. Tomorrow you'll film content with Mingyu or Soonyoung or whoever the fuck you want, and you'll moan and fuck and smile for the camera and for the whole world around, and you'll pretend that Seungcheol is just another name on your roster. The way he's supposed to be.

But tonight, you're just a girl with a broken heart she didn't even think she had anymore, crying into a pillow that still smells faintly like the boy who broke it.

The text from Seungcheol comes maybe an hour after you've finished crying, maybe two. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand while you're still curled in bed, still naked, still sticky with the cooling remnants of Soonyoung and Jihoon's cum drying on your thighs. You're too weak to force yourself into shower and for once in a lifetime you can't bring yourself to care.

can we talk?

You stare at the screen until it goes dark. Your eyes are swollen and your throat is raw and somewhere deep in your chest, something that was already cracked splits a little further.

You don't answer.

The second text comes Saturday morning.

i know you're pissed. i get it. just let me explain.

You're sitting at your kitchen counter, nursing a coffee that's gone cold, wearing an old t-shirt finally having taken the shower that brought you back to feeling human even if just a bit. You read the message three times. The first time, your stomach clenches. The second time, your eyes sting. The third time, something hardens inside you—a callus forming over the wound, protective and necessary.

You type back: Nothing to explain. You're free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. We never said otherwise.

His response is immediate, like he's been waiting by his phone: can we please just talk in person?

Busy this weekend. Maybe another time.

You don't say what you're busy with. You let him imagine it. Let him picture you with Mingyu, with Soonyoung, with anyone else on your roster who isn't him. Petty? Maybe. Cruel? Probably. But the image of his hands on that cheerleader is still burned into the back of your eyelids, and you're not above making him choke on the same thing he fed you. In fact, you are right on that level.

He sends a few more messages over the next couple of days. i miss you. Read, no reply. can i see you? Read, no reply. please, baby. Read, and the baby sends a spike of something hot and sharp through your ribs, but you still don't answer.

By Monday, your responses have settled into a rhythm of sanitised politeness. When he texts how was your weekend, you reply Fine, busy with stuff and nothing more. When he sends thinking about you, you leave it on read for six hours and then respond with Hope practice is going well like he's a colleague you vaguely tolerate. The messages are so neutral and so utterly bloodless—exactly the way they used to be, back before he'd carved out a space inside you that you didn't know you'd given him. Back when he was just another name on a list, just another warm body, just another cock to chase your pleasure with and send on his way. Actually, scratch that! Back then you had it in you to be sincerely friendly and flirty, to be pleasant. Now it's just hollow.

You're trying to go back to that easiness. You're trying so fucking hard.

It's not working.

The thing nobody tells you about letting someone in is that once they're in, you can't just evict them without causing a deep wound on your heart. They leave things behind—memories, habits, reminders. You catch yourself reaching for your phone to send him a stupid meme and then remembering. You catch yourself thinking Seungcheol would laugh at this and then remembering. You catch yourself waking up in the middle of the night with your hand stretched out toward the empty side of the bed, and the cold sheets under your palm feel like a rebuke.

But you don't text him when you get the urge. You don't call even when you really want to. You don't let yourself crack, because cracking is what got you here in the first place, bleeding out from a wound you'd handed him the knife to make.

Instead, you work.

Tuesday afternoon finds you in your bedroom with the lighting adjusted and the camera rolling and Mingyu's head between your thighs, his big hands gripping your hips hard enough to dimple the flesh, his tongue working your cunt with enthusiasm so strong it borders on devotional. You're propped up against your pillows, legs draped over his broad shoulders, one hand fisted in his dark hair while the other grips the sheets.

"Fuck, Gyu," you gasp, and your hips roll against his face without your permission. You know he loves that type of evidential validation mixed with verbal. "Your mouth—fuck, your mouth is so good—"

He hums against your clit, pleased, and the vibration sends a bolt of electricity straight up your spine, making you arch. His tongue is thick and relentless, alternating between broad flat licks that cover your entire cunt and sharp flicks against your swollen bud, working it in ways you never thought were possible, and he's got two fingers curled inside you, stroking that spot on your inner wall with insistent accuracy. The wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy and his fingers inside it fill the room—obscene and slurping and squelching and perfect for the camera angled at the foot of the bed.

"Taste so fucking good," he groans, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. His chin is glistening with your wetness, his lips swollen and pink, and he looks up at you through his lashes with those eager puppy eyes that have always made you feel like the center of the universe. "Could eat this cunt forever. Swear to god."

"Don't stop," you whimper, grinding down against his face. "Please yes, more of—yes yes yes, fuck, Gyu, I'm so close—"

He doesn't stop. He doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and stroking his tongue against it while his fingers fuck into you faster, deeper, and the orgasm hits you in a sudden savage wave that makes your back arch off the mattress and your thighs clamp around his head. You come with a broken cry, your cunt spasming around his fingers, and he works you through it with gentle laps of his tongue until you're twitching and whimpering and pushing at his forehead with whines and pitiful helpless giggles.

"Fuck," you breathe, chest heaving, shaking with breathless laughs. "Okay. Okay, your turn."

Mingyu grins up at you, his mouth still wet with you, and crawls up your body with the kind of athletic grace that always makes your stomach flip. He's so fucking big—broad shoulders and thick arms and a chest that blocks out the light when he hovers over you—and when he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue.

"How do you want me?" he asks, and his voice has gone rough with want.

"Want to ride you," you tell him, pushing at his shoulder until he rolls onto his back. "Want to watch your face when you fill me up."

He groans, low and wrecked, his cock twitching against his stomach where it's lying thick and flushed and already leaking. You swing a leg over his hips and position yourself above him, your hand wrapping around his shaft to guide him to your entrance. He's frankly bigger than Seungcheol—not as girthy maybe, but he's longer and still really thick, and that combination makes your jaw and throat ache just looking at it—and when you sink down onto him, the stretch is so intense you have to pause halfway, your breath catching in your throat.

"Easy," Mingyu murmurs, his hands finding your hips and gripping tight to support your weight. "Take your time, pretty. Don't hurt yourself."

"I can take it," you say competitively, and push down the rest of the way.

The sound he makes is halfway between a groan and a whimper, his head pressing back into the pillow, the tendons in his neck standing out. You brace your hands on his chest—solid muscle and warm skin that looks even hotter with his natural tan—and start to move, a slow grind that rolls your hips against his, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you.

"Hell, fucking hell," he breathes, staring up at you with glazed eyes. "You're so tight. So wet. How are you always so fucking wet?"

"Maybe you just bring it out of me," you say with a sly wink, and pick up the pace.

The rhythm builds quickly—faster, harder, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room along with your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bedframe beneath you. Your tits bounce with every thrust, and Mingyu reaches up to cup them, thumbs circling your nipples and pinching them between his fingers until they pop out of their hiding. The dual sensation of his cock driving into you and his hands on your chest makes you gasp, your rhythm faltering for just a moment before you find it again.

"Love your curves," he grunts. "Love touching them. You're so soft and pretty, beautiful."

"Gyu—"

"Gonna come," he warns, his hips starting to buck up into you, meeting your rhythm with desperate little thrusts. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside," you gasp. "Cum inside me. Want to feel it."

Mingyu groans, and then he's surging up, one arm banding around your waist to pull you tight against him as he buries himself deep and comes. His cock pulses inside you so tanglibly it makes you gasp in surprise—you can never get used to that. He's flooding your cunt with hot thick cum, and the sensation of it—the warmth spreading through your belly, the way he's groaning against your shoulder like you've broken him—sends you over the edge for a second time, your cunt clamping down around his shaft and milking him through the aftershocks.

You slump against his chest, both of you gasping, his cock still nestled inside you. His hand comes up to stroke your hair, gentle despite the bruising grip he'd had on your hip a moment ago. His arms are big and warm and they wrap around you so nicely you feel yourself drift away a little.

"Good?" he asks, and there's something soft in his voice.

"Yeah," you say. "Really good."

And it was. It was good. Mingyu is always good—enthusiastic and eager and athletic in ways that leave you with jelly legs. But as you lie there, sweaty and sated and full of his cum, you can't help but notice that the hollow ache in your chest hasn't gone anywhere. It's still there, nestled behind your sternum like a stone, and no amount of orgasms seems to dislodge it.

Mingyu stays for a bit—helps you clean up, raids your fridge and yaps about his sister being a pain in his ass lately, presses a kiss to your forehead before he leaves—and you let him, because Mingyu is easy and uncomplicated and he's never once looked at you like he's thinking about keeping you. But after he's gone, the apartment is too quiet yet again, and you find yourself staring at your phone, thumb hovering over Seungcheol's contact. It's instinct to reach of him at this point. And you're going to have a hell of a time unrooting it.

So you don't text him. You open your filming schedule instead and start filling in slots that were initially all reserved to him and him alone.

Wednesday is Soonyoung. You film a scene with him in the morning—him fucking you over your desk while the natural light streams through the window, his hips slamming against your ass with a rhythm that's part dancer's precision and part animal hunger—and then you save the footage to your hard drive without posting it. You're not sure yet what you're going to do with all this content. You just know you need to keep making it, keep stocking up, keep yourself busy enough that you don't have time to think about anything else.

"You're different today," Soonyoung says afterward, when you're both lying on your bed, cooling down. His head is propped on his hand and he's looking at you with those sharp eyes that always see more than you want them to.

"Different how?"

"I don't know." He reaches out and traces a finger down your arm, light and idle. "Quieter. More... focused."

"I'm always focused during filming, you just don't know because you never filmed with me."

"I see." He pauses, and you can feel the question coming before he asks it. "Is this about Seungcheol?"

Your jaw tightens, you can't keep the defensiveness out of your voice and you can't meet his eyes either. "Why would it be about Seungcheol?"

Soonyoung shrugs, but his gaze is still too knowing. "Word gets around. Jihoon talks to Mingyu who talks to Seungcheol, and Minghao mentioned something about you and Cheol having a thing, and then Cheol showed up to practice on Monday looking like someone kicked his puppy, and now you're filming with me on a Wednesday afternoon instead of him." He ticks the points off on his fingers and you feel increasingly more embarrassed and defensive. "I'm not stupid."

"There's no thing," you say, and your voice comes out flatter than you'd like. You know it gives you away. But with Soonyoung anything can give you away, the guy has that sixth sense on max stats. "We hook up. He hooks up with someone else, I go through my roster like I always did. That's the end of it. Nothing special. I just needed content and he was busy, so I figured I'd remember that I actually have options."

"Mhm." Soonyoung doesn't look convinced. "And how's that working out for you?"

You don't answer. Just huff in irritation and roll onto your side, facing away from him petulantly, and after a moment he sighs and presses a kiss to your shoulder and gets up to leave.

Thursday is Jihoon, quieter and more intense, his dark eyes tracking your every movement as you ride him on the couch, your hands braced on his shoulders and your head thrown back, doing your best angles for the camera. He doesn't talk as much as the others—Jihoon has always been more about action than words—but when he does speak, it's measured, his voice rough with the effort of holding back.

"You're using me," he says, and it's not an accusation. Just an observation.

Your rhythm stutters. "What?"

"Using me. Using Soonyoung. Using Mingyu." His hands tighten on your hips, guiding you back into motion. "You're trying to fuck something out of your system. I get it. Just... be careful, okay? Whatever it is, don't let it eat you alive."

You stare down at him, at his steady gaze and the unexpected gentleness in his voice, and for a moment you want to tell him everything—the breakfast, the cheerleader, the way Seungcheol's messages had stopped and then started again, the way you can't close your eyes without seeing his face. But that's not what Jihoon is here for. That's not the arrangement you have.

So instead you take a mental note to cut this little moment from the footage later and then lean down and kiss him, hard and desperate, and you fuck him until neither of you can think anymore, and when he comes inside you—thick and hot, his groan muffled against your throat—you let the sensation drown out everything else for a few blessed seconds.

Afterwards, you add his footage to the growing folder on your hard drive. You still don't know if you'll post any of it.

Friday morning, you meet Wonwoo and Minghao at the campus coffee shop—it is cramped and small, tucked between the library and the humanities building, with exposed brick interior and stylish mismatched chairs and the constant hiss of the coffee machine. It's early, the sun is still watery and pale through the windows, and you're on your second almond latte by the time they both arrive.

Minghao slides into the seat across from you with that fluid grace that always makes you feel vaguely graceless in comparison. Wonwoo settles beside him, more reserved, setting his coffee down with the careful precision of someone who's never spilled or knocked off a thing in his life.

"So," Minghao says, and the single syllable is loaded with enough implication to fill a novel.

"So," you echo, and take a pointed sip of your latte, aiming for something nonchalant and lazy.

"We heard," Wonwoo says, and his voice is mild but his eyes are sharp behind his glasses. He begins to list off, matching your vibe. "About last week. Soonyoung and Jihoon. Then this Tuesday with Mingyu… and Wednesday with Soonyoung, and Thursday with… Jihoon again, I believe."

"Ah." You set your cup down, keeping your expression carefully neutral. "That."

"Yeah, that." Minghao leans forward, his chin propped on his hand. "Care to tell us what happened? Because last we talked, you were doing the emotional constipation dance about Seungcheol, and now suddenly you're having threesomes like it's second year again."

You shrug, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in the vicinity of brittle. "Nothing to tell. I wanted to film content, Seungcheol was busy, so I called Soonyoung and Jihoon instead. And Mingyu, he wanted to be in one of my videos for a long time now anyway. It's not a big deal."

"Seungcheol was busy," Wonwoo repeats, and his tone is dryer than the Sahara.

"Apparently."

"Busy with what?"

"I don't know, Wonwoo. I didn't ask." You pick up your almond milk latte again, more for something to do with your hands than because you actually want more caffeine. "Look, it doesn't matter. The point is that I remembered I have options. I've got a whole roster of people who are more than willing to help me out, and I don't need to wait around for one guy to make time for me. That's the whole point of the roster. That's literally why I built it."

Minghao and Wonwoo exchange a glance—another one of those silent, loaded looks that you've come to recognise as their wordless way of saying she's full of shit. You hate when they do it in front of you.

"You saw him with someone else, didn't you," Minghao says. It's not a question.

Your jaw tightens. "Who told you?"

"No one. I'm just good at guessing." He tilts his head, his earrings catching the light. "Also, you're doing that thing where you pretend you don't care, but you're gripping your cup so hard your knuckles are white."

You look down. Your knuckles are, indeed, white. You force your fingers to relax.

"It's fine," you say, sounding so much steadier than you feel. You're almost proud of it. "We weren't exclusive. We were never exclusive. He can fuck whoever he wants. I can fuck whoever I want. That's how this works. That's how it's always worked."

"Except that's not how it's been working," Wonwoo says quietly. "Not for months. You stopped seeing most of your roster. He stopped seeing anyone but you. You were spending weekends together and holding hands in cafes and—"

"And none of that meant anything," you cut in, sharper than you intended to allow yourself to. "Clearly. Because the second he thought I wasn't available, he found a freshman cheerleader to stick his tongue down her throat. Which is fine. It's totally fine. I'm not upset about it."

"You're definitely upset about it," Minghao says.

"I'm not."

"You're doing the Seungcheol face."

"I don't have a—" Your back goes stiff and your voice begins to raise and you immediately stop, exhale hard through your nose. "Okay. You know what? Fine. I was upset. I was upset for like, a few hours. And then I got over it, because I remembered that I don't do relationships and I don't do feelings and I don't need some guy to validate my existence. It was just a good reminder of that, so I called Soonyoung and Jihoon, and Mingyu because I wanted to have a good time, and I had a good time, and that's the end of it. Can we please talk about something else now?"

There's a pause. Minghao is looking at you with something that's equal parts exasperation and affection, and Wonwoo is doing that thing where he pushes his glasses up his nose and says nothing but somehow communicates everything.

"You know it's okay to be hurt, right?" Wonwoo says eventually. "You're allowed to have feelings. You're allowed to want things. Pretending you don't isn't going to make it hurt less."

"It'll make it hurt less than the alternative."

"The alternative being... what? Actually admitting you care about him?"

"Admitting I care about him and then getting my heart broken when he inevitably gets bored or finds someone better or decides I'm not worth the hassle." The words come out before you can think better of it, ugly and honest in a way you haven't let yourself be all week. "That's how it goes. That's how it always goes. People leave. People get tired of you. People decide you're too much work or too much drama or too much whatever, and they leave. And I'm not—I can't—"

Your voice cracks. You stop, swallow hard, and stare at the dregs of your latte like they might contain the answers to the universe. No crying in public, no crying in public, no crying in public no crying in—

Minghao's hand covers yours on the table. His fingers are cool and soft, the rings on them pressing into your skin.

"He's not your bullies from middle school," he says quietly. "He's not your fake friends from high school or the ones who left when you started becoming more of yourself and less of what everyone thought you should be. He's not any of the people who hurt you before. He's Seungcheol. And I told you—he's disgustingly earnest. He's probably been moping all week."

"Then why did he stop texting me?" The question comes out smaller than you want it to, more vulnerable. "Why did he just—disappear for days and then I find him with someone else?"

"I don't know," Minghao admits. "But I think maybe you should ask him instead of trying to fuck the hurt away."

You pull your hand out from under his and cross your arms. "I'm not trying to fuck the hurt away. I'm filming content. It's what I do. My subscribers have been asking for variety."

"Uh huh." Wonwoo's tone is still bone-dry. He's so unimpressed with your antics you begin to feel remotely embarrassed. "And the fact that you've filmed with three different people in the past week and posted none of it?"

"I'm stocking up."

"You're avoiding."

"I'm not."

"You're a mess," Minghao says, but his voice is fond. "A complete and total mess. And we love you anyway."

You want to argue. You want to tell them they're wrong, that you're fine, that you're in complete control of your life and your emotions and your roster. But the words won't come, because they're not wrong, and you're so tired of pretending you're not exhausted.

"If he knows about Friday," you say instead, quieter, "if Soonyoung and Jihoon talked and Mingyu talked and everyone talked... Seungcheol knows too, doesn't he."

"Probably," Wonwoo says. "That group gossips worse than a knitting circle."

Something flickers in your chest—grim satisfaction, maybe, or something darker. You think about Seungcheol hearing about your threesome or any later encounter. You think about him picturing you with Soonyoung and Jihoon. You think about the possessive, territorial thing that lives inside him, the caveman who dragged you away from Mingyu and pressed you against a door and told you you were his.

You want to let him choke on it. Let him feel even a fraction of what you felt when you saw his hands on that cheerleader.

But the satisfaction curdles almost as soon as it arrives, leaving behind the same hollow ache that's been living in your chest since Friday afternoon. It doesn't feel like victory. It just feels like more of the same emptiness, dressed up in different clothes.

You leave the coffee shop with a promise to actually study this weekend instead of just doing it for the sake of distraction and you walk back to your apartment through the thin autumn sunshine, your hands shoved in your pockets and your head full of noise.

That night, you film a solo scene with your favourite vibrator, and you come twice with your face pressed into the pillow that still somehow smells like Seungcheol, and when you're done you lie in the dark and stare at the ceiling and try very hard not to think about anything at all.

By the end of the next week, you've stockpiled enough content to keep your subscribers happy for a few months on end. Solo scenes, paired scenes, one threesome footage that you still haven't decided whether to post or delete entirely. Your hard drive is full, your body is sore in ways that should be satisfying, and you're still waking up every morning with the same dull ache behind your sternum, the same reflexive reach for your phone, the same disappointment when the only messages are from people who aren't him.

You're handling it. You're fine. You're the campus gooner dream, the man-eater, the girl who doesn't care about anyone or anything, and you've got a roster full of gorgeous men who are more than happy to fill whatever role you need them to fill.

But at night, when the camera is off and the only thing in your bed is the memory of his arms around you, you press your face into that stupid pillow and you breathe in the fading scent of his shampoo and perfume and you wonder if he's thinking about you too.

You don't text him. You don't call. You don't crack.

But you want to. God, you want to.

And that's the worst part of all.

You've been live for forty-three minutes when the apartment door opens.

The stream started simple enough—you, your bedroom, the soft amber glow of the ring light you've positioned just off-frame, and the familiar hum of arousal building slow and honey-thick in your lower belly. You'd announced the stream on Twitter an hour before going live, a casual "come keep me company tonight?" with a photo of yourself in the black lace set that always drives your subscribers feral, the one with the filthy cutouts that frame your nipples and leave very little to the imagination. By the time you hit "Start Streaming," you'd already amassed a waiting room of nearly two thousand people, their usernames scrolling past in a blur of anticipation.

Now that number has swelled past five thousand, the chat flying at a pace that makes it nearly impossible to read individual messages, and you're sprawled across your bed in a pose that's equal parts lazy and calculated—propped against your pillows, legs spread just enough to show the damp spot darkening the centre of your panties, one hand trailing idly up and down your stomach while you read comments aloud in the breathy, teasing voice that's become your signature.

"Is that new lingerie? It's so pretty on you." You read it with a small, pleased smile, tilting your head toward the camera. "It's not new, actually. Had this set for a while. Just don't wear it often because—" you pluck at the waistband of your thong, letting it snap back against your hip, “—it's a pain to take off and put on. Too many little straps." A pause, a knowing glance at the lens. "But I figured you guys were worth the effort."

The chat explodes with heart emojis and flame emojis and a flood of tips that make your phone buzz on the nightstand. You let your smile curve wider, genuine despite yourself, because this part never gets old—the rush of being wanted, the validation of knowing thousands of people are getting off to you right now, the power of it.

"Let's see," you murmur, scrolling through the comments with your free hand. "What else are we talking about tonight?"

"Posted the new guy video finally I see"

"Ah, yeah." You stretch, arching your back just enough to make your tits press against the lace, and catch the way your nipples are already tightening beneath the fabric. "Posted that one on Tuesday. You guys seemed to like it—the views went kind of insane, actually. What did you think?"

A cascade of responses floods the chat. "He's so big" / "New daddy??" / "Where's the original daddy tho" / "Love seeing you with new people" / "When is Seungcheol coming back????" / "No one fucks you like he does" / "are you two still together??"

The mention of his name lands like a papercut—small, sharp, surprisingly painful. You've gotten better at not reacting, but you still feel the way your smile tightens at the corners, the way your hand pauses mid-stroke on your stomach. You've been seeing his name in the comments all week, ever since the Mingyu video dropped. Some of your viewers are obsessively loyal to him, the way people get attached to characters in a show they've been watching for months, and they've been demanding to know when he's coming back, why you're filming with other people, whether something happened between you.

You can't tell them the truth. You can barely admit the truth to yourself.

"We're mixing things up," you say, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere luckily close enough. "I was starting to feel like my content was getting a little stale, you know? Same angles, same faces. Figured variety would be good for everyone." You let your hand drift lower, fingers brushing over the damp spot on your panties, and let out a soft, theatrical sigh. "Mingyu was fun, right? He's got great energy. And there's someone else who's been wanting to film for ages, so you might see him soon too, we already recorded some stuff."

"But what about Seungcheol??" / "We miss daddy" / "Is he still on the roster or what" / "You two were so hot together please say he's coming back"

Your jaw tightens. You keep your expression pleasant through sheer force of will help of god. "Seungcheol's great," you say, and you feel like you swallowed some sludge and now the remnants of it won't wash off your tongue. "We're still... we're still friends. He's just busy with rugby stuff. You know how it is." You shrug, a little too casual. "I'm not his only priority. He's got a lot going on."

You don't say he's got a freshman cheerleader to keep him occupied. You don't say he stopped texting me after the best weekend of my life and then I caught him with his hand up someone else's skirt. And you certainly don't say I can't close my eyes without seeing his face and I hate him for it and I miss him so much I feel like I'm drowning.

You just smile, and reach for the vibrator on your nightstand, and say, "Anyway. Enough about boys who aren't here. Let's talk about what we're actually going to do tonight."

The chat, mercifully, lets you redirect. Questions pour in—"Are you going to use the pink one?" / "Please ride the dildo we never see you ride it anymore :(" / "Show us how wet you are first" / "Can you talk about what you think about when you touch yourself"—and you let yourself sink back into the performance, the familiar rhythm of teasing and pleasing and giving them just enough to keep them begging for more.

You're forty minutes in when it happens.

You've worked yourself up slowly, deliberately, drawing it out because you know the anticipation drives your tips up. Your panties are soaked through now, the dark lace glistening with wetness and clinging to your cunt, and you've pushed the cups of your bra down so your tits spill over the top, your nipples hard and sensitive from the cool air of the bedroom. You've got the vibrator pressed against your inner thigh, not quite where you need it, and you're reading a particularly unhinged comment about what someone wants to do to you while you trace lazy circles on your clit through the fabric.

"Someone's feeling creative tonight," you're saying through a chuckle, your voice a little breathier than it was before, a little more genuine. "This one says they want to—"

The apartment door opens.

You hear it clearly over the music—the click of the lock disengaging, the soft creak of hinges, the heavy footsteps in your entryway, the door shutting closed—and your entire body goes rigid. Your heart lurches into your throat, adrenaline flooding your system before your brain has time to catch up, and for one wild, stupid second you think someone's breaking in—

And then you remember.

The key.

Your key. The spare you'd given him months ago, in a moment of trust you'd never quite been able to bring yourself to revoke, not even during the worst of the silence. The key he's never used without asking before, because Seungcheol, for all his possessive caveman tendencies, has always been careful about your boundaries. Has always been respectful. Has always waited for you to invite him in.

Until now, apparently.

Your head snaps toward the bedroom doorway just as he appears in it—broad and solid and so fucking familiar it makes your chest ache. He's wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair is damp, pushed back off his forehead like he just showered. His chest is rising and falling a little too fast, like he ran here, like he saw your notification and didn't stop to think before coming over.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes sweep over you—sprawled on the bed in your ruined lingerie, vibrator in hand, five thousand people watching—with an expression that's equal parts hunger and something softer that looks terrifyingly like hope.

"Started without me," he says, and his voice is casual, almost lazy, but you can hear the tension underneath it. "That's cold, baby."

You glare at him.

You don't mean to. You know, on some distant rational level, that you should be performing right now—should be pasting on a smile, feigning pleasant surprise, playing the role of the girl who's delighted her favourite co-star has shown up unannounced. But your body reacts before your brain can intervene, and the look you throw him is pure venom, scorching and clawing and full of every single thing you've been choking on for the past weeks.

The chat notices.

"LMAOOO THAT LOOK" / "she's PISSED" / "wait is there drama??" / "omg did they break up???" / "She looks like she wants to murder him" / "DADDY'S BACK THOUGH" / "DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY"

You don't read any of it. Your eyes are locked on Seungcheol, and he's staring right back at you, and the air between you is so thick with unspoken things you could cut it with a knife and still choke on it. His jaw tightens at your glare—he saw it, he definitely saw it—but he doesn't flinch. Doesn't retreat. Instead, he pushes off the doorframe and walks toward the bed with that easy, rolling gait that's always made your mouth water, and your traitorous cunt clenches around nothing even as your hands itch to curl into fists.

"What are you doing here," you say, and it comes out flat, barely a question.

"Saw you were live." He settles onto the edge of the bed like he belongs there, like he's never left, like the past three weeks haven't happened. His eyes flick to the camera, then back to you, and his mouth curves into that half-smile that makes his dimple appear. "Thought I'd keep you company. You don't mind, do you?"

You mind. You mind so fucking much. But he's already turning to the camera, already addressing your audience with the ease of someone who knows exactly how much they love him, and you're trapped—because if you tell him to leave now, if you cause a scene on camera, the questions will never stop. The speculation will explode. Every single person watching will know something is wrong, and the carefully constructed narrative you've been maintaining—we're still friends, he's just busy, nothing happened—will crumble like wet paper.

"Of course not," you manage, and your voice is almost steady. Almost. "Wasn't expecting you, that's all."

"That's the point of a surprise." He leans closer, close enough that you can smell him—soap and something woodsy, the cologne he's worn as long as you've known him—and your stomach flips. His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek, and the gentleness of it makes your throat tight. "Missed you," he murmurs low enough that the camera might not catch it.

You want to bite his hand. You want to press your face into his palm and cry. You want to scream at him until your voice gives out and then kiss him until neither of you can breathe.

You do none of those things. You just hold his gaze, and let him see the hurt still simmering there, and say nothing.

The chat, oblivious to the nuances of your silent standoff, is losing its collective mind.

"THE WAY HE TOUCHED HER FACE" / "i'm literally crying they're so cute" / "MISSED YOU 😭😭😭" / "He's so down bad for her look at those eyes" / "Why does she look like she's about to cry though" / "maybe she's just emotional" / "DADDY CAME HOME" / "fuck her already PLEASE" / 'I'm throwing money at the screen TAKE IT" / "someone tipped $100 Imaoooooo"

Seungcheol glances at the chat scrolling on the monitor positioned just off-camera, and his smile widens. "You guys are really excited, huh? Been a while since I was on one of these."

A fresh explosion of caps-lock and emojis. He reads a few aloud, his voice dropping into that lower register he uses when he's playing up the Daddy persona for the audience—"We missed you, Daddy", "Please never leave again", "The content hasn't been the same without you”—and you watch him work with a mixture of resentment and grudging admiration. He's good at this. He's always been good at this. The persona fits him like a second skin, and the viewers eat it up, and somewhere beneath the anger you remember that the first time you ever filmed together, he'd been so nervous his hands had shaken. He'd hidden it well, but you'd felt the tremor in his fingers when he'd touched you, and you'd thought—Oh. He's not just doing this for the camera experience. He actually wants it for me.

You'd been so naive. So willing to believe.

“—right, baby?" Seungcheol's voice cuts through your thoughts, and you blink, realizing he's asked you a question you didn't hear.

"What?"

"I said, you've been having fun without me, haven't you? New videos. New faces." His tone is light, teasing, but his eyes are dark and serious, searching your face for something you're not sure you want him to find. "Mingyu, huh? That's who you replaced me with?"

"I didn't replace you." It comes out colder than you intended, and you see his expression flicker—hurt, maybe, or guilt, or both. You force yourself to soften, to remember the camera, to remember the thousands of people watching this exchange with bated breath. "I told everyone earlier. I'm just mixing things up. Variety is good for content."

"Variety." He repeats the word like it tastes bitter. "Right."

The silence that follows is heavy, loaded, the kind of silence that makes the chat go wild with speculation. You need to do something—need to take control of the situation before it spirals into territory you can't recover from—so you do the only thing you can think of. You reach for him.

Your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, and you pull him toward you with more force than necessary, your mouth crashing against his in a kiss that's more teeth than lips. He makes a sound of surprise against your mouth, his hands coming up to grip your hips, and then he's kissing you back just as hard, just as desperate, the familiar slide of his tongue against yours sending a bolt of heat straight to your cunt. And you feel the unwanted relief of something tight loosening in your chest just enough to allow you an easier breath.

The chat goes absolutely feral.

"FUCK YES" / "FINALLYYYYY" / "That was so aggressive Imaooooo" / "she's marking her territory" / "THE TENSION WAS INSANE" / "I'm so hard rn" / "look at the way he grabbed her" / "they're literally made for each other" / "DADDY IS HOME"

Your entire world has narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the solid weight of his body pressing you back against the pillows, the way his hands are already sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts where they're still spilling out of your bra. He kisses you like he's starving, like you're the only thing that's ever satisfied his hunger, and you hate how much you've missed this, hate how your body responds to him on instinct, hate that even now—even after everything—your thighs are falling open to make room for him as he leans you backwards onto the mattress and your hips are rocking up to meet the bulge already straining against his sweatpants.

But you don't relax into it the way you usually do. You can't. Every time you start to soften, to yield, your brain supplies an image—his hand under that cheerleader's skirt, his mouth on her neck, his voice rough with arousal as he told her don't stop—and the rage spikes fresh and hot in your chest, and your fingers curl into claws against his back.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed against yours, his chest heaving. "Baby—"

"Don't." You don't know what you're warning him against. Don't apologize. Don't explain. Don't pretend nothing happened. You just know you can't hear his voice say your name right now without shattering.

His jaw tightens, but he nods, just barely. "Okay." He kisses your forehead, soft and careful, and it makes your eyes sting. "Okay. Whatever you need."

What you need is for him to hurt the way you've been hurting. What you need is for him to understand what he did to you. What you need is for him to hold you and never let go and promise that he'll never, ever put his hands on someone else again.

You can't say any of that. So instead you kiss him again, and this time you bite his lower lip. Hard.

He hisses, his whole body tensing, and you taste copper—the bright, metallic tang of blood welling up where your teeth broke the delicate skin. His doe eyes fly open, dark and shocked, but he doesn't pull away. Doesn't push you off. Just stares at you with something that looks almost like understanding, his tongue darting out to touch the small wound, smearing red across his lip.

"Okay," he says again, quieter this time. "I deserve that."

You don't answer. You just sink your nails into his back and drag them down, hard enough to leave raised red lines that' probably bruise by morning, and he groans—a low, wrecked sound that's half pain and half pleasure—and buries his face in your neck.

"Whatever you need," he repeats against your skin, and his voice is ragged now, strained with something that sounds a lot like guilt. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

You want to scream at him. You left! You stopped texting. You had your hands all over some freshman bitch with a ponytail and you didn't even think about me! But the words won't come, stuck somewhere between your throat and your tongue, so instead you dig your nails in harder and feel the way his muscles jump beneath his skin, and you tell yourself this is enough. This is revenge. This is you hurting him the way he hurt you.

It doesn't feel like revenge. It just feels like more of the same hollow ache masterfully masked yet again.

"Okay is it just me or is this really intense" / "She's literally clawing him up" / "the way he's just taking it though" / "what the hell happened between them" / "I feel like I'm watching something private" / "this is hotter than any porn or sex scene i've ever watched or read" / "the tension is INSANE" / "why am i crying"

Seungcheol lifts his head from your neck and looks at you. His lip is still bleeding, a small bead of red welling up and threatening to drip down his chin right before he licks it off, and his back is on fire from the scratches you've carved into it, and his eyes are so soft, so impossibly tender, that it makes your chest crack open.

"I'm sorry," he says, and the words are barely a whisper, meant only for you. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby. I was stupid and scared and I fucked up, and I know you're angry, and you have every right to be angry, but please—please just let me—"

"Stop." Your voice comes out broken, cracking in the middle. "Don't. I can't—"

"You can." His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and the gesture is so familiar, so achingly tender, that your eyes flood with tears. But you stubbornly refuse to let them fall. "You're the strongest person I know. You can do anything. You built this whole life from nothing, you made yourself into exactly who you wanted to be, and you don't need anyone, and I love that about you. I love everything about you. I love the way you laugh and the way you get excited when you eat good food and the way you get competitive about getting stupid little facts exactly right and the way you frown when you're focused and so many other little things. I love you. I've loved you since the first time you let me stay the night, and I was too scared to say it because I didn't think you'd want to hear it, because I thought I was just a name on your list, just a warm body, just someone you'd get bored of eventually—"

"You stopped texting me," you choke out, and the tears are falling now, hot and fast, tracking mascara down your cheeks. "You stopped texting me and then I saw you with her, I saw your hands on her, I saw—"

"I know." His voice is wrecked, barely above a whisper. "I know, and I hate myself for it. I was scared. Sunday was—Sunday was the best day of my life, and then Monday you went back to being casual, and I thought—l thought that after all it meant nothing to you. I thought I meant nothing to you. And I just—I wanted to feel wanted. I wanted to stop hurting for five minutes. She was there, and she was easy, and she wasn't you, and I couldn't even—" He breaks off, his jaw clenching. "I didn't sleep with her. I couldn't. You left and I stopped. I felt sick. Because she wasn't you. No one is you."

You stare up at him, your vision blurry with tears, your chest heaving. "You didn't sleep with her?"

"No." Seungcheol shakes his head, emphatic, his thumbs still stroking your cheeks. "No, baby, I didn't. I couldn't. The whole time I was just thinking about you. About how much I wished it was you. About how I'd ruined everything with you because I was too fucking scared to just openly tell you how I felt." He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. "I love you. I'm in love with you. I have been for almost a year. And I know that's not what we agreed to, and I know you've got your rules and your roster and your whole thing about not catching feelings, and if you don't want me like that, if you just want this to be sex, l'll take whatever you'll give me. But I can't keep pretending I don't feel it. Not after Sunday. Not after I got to have you like that and then I thought l'd lost you."

The chat is going absolutely berserk at this point.

"OH MY GOD" / "HE'S IN LOVE WITH HER" / "THIS IS THE MOST ROMANTIC THING I'VE EVER WITNESSED" / "I'M LITERALLY SOBBING" / "HE DIDNT SLEEP WITH THE OTHER GIRL" / "what other girl????" / "SOMEONE EXPLAIN THE LORE" / "she's crying i'm crying we're all crying" / "CONFESSION ON LIVE CAMERA" / "this is better than a drama" / "I'm screen recording this for posterity" / "THEY'RE SO IN LOVE IT HURTS" / "look at the way he's holding her face" / "DADDY IS GONE THIS IS JUST A MAN IN LOVE" / "$500 tip HOLY SHIT"

You don't see any of it. Your world has narrowed to the man above you, his face inches from yours, his eyes wet and earnest and terrified. The man who washed your hair and held your hand and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were the centre of the universe. The man who hurt you, yes, but who's hurting too—who's been hurting this whole time, just as lost and scared and stupid as you've been.

"You love me," you whisper, tasting the words.

"I love you," he confirms, and his voice breaks on the last word. "I love you so much it scares me. I love you so much I did the dumbest thing I've ever done because I thought you didn't love me back. And if you don't—if you can't—l understand. But needed you to know. I needed to say it out loud, at least once, even if it's in front of five thousand strangers."

A wet, hiccuping laugh escapes your throat. You glance at the monitor. "Six thousand. And climbing."

He blinks, then turns to look at it too. A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, fuck."

"Yeah." You reach up and wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, smearing mascara across your knuckles and your cheeks. "We just did this on camera."

"We really did."

"Everyone saw."

"No doubt."

You should probably be mortified and scrambling to shut off the stream, to salvage some shred of privacy, to reclaim control of a situation that's spiralled completely out of your hands. But instead, you just feel... lighter. Like something that's been pressing on your chest for two weeks has finally lifted, and you can breathe again, really breathe, for the first time in days.

"I love you too," you say, and it's so scary to confess to it that your gut twists in a knot. "I've loved you for—I don't even know how long. It just happened and when I noticed it was already too late. I was just too scared to say it. I thought if I said it, you'd leave."

"I'm not leaving." His voice is fierce, almost angry and his big arms wrap tighter around you, as if you could escape. "I'm not everyone. I'm not going anywhere. I told you that on Sunday, and I meant it. I've got you. I'm always going to have you, if you'll let me. And I'm sorry that I made you doubt it but I'm not going anywhere anymore, just say the word."

"Even when I'm a disaster?"

"Especially when you're a disaster." He kisses your forehead, your temple, the tip of your nose. "I love the disaster. I love the mess. I love all of it. I love you."

The chat, which you've been ignoring for several minutes now, is still scrolling at a pace that makes it totally unreadable now.

"THEY SAID I LOVE YOU" / "I'M CRYING IN THE CLUB RN" / "this is the most unhinged livestream i've ever watched and i've been subbed for 2 years" / "FROM CLAWING HIM UP TO LOVE CONFESSIONS" / "the emotional whiplash" / "SO ARE THEY TOGETHER NOW???" / "ask her to be your girlfriend COWARD" / "We just witnessed history" / "someone please tell me they're recording this" / "I'm never going to recover from this" / "BEST LIVESTREAM OF ALL TIME"

Seungcheol glances at the monitor and snorts at something he catches there. "They're telling me to ask you to be my girlfriend."

"Well," you say, and your voice is still watery but there's a smile tugging at your lips now, small and tentative but real, "are you going to?"

He looks back at you, and the expression on his face is so open, so hopeful, so overflowing with love—his baby cow eyes staring at you so intently—that it makes your heart stutter. "Will you? Be my girlfriend? For real this time? No roster, no rules, no pretending we're just casual?"

"Yes." The response comes out before you can overthink it, before you can second-guess, before the fear can creep back in and steal your voice. "Yes, Cheol. I want to be yours. I've wanted to be yours for a while, I just didn't have the courage."

The smile that breaks across his face is so bright it nearly blinds you. His dimples appear like a secret, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he looks so genuinely, incandescently happy with that gummy smile of his that it makes your chest ache in the best possible way and you can't help a responding smile that finds its way to your lips.

"She said yes," he announces to your viewers, like it's a victory, like he's just won the championship and the world cup all at once. "Did you hear that? She said yes!"

The chat erupts.

"SHE SAID YES" / "WE HEARD WE ALL HEARD" / "THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE" / "CONGRATULATIONS DADDY YOU DID IT" / "from toxic situationship to marriage in one livestream" / "I'm throwing a virtual wedding RIGHT NOW" / "FINALLY OMFG" / "the slow burn paid off y'all" / "I've been subscribed for 18 months and this is the most satisfying conclusion I could have imagined" / "they're both crying i'm crying we're all crying" / "SOMEONE CLIP THAT" / "this is going to go viral omg"

You laugh, and Seungcheol laughs with you, and then he's kissing you again—soft this time, gentle, mindful of his split lip—and you're melting into him the way you always do, the way you only ever do for him.

"We should probably," you murmur against his mouth, "acknowledge the fact that we just trauma-dumped our entire relationship drama in front of six thousand people."

"Seven thousand now actually," he corrects, and his voice is sheepish but still giddy. "And I think there's more coming in."

"Oh my god."

"It's fine." He kisses the corner of your mouth, then pulls back to look at the camera. "Hey, everyone. Thanks for witnessing my emotional breakdown, I guess. Sorry it wasn't sexier."

"Speak for yourself," you mutter loud enough for the stream to catch, and he laughs again, that bright boyish laugh that makes your heart do backflips and somersaults.

The chat, predictably, disagrees with his assessment.

"This was the sexiest thing I've ever seen and it wasn't even sex" / "emotional vulnerability IS sexy" / "you apologized and confessed your feelings that's better than porn" / "We still want to see you fuck though" / "yeah don't think you're off the hook" / "now that you're officially together give us the makeup sex" / "MAKEUP SEX MAKEUP SEX MAKEUP SEX"

Seungcheol reads the last few comments and raises an eyebrow at you. "They have a point."

You roll your eyes, but the heat is already starting to pool in your belly again, slow and sweet, accelerated by this dopamine rush you just unleashed onto yourselves, your body remembering that you were worked up before all of this started and Seungcheol is still here, still solid and warm and now he's also yours, finally fully all yours. "You're insatiable."

"For you? Always." He kisses your shoulder, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. "But if you want to stop the stream, we can. Whatever you want."

You consider it. Your makeup is ruined, your emotions are raw, and you've just exposed the most vulnerable parts of your relationship to an audience of thousands. The sensible thing would be to end the stream, crawl under the covers with him, and figure out the rest in private.

But then you look at him—his swollen lip, his flushed cheeks, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters—and you think, fuck it. You've never been very good at being sensible anyway.

"Let's give them what they want," you tell him, and your voice comes out husky. "If I am going all in then it's all in."

His eyes darken. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You reach for the hem of his hoodie and tug it upward until he's forced to take it off and throw it somewhere on the floor, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, some fresh bruises from the drills, the fresh red scratches you've just carved into his back. Fuck you missed him like that so much. The urge to crawl under his skin and curl there is gnawing at your sanity. "Show them how you love me. Show them you're mine."

"I'm yours," he agrees, and his voice is a growl now, rough with renewed want. "Always been yours. Always will be."

He captures your mouth in another kiss, and this one is different—deeper, hungrier, the apology and the confession giving way to something more primal and soothingly familiar. His hands find your hips and pull you against him, and you can feel him hard and thick beneath his sweatpants, pressing insistently against your thigh. Your cunt throbs in response, already soaked, already aching for him, and you moan into his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair that already dried up.

The chat, which has been demanding makeup sex for the past ten minutes, gets exactly what it asked for.

Seungcheol strips you out of your lingerie with reverent hands, his mouth following every inch of newly exposed skin—your shoulders, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, the sensitive undersides where his tongue traces patterns that make you shiver. He takes his time with your nipples, sucking them out of their shy inverted state until they're hard and pebbled and glistening with his spit, and you arch into his mouth with breathy gasps and tiny needy mewls that the camera definitely picks up.

"Love your tits," he murmurs against your skin, and the words are familiar, a call-back to every other time he's said them, but tonight they land differently. Tonight they feel like a premise to something so much bigger than just an arrangement. "Love how responsive you are. Love how you moan for me."

"Cheol—"

"Shh." He kisses down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wide. "Let me take care of you. Let me show you how much I missed you."

He settles between your legs, draping your thighs over his shoulders, and looks at your cunt with the kind of reverent hunger that always makes your breath catch. You're dripping, your folds slick and puffy and flushed, your clit a hard little pearl peeking out from its hood, begging for attention. He runs a finger through your wetness, spreading it around, and then brings it to his mouth and sucks it clean, his eyes fluttering closed like he's tasting the sweetest syrup on earth.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Missed this. Missed your taste. Missed the way you get so wet for me."

"Then stop talking and eat my pussy," you manage, and your voice is wrecked already, barely a whisper even though you aimed for something more smug and commanding. Still, it doesn't fail to make him get to work.

Seungcheol grins, feral and sharp. "Yes, ma'am."

His mouth descends on your cunt, and the first lick is broad and flat, from your dripping hole all the way up to your clit. You moan, your hips bucking against his face, and he groans in response, the vibration travelling straight through your sensitive flesh. His tongue is thick and clever as always, alternating between plunging into your hole and flicking against your clit, and he's alternating it with wet smooches and filthy slurps, and his fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open against his face like he wants to crawl inside you and stay there, like he always does.

"So fucking good," he grunts, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. "Best pussy I've ever tasted. Best pussy in the world. My pussy."

"Yours," you gasp, and the word feels different now, heavier, more real. Certainly real, not just cheap dirty talk to throw around. And the notion turns you on so much more. "Yours, Cheol, always yours—"

He groans against your clit, and the sound is so unrestrained, so desperate, that it sends you toward the edge like a speeding freight train going off rails. Your fingers fist in his hair and your thighs clamp around his head so hard you're briefly scared that you're either going to strangle him or squish his scull but the thought is fleeting. You come with a broken cry, your cunt spasming against his tongue while he works you through it, gentler now, lapping at your oversensitive flesh until you're twitching and whimpering and trying to push him away.

Only then does he pull back, his chin glistening with your wetness, his swollen lip beaded with fresh blood from where his mouth stretched too wide. He looks up at you with eyes that are practically black, and the sight of him—ruined by just having you and so beautiful in his want and all yours—makes your spent cunt clench around nothing.

"That's one," he says, and rises to his knees. His cock is straining against his sweatpants, a dark wet spot where his precum has soaked through the gray fabric. "Now I'm gonna fuck you, baby. Gonna fill you up so good and reclaim this pretty pussy. Gonna make sure everyone watching knows exactly who you belong to."

"Already know," you breathe. "Already yours. Just—please, Cheol, please fuck me—"

Seungcheol doesn't make you wait. He shoves his sweatpants down just far enough to free his cock, too desperate to care for full undressing. You've seen him so many times and yet the sight of him thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, fat girthy inches of pure, aching need—never fails to make you salivate. He positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you're so wet that he slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your waiting cunt without any resistance.

The sound you both make is obscene—a shared groan that fills the room, fills the stream, fills the ears of eight thousand people who are absolutely losing their minds in the chat.

"FINALLYYYYY THE MAIN EVENT" / "the way he just slid in so easy she was so ready" / "THAT GROAN" / "I need a cold shower after that" / "they're so in love and so hot at the same time" / "this is the best livestream in the history of onlyfans" / "DADDY IS BACK FOR REAL THIS TIME" / "look at how he's looking at her" / "I don't know whether to swoon or be a horndog" / "I'm never going to emotionally recover from this stream"

"I love you," Seungcheol says, and the words are strained, his hips already starting to move in slow, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. "I love you, I love you, I love you-"

"I love you too," you gasp, your legs wrapping and locking around his waist, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Love you so much, Cheol, please don't stop—"

"Not stopping." He punctuates the promise with a harder thrust, and you moan, your back arching off the bed, feeling the sweet sparks building back up in your belly. "Never leaving. Never letting you go. You're mine. You're finally mine."

He fucks you like he means it—deep and steady and devastatingly thorough, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every stroke, his cock filling you so completely that you can feel him in your throat. The wet sounds of your bodies fill the room—the slick squelch of your cunt, the sharp slap of skin on skin, the broken praise falling from both your lips. He tells you you're beautiful, tells you you're perfect, tells you you're the best thing that's ever happened to him, and you sob your agreement into his mouth, your orgasm building at the base of your spine like a tidal wave.

"Gonna come," you whimper. "Cheol, I'm gonna—"

"Come for me, baby." His thumb finds your clit and presses down in tight, perfect circles. "Cream on my cock. Show me you're mine."

You shatter.

The orgasm is crushing—a full-body convulsion that rips through you like a hurricane, your cunt clamping down on his shaft so hard he has to stop moving just to breathe through it. You cry out, a broken, shameless sound, and he swallows it with a kiss as he fucks you through the aftershocks, his rhythm stuttering as he chases his own release.

"Gonna fill you up," he grits out. "Gonna cum inside you, baby, gonna pump you so full—"

"Do it," you gasp. "Please, Cheol, please do it inside me, want to feel it—"

He groans, low and wrecked, and then he's burying himself deep and cumming, his cock pulsing inside you as he pumps rope after rope of hot, thick spend against your walls. The sensation of it—the warmth flooding your insides, the way his cock jerks with every spurt—sends you over the edge for a third time, a smaller but no less intense orgasm that makes your pussy milk him dry.

He collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, and you wrap your arms around him and hold on.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. You just lie there, tangled together, his cock still lodged deep inside you, his cum slowly leaking out around his shaft. His breath is warm against your neck, and his heart is pounding against your ribs in sync with yours, and you can feel every inch of him, solid and real and here.

"We should probably," he says eventually, his voice muffled against your skin, "check the chat."

"Mm." You don't move. "Do we have to?"

"I think we broke them."

"Probably."

He lifts his head to look at the monitor, and his expression shifts through several emotions in rapid succession—surprise, amusement, something that might be embarrassment because his ears begin to turn bright pink. "Uh. There are ten thousand people watching."

"What?"

"Well… ten thousand. And climbing."

You turn your head to look at the monitor, and sure enough, the view count is sitting at 10,247, and the chat is scrolling so fast it's barely legible.

"THEY'RE DONE" / "that was the hottest thing i've ever gooned to" / "HE CAME INSIDE HER" / "I'm crying and horny at the same time" / "This was better than any movie" / "FROM EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN TO LOVE CONFESSION TO MAKEOUT TO SEX" / "I'm subscribing for life" / "congrats on the sex and the relationship" / "they're just lying there now" / "look at them they're so cute" / "post-fuck cuddling is what we deserve yes"

You laugh at that last one you manage to catch, and the sound is breathless and giddy and maybe a little hysterical. "We just livestreamed our entire relationship drama and then had makeup sex in front of ten thousand people."

"We did," Seungcheol agrees. He looks down at you, his expression soft and wondering. "Any regrets?"

You consider it. You think about the roster, the rules, the walls you've spent three years building. You think about the girls who whisper when you walk past, the boyfriends who look too long, the reputation and a character that's defined you for so long you almost forgot there was a person underneath it. You think about that Sunday morning, the cafe, the way he'd wiped powdered sugar off your nose and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world. And you think about tonight—the confession, the tears, the way he'd let you claw him almost bloody and then held you anyway. The way he'd had ten thousand strangers witness him telling you he loved you and didn't care who heard it. The way he's looking at you right now, like you're the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life.

"None," you say, and mean it. "No regrets."

"Good." He kisses you, soft and sweet, mindful of his split lip. "Because I meant what I said. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." You reach up and touch his face, your thumb tracing the edge of his dimple. "I believe you."

And you do. You really, really do.

He pulls out gently, and you wince at the sudden emptiness, at the wet trickle of his cum sliding down your thighs. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth while you show off for your audience—a little lazy because your bones are all jelly and very smug because you always love to brag about what Seungcheol does to you—and he cleans you up with the same gentle thoroughness he used on your face that Friday night when he brought you home after that party.

"Alright," he says when he's done, turning to the camera with his best captain-of-the-rugby-team authority, which is somewhat undermined by the fact that he's still half-naked and his lip is swollen and his ears are actually burning bright red now that everything's catching up to him. "Show's over. Go drink some water. Go to sleep. We'll see you next time."

You tug him back down to the bed, curling into his side, your head on his chest. "Yeah," you add, addressing the camera with a smile that's genuine for the first time in weeks. "Thanks for witnessing our emotional carnage. Sorry it wasn't the usual programming. We'll be back to regularly scheduled filth soon."

"Very soon," Seungcheol murmurs, and you elbow him in the ribs.

The chat protests, as expected—a flood of "NOOOOO" and "DON'T GO" and "STREAM FOREVER" and "THIS WAS THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE"—but you just laugh and blow them a kiss and reach for the laptop.

"Goodnight, everyone. Thanks for being here. Love you all."

"WE LOVE YOU TOO" / "GOODNIGHT DADDY AND DADDY'S GIRLFRIEND" / "this was unironically the best livestream i've ever watched" / "CONGRATS ON THE RELATIONSHIP" / "see you next time!!" / "sweet dreams you two" / "I'M SO HAPPY FOR THEM"

You switch off the stream.

The silence that follows is sudden and absolute, broken only by the sound of both of you breathing, the distant hum of the refrigerator, the soft rustle of sheets as he pulls you closer. The ring light is still glowing, casting warm amber shadows across the ceiling, and you should turn it off, clean up properly, do a dozen different things that feel very far away right now.

"I love you," Seungcheol says into the quiet, and his voice is soft, private, meant only for you.

"I love you too," you whisper back. "I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner."

"Don't apologize." His hand traces lazy patterns on your spine, the same way it always does, and your eyes flutter closed. "We got there in the end. That's what matters."

"The end," you repeat, and the word feels strange to your ear. You wouldn't call it an ending, really. A beginning—yes. The start of something new and terrifying and maybe—probably—the best thing you've ever been brave enough to try.

"The beginning," he corrects, as if reading your mind. "This is just the beginning, baby. We've got a lot more mornings to figure out."

Your throat tightens. You press your face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him—fresh sweat and soap and home—and let yourself believe it.

"Stay," you murmur, already half-asleep. "Stay with me for the night, don't want to let you go yet."

"Always," he says, and presses a kiss to your hair. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

And this time, you don't doubt it. Not even a little.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.

Masterlist.

[honeykiisss]

uh oh!

kim mingyu & choi seungcheol from seventeen and how is it y/n fault that the two (fantastic) one night stands were not just best friends, but room mates.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: threesome smut !! reader has a vagina & tits, name calling, p in v, effiel tower, oral sex both m & f receiving, breastplay, kitchen sex, cheol loves to motorboat you, daddy kink, sir kink, mingyu is a lil sub while cheol is a huge dom, big cocks!gyucheol as it should be, vouryerism masturbation, overstimulation, double creampie, sex without a condom (pls wrap it !!!), filming, mirror sex, hair pulling.

a/n: surprise !!! wrote this right after watching the pretty woman music video, sat in my drafts and now it's my thank you for 200 followers after realising how hot it truly is. thank you for the support and i can’t wait to keep writing for yall <3

You smiled at the dark hair, hot, fit man that peacefully slept next to you. Glancing at the clock that read 6am, you realised you've overstayed your welcome as you slowly and quietly creeped around his bedroom to change back into last night's clothes (without the shoes or your purse, that's at the front door) and even stealing a piece of minty gum that was on Mingyu's desk. But you truly would not be able to guess, the surprise on what was on the other side of the door when you opened it.

You winced at the sound the door made, trying to be as quiet as possible. Facing the door as you quietly closed it; it wasn't until you turned around to head to the front door nearby that you almost screamed. There stood, in all his hot blonde hair glory, clearly ready for a morning run by his attire was the last guy you hooked up with not even a week ago.

You looked around the apartment in shock until your eyes went back to him, his initial shocked reaction from seeing your presence now turning smug as he recognised you as much as you recognised him.

"You know, I thought you dipping like that before I woke up meant you didn't want to come back?" he asked.

Rolling your eyes with a hard chew to the gum still in your mouth, you gave him a fake smile. Acting sarcastic not wanting him to know how shocked you were but nonchalant instead. The fact Seungcheol stood shirtless in front of you, giving you flashbacks of the night from a week before, was not helping.

And he knew it.

He walked towards you, locking you in between his body and his room mate's bedroom door.

"Tell me angel, was my friend better or was it me?" Your chest was heaving, inner thighs tightening together as your eyes carelessly wandered to his lips, your inner demon just wanting them back onto yours and Seungcheol did exactly that.

It wasn't sweet. It was rough, needy and eagerly full of lust. His tongue entering your mouth to swipe the gum and somehow place it in his own mouth. He wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you in as your skimpy little club skirt was now grinding on his running shorts, as your hands ravaged his fit body. The grip on your ass was your signal to jump as he carried you more into their apartment, and to their kitchen. Seungcheol laid you down on their kitchen counter, making you shudder at the coldness but his body being on top of you as you both still heavily made out kept you warm. His hands unzipping the corset top from the front leaving your breasts bare for him as his lips move from your mouth to your tits.

"So you always go to clubs without a bra on?" he teased. You could only whimper as his fingers played with your nipples licking a stripe in between your breasts to then use his huge hands to basically smoosh your tits over his face to motorboat you. Hearing his groans in between your chest, you can't help but giggle.

"What's so funny?" He asks, biting your tit as he removes his face from your chest.

"You have a thing for motor boating?" You asked, recalling him doing the same thing as he fucked you last time.

"Well, it's because these tits are perfect, just as much as this pussy is." Seungcheol explains as one of his hands creeps under your skirt and cups your pussy tightly. It made your back arch and a loud moan escape, by quick reaction you covered your mouth with your hand as you look to the side where Mingyu's door is in slight fear that you were going to get caught.

Seungcheol saw this and a low growl escape, he then pulled your skirt and underwear down in one swift motion.

"I've been thinking about how fucking good you taste all fucking week, jerked off so many fucking times thinking about your pussy." He admitted. Seungcheol knelt down, holding your wrists to pin your arms to the sides of your body as his also laid his biceps across your thighs to restrict your movement. He blew air onto your pussy and grinned seeing you squirm.

"Want you to be loud baby, wake him up to a good surprise yeah? Call me daddy like you did last time." Before you could object, Seungcheol spat the gum in his mouth to the side so he could dive in head first. He wasn't lying about the fact he wanted this, needed this.

"Oh my god!" you yelled, lifting your head up to see his eyes already watching your every reaction and that only made things hotter.

What he didn't know was you thought about his mouth all fucking week too, though your one night stand rule was to dip without any other contact. A part of you wished that you did get Seungcheol's contact, you hadn't had anyone eat you out as good as he did. Which is one of the reasons why you even went out last night to try to forget the need for Seungcheol's mouth, is it coincidence or pure fucking luck for your distraction to be his fucking room mate of all people.

Seungcheol ate you out so good that it was loud and wet, the slurps felt like it was bouncing off the walls and he was devouring like a thirst deprived man receiving his drink. His tongue was fucking magic, going from flicking your bud to entering you and drawing figure 8s on your pussy. To just full on mouth on clit.

"Oh daddy I'm so close!" you moaned out, as soon as you did that you could feel the grin. He then let go of your hands to use one of his thumbs to rub circles on your nub and used the other to vastly thrust two fingers in you. With his tongue still working his magic and the motion of his fingers, you were going crazy, basically now humping his face. He loved the desperation of your movements that he stopped using his hands, including fingering you to wrap both his arms around your thighs to pull you even more closer to his face. Wanting you to cum on his mouth and his desperate mouth only.

It was giving you deja vu the last time you two fucked and how you felt you were suffocating him but he didn't care and things have clearly not changed. Your back arched as the pit of your stomach only felt tighter, you moved your head to the side for only a split second and paused with your blurry vision seeing Mingyu now wide awake in the hallway.

But yet, your shock only lasted for a split second and his presence, knowing he was watching only made you get to your release sooner. Your eyes travelled downwards to see Mingyu's hard cock against his grey sweatpants and that was it, your hand reached into Cheol's hair as you released all over his mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut, unable to control it with how good and sweet the release felt.

You shrieked when you felt your pussy get slapped, a signal to open your eyes and quickly diverting your head back to Seungcheol who stood proudly. The look in his eyes full of ego as he tasted what was left of your cum on his lips, his eyes never leaving your face and reading you were not a bit uncomfortable at the surprise third guest.

"Really Cheol?" You hear from Mingyu.

"Don't be whining Mingyu, technically I had her first." Cheol said with a smirk.

You see Mingyu's face turn into realisation. The moans that spilled out of your mouth last night that sounded like heaven in his ears to the point it naturally made his hips thrust faster sounded oh so familiar because he jerked off (and came) to the same moans only a week before.

"But..." Seungcheol coughs, now leaning onto the counter to face Mingyu (but where your legs were to not cover your view.)

Cheol's hand reached to cup your breast, his two fingers rubbing your nipple so you didn't feel neglected. It was like to tell you, without words that he was nowhere near done with you despite not looking directly at you.

"I think she likes this predicament right now, hm?" His eyes, finally now looking at you as he pinches your nipple making your body jerk by his touch. The eye contact between you and Seungcheol heavy, like he needed to read your facial expressions and how you were feeling.

"Does this little slut like knowing that you have two hard cocks wanting you right now?" You could only whimper at the dirty talk, your pussy still wet and brain mush from how hard he ate you out. Seungcheol's hand moved from your breast to your chin, cupping your face.

"Use your words darling, say you want us both right here at the same time and we're all yours." Seungcheol explained.

You nodded fast, in the back of your brain knowing how utterly pathetic you must look but you didn't care.

"Yes! Yes! I want both of your big cocks right now, please daddy." you begged to Seungcheol, then looking at Mingyu now standing closer to the both of you. You address him. "Please sir."

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊

And here you were. On all fours in Seungcheol's king size bed with his mirror closet giving you a view of how you looked when your eyes adverted to the side. You looked like a mess and it was a view all three of you wanted planted in your brains forever.

Mingyu, standing on one side with his huge cock in your mouth had you using one arm to steady yourself and the other to play with his balls. His hands were in your hair to balance himself as he harshly thrusted into your mouth.

Seungcheol, standing on the other side has his large cock slamming in and out of your pussy from behind. One hand gripped your hip tightly throughout the whole fucking while the other hand would go from gripping your other hip to thrust in you roughly to slapping your ass just when he felt like it. It was loud and messy, tears ran down your face at the pleasure.

Though Mingyu was thrusting in your mouth, you made sure to swirl your tongue to give him even more pleasure. Your eyes couldn't leave the sight above you, despite it being so blurry from the tears in your eyes. Mingyu was so fucking pretty. The way his eyes scrunched but forced himself to stare at you with his mouth agape and the grip on your hair tightening to signal when your mouth did a really fucking good job.

Mingyu was fighting a war with himself. He was shutting his eyes because the pleasure was getting to him but god, did he also want to see your pretty, teary eyed face that included seeing your eyes roll back from the pleasure Seungcheol was giving you.

For Seungcheol, he loved every minute of this. He also thought Mingyu was endearing when he was getting his cock sucked, of course this wasn't their first time sharing.

With your second orgasm approaching, you felt yourself getting closer to your release before Seungcheol was even done. You wanted to release Mingyu's cock to give a warning of your orgasm but his grip on your head was so tight. You didn't have to say anything though because Seungcheol knew you were close from how much your pussy was tightly gripping his cock.

He moved both his hands back to your hips, thrusting faster and harder that his balls slapping against your ass echoed throughout the bedroom.

"I know you're close baby, give it to me, coat my cock with your cum so I can paint you white." Cheol chanted, it only made your eyes roll and Mingyu grin at the sight once again.

"Fuck she love this." Mingyu moaned out, his hand going from your hair to your face and with both hands using his thumbs to stroke your hollowed out cheeks.

"Does princess like getting creampied? Want me to cum in your next?" Mingyu questions, you nod fast in his hands.

With Cheol's brutal pace and a grip on your hips that will leave bruises, you cum hard. Your arms losing the balance of keeping you upright making your mouth leave Mingyu's cock and though he hissed at the cold air. He rather cum in your pretty pussy than your mouth anyways.

You moaned and cried onto the bed, your body spasming at the pleasure. But Cheol didn't give up despite the new position. Still thrusting into your pussy vastly as your walls clutched onto his cock, you felt so fucking wet and tight that he couldn't help himself and came right after you. In you. The feeling of his cum spurting into your gummy walls only made your body yelp more, your hands gripping onto the sheets tightly.

"Thank you daddy! Thank you!' You screamed into the bed. Making more spurts of cum from Cheol come out.

Mingyu could have came at the sight of both of you orgasming knowing he was next.

You couldn't dare lift your head up, feeling slightly humiliated and knowing the makeup from last night probably looked even more messy as your chest was heaving. Pussy twitching. But that didn't last long as you felt yourself get flipped. Your back now laying on the bed as the two men switched places without you realising, you steadying your own breath was all you heard and focused on.

Mingyu smiling widely at your shock as he softly stroked your outer thighs.

"Ready to take me princess?" He asked. With your need to be their good girl, you nodded.

"Words" Mingyu sternly said.

"Yes sir, nee-" before you could finish your sentence about needing his cock. A large shriek fell out your lips as he pulls your body closer to the edge of the bed by your legs; to wrap them around his waist.

"Sorry for surprising you baby, but I'm not sorry for this." Mingyu utters and before you could question what he meant.

He thrusted his huge cock all in, making you loudly scream. The stretch hurt but my god was it delicious. Seungcheol was huge in the sense of his length, while Mingyu was huge from his girth. Both easily stretching you in different and addictive ways.

"T-Thought Seungcheol's cock prepped you already but you're still so fucking tight. Fuck ... babe." Mingyu stutters, chants, breathless.

You don't miss the weight of the bed dip as Seungcheol now sits beside you.

You reach your hand out to stroke Seungcheol's semi-hard cock to become hard again, but he hisses and smacks your hand away.

"Did I say you could touch?" He tells off, you whimper in response.

Instead of being closer to you, he moves away until his head leans against the bed's headboard. Legs criss crossed as he began to stroke his own cock while watching you get fucked. Your eyes never leaving each other as he does this, he smiles at your pout, finding you cute as your brain whines on how this isn't fair.

Before you could further complain, Mingyu readjusts his hips that he finds the spot you needed. It makes you gasp, your attention diverting back to him as he himself wears a similar pout to you.

"Pay attention to me too baby" he complains.

"I-I'm sorry sir! You fuck me so good sir, p-please don't stop" you moan out and praise. Back arching, eyes shutting as your delicious tits are bouncing from the thrusts, both Mingyu and Seungcheol can't stop watching your chest as one strokes his cock faster while the other penetrates you faster.

You can't control it any longer, your orgasm approaching and your mouth spewing every noise your throat can make. Mingyu fucking you so good, you don't even register how tight he's holding you or how Seungcheol's moaning with you. Unable to say any words, with a scream you come once again. Mingyu nearly topples over with how your pussy grips his cock while you orgasm, knowing why Seungcheol nearly lost himself as well.

With Mingyu's hard cock still plugged into you, not moving to let you have a breather both your eyes go to Seungcheol whose cum is splattered all over his stomach. You feel drool leave your mouth and both of them snicker seeing this.

An idea sparks in Mingyu's head, he takes his cock out of your warm pussy and before you whine of the emptiness he plunges two fingers in you.

"Get on all fours baby and lick daddy's cum off" Mingyu orders, both you and Seungcheol are surprised to hear him take control for the first time throughout this ordeal.

It makes you eagerly listen and as you move, reposition yourself. Mingyu's fingers never leave you. Instead he joins kneeling on the bed behind you, once you face Seungcheol you attempt to lower your head but Mingyu grabs your hair to lift your head up. You yelp in surprise but love the delicious burn like you did when you were sucking his cock.

"Film it on the bedside table Cheol" Mingyu orders, nodding to the phone on the same table and Seungcheol smiles. You feel your pussy flutter and cheeks blush at the same time,

"Hm, I was going to ask if that's okay angel but seems like it is. Naughty girl" Mingyu announces as he kisses your back softly.

When you hear the noise of the phone camera recording, you see it on the bedside table on selfie mode perfectly capturing all three of you.

"Lick baby" Mingyu orders again and lets go of your hair, just for it to be held in a makeshift ponytail by Seungcheol. You lower your head and lick a stripe of his load on Cheol's stomach, the salty and sticky liquid on your tongue making you hum as Seungcheol watches your every move of continuously licking his body. Hissing as you casually try to take his semi-hard cock's tip after licking his cum up. His cock was sensitive but if you went to suck him off, he wouldn't object.

At the same time, Mingyu unplugs his fingers to thrust his cock back into you. The motion making your lips that were around Cheol's tip now take his cock fully and deeper into your mouth.

"Oh shit" Cheol moans out, his cock now fully hard.

You wish this overwhelming pleasure of sucking Cheol's cock and Mingyu's fast thrusts mixed with your wet and full of cum pussy would never end. You bob your mouth up and down Cheol's shaft, tongue feeling his veins.

Seungcheol knew he wasn't going to last long, his free hand not in your hair gripping the pillow beside him as he thrusted into your mouth. Now he understood Mingyu's predicament before, he couldn't describe how good you sucked cock even if he tried.

Mingyu was in the same predicament, not knowing how much longer he can hold on as your tight pussy continues to grip him from the pleasure of sucking cock and Mingyu thrusting into your pussy so deliciously.

The fact this was the fourth orgasm they were pulling out of you and so close to your third, you were close as well. But with full persistent you wanted daddy to cum first, with the one hand not steadying your position just like you did with Mingyu. You played with Cheol's balls while deep throating him. That was all it took, as his load spilled into your mouth. Despite thinking you swallowed all of it, when your mouth left his shaft. You felt liquid still around your lips and leaving your mouth like drool but the warmth and thickness of it made you realise it was his cum on your lips.

"Oh fuck" Seungcheol quietly whispered, chest still panting. He grabbed the phone off the bedside table to film your face close up, your fucked out face was both beautiful and a fucking mess.

"F-Fuck I'm close" Mingyu panted behind you, using one of his hands to start rubbing your clit to get you closer. You bite your lip, tasting the cum. Seungcheol still filming every bit of this.

"Mingyu look at the phone" Seungcheol points out, moving it to the side a bit to still capture your makeup ruined face while letting Mingyu have his view.

The sight of your pleasured out face was all it took for Mingyu, cumming in your pussy with a scream from his lips. The sensation making your own pussy spasm and cum for the fourth time, both of them had massive loads that felt like they were filling your cunt to the brim. Just like before, your arms give up on you. Head plopping onto Seungcheol's thighs as he softly strokes your hair.

Mingyu grabs the phone from Seungcheol with shaky hands, now filming from the side right next to where his cock and your pussy were as your hips were still upright. Finally unplugging his cock, you and Seungcheol watch from the phone as Mingyu watches with his own eyes how the mix of all three of your cums trickle down your thighs, drops falling onto the bedsheets.

All three of you are sweaty and tired beyond belief, you feel your own eyes drooping to a shut on Cheol's thigh not even getting to see who was cleaning the sticky mess on your legs with a towel. All you heard and felt before your slumber was a kiss on the shoulder, hair strokes and a sentence of

"Sleep baby girl, you earned it, we'll be here."

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊

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[nerdycheol]

pairing: seungcheol x reader

(a/n): hellooo hellooo annyeonghaseo!!! I'm back. naked seungcheol got me all hot and bothered i couldn't help but write this. also the fact that i already knew he had a dad bod 🤨(not surprising because we literally live together) also it's my first time writing a headcanon, so I hope you like it ;)

SMUT ahead under cut!!

dad bod!seungcheol who still looks massive when he walks by. broad shoulders, heavy steps, arms that could still lift you like nothing if he tried - but there’s a softness to him now, one that’s crept in over the years. a little extra weight on his stomach, smells of baby formula, and that constant stubble because shaving every day doesn’t feel worth it anymore.

dad bod!seungcheol who complains about it sometimes, grumbling in front of the mirror while he runs a towel over his face. “need to start running again,” he mutters, or “can’t believe I used to have abs.” but you just lean against the doorframe, watching him, half-smiling because he’s still the same man - just… fuller

when he sits down, he spreads out - thighs taking space, arm slung behind the couch, posture lazy and open. you love that he doesn’t even notice how he fills a room anymore

dad bod!seungcheol who doesn’t understand why you’ve gotten clingier. why your hands always seem to find their way under his shirt when you hug him from behind, why you keep brushing crumbs off his chest when there are no crumbs, why your lips always linger a second too long when you kiss him goodbye

dad bod!seungcheol who still still wakes up before everyone else, shuffling around the kitchen shirtless, hair a mess, making coffee like it’s a ritual. you watch him from the doorway - all broad shoulders, soft stomach, stubble catching the morning light - and suddenly you’re way too awake.

dad bod!seungcheol who just mere minutes later, is now a moaning mess as you suck him as if your life depends on it.

"fu-uck," he pants,  "slow down, babe." but the way he holds your head even tighter, says otherwise.

"can't!" you pant, taking him out of your mouth. "you get me all hot and bothered." he swears he could come right then and there and with that look in his eyes - he'd give you another child already.

"fuck me, baby." you moan, and he's trembling, barely holding onto the edge.

dad bod!seungcheol who grips your hips so hard, you're sure they're will be marks by the time you're done.

he wraps his arms around you, pushes you onto the wall and thrusts up into you - heavy balls smacking against your ass. the whines that comes out of your mouth is just pitiful.

he pinches your clit and your walls clench him tighter.

"fuck baby, you're so tight" he huffs. "you want to make me a dad again? huh?"

“cheol- slo- ugh. slow down” you pant as your legs shake every time his tip brushes your spot. the way his large, bulbous tip was brushing against your very inner walls had you dizzy. “-want more.”

"I'll give you exactly what you want, mama"

you moan so loud that the whole damn block might know exactly what he’s doing to you.

"not so loud, mama. baby'll wake up" seungcheol is grinning.

"mhmm, cheol." you breathe, gripping his biceps harder. "feels so good."

your fingers dig into his shoulders, velvet walls clenching around him as your body shook violently, thighs quaking as pleasure surged through your veins.

“fuck, cheol - ohh fuck ‘m gonna cum!” your legs feel like liquid - you are glad he's holding you - otherwise you'd be as good as putty.

“thaaat’s it, mama. come f’me.” he groaned, pushing in with a few more punishing thrusts before spilling inside your spasming cunt, thick, hot ropes of cum filling you to the brim.

he’s holding you flush against him, fingers pressing into your back, thumb tracing along your jaw. “god…you really are relentless,” he huffs, voice low, teasing but strained.

you grin, smirking up at him. “can you blame me?” his chest rises with a laugh. "hmm…nope,” he murmurs, lips grazing your temple. “not at all. and I think…I like it.” you trace over his shoulders, leaning closer, feeling the weight of him, the warmth, the lingering tension.

“good,” you whisper. “because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

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[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.

[seungvocado]

sulky baby

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆ — Pairing: Seungcheol x fem!Reader

 ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆ — Summary: Seungcheol is just a big sulky baby who needs your attention at all times.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆ — Content/Trigger warning: Jealous / possessive behaviour, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, p in v sex (unprotected), creampie, overstimulation, multiple orgasms. [Let me know if I miss out any]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆— 18+ work! MDNI! Ageless/blank blogs will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog.

The elevator ride up to your apartment was suspiciously quiet. Seungcheol stood beside you with his arms crossed over his broad chest, jaw tight, staring straight ahead at the glowing numbers like they had personally offended him. You glanced at him, biting back a smile.

He’d been like this for the last half hour—ever since you’d said goodbye to everyone at the get-together. The usual warm, chatty Seungcheol had been replaced by this pouty giant who refused to look at you.

“Cheol,” you said softly as the doors opened on your floor. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” The word came out clipped, almost a grunt.

You unlocked the door, and he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the couch with more force than necessary. Then he flopped down, legs spread, arms still crossed, staring at the blank TV like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him. God, he was cute like this. The big, strong leader of SEVENTEEN reduced to sulking because he didn’t get enough attention. Your heart did a little flip.

“You’re sulking,” you teased gently, walking over to stand in front of him.

He finally glanced up at you, eyes narrowed. “I’m not sulking.”

“You are. You’ve got that little crease between your brows and everything.” You reached out and poked the spot lightly. He swatted your hand away, but there was no real heat in it.

“You talked to Bang Chan the entire night,” he muttered, looking away again. “Like… non-stop. Laughing, leaning in, all that. I was right there, you know.”

You tried not to grin, but it was impossible. This big beefy man, who commanded stages and led twelve other chaotic boys, was jealous because you spent time with a mutual friend.

“Cheollie…” You climbed onto the couch and straddled his lap without warning. His hands automatically went to your waist, even as he tried to maintain his grumpy expression. “Chan and I were catching up. We haven’t seen him in months. You know he’s just a friend.”

Seungcheol huffed, tilting his head back against the couch. “Didn’t look like ‘just a friend’ when you were showing him that video on your phone, heads practically touching.”

You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks. His pout was devastatingly adorable up close—full lips pushed out, eyes avoiding yours even as his fingers tightened on your hips.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose.

“I’m not jealous,” he grumbled, but his ears were turning pink. “I just… missed you. We barely got to talk all night.”

Your chest warmed. You shifted closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your forehead to his. “I’m sorry, baby. I got carried away catching up. But I’m here now. All yours.”

He stayed quiet for a second, then let out a long sigh, his body finally relaxing under you. His arms slid fully around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“You’re mine,” he mumbled against your shoulder, nuzzling in like a big puppy. “Should’ve been next to me the whole time.”

You laughed softly and carded your fingers through his hair. “Next time I’ll stay glued to your side, okay? No more leaving my big strong boyfriend alone to fend off boredom.”

He made a small, contented sound and tilted his head up, silently asking for a kiss. You gave it to him—slow and sweet, pouring in all the affection he’d missed. Seungcheol melted instantly, one hand sliding up your back, the other squeezing your waist like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance.

When you pulled back, his eyes were softer, the sulk completely gone.

“Better?” you asked, brushing his hair off his forehead.

He nodded, a shy little smile finally breaking through. “Yeah. But you owe me extra cuddles tonight. And maybe breakfast in bed tomorrow.”

You grinned, kissing him again. “Deal. Anything for my cute, sulky boyfriend.”

“I wasn’t sulking,” he protested weakly, but he was already pulling you down, tucking you against his chest.

You let him. After all, making it up to Seungcheol was one of your favorite things to do.

𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊

The living room lights were dimmed low, the city humming faintly beyond the windows. Seungcheol was still sprawled on the couch beneath you, his sulky mood long gone, replaced by that warm, hazy look in his eyes after several deep kisses. Your fingers traced lazy circles on his chest as you straddled him.

“Let me make it up to you properly,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear. “I want to take care of you tonight.”

His breath hitched. “Baby…”

You slid down his body with purpose, kissing every inch of his chest and abs before settling between his thick thighs. Seungcheol’s cock was already heavy and leaking when you freed it, veins pulsing under your fingers as you stroked him slowly.

“Fuck, look at you,” you purred, licking a long stripe from base to tip. “So hard and desperate already. All because you got a little jealous?”

Seungcheol groaned, fingers gently threading into your hair. “Yes—shit. I hate seeing you give anyone else that much attention. This cock is yours, baby. Only gets this hard for you.”

You took him into your mouth without warning, sinking down until he hit the back of your throat. You swallowed around him, eyes watering as you held him there, then pulled back with a wet gasp, strings of spit connecting your lips to his throbbing cock.

You started slow, swirling your tongue around the tip, tasting the salt of his skin as you sucked lightly. Seungcheol’s hips twitched, but he stayed still, letting you set the pace. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, working your hand around the base where your mouth couldn’t reach.

“Goddamn,” he hissed, hips twitching. “That throat is sinful. Choke on it again—let me feel how deep you can take me.”

You moaned around his length and obeyed, bobbing your head faster, sucking harder. Filthy, wet sounds filled the room as you worked him—hollowing your cheeks, twisting your hand around the base, and massaging his balls. Every time you took him to the hilt, Seungcheol cursed loudly.

“You’re so fucking good at this,” Seungcheol groaned, head tipping back against the couch. “Taking my cock like you were made for it. Look at me, baby.”

You lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him while your lips stretched around his thick shaft. The sight made him curse, hips bucking shallowly into your mouth. You hummed encouragingly, stroking him faster with your hand while your tongue flicked over the head on every pass.

You bobbed your head faster, relaxing your throat to take more of his impressive length. Spit slicked his cock, dripping down to his balls as you worked him with steady, filthy rhythm—sucking hard on the upstroke, then swirling your tongue along the sensitive underside.

“That’s it, baby. Suck my cock like a good little slut. Fuck—your mouth is better than any pussy. I’m gonna cum down your throat if you keep doing that.”

You pulled off just long enough to gasp, “Then do it. Fill my mouth, Cheol. I want to taste every drop.”

He lost it. With a guttural moan, he held your head steady and came hard, thick ropes of cum shooting straight down your throat. You moaned louder in response and swallowed every drop, milking him through it until his body shuddered and he gently tugged you off, oversensitive.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with a satisfied smile and crawled back up. Seungcheol pulled you into his chest immediately, arms wrapping around you tightly as he caught his breath. His heart hammered under your cheek while he stroked your back, pressing soft kisses to your hair.

“God… that was mind-blowing,” he murmured, voice hoarse and blissed out. “You spoil me too much.”

You nuzzled into his neck, cuddling closer. “You deserve it. My big, cute, jealous boyfriend.”

He chuckled weakly, still floating in the afterglow, body limp and warm beneath you. You stayed like that for long minutes—skin to skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip—until you felt him twitch against your thigh again. His cock was hardening once more, insistent and ready.

“Already?” you teased, grinding lightly against him.

Seungcheol groaned, hands gripping your ass. “Can’t help it when you’re on top of me like this.”

You sat up, stripping off your clothes until you were completely bare. His eyes darkened with hunger as you positioned yourself over him, guiding his cock to your entrance. You were soaked from pleasuring him, and he slid in easily as you sank down slowly, taking every inch. He stretch you perfectly, filling you so deep you moaned loudly.

“Fuck… you feel so tight,” he hissed, hands flying to your hips, gripping enough to leave marks. “So perfect around me.

“Ride me, baby. Use this cock. It’s all yours.”

You braced your hands on his chest and started bouncing, taking him fast and deep. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed as you rolled your hips, grinding your clit against him on every downstroke.

“You’re so fucking big,” you gasped. “Splitting me open every time. I love how you fill me up, Cheol.”

His eyes were glued to where you were connected, watching his cock disappear inside you. “Look at that greedy pussy swallowing me. So wet and tight—made for my cock. Faster, baby. Fuck me like you mean it.”

You rode him harder, thighs burning, pleasure building fast. Seungcheol met every bounce with powerful thrusts from below, hitting that perfect spot inside you relentlessly.

“That’s it, baby,” Seungcheol growled, thrusting up to meet you. “Ride me harder. Use my cock.”

You leaned forward, changing the angle so he hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. “You’re so deep like this… filling me up so good, Cheol. I love how big you are.”

His grip tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as he helped guide your movements. Sweat slicked your bodies. You rode him relentlessly, grinding down on every downstroke, chasing your own pleasure while pushing him toward another peak.

“You gonna cum on my cock?” he panted, eyes locked on where you were joined. “Let me feel you, sweetheart.”

“I’m gonna cum—” you cried out.

“Cum on my cock baby” he demanded, voice rough. “Let me feel you squeeze me.”

Your orgasm hit hard, walls pulsing around him. Seungcheol groaned loudly and followed right after, burying himself deep as he pumped you full of cum. Thick, hot spurts painted your insides while he held you down on him, hips stuttering up until he was spent..

You stayed seated on him for a few moments, both of you panting. Eventually you lifted yourself off slowly, his cock slipping out of you. As you moved, you felt his cum start to drip from your pussy—thick white streaks sliding down your thighs.

Seungcheol’s eyes locked onto the sight and something feral flashed across his face.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice suddenly dangerous. “Look at that… my cum leaking out of your pretty hole.”

Before you could respond, he surged up, flipping you onto your back on the couch in one powerful motion. He pushed your legs wide open and slammed back inside you in a single brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

You cried out at the sudden fullness, still sensitive from your orgasm.

“Mine,” he snarled, hips snapping forward hard and fast. “This pussy is fucking mine. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else makes you drip like this.”

He fucked you with raw, possessive need—deep, punishing strokes that made your back arch off the couch. The wet, filthy sound of his cock driving through his own cum filled the room. Every thrust pushed more of his cum out around his shaft, making a mess between your bodies.

“Cheol—oh my god,” you moaned, nails digging into his back.

“You feel that?” he panted, forehead pressed to yours, eyes wild. “Feel how deep I am? I’m gonna fill you up again. Pump you so full you’ll be dripping my cum for days. No one else gets to have this. Only me.”

His pace was relentless, hips slamming against yours, the couch creaking under you. He reached between you and rubbed your swollen clit in tight circles, pushing you toward another peak.

“Cum for me again, baby. Want to feel this pussy milk my cock while I breed you.”

The combination of his filthy words, deep thrusts, and skilled fingers sent you spiralling. You came hard, screaming his name as your walls clenched around him. Seungcheol followed with a broken groan, burying himself as deep as possible and flooding you with a second load of cum.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you trembling and covered in sweat. His cock stayed buried inside you as he caught his breath, pressing soft kisses on your lips now that the intense wave had passed.

“Fuck… I lose control with you,” he whispered against your lips, voice hoarse. “Can’t help it. You’re too perfect.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his damp hair, body still buzzing. “I love when you do.”

𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊

The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the bedroom. You stirred first, nestled against Seungcheol’s broad chest, his arm draped heavily around your waist even in sleep. His breathing was deep and even, but the moment you shifted, he tightened his hold and let out a sleepy grumble.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled, voice husky from the night before.

You smiled and tilted your head up, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You said that an hour ago, Cheol.”

One eye cracked open, then the other. A slow, lazy smirk spread across his face as memories clearly flooded back. “Morning, troublemaker.”

“Troublemaker?” You propped yourself up on one elbow, tracing a finger down his chest. “I believe I was the one making things up to a certain sulky boyfriend last night.”

He groaned, but it was playful, pulling you fully on top of him so you were straddling his waist. “I wasn’t sulky. I was… strategically quiet.”

You laughed, brushing his messy bed hair out of his eyes. “Strategically quiet? You mean pouting like a big baby because I talked to Chris for twenty minutes.”

Seungcheol’s ears flushed pink, but his hands slid down to squeeze your ass possessively. “Twenty minutes too long. You’re mine. Should’ve been sitting on my lap the whole time.”

“Oh my god, you’re still jealous.” You grinned and leaned down to nip at his bottom lip. “It’s cute. Really cute. Especially when it ends with me on my knees for you… and then riding you until we both saw stars.”

His eyes darkened instantly, hands roaming up your bare back. “Keep talking like that and we’re not getting out of this bed today.”

You rocked your hips teasingly against him, feeling him start to harden beneath you. “Is that a threat or a promise, Mr. Jealous?”

“Both.” He flipped you suddenly, pinning you beneath his warm, solid body. You squealed with laughter as he attacked your neck with kisses and playful bites. “You owe me breakfast in bed, remember? For all that emotional damage.”

“Emotional damage?” You dissolved into giggles, squirming under him. “You big dramatic baby. Fine—I’ll make you pancakes. But only if you admit you were sulking.”

Seungcheol lifted his head, pretending to think about it while his fingers tickled your sides lightly. “Counter-offer: I admit I was a little jealous, and you make pancakes… naked.”

You raised an eyebrow, still laughing. “Bold request after last night. You sure you’ll even let me leave the bed to cook?”

He kissed you deeply, slow and sweet, before pulling back with a mischievous glint. “I’ll help. I’ll be your personal chef assistant. And if you bend over to get something from the fridge, I can’t be held responsible for what happens next.”

You shoved his shoulder playfully, both of you grinning like idiots. “Deal. But if you get distracted and burn the pancakes, I’m telling the members you sulked like a kicked puppy over a mutual friend.”

Seungcheol gasped in mock offense. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, sulky boy.”

He rolled off you with a dramatic sigh, but immediately pulled you up with him, wrapping you in his arms from behind as you both headed toward the kitchen. His chin rested on your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to your neck the entire way.

“Love you,” he murmured against your skin, voice soft despite the playful energy. “Even when you torture me by existing near other people.”

You leaned back into him, heart full. “Love you too. Now come on, sulky baby. Let’s make breakfast before we get distracted again.”

[slut4kwon]

conflict of interest — c.sc

pairing: choi seungcheol x fem! reader

wc: 15.8k

synopsis: as the newest intern on going seventeen’s video team, your job was simple: stay quiet, stay invisible, and definitely don’t speak in meetings. but when one offhand idea catches seungcheol’s attention, you’re pulled out from behind the camera, and straight into his world. and the closer you get to him, the harder it becomes to pretend it’s just work.

warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content | oral (f. receiving), oral (m. receiving), cum swallowing, fingering, unprotected sex, dom!seungcheol, brat!reader, power play, begging, teasing, praise kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, consensual rough sex | age gap (legal), slow burn, angst, swearing, boss/employee dynamic, idol/fan dynamic, slight jealousy, generational humour differences.

authors note: if i’m being honest, i had a lot of fun rewriting this one to make it fit for seventeen, and i honestly think the storyline fits cheol perfectly. also, i lowkey had to make some of the other gose staff a little mean, but don’t worry, i’m aware they’re all angels and deserve the absolute world. as always, i hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it, and please feel free to let me know what you think! ♡

you’d gotten used to being invisible.

in fact, it was almost a requirement.

as the newest intern on going seventeen’s video team, your job wasn’t to shoot or edit anything anyone would actually see.

your job was to carry the gear, back up hours of footage, label hard drives, and to keep your head down while everyone else did the real work.

it wasn’t glamorous. most days, it barely felt worth the stress.

however, it was for seventeen.

you’d been a fan of theirs since you were a teenager. their posters on your wall, their lyrics scribbled into the margins of your school notes, their music tangled up in every memory that mattered.

that phase of your life had dulled slightly over the years. the screaming-concert-girl energy giving way to bills and responsibilities, but the pull hadn’t completely left. no matter how much your life shifted, their music still sat somewhere deep, familiar like a heartbeat.

you hadn’t even met them yet.

two months in, and the closest you’d gotten was sorting through hours of raw footage of them.

if anything, it had only made the distance feel sharper. because in those clips, they didn’t look like the untouchable seventeen that you grew up idolizing.

they looked…human.

mingyu always humming under his breath when he sketched between takes. seokmin laughing at the crew’s bad jokes. wonwoo feeding a stray cat outside of the studio while waiting for the next setup.

so many tiny moments. the kind of moments fans never usually get to see. moments you shouldn’t have even noticed, but did anyways.

you kept those observations locked up. because here, you weren’t a fan. you were the intern who didn’t speak unless spoken to.

especially around your boss.

he’d made it clear from day one; you were there to observe, to assist only when asked, and to stay out of the way.

any time your mouth opened, his glare said ‘don’t even think about it.’

so you didn’t. at least, not until the meeting.

the boardroom felt colder than usual, the air conditioning humming just loud enough to fill the spaces between the clipped conversations circling the table.

you sat near the end, laptop open but your fingers still, the screen nothing more than a prop to make you look busy. around you, producers, managers, and department heads volleyed the same buzzwords back and forth like a game they’ve played at least a hundred times: branding. visibility. engagement.

every word felt rehearsed.

you were the youngest in the room by at least a decade, and probably the only one who knew what ‘viral’ actually looked like online. not that anyone cared what you thought.

at the head of the table, seungcheol leaned back in his chair, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair, while his phone balanced loosely in one hand. every so often, his thumb scrolled. his expression seemed detached, but not completely disinterested.

it was the first time you’d ever seen him in person, or any of them for that matter.

he didn’t seem larger than life the way you’d always imagined. he just seemed…tired. present, but guarded, as though he was only half tethered to the room.

without warning, he set his phone down. the sound wasn’t loud, but it still cut through the chatter like a blade.

“i don’t want another fully scripted episode,” he began, keeping his voice calm but stern. “sure it might be entertaining, but at the end of the day, we aren’t actors. i want people to see us. the actual humans. not the stage version. not the brand.”

his fingertip tapped once against the phone as his gaze moved slowly across the table. “but every time we try, it turns into something overly planned and fake. i don’t want that. does anyone have any actual suggestions?”

the room remained silent for a moment, most people pretending to think instead of admitting they were scared to speak up.

someone cleared their throat before offering, “we could do something documentary-style. stripped down, honest, but polished enough to feel intentional.”

“or another variety show,” another chimed in. “the fans always seem to love those.”

someone else pitched a ‘day in the life’ series that already sounded like another performance.

seungcheol didn’t so much as blink. his fingers tapped against the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm, while his other hand brushed over the edge of his phone like he wasn’t really listening anymore.

your boss exhaled through his nose, muttering just loud enough for you to hear, “he wants authentic, but he doesn’t understand media. you can’t have both.”

you told yourself to let it go. to swallow the thought clawing its way up your throat.

but before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“what if we didn’t plan anything at all?”

the shift was immediate. heads turned, the weight of their stares landing on you like a punch to the chest.

“y/n,” your boss said sharply. his polite smile for the table didn’t match the warning in his eyes when they cut towards you. “we’ve been over this. you’re here to observe, not to pitch ideas.”

the quiet that followed felt heavier than it should have, like every breath in the room was waiting for your response.

another voice broke through the silence. it was calm and low, but enough to make the whole room still. “let her finish.”

the tapping had stopped, and seungcheol’s gaze was on you now, seemingly intrigued by what you had to say.

“go ahead,” he said, softer this time.

your breath caught, but the evenness in his tone steadied you.

“maybe something like a vacation,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “no promos. no ads. no actual camera crew. just all of you together—hanging out, playing games, cooking, drinking, arguing over dumb stuff.”

the pause felt different this time. lighter even.

“it wouldn’t be about performances or challenges,” you went on. “it’d be in the in-between moments. the stuff that usually gets cut. nothing scripted, nothing forced. just seventeen being seventeen.

you shifted slightly in your seat, your voice softer but a little steadier now.

“people don’t care about perfect,” you said. “they want real. something that feels like one of you just picked up a phone and started filming. little pieces of your dynamic as a group instead of a whole production.”

for the first time today, his mouth tugged upward. not a full smile, just a flicker of one starting.

“now that,” he said quietly, leaning back again, “sounds like something we’d actually want to do.”

his eyes lingered on you, just for a moment, before he asked, “what’s your name?”

“y/n,” you answered, quieter than you intended.

he repeated it once, like he was testing the weight of it, before his gaze slid back to your boss.

“next time she talks, let her finish.” he ordered. his voice never rose, but the edge was sharp enough to leave no room for argument.

your boss’s nod was quick, his jaw tight. “understood. my apologies.”

seungcheol’s fingers brushed over his phone as he shifted in his chair, his tone lighter now that the tension had broken. “that’s enough for now,” he said.

his gaze found you again as the room started to move. “y/n, could you stick around for a bit? i want to hear more about your idea.”

the scrape of chairs filled the room as everyone started packing up. your boss got up without a word, adjusting his jacket. as he passed, his eyes cut to you with a silent ‘i’ll deal with you later’ before he walked out with the rest.

you didn’t even bother reacting, just slowly closed your laptop and waited for the last of the voices to fade.

when the door clicked closed, it felt like a huge weight of stress had already fallen off of your shoulders.

seungcheol leaned back in his chair, his elbow hooked over the armrest, phone loose in his hand as his eyes shifted back to you.

“sorry about him,” he said finally, his voice calm and even. “he didn’t need to talk to you like that.”

you shrugged, leaning back too. “he’s like that with everyone. pretty sure scowling is just his default setting.”

the corner of his mouth tugged, but his brows furrowed slightly, like he wasn’t sure if you were joking. “and you just…put up with that?”

“beats arguing,” you said, a faint grin slipping through. “he’s not exactly a ray of sunshine. i just let him sulk and do my job.”

that pulled a quiet laugh out of him, the kind that felt like it even surprised him.

for a moment, he studied you like he was trying to place something. then, tilting his head slightly, he asked, “how old are you, anyway? you seem…young.”

you arched a brow, your lips twitching at your joke before it even left your mouth. “you know you’re not supposed to ask a woman that, right? most people consider it rude.”

his eyes widened slightly, caught off guard. “i—no, i didn’t mean—”

you couldn’t hold it in any longer, a soft laugh slipping out as you waved him off. “relax, seungcheol. i’m kidding. i’m twenty-two.”

he let out a low laugh of his own, shaking his head as the tension in his shoulders eased. “you’re not really what i expected. and please, call me cheol. seungcheol is too formal.”

“okay deal,” you said, sitting up slightly, feigning curiosity. “but enlighten me—what exactly were you expecting? someone who only nods, smiles, and whispers ‘yes, sir’ every five seconds?”

his mouth curved a little more, though that calm, deliberate look never left. “no. just…people don’t usually talk to me like that in here. i think most of them would pass out if i even looked at them for too long.”

“yeah, well,” you said, resting your chin in your hand, “someone’s gotta keep things interesting.”

he leaned forward a little, his elbows resting on the table now. “so…this vacation,” he said, voice low but curious. “what are you actually picturing? somewhere away from the city, i’m assuming. but what do you actually want us doing?”

you leaned forward too, twirling your pen lazily between your fingers. “that depends on what you actually want people to see. you’re the one who doesn’t want to read a script anymore. so, what’s left? what does the ‘real’ seventeen look like?”

he went quiet for a beat, gaze lowering like he was actually considering it. “i don’t know. i guess just… whatever happens when no one’s trying to turn it into content.”

you nodded slowly. “so no staged characters, no fake setups. got it.”

that earned the faintest smile from him, his eyes staying on yours. “right. none of that.”

you placed your pen down onto the table, tilting your head. “so…how do you actually see this working? like, all of these moments that you want to share. did you want to just set up cameras all over the place that we rent?”

“i don’t really know yet,” he admitted, leaning back slightly with a shy smile. “i was kinda hoping you’d help me figure it out.”

“so what—am i your new assistant now?” you teased, a hint of a smirk playing at your lips.

“i mean,” he paused, like he was actually considering it. “you could be.”

you pretended to think deeply for a moment before turning towards him again, “alright, then. sounds like i’ll have to follow you everywhere. constantly. i should probably just move in, honestly. rent’s a nightmare right now anyways.”

he blinked, his face still calm but clearly trying to process. “…you’re serious?”

you stared for a beat before laughing. “no! oh my god. no, i’m not showing up at your place with a suitcase asking which room’s mine. i was joking.”

his brow lifted slightly, still watching you like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “you just said it so casually.”

“that’s the point,” you said, grinning. “that’s how jokes work. i exaggerate, you panic, everyone wins.”

a quiet huff of a laugh escaped him, like he wasn’t sure if he should, but couldn’t stop himself.

“alright,” you said, tapping your pen again, “so, now that i’m your fake roommate-slash-assistant-slash-stalker, we need to come up with a cool concept. it can’t just be some million dollar mansion. that screams press release.”

he drummed his fingers lightly against his the table, his gaze drifting. “i feel like it should be something that we can all have fun doing together.”

you hummed, pretending to scribble something but only drawing a lopsided circle. “what if we rented a lake house? honestly, just putting all of you in one place would be entertaining enough.”

his mouth tugged, like a thought had just clicked into place. “what if…we rented a lake house and bought one of those massive inflatable water parks? you know, like the kind you race across.”

you froze, trying to picture thirteen grown men sprinting across a floating obstacle course. it was exactly the kind of chaos people would watch unironically, purely for the entertainment of it.

you raised a brow, keeping your expression neutral. “why do i get the feeling this would end very badly for at least one of you?”

he shrugged, a faint glint of amusement crossing his eyes. “people will remember it,” he said. “and the ones who don’t will still think it’s funny. either way, it works.”

you let out a soft laugh, leaning back as you scribbled it out in your notebook just to make it official. “alright. giant inflatable waterpark it is. absolutely ridiculous, but somehow perfect. congratulations, cheol. you’ve officially matched my energy.”

he tilted his head slightly, an amused look lingering as he studied you. “was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“yeah,” you said with a grin. “don’t get used to it though, i’m saving the rest for your retirement speech.”

that got another laugh out of him, a genuine one. the kind that slipped out before he even realized it.

before you could keep the momentum going, your phone buzzed against your notebook, lighting up with the name you’d been expecting, but still dreaded.

mr. buzzkill: we need to talk when you’re done. do not leave until i find you.

a quiet laugh slipped out of you as you glanced at the screen, shaking your head.

seungcheol’s brow arched. “what’s so funny?”

you tilted the phone toward him so he could see the message.

the second his eyes landed on the contact name, a sharp cackle left his mouth, like it caught him off guard.

“mr. buzzkill?” he read, still grinning as his eyes flicked up to you. “that’s really what you call your boss?”

you nodded, completely unbothered. “yep. it was between that or ‘asshole’. this one felt friendlier.”

his grin lingered, another low chuckle slipping out as he leaned back in his chair. “he’s really calling you in for a lecture because you pitched an idea?”

“yep,” you said again, tipping your chair back slightly. “he’ll talk at me for five minutes, i’ll nod, we’ll both pretend it mattered, and then i’ll leave. i honestly think he just does it to feel important or something.”

his amusement lingered for a beat, his gaze shifting toward the door before he said, almost too casually, “or i’ll just fire him.”

you stared at him. “…you’re joking.”

he didn’t even glance up, thumb already flicking through his contacts. “i’m not. he’s terrible at his job anyways.”

“wait—” you started, but he’d already tapped the screen and set the phone on speaker, as casual as if he were ordering lunch.

two rings later, “yes, sir?”

“come back to the conference room,” seungcheol said evenly. “quickly, please.”

click.

you blinked at him, absolutely stunned.

three long seconds passed before you slapped a hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the laugh threatening to break free. “you’re actually doing it. oh my god.”

“you said he likes feeling important,” seungcheol murmured, eyes still on his phone as if this was the most routine thing in the world. “we’ll see just how important he feels in about two minutes.”

you choked on a laugh, doubling forward against the table. “you can’t just—you cannot fire someone in the middle of the day because they annoyed me!”

his gaze finally lifted, calm as ever, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “i can if they annoy me.”

the door opened then, your boss stepping in with confusion etched across his face. “sir?”

“sit,” seungcheol ordered, gesturing to the chair across from you.

the man hesitated for a moment but eventually moved, slowly lowering himself into the chair.

he wasn’t even given the chance to get comfortable before seungcheol spoke again, his voice smooth but cutting. “you’re done here. clean your office out by the end of the day.”

your boss froze, his eyes wide in shock. “i—what? sir, with all due respect, i—”

“you can’t manage your team, you slow every project down, and apparently, you’d rather waste your time lecturing interns than actually doing your job,” seungcheol cut in, voice still calm but final. “we don’t need that here.”

your boss opened his mouth, then thought better of it. after a stiff pause, he stood up and walked out, the door clicking softly behind him.

the silence that followed stretched for a moment, the faint hum of the air conditioning suddenly loud in the empty room.

you leaned back in your chair, still trying your best not to laugh. “so…is this just a normal morning for you? casually detonating someone’s career before lunch?”

seungcheol slid his phone into his pocket, leaning back as if nothing had happened. “he wasn’t exactly holding the place together. better to cut it clean.”

you tilted your head, pretending to mull it over. “clean? you barely even let him sit down. i think he got, what, half a breath before you pulled the trigger?”

his mouth curved faintly, not quite a smile. “would you have preferred i gave him a speech first? held his hand a little?”

you smirked. “nah, speeches are boring. this way’s much more entertaining. though now i feel like i should be worried.”

his brow arched slightly. “worried?”

you leaned forward slightly, your tone teasing. “you can really just snap your fingers and make people vanish. that’s kind of terrifying, cheol.”

“terrifying?” he echoed, one brow lifting. “or motivating?”

“both,” you said with a grin. “guess i should stay on your good side before you ‘cut it clean’ with me too.”

another low, unplanned laugh slipped out of him.

“hm,” you tilted your head at the sound. “maybe if i can keep making you laugh, i’ll actually be safe.”

he shook his head slightly, still watching you. “don’t push your luck, kid.”

you grinned, settling back into your chair. “so,” you said, gesturing loosely toward the now-empty seat across from you, “what happens to me now? do i just wander the halls like an orphan until someone decides they need my help?”

“no,” he said simply, like it was already settled. “you’ll be with me now. we’ll figure out the rest as we go.”

you blinked. “just like that?”

“just like that,” he repeated, unbothered. “welcome to your actual job.”

you exhaled a short laugh, shaking your head. “must be nice, having the kind of pull where you can just rearrange people’s lives like that.”

“you sound jealous,” he said, voice steady but his gaze flicking toward you with something just a little sharper.

“maybe a little,” you admitted, resting back in your chair. “if i asked for something right now, would it just… happen? like magic? new job, new car, maybe a pony for the apartment?”

his mouth twitched, barely noticeable. “depends on what you ask for.”

you tilted your head, studying him. “that’s a dangerous thing to tell someone who’s only been in the same room as you for, what, a few hours?”

he didn’t even blink. “you’re the one who wanted to move in with me a few minutes ago.”

you snorted. “yeah, as a joke.”

his brow lifted slightly. “maybe. but you looked pretty serious when you said it.”

“because my rent is disgusting,” you said, letting out a small huff of a laugh. “if you’re offering a free place to stay, i’ll take it. no questions asked. i’ll even water your plants, assuming you even own any.”

his mouth curved, faint amusement flickering in his expression. “i don’t.”

“figured,” you leaned back again. “so, when does my actual job start? you never actually told me what exactly i’d be doing.”

he slipped his phone from his pocket, glanced at the time, then slid it back. “actually, there’s something i want you to come with me to, tonight. consider it practice.”

“tonight?” you repeated, brows lifting. “you just fired my boss, like, five minutes ago.”

“and now i’m your boss,” he said easily, like that was reason enough. “which means i get to make the rules. it’s just a listening session. it’s low-key. you can just handle all of the behind-the-scenes content or whatever.”

you tilted your head, pretending to weigh it. “right. ‘low-key’. meaning i’ll be hovering awkwardly in the corner with a camera while you drink barcadi and act like like an idiot with your friends.”

his smirk deepened, like he was holding back a laugh. “something like that. just be ready by seven. i’ll have a car sent for you.”

you stared at him for a beat. “you know, you could at least ask if i’m free tonight. normal bosses do that.”

he met your gaze, unbothered. “normal bosses didn’t just hand you a promotion, did they?”

your mouth opened, then shut it again, because technically, he wasn’t wrong.

“fine,” you said finally, leaning back a little. “seven it is. but, just so we’re on the same page…what exactly am i walking into? because the way you’re selling it, i can’t tell if this is actually work or if i’m about to end up in some underground, members-only jazz club.”

he let out a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all. “guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

he pulled on his jacket as he stood, glancing at you once more before heading for the door. “don’t be late. we’ll see if you’re as good at this job as you were at making your last boss hate you.”

you smirked. “oh, don’t worry. i’m great at both.”

his hand was already on the door when he glanced back over his shoulder. “oh, and y/n?” he paused for a moment to make sure you were looking at him.

“make sure you dress like you actually work for me tonight. nothing formal, just…put together. something you can move in. don’t embarrass me,” a faint smile tugged at his mouth, like he could already tell you were overthinking it.

before you could even ask what that was supposed to mean, or figure out what ‘put together’ translates to for someone who probably considers designer suits casual, he was gone, leaving you staring at the door and wondering how your day had managed to turn into this so fast.

by the time you got home, the clock on your stove blinked 5:12 p.m. it wasn’t enough time to get ready without rushing, but it was enough time to overthink every single choice you’ve made today.

you dropped your bag by the couch and stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, replaying his voice in your head.

dress like you work for me.

something you can move in.

don’t embarrass me.

easy for him to say. for someone whose normal clothes probably cost more than your monthly rent, that could literally mean anything.

the thought followed you into your bedroom, lingering even as you opened your closet. you ran your fingers slowly along the hangers, like the right outfit might magically reveal itself if you stalled long enough.

it wasn’t a date. this was work.

except it didn’t feel like work when you started pulling out the clothes you normally saved for nights when you wanted to be seen.

after a few false starts, you landed on the only combination that didn’t make you question yourself. a black cropped top, a fitted black skirt, and your favorite leather jacket. it was bold, but not loud.

the knee-high boots, the ones that always made you stand taller even when you didn’t feel it, pulled the entire look together.

you paused in front of the mirror, smoothing the skirt absently before letting your hands fall back to your sides.

was it professional? not really.

was it something you could move in? sure.

was it something that wouldn’t make you blend into the wallpaper? definitely.

your apartment was still, the only sound being your boots against the floor as you moved from room to room.

by the time you zipped your jacket up and caught your reflection in the mirror, it hit you that you were actually about to walk out the door and into whatever seungcheol had planned for the night.

your phone buzzed in your hands a few minutes before the hour. an unfamiliar number lit up the screen:

unknown: hey, it’s cheol. the driver should be outside for you now. see you soon.

the message was short, but you read it twice anyway. not because you didn’t know who it was, he’d spelled that out for you.

but because something about how casually he said it lingered a little longer than it should have.

you shook the thought away as you slipped your phone into your pocket, keys in hand, and stood at the door for a moment before closing it and locking it behind you.

this is work, you told yourself as you stepped into the hallway.

but your pulse clearly didn’t get the memo.

the ride over was quiet; the kind of quiet where every passing streetlight felt like it was marking time. city noise blurred past the windows while your reflection stared back at you.

when the car finally slowed, the low thump of bass leaked faintly from somewhere ahead, pulsing through the still night air. the driver caught your eye in the rearview, giving you a short nod before unlocking the door.

after thanking him, you quickly stepped out, the cool air rushing against your skin as your boots hit the pavement. the leather jacket slid off one shoulder as you adjusted it, each step sounding sharper than it should on the empty street.

back in your apartment, it had felt easy to pull yourself together. standing in front of the mirror, everything had lined up. your posture, your expression, that flicker of confidence that made it all seem simple.

but now, standing outside of a building you’d never set foot in, about to step straight into his world, that confidence faltered. the steady hum of nerves worked its way up your spine, slow and deliberate.

it’s work, you told yourself again, fingers curling into your jacket pocket. just work.

you pulled out your phone, oddly relieved he’d texted you earlier. at least now you had his number, which meant you could actually reach him if you needed him in case of an emergency. like right now.

y/n: i’m outside. what now.

his reply came fast.

cheol: come in. side door’s open.

you made a face, thumbs already moving.

y/n: yeah, no. i don’t know anyone in there. you’re gonna have to come get me or i’m gonna be standing here all night.

a pause.

cheol: you’re serious right now?

y/n: yes. you’re the famous one, remember? i can’t just waltz in like i’m supposed to be here. save me.

another pause.

cheol: stay there.

less than a minute later, the side door swung open.

seungcheol leaned against the doorframe, his earlier look traded for a loose black hoodie thrown over a soft tee, grey sweatpants, sneakers, and a black beanie pulled low over his messy hair.

on anyone else, it would’ve looked careless. on him though, it somehow felt deliberate. like he could roll out of bed and still have the entire room orbit around him.

his eyes swept over you, quick but deliberate, before a quiet laugh slipped out. “seriously? you couldn’t walk in by yourself? what are you, a child?”

“compared to you, maybe,” you said easily, stepping towards him as he tilted his head toward the door. “you’ve been my boss for, what, eight hours? if i walk in and embarrass myself, it reflects on you now. so really, i’m just doing you a favor.”

his laugh came quiet and easy, his mouth curving as his eyes scanned over you again. “at least you figured out what i meant earlier. you look good.”

you tilted your head slightly, the corner of your mouth pulling into a faint smile. “so…you’re saying that i understood the assignment?”

he paused, glancing at you like you’d just started speaking another language. “the…what assignment? did i miss a meeting or something?”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “no, it’s not an actual assignment. it’s a saying. it just means i nailed it.”

he frowned slightly, looking at you like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “why not just say you nailed it? why make it sound like schoolwork?”

you smirked, brushing past him through the doorway. “because this way sounds cooler. you wouldn’t get it, grandpa.”

that earned you a short, unbothered laugh, his voice dropping dry as he caught up beside you. “right. because nothing says ‘cool’ like comparing yourself to homework.”

you glanced at him, lips twitching. “the people that get it, get it.”

he gave you a sidelong look, faintly amused, but didn’t bother firing back this time. the door clicked shut behind you, the faint thump of bass from the studio carrying down the hallway as you kept walking side by side.

seungcheol slid his hands into his pockets, his pace unhurried, like this was nothing more than another normal night for him.

“so…who’s actually in there?” you asked, trying to sound casual while your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your bag.

“just a couple of producers,” he said easily. “oh, and the rest of the boys.”

your step didn’t falter, but your pulse definitely did. “right,” you said evenly. “just seventeen. sounds very casual. no pressure at all.”

he slowed his pace slightly, almost like he could sense it, then pivoted on his heel, walking backwards so that he could face you.

his grin tugged wider when he caught the anxious look on your face. “oh, no way,” he said, his voice smooth but teasing. “you’re nervous.”

your eyes flicked up, unimpressed. “nope.”

“you are,” he drawled, tilting his head as his eyes skimmed over your expression. “the girl who spent all afternoon acting like she couldn’t care less about anything, is about to meet a few idiots and completely lose her mind.”

you kept your stride even, fingers tightening on your bag. “you’re imagining things.”

his smirk curved sharper, his tone dipping playful. “posters? be honest. did you have any? whole wall of us, maybe? or was it just me? was i your bias?”

“in your dreams, cheol.” your voice stayed smooth, but the faint twitch at the corner of your mouth betrayed you.

he caught it instantly, his grin deepening. “mm. that’s not a no.”

you gave him a sidelong glance, dry. “humble and delusional. that’s an impressive combo, even for you.”

he chuckled low, leaning slightly closer as he walked. “still not hearing a denial.”

you shot him a quick look, sharp but amused. “you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“absolutely,” he said, still walking backward with ease. “rookie videographer who’s secretly a fangirl, doing everything she can to act unbothered. it’s kind of adorable.”

you slowed your steps just enough to tilt your head at him. “adorable?”

his grin didn’t falter, one brow lifting like he was daring you to challenge him. “what? too soft for your whole detached personality, sunshine?”

you smoothed your jacket with a mock shrug, deliberately looking past him. “no, i just didn’t realize grandpa was handing out compliments tonight.”

“grandpa, huh? careful, kiddo. i could still leave you out here to fend for yourself.” he said, not being able to keep himself from laughing at the insult you threw at him.

you flashed him a quick grin. “keep calling me kiddo, and i’ll tell everyone you begged me on your hands and knees to have me work for you.”

his laugh came low again, unhurried. “tell them whatever you want. we both know they’ll believe me over you.”

you shot him another look as you brushed past him, your voice lilting. “maybe, but only because you’ve got more than a decade’s head start on brainwashing them.”

his smirk widened as he caught the door, swinging it open with a dramatic flourish. “after you, trouble.”

seuncheol’s hand brushed lightly at the small of your back, steering you past a wall of platinum plaques and down the hall toward the lounge.

twelve painfully familiar faces turned towards you as soon as you stepped into the studio.

seungkwan was in the middle of a dramatic complaint, his drink waving as he made his point, while soonyoung laughed at him like it was the best thing he’d heard all night. vernon stood nearby, nodding along seriously, but not actually listening to what’s being said.

on the couch, joshua sat quietly while seokmin has his legs thrown over his lap, whispering commentary that made joshua’s jaw drop. jun leaned in closely, letting out a shocked laugh after hearing what was said between them.

chan paced back and forth, reenacting something no one had asked to see, nearly spilling his drink in the process. mingyu watched from the floor, legs crossed, his eyes following him like he was watching his favourite show.

by the mini-fridge, minghao stood calmly and quietly while jeonghan seemed ready to argue with the open door like it had personally offended him.

nearby, wonwoo sat on the floor, completely immersed in a random game on his phone, while jihoon hovered at the desk, tapping along to the beat coming through the speakers.

seungcheol didn’t miss a beat, his voice carrying smoothly over the music. “alright, boys. this is y/n. she’s my new…assistant. try not to scare her off before she actually starts earning her paycheck.”

minghao brows arched, his grin tugging wider as he looked you over. “wait…how old is she?”

before seungcheol could answer, you flashed him a quick, easy smile. “twenty-two.”

mingyu let out a low whistle, smirking as his gaze cut to seungcheol. “you brought a baby into the studio? does she even drink?”

“of course i do,” you said flatly, your expression unbothered.

none of them looked convinced.

especially not jeonghan, who tipped his head ever so slightly, his expression hovering somewhere between skeptical and amused as he took another slow sip from his glass.

you didn’t bother arguing with them.

instead, you crossed the room, eyes locked with jeonghan, and took the glass straight from his hand while he was mid-sip.

he froze for a beat, his face full of confusion, but he didn’t stop you.

the liquor burned smoothly down your throat. it was probably expensive and it definitely wasn’t meant to be downed like this, but you tipped the glass back anyway and drained what was left in one clean pull, your gaze never once breaking from his.

setting the now-empty glass gently back into his unmoving hand, you swiped your tongue across your bottom lip, catching the last trace of the burn, and tilted your chin slightly towards him.

“still think i don’t drink?” your voice came calm, almost playful, like you hadn’t just hijacked the man’s glass and polished it off in front of everyone.

for a moment, the room was quiet. just stunned silence and the faint bass bleeding in from the other side of the wall.

vernon cracked first, laughing so hard he nearly fell to the floor. “holy shit.”

jihoon shook his head, grinning like this had just made his whole night. “okay, she’s dangerous. hyung, where the hell did you even find her?”

leaning against the wall, seungcheol’s smirk curved wider, his voice smooth but tinged with a low laugh. “the office. apparently, hr forgot to mention she comes with a death wish.”

jeonghan’s gaze hadn’t left yours. the corner of his mouth tugged up, slow and deliberate, as he set the now-empty glass aside.

“bold,” he said with the kind of tone that almost felt like a test. “hope you can keep up, kid. we don’t exactly pace ourselves here.”

you tilted your head, your grin tugging wider as you looked up at him, all five-foot-whatever of you squaring off with his height like it didn’t faze you. “good,” you said simply. “neither do i.”

the night bled together in a haze of music, drinks, and the thirteen of them constantly trying to outdo each other. it was louder, funnier, and more absurd with every passing minute.

and somehow, you matched them beat for beat, like you’d been a part of this chaos for years.

any time you even thought about sitting down, someone pulled you back in.

seungkwan hurled you a mic mid-session so you could yell nonsense over a half-finished hook.

chan perched his sunglasses on your face and declared you their new ‘creative director’, insisting you looked way more qualified than anyone else here.

jeonghan handed you another full glass of whiskey, his stare a silent challenge. you didn’t even blink before knocking it back.

seungcheol wasn’t competing like the others though. not exactly. instead, he drifted in and out of every moment.

you kept your promise to him, bouncing between laughing with them and catching the behind-the-scenes moments they didn’t even think twice about.

him pretending to faint on the couch. him balancing someone’s sunglasses upside down on his face. him pulling faces at your phone like you were documenting his slow descent into madness.

every clip was more ridiculous than the last, but they were real.

they didn’t slow down either. it was a mess.

a loud, drunk, ridiculous mess that stretched on for hours.

“alright,” seungcheol said suddenly, leaning slightly so his voice cut through the noise just for you. “time to go.”

you turned your head towards him, your smile tugging lazy. “go? what, past your bedtime already, old man?”

his smirk curved, faint but sharp. “no. but i’m not letting my brand-new hire face-plant outside of a gas station at two a.m. you’re staying at my place tonight.”

you sat up just enough to swing your legs off his lap, not even sure how they ended up there in the first place. “wow. day one, and i’m already being lured to the boss’s penthouse? scandalous.”

before he could answer, seokmin froze mid-chopstick solo, spinning around like you’d just announced the death of a loved one. “she’s leaving?! no. no, no, no. the rookie stays.”

mingyu propped himself up on his elbows, groaning dramatically. “yeah, no chance. you can’t steal her. she’s ours now, not just yours.”

minghao stretched out on the floor beside him, added with a straight face, “she’s also the only one who hasn’t spilled anything on me. statistically, she’s our best hire.”

you crossed your arms, trying not to grin as they formed what looked like the world’s least-coordinated security detail around you. “see? majority vote says i stay. sorry, cheolie.”

seungcheol stood, sliding his hands into his pockets as he glanced over the group of them. “majority vote? cute. except i’m the oldest, which means i make the calls around here. so, yeah. we’re leaving.”

seungkwan clutched his chest like he’d been betrayed. “do you hear this? he’s drunk on power!”

“and bacardi,” wonwoo added, his voice cracking as he tried not to laugh. “mostly bacardi.”

you tilted your head at seungcheol, your grin growing wider. “he sounds like a dictator. should we demand a ransom? i’m worth at least two bottles of bacardi.”

his brow arched, a flicker of amusement tugging at his mouth. “two bottles? that’s it? i think you’re undervaluing yourself.”

you were about to answer when soonyoung cut in loudly, “five bottles. oh! and you have to let me keep your chrome hearts beanie.”

seungcheol let out a quiet laugh, shook his head once, and stepped forward without warning, hooking one arm behind your knees and the other at your back, scooping you clean off the couch as if you weighed nothing.

you yelped, instinctively clinging to his neck as laughter bubbled out of you. “wow. no negotiation? just straight-up kidnapping? bold strategy.”

“exit strategy,” he corrected, adjusting you easily as the others erupted behind you.

“rookie!” seungkwan cried, reaching for your ankle like a soap opera lead. “don’t forget us!”

seokmin threw himself onto his knees, pointing at seungcheol like he was the villain in a drama. “take me instead!”

joshua angled his phone towards you, deadpan as he filmed. “this is the last documented footage of her before she was abducted by her cold and ruthless boss.”

you stretched one arm toward them like you were in a death scene, voice full of fake desperation. “remember me! make a documentary!”

seungcheol shook his head as he carried you to the door, muttering, “unbelievable,” though the grin pulling at his mouth said otherwise.

as he nudged the door open with his shoulder, you tilted back towards the chaos, blowing kisses like a pageant queen.

“bring snacks next time!” chan shouted after you.

“ditch the grandpa, too!” mingyu yelled, making vernon choke on his drink just as the door swung shut behind you.

the hallway was quiet in comparison, the music from the lounge fading to nothing more than a faint thump. seungcheol carried you easily, his grin tugging wider when he caught the smirk pulling at your mouth.

“you know,” he said, voice warm and faintly smug, “for someone who swears she’s so independent, you’re not exactly fighting your way out of this.”

you tilted your head, all faux innocence. “why would i? it’s a free ride to a penthouse. plus, i get to watch you pretend thirty isn’t old while you carry me around like some k-drama lead. total win-win.”

he cackled, stepping into the elevator. “first of all, thirty is not old. second of all, you’re lucky i don’t charge you for this. you’d already owe me half your nonexistent paycheck.”

you leaned closer, your grin tugging wider. “please. you wish you were getting paid to hang out with me. just admit it, you wanted an excuse to play hero because your knees couldn’t handle my dancing anymore.”

he laughed, head tilting toward you as the elevator doors slid shut. “keep talking, rookie. we’ll see how confident you are when i drop you on the curb.”

you batted your lashes, unbothered. “do it. i’ll make it your next headline. ‘seventeen leader s.coups abandons young employee on the streets’. i’m sure it’ll do wonders for your image.”

his grin deepened, his gaze holding yours as the elevator hummed to life. “fine. i’ll keep carrying you. but only for the sake of my reputation.”

you smirked, settling more comfortably in his arms. “whatever helps you sleep at night, cheolie.”

his quiet laugh rumbled in his chest, his fingers flexing lightly against your side. “you’re so lucky you’re funny.”

when the elevator doors slid open into the underground garage, he finally set you down by the car, his hand brushing your back to steady you. with a mock flourish, he opened the door. “after you, tough girl. wouldn’t want to spook you again.”

you slid in, smirking as you adjusted your skirt. “spook me? please. i survived your little boyband initiation just fine.”

he dropped into the seat beside you as the car pulled away, his smirk curving wider. “uh-huh. except for when jeonghan looked at you after you stole his drink. you went so still, i thought i’d have to call a medic.”

you tilted your head toward him, your grin slow. “what’s this? you sound jealous.”

his brow arched, eyes glinting as he leaned back. “jealous of what? that he was looking at you…or that he wasn’t looking at me?”

you laughed, shaking your head. “unreal.”

“let’s be honest,” he added casually, “he only stared because you downed his drink like a lunatic. i’ve known him for half of my life and even i wouldn’t try that.”

you grinned, leaning back. “so what you’re saying is…i impressed both of you tonight. sounds like a win to me.”

his laugh came low, genuine, as he tipped his head toward you. “or a problem. depends how you look at it.”

you snorted. “i think you’re just jealous they already like me more than they like you.”

seungcheol let out a quiet laugh, his knee brushing against yours as he shifted in his seat. “don’t get too comfortable. give it another night and they’ll realize you’re just as much trouble as i am. maybe even worse.”

you turned your head, meeting his eyes with a grin. “please. they’ll keep me around. you, though? jury’s still out.”

his smirk tugged wider, slow and deliberate. “is that so?”

you shrugged, feigning innocence. “just saying, cheolie. maybe try to keep up next time.”

he chuckled, leaning back as the city lights flickered across his face. his knee stayed pressed against yours, the silence between you soft and charged as the car slid through the streets.

the car rolled to a stop in another underground garage. seungcheol got out first, holding the door open as he gestured for you to follow.

“you know,” he said as you stepped out beside him, his tone casual but tinged with that cocky grin, “you’re probably going to hate your own apartment after tonight.”

you glanced over at him, brows raised as you fell into step towards the elevator. “why? because you’re about to ruin it for me with whatever absurd palace you live in?”

his mouth curved faintly. “palace is a stretch. but yeah, probably.”

you smirked, pulling your jacket into place. “guess that means i’m officially moving in, then. makes my job a whole lot easier.”

his eyes slid toward you, grin tugging a little wider. “you realize this is, what…the third time today that you’ve said you’re moving in?”

you shrugged, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open. “what can i say? i’m manifesting. figured if i repeat it enough, you’ll just give me a key out of exhaustion.”

he followed you in, leaning casually against the rail. “bold. most people wait at least a month before trying to claim the spare room.”

“the spare room?” you shot back, grinning. “if i’m moving in, i’m taking the master. you can keep the guest room.”

his laugh broke through through the quiet hum of the elevator as it began its climb. “keep dreaming, rookie.”

and by the time the doors slid open, whatever quip you had ready died instantly. he was right, your apartment is now ruined forever.

floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the walls, the city glittering far below like someone had staged it just for him. every surface gleamed, every line deliberate, even the furniture looked like it had it’s own personal stylist.

the living room alone could have fit your entire apartment in it. the whole place felt surreal. almost like you’d stumbled into some sleek, modern castle where even the couch probably costs more than your car.

though somehow, it still felt too quiet with just the two of you there.

“holy shit. this is fucking insane.” you said, lips quirking as you turned to look at him.

behind you, seungcheol’s laugh came low, his hands sliding into his pockets. “it’s just home.”

you turned your head, brow arched. “you realize my apartment can’t even handle the toaster and a blow dryer at the same time without a blackout, right? forgive me for thinking this feels a little excessive.”

seungcheol let out another low laugh, already slipping out of his jacket. “you say that like you don’t fit right in.”

you turned, giving him a look. “me? fit in here?”

he gave you a once-over, that cocky grin tugging at his mouth. “oh please, i can already see it. strutting around barefoot, stealing my hoodies, acting like you’re the queen.”

you blinked. “well, if you’re giving out free hoodies, i’m not gonna say no. do i get a crown too? i can’t really be the queen without one.”

“mm,” he murmured, already heading towards the hallway. “i’ll let you borrow a hoodie. but the crown?” he looked back at you, smirk in full effect. “that, you’ll have to earn.”

you tilted your head, falling into step behind him. “earn? i think downing jeonghan’s drink in front of all of you already earned me the crown.”

he glanced over his shoulder, brow arched, grin tugging wider. “it was cute. but trust me, stealing a drink isn’t crown-worthy. you want the title, you’re gonna have to actually work for it.”

you smirked, matching his tone. “guess you’ll have to let me stay long enough to prove it, then.”

his chuckle slipped out low as he turned back towards the hall, his voice carrying just enough tease. “we’ll see how long you last first.”

you trailed him down the hallway, past a row of framed records, a wall of sneakers arranged like an art installation, and lighting so moody it felt like the hall could have its own soundtrack.

“seriously,” you muttered, glancing around. “do you ever get lost in here? because i’m ninety percent sure i’ll need a map. or maybe a flare gun.”

“no,” he said, glancing back towards you with a faint grin. “but if you disappear, i’m sure kkuma will find you eventually.”

he opened a door at the end of the hall, revealing a bedroom that looked like it came straight out of a magazine. sleek and minimal, but somehow still warm, with a bed so massive it could’ve doubled as a small island.

there was a small white dog stretched across the duvet, her head lifting lazily when you stepped in.

“this is my baby, kkuma,” seungcheol said, crossing over to his dresser. “don’t bother trying to—”

you didn’t let him finish. you were already leaning over the bed, arms resting on the mattress like you’d known her forever.

“hi, sweet baby,” you cooed softly. “look at you. absolute royalty.”

he stood back watching you in shock as kkuma sat up a little to greet you. her eyes followed your hand as you scratched along the edge of the blanket.

instead of barking or bolting, which is clearly what he expected her to do, she crept closer.

you glanced over your shoulder, grinning. “so…this is the scared, people-hating dog you warned me about?”

seungcheol was still frozen in place, staring at you like he was trying to figure out how you’d just pulled off a magic trick. “she runs away from everyone. she even does it to me sometimes! what did you do?”

you smirked, rubbing under kkuma’s chin. “royalty recognizes royalty, cheolie.”

he shook his head, still looking mildly suspicious, before pulling an oversized black hoodie from his closet and handing it over. it looked soft, worn in, and definitely big enough to pass as a dress.

“this’ll work for tonight,” he said. “i’ll grab you some pants, too—”

“nope,” you cut in, already holding the hoodie up. “no need. this is already basically a blanket, and i also don’t sleep in pants anyways.”

his brow arched, somewhere between amused and confused. “you just…don’t?”

“nope,” you said, casual as ever, folding the hoodie over your arm. “too restrictive. i like my legs free. consider this your official roommate orientation.”

his lips twitched like he couldn’t tell if you were serious or not. “you’re…something,” he muttered, turning back towards the door. “get changed. i’ll go and grab us some snacks.”

you scratched behind kkuma’s ears one more time as you straightened. “you know, between her loving me, your skyline view, and my new oversized rapper hoodie, i’d say i’m doing pretty well for myself right now.”

he smirked, shaking his head as he opened the door to leave. “yeah, keep talking like that. next thing i know, you’re moving in for real.”

you grinned as you headed toward the bathroom. “oh, don’t tempt me. i’ll bring my plants and make this official.”

he laughed under his breath, closing the door behind him, still shaking his head like he couldn’t decide if you were joking, or if one day he’d come home to find you setting up monstera’s by the window.

the hoodie hung off of you like an oversized nightgown, the sleeves falling way past your fingertips as you padded barefoot down the hallway, still a little unsure of where you were going.

thankfully, the sound of muffled chaos spilling out from his phone led you to right to the living room.

he was stretched out on the couch, one arm propped up behind his head, his phone in the other, with some sped-up audio clip buzzing from the speakers. it was random, and not at all the vibe you’d expected from someone like him.

without asking, you crossed the room and dropped onto the couch. not into the empty spot beside him, but sideways, letting your head settle in his lap like you’d done it a thousand times before.

the cushions dipped under your weight as you stretched out, one knee almost dangling over the edge while you got comfortable, fully claiming the spot like you had a right to it.

he froze for a second, glancing down at you with a raised brow and the faintest twitch of a smile.

“so…this is a thing now?” his voice was smooth, low, but the amusement was obvious.

“yep,” you said, eyes closing like you hadn’t just barged in and claimed him as furniture. “you kidnapped me, fed me bacardi, and gave me a hoodie. this is the natural consequence.”

he let out a laugh of disbelief before his free hand dropped lazily onto your arm. not heavily, just there. his thumb began idly brushing against the fabric.

after a beat, you cracked one eye open, tilting your chin towards his phone. “what are you even doing? please tell me it’s not work. if you’re emailing people at—” you squinted at the clock across the room, “—whatever ungodly hour this is, i’m calling hr.”

“relax,” he murmured, scrolling lazily. “it’s reels.”

your eyes popped open. “reels? you? oh my god.”

his brow lifted as he looked down at you. “what? am i not allowed to watch reels now?”

“i just…didn’t think you did the whole midnight doom-scroll thing,” you teased, shifting so your cheek pressed against his thigh. “you give more like…stocks and skincare before bed energy.”

he laughed again, almost like a giggle this time. “you really think i’m that boring?”

“not boring,” you teased, your grin tugging. “just…a little old.”

his smirk sharpened, his thumb brushing along your sleeve again, slower this time. “careful. i could still have security toss you out, hoodie and all.”

you tilted your head back to meet his eyes, your grin tugging wider. “please. who else is gonna explain why people keep calling you ‘twin’ and why your comments are full of clown emojis?”

he chuckled, shaking his head, though his gaze lingered on yours a second longer than necessary. “so that’s what you’re here for. not as my assistant, but as my personal interpreter for whatever language the internet speaks nowadays.”

“exactly,” you said, your voice playfully smug. “which basically makes me untouchable.”

his thumb traced a slower line along your arm, his smirk matching the pace. “we’ll see about that.”

the reels still flickered across his screen, casting a soft light over both of you, while his hand stayed resting lazily on your arm. his thumb was still tracing slow, absent shapes through the sleeve of the oversized hoodie he’d given you, the fabric warm wherever he brushed over.

you were still sprawled sideways across the couch, head nestled in his lap like you’d been there for years instead of hours.

“are you asleep?” his voice was low, gentle, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment.

“no, just plotting,” you murmured, eyes still closed.

his brow arched, faint amusement flickering across his face. “plotting what?”

“whether i can steal this hoodie,” you said, voice slow, almost thoughtful. “and maybe the penthouse, too. pretty sure no one would notice if i just stayed here forever.”

his quiet laugh skimmed the air, his fingers grazing a little lower down your arm. “bold move, considering you only got here like an hour ago.”

you cracked one eye open, smirking up at him. “technically, you invited me. so, really, this is on you.”

he hummed, pretending to consider that, his thumb tracing another idle circle along your sleeve. “true. didn’t realize i was inviting a squatter, though.”

“don’t act like you’d hate it,” you teased, your smirk widening as you shifted slightly against him. “you’d be bored without me right now.”

his mouth curved, his gaze lingering on yours a second longer than before. “maybe.”

the silence that followed stretched, softer this time, the hum of the city outside filling the space where neither of you spoke.

you shifted just enough to angle yourself towards him, your head still in his lap as you glanced up. the slight movement made his hand slip from your arm, settling against your stomach instead.

“we probably shouldn’t be doing this…right?” your voice dipped lower, slightly softer now, like you weren’t entirely sure you wanted him to hear it.

his gaze stayed on you, steady, while his thumb still traced lazy lines against your stomach like there was no rush to answer. “you mean lying on my couch like this?” he began. “or the part where you’re looking at me like you already know how this ends?”

your mouth curved faintly, but the grin didn’t fully reach your eyes this time. “both.”

his fingers shifted slowly, gliding from your stomach until they settled at your hip. his thumb brushed there instead, a little firmer now. “yeah,” he said quietly. “probably not.”

“definitely not,” you breathed, though you still didn’t move. neither of you did.

the pause hung for a beat. shorter this time. heavier.

“so…” you tilted your chin just enough to meet his eyes, your voice teasing but softer now, “you’re gonna be the responsible one and kick me off your lap, right?”

his smirk curved deeper, slow and deliberate, his fingers tightening at your waist. “do i look responsible to you?”

a soft laugh slipped from you, low and quiet. “not even a little.”

before you could say anything else, his hand slid to the small of your back, fingers splaying deliberately against your skin through the fabric.

with a slow and steady pull, he guided you upright, taking his time like he wanted you to feel every shift of his hands.

in one smooth movement, you were no longer stretched across the couch. you shifted onto his lap, angled sideways, your knees folding naturally as your thighs brushed against the solid line of his stomach.

one hand stayed firm at your lower back, anchoring you, while the other traced idle circles just above your waist, unhurried and deliberate.

you steadied yourself with your palms against his chest, your eyes lifting to meet his. “oh, so we’re just…done pretending to be subtle, huh?”

his mouth curved, slow and knowing. “didn’t really feel like we were pretending to begin with.”

his hand reached up, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. the touch was featherlight, but the way his eyes lingered on yours after sent a pulse of heat through your chest.

“okay,” you said quietly, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “is it the bacardi…or are we actually about to kiss right now?”

his thumb traced along your jaw, his smile softening as he leaned in just enough for you to feel his breath. “i’m pretty sure it’s not the bacardi.”

his thumb lingered a beat longer, gliding upwards until his fingers slipped into your hair, tipping your chin slightly so your lips hovered closer to his.

the first brush of his mouth against yours was slow. tentative. like he was giving you a moment to pull away. to draw a line neither of you should even be crossing in the first place.

but when you didn't, and your breath hitched instead, his grip tightened at your waist. the kiss deepened, his tongue skimming yours as his grip pulled you even closer, the space between you collapsing until you were pressed chest to chest.

it wasn’t rushed, but it was heavy; every quiet glance and unspoken thought from the night bleeding into it. when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, the soft sound it pulled from you melted into the tension between you.

before you even realized it, your body was shifting, chasing the heat of him.

your leg slid over his lap until you were straddling him fully, the oversized hoodie riding higher up your body as you moved. by the time you settled, it hung just at your hips, leaving only the thin strip of your underwear pressed against the soft fabric of his sweats.

you froze for half a second when you felt it; the unmistakable press of him beneath you, firm, even through the layers.

the realization made your fingers slide into his hair as your mouth found his, much harder this time.

you rolled your hips once, testing.

he didn’t stop you.

instead, a rough sound broke low from his throat, his hands clamping firmer at your hips to hold you there. he tore from your mouth just long enough for his breath to graze your jaw, his voice low and frayed. "you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

you smiled as you tilted your hips again, just enough to drag another sharp inhale from him. “pretty sure we’re both guilty here.”

his quiet laugh was strained, almost a growl, as his hands slid beneath your hoodie, palms flattening against your bare waist. his touch burned as he kissed you again, much hungrier than before.

each slow roll of your hips pulled another rough sound from him, his fingers digging into you like the thought of you pulling away didn’t even exist in his mind.

he pulled back from your mouth, only to trail his lips along your jaw, his voice rasping low into your skin. “you feel that? what you’re doing to me?” his words came out with a quiet hum. “you have any idea how hard it is not to just take you right here?”

your nails scraped lightly against the back of his neck, your hips tipping again, slower now, dragging every motion out. “i think i got the message,” you whispered, your grin brushing along his temple. “you’re not exactly subtle.”

his soft laugh rumbled against your collarbone before his mouth made its way over to your ear. “cocky,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your earlobe as his thumbs stroked along the curve of your hips. “but the way you’re moving…feels a lot like begging.”

your breath hitched as his hands tightened, guiding your rhythm slower, each drag deliberate enough to make your pulse stutter.

“not begging,” you murmured back, your lips grazing along his jaw. “just a little impatient.”

he pulled back slightly, meeting your gaze with a smug look on his face. his thumbs stroked lazy circles into your waist as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your lips.

“be good for me,” he murmured, each word careful and weighted. “and maybe i won’t make you wait.”

your pulse kicked harder at the seriousness threaded through his tone, your fingers tightening in his shirt. “and if i don’t want to be good?” you whispered back.

his smirk deepened, his lips ghosting yours as his breath caught softly against your mouth. “let’s just hope you won’t have to find that out.”

before you could respond, his arms slid beneath you, lifting you with ease. your legs locked around his waist as he kissed you again, his steps down the hallway slow enough that his mouth never left yours for long.

he set you down onto the bed with a gentle push, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight.

his hands were already back underneath the hoodie, exploring the warm skin of your sides, teasing over the curve of your breasts before tracing down your stomach.

his mouth trailed after them, his lips ghosting along your throat, down the center of your chest, and pausing just above the waistband of your underwear. his fingers hooked into them, tugging slightly as he spoke, each word sinking warm into your spine.

“tell me, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh now, “you gonna let me take my time with you?”

your breath caught as his mouth hovered over your thigh, his lips dangerously close to where you needed him the most.

you tried to steady yourself, fingers curling into the sheets as you tilted your chin down towards him. “you always this slow,” you teased. “or are you just trying to see how long it takes me to take over?”

he glanced up at you from between your legs. “take over?” he repeated carefully. “sweetheart, you couldn’t handle me, even if i let you try.”

you arched a brow, your grin tugging faintly despite the way your heart skipped a beat. “you sure about that?”

his hand slid further up your thigh, holding you open as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the edge of your underwear. “positive,” he mumbled, his voice low and edged with something that made your stomach tighten. “trust me…you don’t want to start a fight you can’t win.”

you opened your mouth to fire back, but the words died in your throat when his tongue dragged a slow line against your heat through the thin fabric; a tease that had your hips jerking before you could stop yourself.

“that’s what i thought,” he said softly, his breath warm against you, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear to tug them down with agonizing slowness. “now, let me show you how this is gonna work.”

the hoodie you were wearing had ridden up to your ribs now, leaving you completely bare beneath it. his hands guided your thighs apart as he comfortably settled between them.

when his tongue finally touched you again, it was unhurried and steady. your head tipped back, a sound slipping out before you could bite it back.

he hummed against you, the vibration making your stomach clench as he kept the same slow rhythm, his tongue tracing lazy, teasing laps around you.

“that’s better,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough but calm, as if he had all the time in the world. “just relax…let me take care of you.”

you tried to shift your hips to quicken the pace, but his hand pressed lightly into your hip, holding you in place. his tongue dipped deeper, the slow drag of it pulling another moan from you.

“patience, beautiful,” he murmured again, lifting his head just enough to glance up at you, a cocky smile forming on his lips when he saw your expression. “you’re gonna let me set the pace…and you’re gonna thank me for it later.”

and when his mouth dipped back down, there was no question about who was in control, or how much you wanted it that way.

his tongue dragged over you in slow, deliberate strokes. every circle and flick winding the coil in your stomach tighter until your thighs trembled against his shoulders.

each time you tried to shift your hips, desperate to chase the edge yourself, his hand slid up, palm pressing firmly into your stomach, holding you down with an easy, quiet authority.

he pulled back just enough for his breath to brush over your skin, his lips grazing your thigh as his gaze lifted to meet yours.

“can’t even stay still for me,” he muttered, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze. “always trying to take what you want, instead of letting me give it to you.”

your breath hitched as your fingers tightened in the sheets. “you’re too slow,” you breathed, trying to mask the crack in your voice with a hint of a smirk.

he tilted his head slightly, his mouth brushing closer to where you ached, but not close enough. “slow’s the point,” he said simply, his tone dipping a little lower. “but if you can’t listen…” his fingers slid away completely, the loss sudden and sharp, “then you can wait.”

heat flushed your cheeks, frustration mingling with the ache twisting low in your stomach. he leaned back onto his heels, his eyes steady on you as his fingers traced torturous paths along your thigh without moving close enough to where you aching for him the most.

“you want me to keep going?” his voice was calm and coaxing. not sharp, but there was definitely weight behind it; a thread of control that made your pulse spike. “then tell me. the right way.”

you swallowed, the words snagging in your throat as his fingers lingered maddeningly close to your heat.

“say you’ll let me handle it,” he continued, his tone even softer now; the kind of gentleness that left no room for argument. “say you’ll be good…and maybe i’ll give you what your body keeps begging for.”

your pride faltered under the weight of his voice. he was watching you, steady and unhurried, like he already knew you’d cave.

“please,” you whispered, your voice coming out softer than you meant it to. “please…please keep going. let me come. please, cheol.”

his brow arched slightly, his thumb brushing one last teasing circle on your thigh. “and?”

your breath shivered out of you, your nails curling even tighter into the sheets out of desperation. “i’ll be good,” you whispered, the words falling out like they’d been pulled from you. “i’ll listen. just…don’t stop again.”

his smirk deepened, satisfaction flickering in his eyes as his hand finally slid exactly where you you needed him the most. two fingers pressed into you slowly, curling with each thrust as his thumb circled your clit in a perfect, patient rhythm.

the sound that escaped you was raw and sharp as your body twitched beneath his steady hold.

“there we go,” he murmured, his tone low but softer now, coaxing you deeper into it. “just like that. don’t think. don’t even move. just let me give it to you.”

when his mouth dipped back down, his tongue joining the rhythm of his fingers, the sensation dragged you even higher, every nerve sparking until the tension snapped all at once.

your back arched, a loud moan breaking from your throat as your orgasm rolled through you, his tongue and fingers unrelenting until every wave had wrung you out completely.

his thumb pressed lightly into your hip, steadying you before he spoke. “see? patience looks good on you.”

you were still catching your breath, your thighs unsteady as the sensation slowly faded. his hand traced your up waist and stayed there, making it clear that he wasn’t anywhere near done with you.

“don’t think that gets you off the hook,” he whispered against your jaw, his tone soft but edged with something darker. “you’re not leaving this bed until i say we’re finished.”

you let out a soft laugh, dragging your nails along the back of his neck as you tilted closer to his ear. “is that so?” you teased. “because i was actually thinking…maybe it’s your turn now.”

he pulled back a fraction to meet your gaze, one brow arched in curiosity. “my turn?”

“mm.” you tightened your legs around his waist, just enough to roll him onto his back. he let you, didn’t even try to fight it, but the way his eyes lingered on you made it clear that he was only humouring you.

you straddled him, settling over his hips, your palms splayed on his chest. “you love to act like you’re always in control,” you murmured, your grin tugging as your fingertips traced down his ribs. “but i think you like it when someone takes care of you, too. bet no one ever calls you out on that, huh?”

his smile deepened, his thumbs grazing the outside of your hips as he tilted his head slightly. “you really think you can read me that quickly? you’ve known me for, what, a day?”

your rolled hips against him, coaxing a soft moan from his lips. “guess i’m just a fast learner,” you whispered, lips brushing his throat as you pressed harder into the unmistakable bulge that’s grown beneath you.

he let out a quiet hum, his fingers tightening on your hips, a faint chuckle rumbling low in his chest. “mm. definitely a twenty-two-year-old move,” he muttered, his tone dipping lower, “thinking you can handle someone who’s been doing this longer than you’ve even been legal.”

you leaned back just enough to look at him properly, your smile turning knowingly playful. “or maybe, you’re just not used to someone almost half your age keeping you on your toes.”

that earned a real laugh from him, his hands sliding higher to grip onto your waist. “careful,” he murmured, leaning up just enough so that his mouth brushed yours without kissing you yet. “keep running that mouth, and i won’t let you finish what you’re trying to start.”

you leaned closer, not being able to hide your cocky smile as your breath skimmed his lips. “then maybe you should shut me up.”

when his mouth finally met yours again, the kiss was deep and heated. his fingers dug into your skin as your body rolled over his again, every shift pulling another low sound from his chest.

“you really think you’re running this right now?” he asked, barely holding himself together.

you grinned, even as his voice made your stomach twist. “sure feels like it.”

a flicker of amusement flashed behind his eyes. “then go on,” he encouraged. “i’ll let you think you’re in control…for a little while.”

that flicker of encouragement was all it took. you slid off of his lap and down to your knees at the edge of the bed, the hoodie slipping low on your shoulders as your hands traced up his thighs.

his eyes never left you. one hand curled into the mattress, the other settled at the back of your neck — not guiding, not forcing. just there. a steady reminder that no matter how close this felt to freedom, the balance hadn’t actually changed.

“pace is yours,” he said quietly. “but don’t forget who’s really in charge here, baby.”

you tipped your chin up just enough to meet his gaze through your lashes, a faint smile tugging at your mouth. “guess we’ll see how long you can last while letting me think that.”

his jaw tightened as your fingers hooked into his waistband, easing his sweats down with the same patience he’d shown you earlier. your nails gently skimmed against his skin as you freed him.

the first brush of your lips against his tip pulled a sharp hitch from his chest; a sound he couldn’t quite manage to keep in.

his hand firmed at the nape of your neck, steady but still mostly restrained, letting his thumb trace your skin in the same way that your tongue teased him.

you pulled back just enough for your breath to skim over him, your voice soft but amused. “what’s wrong, cheolie? not as composed as you thought?”

his hand moved to graze your jaw as his voice came out rough. “enjoy it while you can. because when i decide that you’re done teasing me…” his fingers tightened slightly, “you’re gonna learn exactly how much control i’ve been letting you have.”

the way he stayed there, calm and patient, letting you set the pace even as his breath kept hitching when your mouth slid around him again, made it obvious: he was letting you lead, but only because he wanted to watch you push your luck before he inevitably took it all back.

you didn’t rush it. if anything, you leaned into that freedom, keeping every move measured and unhurried, mostly just to test how long his restraint would hold.

“jesus christ,” he said quietly, approval threading through the strain he couldn’t quite hide. “don’t stop, baby.”

you glanced up at him through your lashes, catching his gaze as you hummed softly around him; the sound dragging a rough, unrestrained groan from his throat. his fingers curled tightly in your hair, giving him something to hold onto as the knot in his stomach curled tighter.

when your tongue dragged slowly along the underside of his shaft, his breath stuttered, his thighs tightening beneath your hands. “mm—baby,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “fuck you’re gonna make me—”

he didn’t finish the warning. didn’t need to. you felt it in the way his hips twitched, unsteady and unplanned, the tension pulling through every inch of him.

he expected you to stop. to pull back.

you didn’t.

you stayed right there, mouth and hand working in the same slow, unrelenting rhythm, taking him deeper as he came undone with a low groan, his head tipping back against the headboard as his fingers tightened in your hair.

you swallowed every drop without hesitation, dragging it out until his thighs finally relaxed beneath your palm, his breath uneven as the last tremors faded.

you pulled back slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. when you looked up, his eyes were already on you.

it was evident that he was caught off guard, as if you’d just done something he hadn’t accounted for, and he was adjusting on instinct rather than thought.

his breathing hadn’t even steadied before he pulled you back towards him, his hand slipping beneath your hoodie as his mouth found yours again in desperation.

“we’re not finished,” he said quietly, thumb catching at your lower lip. “not yet.”

your brow lifted, the hint of a smile threatening at your lips despite the way your stomach tightened. “then what are you waiting for?”

he answered by shifting you without warning, guiding you onto your back in one smooth motion. his weight followed easily, settling between your thighs as if it was his rightful place.

“for you to use your words,” he murmured, his mouth tracing the line of your jaw.

your hands slid up his shoulders, your hips tipping toward him on instinct. his hand closed around your thigh immediately, stopping you mid-movement.

“and if i don’t?” you asked, aiming for steady and failing the second his mouth dipped lower, trailing kisses along your throat.

“then you’ll lay here dripping and shaking until you’re desperate enough to say please.” he answered without hesitation.

the calm weight in his voice had your breath faltering, frustration spilling past your lips. “cheol—”

“hm,” he hummed in response, pausing at your collarbone. “ready to be good for me yet?”

your pride wavered, just for a moment, before need overtook it completely. “please,” you breathed, the word slipping out softer than you intended. “please…i need you.”

his thumb traced along your thigh, attempting to coax the rest out of you. “need me to what, baby?”

your nails pressed into his back as your hips shifted despite his hold. “inside,” you whispered, your voice faltering just enough to give you away. “please, cheolie. i’ll be good…just give it to me.”

his dimples cut in beside that familiar, infuriating smile as his fingers caught the hem of your hoodie, lifting it off you in one smooth pull, his shirt following yours to the floor a second later.

skin to skin now, his hands roamed your torso, his thumbs grazing over your ribs as his mouth traced along your breasts.

“look at you,” he mumbled, his voice laced with admiration. “already shaking for me…and i haven’t even started.”

he slowly slid his hips against you, letting you feel every inch of him without pushing inside yet. the tease made your back arch, a soft moan unintentionally slipping out from your mouth.

his lips brushed your ear, his breath warm as he whispered, “say it again.”

your breath caught as your thighs tightened around him. “please, cheol…just fuck me already.”

“that’s my girl,” he praised, the nickname sending butterflies through your stomach.

when he finally eased inside of you, your body arched on instinct, a fractured sound slipping from you as your fingers curled into him for something solid.

he paused once he was fully there, keeping his grip steady at your waist. “fuck,” he breathed, his voice low and strained. “you feel that? how perfect you are for me?”

your breath slipped out of you before you could stop it, the sound answering him in a way words couldn’t.

his thrusts stayed deep but unhurried, every roll of his hips controlled and steady. each time you tried to shift, to speed him up, his hand would flatten against your stomach, holding you still.

“mm, no,” he murmured softly against your throat. “you begged for me, baby. now you need to take it how i give it to you. i want you to feel every inch.”

your breath stuttered as his pace stayed maddeningly slow, your body trembling from the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach.

“please,” you breathed, your fingers moving to his hair as your hips bucked against his hold. “please…faster, cheolie. i need—”

“need?” he echoed, almost sounding surprised at your desperation.

“i need you,” you murmured again, your voice faltering. “please, i’ll be good. just—i can’t.”

“can’t what, baby?” he asked calmly, already knowing the answer. “can’t handle me going slow? or can’t handle not getting what you want the second you ask for it?”

your chest heaved, your fingers curling around his shoulders as you tried to move your hips again, but his grip stayed firm. “i need you—please, i just…need you to—”

“say it properly,” he said, the command in his voice quiet but unmistakable. “tell me exactly what you need from me, baby.”

you squeezed your eyes shut, the knot in your stomach twisting tight. “i want you,” you whispered, voice cracking as you found the words. “please, cheol…fuck me hard and don’t stop until i come.”

a quiet, approving sound left him as his hold tightened at your waist. “there we go,” he said softly. “i knew you could do it, beautiful.”

he wasted no time, the change in pace abrupt and overwhelming, each thrust sharp enough to knock the air out from your lungs.

“oh my god—fuck, yes,” you gasped, clinging to him as the sensation overwhelmed you. “don’t stop—just like that—please don’t stop—”

his pace stayed relentless, every movement pulling another broken sound from you as his hand held you steady, keeping you right where he wanted you.

his other hand slid up your back, his fingers grazing along your spine before tangling into your hair, tilting your head just enough so that your your gaze would stay locked on him.

“fuck, baby…you feel unreal,” he breathed out. “you’re so tight around me, like you were made for this. made for me to fuck you like this.”

your nails scraped along any part of him you could touch, your breath breaking into short, needy sounds as he pushed in harder, each thrust knocking you deeper into the sheets.

his hand tightened slightly in your hair, not enough to hurt, but just enough to keep you there, to make you listen as his tone dipped lower, coaxing but commanding.

“that’s it. be a good girl and let go for me.” his hips drove into you harder, his breath stuttering.

your body tightened around him, every nerve winding sharp and fast until the tension snapped, your cry cracking out into the air as your orgasm tore through you.

“oh fuck—there you go, beautiful,” he groaned, grinding into you as you came apart around him, his hand stroking down your side to keep you grounded. “you’re being such a good girl for me, baby.”

you barely had the chance to steady yourself before his hands were already moving, sliding down your sides with intent. the shift was quick and sure, and before you knew it, you were flipped onto your stomach.

the mattress dipped as his palm pressed between your shoulders, guiding you down until your chest met the sheets.

the new position drew a reflexive lift from your hips, the rush of air against your skin making everything feel more exposed than before.

he followed the motion immediately, his hands settling at your ass as his grip tightened just enough to send a pulse of heat throughout your entire body.

“stay just like this,” he murmured, his words full of certainty, almost as if he’d already decided that this moment wasn’t up for negotiation. “keep your hips up for me, pretty girl.”

he didn’t give you the time to register any of his words before his hips snapped forward, sliding back inside of you in one hard thrust.

there was no tease. no slow stretch. just the sudden, overwhelming pressure of him filling you to the hilt, making your nails claw at the sheets as your mouth opened in a sharp, broken moan.

“oh fuck,” you gasped, your arms trembling as you gripped the bedding like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet.

his thrusts were deliberate. controlled. set to the kind of pace that made it clear that this wasn’t about his pleasure; it was about keeping you right where he wanted you, and showing you who was in control all along.

“this what you wanted?” he growled low against your shoulder. “all that begging…all that attitude…was just so you could get fucked like this, huh?”

your voice cracked as you nodded, your nails digging harder into the sheets. “yes—fuck, yes, just like that, please—don’t stop—”

he laughed softly against you, like the situation amused him. like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“look at you,” he muttered, his tone dipping into something between a groan and a tease. “taking me so well. my perfect girl.”

a choked sound left your throat, your hips twitching back to meet every thrust, your body desperate despite how relentless he was.

“can’t help it—feels so good—” your words broke into a whimper as your thighs trembled. “please, cheolie…harder. i can take it, just…please.”

his hands slid from your hips to your upper back, pressing you down into the bed as his thrusts grew sharper, the angle hitting so deep it made your vision blur. “yeah? you want it harder? want me to ruin you for anyone else? then take it, baby.”

every movement drove into you with a force that had your breath catching, your moans climbing higher as the tension coiled sharp and fast in your stomach.

his hand slid down your stomach with purpose as fingers settled over your clit in an unhurried rhythm that left your whole body shaking.

“fuck—i’m so close—” your voice cracked. “please, please don’t stop, i’m gonna—”

“that’s it, baby. come for me.” he coaxed, the encouragement in his voice making it impossible to hold back.

your third orgasm tore through you without warning, even sharper and stronger than the last, your moan breaking into something breathless and unfiltered as your body locked around him.

even as you shook beneath him, oversensitive and completely undone, his movements only stuttered for a few seconds before urgency took over, your reaction dragging him closer to his own edge.

“fuck—baby, i’m close—” he gasped against your shoulder, breath breaking as the last of his restraint gave out. “i’m gonna—”

his words broke apart as his grip tightened, breath spilling hot against your shoulder as he pulled you back into him, each thrust punching another moan from your lips.

“holy fuck—” his voice broke against your skin, his rhythm slowly coming to a stop as he buried himself deep inside of you, his release tearing through him in sharp, unsteady waves.

his hips ground into you through every pulse, each one wringing another soft, breathless sound from your lips as you clenched around him, the feeling of him filling you pushing you dangerously close to another high.

he stayed there for a long moment, chest pressed to your back, each breath warm against your shoulder. his hand eased its grip on your hip to stroke gently over your side instead, smoothing down your thigh as though he was trying to steady the both of you.

“you okay?” his lips brushed the curve of your shoulder as he mumbled it, his thumb tracing lines over your skin.

you nodded against the pillow, still trying catching your breath. “yeah…just…need a second to remember how to move my legs.”

that earned a quiet laugh from him before he kissed the back of your neck, lingering for a second too long.

slowly, he eased out of you, his hands steadying your waist so you didn’t fully collapse against the mattress.

the bed shifted as he stood, grabbing a towel from the dresser and gently cleaning you up before reaching for the hoodie that was crumpled up on the floor.

“arms up,” he murmured, sliding it back over your head as you lifted yourself just enough for him to pull it on for you.

you let out a quiet hum, sinking back into the sheets as he tugged the sleeves into place. “thank you,” you muttered into the pillow, your voice rough around the edges. “not sure i could’ve moved on my own.”

“i noticed,” he said, his voice warm but still somehow teasing as he tugged his shirt back on. “for a second, i thought i broke you.”

you rolled onto your side to look at him. “you didn’t break me. just…turned my legs to complete jelly for a bit.” you pointed out, holding back a laugh.

his mouth curved faintly as he climbed back into bed, his hand brushing lazy circles along your hip through the fabric of the hoodie.

“so,” he started, his tone calm but edged with a hint of amusement, “was that everything teenage you imagined? or did i just shatter a fantasy or two?”

“oh my god,” you groaned, dragging the pillow over your face for a second before peeking out at him with a grin. “we’re really doing this right now?”

“what?” he asked, leaning back on one hand. “you’ve been a fan for years. feels fair to ask if i lived up to the hype.”

you tossed the pillow at his chest, laughing softly despite the warmth rising to your cheeks. “hype’s intact. but if you ever say ‘teenage you’ again, i’m leaving.”

he caught the pillow easily, the faint smirk still tugging at his mouth. “noted.”

you settled back into the sheets, the weight of the night finally pulling at your limbs. for a few seconds, neither of you spoke. the only sound was the quiet hum of the city bleeding in through the windows, the kind of stillness that somehow felt heavier than silence.

seungcheol leaned back against the headboard, his fingers absentmindedly tracing along the curve of your spine. not rushed, not even fully conscious. just…there.

and even though you’ve come to realize that this was just a habit of his, it somehow made your chest ache.

you reached for your phone without lifting your head, turning around to snap a quick picture of him before holding it up for him to see.

he leaned over slightly, brows lifting in curiosity. “what’s that for?”

“proof,” you said, voice muffled against the pillow. “raw, post-hookup authenticity. in case you ever need it for…marketing purposes.”

he couldn’t help but laugh at your ridiculousness, shaking his head as he gently took the phone from your hand and set it on the nightstand beside him. “you’re trouble.”

you tilted your head just enough to look up at him. “maybe, but you’re smiling, so clearly you’re not mad about it.”

“not mad,” he admitted, his thumb brushing along your hip now. “but we can’t pretend this isn’t…complicated.”

your smile faded before you even realized fully you had one. you rolled onto your back slowly, staring up at the ceiling instead of at him.

“complicated,” you echoed, your voice flatter now. “right. of course.”

he glanced down at you, his brows furrowing when he caught the shift. “hey. i’m not saying i regret it. i just—”

“don’t,” you cut in. “you don’t have to explain. i get it. the age gap. the fact i technically work for you. i know what it would do to your image if this ever got out. i don’t need you to spell it out for me.”

you hated how small your voice sounded by the end, so you turned your face towards the window, keeping your eyes fixed on the skyline.

there was a beat of silence before his hand tugged gently at your hips. “look at me,” he said softly, but firm enough that you listened.

his eyes searched yours, steady but softer now. “i’m not saying i don’t want this,” he began. “i’m not saying i don’t want you. i just…i can’t sit here and tell you i know what happens next. not when my name in a headline would drag you through hell, too. but don’t think for a second that means i want you gone. i don’t.”

you blinked, your chest loosening a little, though your voice was still quiet when you asked, “so what does it mean, then?”

his thumb traced figures into your skin again, leaning closer to press a slow kiss to your temple. “it means,” he muttered, “that we don’t figure it all out tonight. not when it’s late and we’re still coming down from everything. but for now? it means you stay here. with me.”

you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your body finally sinking back into the mattress as he pulled you in closer, your head falling against his chest.

you wanted to believe it; that it wasn’t just the bacardi or the heat of the moment. that it wasn’t just him trying to keep you from feeling like a mistake.

but when his breath brushed your temple and he mumbled, “we’ll figure it out,” the words didn’t feel like reassurance.

they felt like a placeholder. a pause before the inevitable.

you honestly weren’t sure if you wanted to hear what ‘figuring it out’ was really going to mean.

mostly because a part of you already knew, and it felt a hell of a lot like ‘this can’t happen again.’

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