#seungcheol

[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.

[kalisburnerphone]

Sauvignon Blanc || Choi Seungcheol

Summary: Drunk you has no filter and your husband has always been a weak, weak man when it comes to you. He just didn’t expect your family planning conversation to awaken the caveman part of his brain or a raging breeding kink in both of you.

Warnings: smut!MDNI, established relationship, trying to conceive, pregnancy, soft dom!cheol, domestic fluff, humor, healthy communication, breeding kink awakening, enthusiastic consent, multiple + creative locations and one very smug husband who knocked you up in paradise, married life, baby fever, hormone-induced chaos, obsessed husband!Cheol x obsessed wife!reader, as usual I might be missing something.

W.C: 18.1k

Sometimes being married to Choi Seungcheol felt like a fever dream as you often wondered how you managed to bag a man that ticked every box. He had his moments, his little beige flags as you liked to call them, but you knew that man loved you which is why you’re seeking him out as soon as you stumble through your front door. You had an itch only your husband could scratch and if you were right, he would still be holed up in the home office.

Seungcheol had been reading reports in his home office when he heard the front door slam. A quick look at his watch alerts him to the time, 1:47 AM.

His eyes narrowed. Why didn’t you call him to come pick you up? He gets out of his chair when he hears the unmistakable sound of heels being kicked off carelessly and soft humming.

“My husband!” your voice singsongs from the down the hall. “Where are youuu?”

He barely has time to make it to the hallway before you stumble into the room seconds later, eyes glazed and clutching your purse like it’s plotting against you.

“Babyyyy,” you gasp, “There you are.”

His brows draw together. “You’re drunk.”

You blink at him, smile growing. “Nuh-uh, just a tiny bit tipsy.” You measure with your fingers before breaking into a fit of giggles. Seungcheol can count on one hand how many times he’s seen you drunk—it’s still one hand—as you can hold your liquor very well.

You walk—well, sway—across the room and launch yourself at him. He stumbles half a step back, catching you as your arms wrap tightly around his waist, face burying into his chest.

“You smell expensive and…sexy,” you mumble.

“What happened?” he asks, voice low.

“Work has been shit,” you whisper. “Needed a—” you hiccup, “—a break.”

He exhales slowly before his hand finds its way to your back. His grip tightens as he studies your lightly smudged eyeliner and flushed cheeks. The scent of your favorite wine lingers on your breath but beneath it lies your usual perfume, brown sugar, coconut, vanilla.

“You’re a mess,” he murmurs, though there’s no bite in his tone.

You giggle against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. “You married this mess.”

A beat of silence passes before his lips twitch despite himself. “What am going to do with you, huh?”

The weight of you against him is familiar, grounding even, despite the alcohol-fueled abandon in your movements. Seungcheol’s hand moves in slow, deliberate circles against your back, a habit he’s developed over the years; one that always seems to settle you.

“Do with me?” you repeat, pulling back just enough to look up at him through your lashes. Your eyes are glassy but focused entirely on him, pupils blown wide. “I have some ideas.”

He catches the shift in your tone immediately, the way your fingers stop their aimless fidgeting and instead trace deliberate paths along his chest. His jaw tightens.

“You’re drunk,” he repeats, firmer this time, even as his treacherous body responds to your proximity.

“In loveeeeee” you respond as you attempt to sing lyrics from Drunk in Love.

Seungcheol’s resolve wavers as you butcher the Beyoncé song, swaying in his arms with unselfconscious joy. Despite everything—the late hour, the worry that had knotted in his chest when he heard the door slam, the very valid concern about your current state—he feels his lips curve into a reluctant smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, but his hands have already moved to steady you, one sliding to your hip while the other cups the back of your head.

“Ridiculously in love with you,” you counter, poking his chest for emphasis. The motion throws off your already questionable balance, and you stumble forward again.

He catches you easily, muscle memory from years of being your safety net. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Ooh, bed,” you waggle your eyebrows in a way that would be seductive if you weren’t also hiccupping. “See? You do have ideas.”

“To sleep,” he clarifies, already guiding you toward the bedroom with his arm firmly around your waist. “We’re going to bed to sleep. You’re going to wake up tomorrow wondering why you thought drinking on a work night was a good idea.”

“Tomorrow me’s problem,” you declare, then immediately contradict yourself by clinging tighter to him. “Don’t you dare leave me alone tonight, Choi Seungcheol.”

Something in your voice—beneath the alcohol and the playfulness—sounds small. Vulnerable.

His expression softens. “Never,” he promises quietly. “Now come on, let’s get you changed.”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You stop and ask randomly as he sits you on the bathroom counter and tries to remove your makeup.

Seungcheol blinks. This was getting more surreal by the second. You were sitting before him, arms hanging off his shoulders with your head tilted with genuine curiosity and you wanted to know if he’d love you…as a worm? He’s quiet for a moment. Then, his hands curve around your waist.

“A worm?” he repeats, deadpan. “Seriously?”

“Yahhhh, you wouldn’t?” You pout.

Seungcheol sighs, the kind of deep, put-upon sigh that somehow still sounds fond. He reaches for the micellar water and a cotton pad, tilting your chin up with two fingers so he can start wiping away your makeup.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, ignoring your question as he gently swipes at your eyeliner.

“You’re avoiding the question!” you accuse, though you do hold still,mostly. “That means you wouldn’t love me. You’d just…leave me in the dirt somewhere. Alone. A poor, lonely worm—”

“I would build you a terrarium,” he interrupts, deadpan, moving to your other eye. “With the best soil money can buy. Organic, the expensive kind.”

You gasp, eyes flying open and nearly getting makeup remover in them. He gently presses them closed again with his thumb.

“I said hold still.”

“You’d really build me a terrarium?” Your voice has gone soft, touched, as if he’s just promised you the moon.

“Mhm.” He’s focused on removing your mascara now, touch careful and practiced. “With a heated lamp. Perfect pH balance in the soil. I’d probably hire someone to monitor your…worm health.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m answering your question.” His lips twitch as he tosses the used cotton pad aside and reaches for another. “You’d be the most spoiled worm in existence. I’d make sure of it.”

You’re quiet for a moment and when he glances at your face, you’re smiling at him with such open adoration it makes something in his chest squeeze tight.

“I love you,” you whisper.

His hand pauses mid-swipe. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering.

“I love you too,” he murmurs against your skin. “Even if you ask me stupid questions at two in the morning.”

“Not stupid,” you mumble but you’re already melting into him again, arms tightening around his shoulders. “Important worm logistics.”

“Right. Very important.” He pulls back just enough to finish cleaning your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “Now let’s get you into pajamas before you ask me what I’d do if you were a dolphin.”

“Ooh, would you—”

“No.”

You cup his cheeks in your hands squishing them together, looking at him with those eyes before you kiss him. “Please, Cheollie? Want you?”

“Not tonight, princess.” It’s utterly amazing, the way you switch from asking him unhinged shit to asking him to fuck you. It should give him whiplash but it’s not the first time it’s happened.

“‘m not drunk…” you pout. “Can’t a girl just want her hot husband?”

Seungcheol’s jaw flexes under your palms, his eyes darkening despite his best efforts to maintain composure. He gently pulls your hands away from his face but doesn’t let go, instead intertwining his fingers with yours.

“You can,” he says, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “And you will, tomorrow. When you’re sober and won’t regret it.”

“I would never regret you,” you protest, leaning forward until your forehead rests against his. “Not possible. Scientifically impossible.”

“Scientifically impossible,” he repeats and there’s amusement threading through the restraint in his tone. “Is that so?”

“Mhm.” You nod seriously, the motion making you slightly dizzy. “Did research. Very thorough.”

His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand; that same grounding gesture, keeping himself anchored as much as you. “Your research involved how much wine exactly?”

“Irrelevant data,” you whisper, then press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “The conclusion is still valid.”

He inhales sharply and for a moment you think you’ve won. His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip but then he’s pulling back, putting necessary distance between you even as everything in his expression says he doesn’t want to.

“I’m not doing this while you’re drunk,” he says firmly. “I don’t care how much you pout or how many times you tell me you’re fine. This is non-negotiable.”

You study him for a long moment, his set jaw, his dark eyes that are clearly affected despite his iron will, the way his hand trembles just slightly against yours.

“You really won’t?” you ask, quieter now.

“I really won’t.” His expression softens. “Ask me tomorrow. When you can look me in the eye without the room spinning. When you’ll actually remember every detail.” His voice drops to something almost possessive. “Because when I do touch you, I want you to remember all of it.”

The promise in his words sends heat pooling low in your stomach despite your alcohol-hazed state. You bite your lip and his eyes track the movement with dangerous focus before he deliberately looks away.

“Evil man,” you mutter. “Making me wait.”

“Responsible husband,” he corrects, then slides you off the counter and scoops you up bridal style in one smooth motion. “Now come on. Pajamas, water, bed, in that order.”

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “But I’m picking the pajamas.”

“As long as you actually put them on instead of trying to seduce me again.”

“No promises.”

He huffs what might be a laugh as he carries you toward the bedroom. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Y’know everyone thinks I married you for your status and money.” You say switching the subject again as he starts unbuttoning your shirt.

“No, you didn’t. You had no idea who my family was when we met so I know it’s not that.”

“I married you for that fat ass.” you reply, hands drifting down and grabbing his ass. “don’t need your money.” You grin at the look on his face.

“God, I forgot how handsy you get with alcohol in your system.”

“Horny too but I guess I don’t do it for you cause…what kinda hisb—” you hiccup “husband doesn’t like his wife t-throwing herself at him? Is it Jeonghan? Is Hannie prettier than me?”

Seungcheol freezes mid-button, his eyes snapping to yours with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.

“Did you just—” He stops, takes a breath, then continues with strained patience. “Did you seriously just ask me if I want Jeonghan?”

“Well, you don’t want me,” you say, bottom lip trembling in a way that would be more effective if you weren’t also still squeezing his ass. “He’s got nice hair,” you say defensively, words slurring slightly. “And that whole…pretty boy thing going on. Maybe you like that better than—”

“Jesus Christ woman,” Seungcheol mutters, catching your wandering hands and firmly moving them to your sides. “Okay, listen to me very carefully.”

He cups your face with both hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“First of all, Jeonghan is my best friend and I love him like a brother, which means the thought of anything else makes me want to bleach my brain.” His thumbs stroke your cheeks as he continues, voice firm but gentle. “Second, I always want you. Every single day. Sometimes so much it’s inconvenient, like in the middle of board meetings when you text me something cute.”

“Really?” you sniffle.

“Really.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “The reason I’m not touching you right now isn’t because I don’t want to. It’s because I respect you too much to take advantage when you’re drunk. Do you understand the difference?”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing. Then, “So, you do think I’m prettier than Hannie?”

A laugh bursts out of him, unexpected and genuine. “You’re completely ridiculous, you know that?”

“But am I prettier?”

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he says and the sincerity in his voice cuts through your alcohol-fogged brain. “Drunk, sober, first thing in the morning, all dressed up, doesn’t matter. It’s always you. Only you.”

Your eyes well up. “Cheollie…”

“Oh no.” He recognizes the signs immediately. “No crying. We’re not doing drunk crying tonight.”

“But you’re so nice to me,” you warble, tears already spilling over. “And I love you so much and you built me a theoretical worm terrarium, and you think I’m pretty—”

“I think we need to get you in pajamas right now,” he says, already reaching for the shirt buttons again with renewed determination, “before this spiral gets worse.”

“’m not spiraling,” you protest, even as another tear rolls down your cheek. “Just got a lot of feelings about my hot, respectful, worm-loving husband.”

“Worm-loving,” he repeats under his breath. “What is my life?”

“Your life is amazing,” you inform him, helpfully (unhelpfully) trying to unbutton your own shirt and just making the process more difficult. “You have me. And my ass. Which is also amazing.”

“I’m aware,” he says dryly, gently batting your hands away so he can actually finish unbuttoning. “I married it, remember?”

You gasp, delighted. “You do remember! See, we’re perfect for each other. You married my ass, I married your ass—”

“That’s not how marriage works.”

“—it’s like…ass-tronomy. No, wait. Ass-trology? We’re ass-trologically compatible.”

Seungcheol pauses, shirt halfway off your shoulders, and just looks at you. “Did you just—you can’t just put ‘ass’ in front of words and expect them to make sense.”

“Ass-olutely can,” you say with complete conviction.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly praying for strength. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“You love it,” you singsong, finally cooperating enough to let him pull your shirt off. “You love meee and my drunk ass puns.”

“I love you despite your drunk ass puns,” he corrects, reaching for one of his old t-shirts from the drawer. “Arms up.”

You obey, lifting your arms like a toddler as he slides the shirt over your head. It’s enormous on you, falling nearly to your knees and smells like his cologne and laundry detergent. You immediately burrow into it with a happy sigh.

“Now pants,” he says, reaching for your waistband.

“Ooh, taking my pants off. Scandalous.”

“We’re literally married.”

“Still scandalous.” You boop his nose as he efficiently unbuttons your pants. “You’re being very professional about this. Very doctor-y. Do you do this for all your patients?”

“You’re my only patient and you’re testing my patience,” he mutters, helping you step out of your pants. “Other leg. Good.”

“Such a good caretaker,” you coo, patting his head as he kneels in front of you. “Gonna leave you five stars on MangoPlate. ‘Husband refused to have sex with drunk wife. Very responsible. Would recommend.’”

He looks up at you with an expression of pure suffering. “Please never write that review.”

“‘Also has a great ass,’” you continue thoughtfully. “‘Ass-ceptional, even.’”

“I’m begging you to stop.”

“‘Ass-tounding restraint—’”

He stands abruptly and just picks you up, cutting off your commentary as you squeal in surprise. “Okay. That’s enough. Water and bed. Now.”

“You can’t silence me!” you declare, even as you wrap your arms around his neck. “The people deserve to know about your ass!”

“The people know plenty,” he says, carrying you toward the bed with the long-suffering patience of a saint. “Now drink this.”

He somehow manages to grab the water bottle from the nightstand one-handed and present it to you. You take it obediently, suddenly realizing how thirsty you are.

“Good girl,” he murmurs and even in your drunk state, you don’t miss the way his voice dips on those words.

You lower the water bottle, eyes narrowing. “You can’t just say things like that and then refuse to—”

“Drink,” he interrupts firmly, tipping the bottle back up toward your lips.

You drink, plotting your revenge but the cool water actually does help clear some of the fog. When you’ve had enough, he sets the bottle aside and carefully deposits you onto your side of the bed.

“Stay,” he commands, pointing at you like you’re a mischievous puppy.

“Woof,” you respond because apparently the filter between your brain and mouth has completely dissolved. He huffs what might be a laugh and disappears into the bathroom. You hear water running and then he’s back with a damp washcloth, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Come here,” he says softly, and when you scoot closer, he gently wipes your face; getting the spots he missed earlier, cooling your flushed cheeks. It’s tender and intimate in a way that makes your chest ache.

“Cheol?” you whisper.

“Mm?”

“’m really glad I married you. Not just for your ass.”

His lips twitch. “Good to know.”

“For your heart too. And your face. And the way you take care of me even when I’m being ridiculous. Oh, and that dick, can’t forget about that.”

“Woman, I swear to—”

“Just lemme keep it warm, please?” Your hand moves to rest low on his stomach. There you go trying to get him to fuck you, again.

“Baby, no. We both know you won’t stop there.”

You open your mouth to protest—to make very compelling arguments about your self-control and how you would totally just keep things innocent—but he cuts you off by pressing his thumb gently against your lips.

“Don’t,” he warns, though there’s affection in his eyes. “Don’t make promises drunk-you can’t keep. I know you.”

You deflate slightly because, fine, he’s right. Sober-you has minimal self-control around him. Drunk-you has absolutely none which is exactly why you keep asking.

“Just wanna feel you inside, promise I’ll behave.”

Seungcheol’s composure cracks visibly, his breath hitches, his grip on the washcloth tightening as his eyes darken with want. For a moment, you think you’ve finally broken through his resolve.

Then he closes his eyes, jaw working and when he opens them again his expression is pained but firm.

“You’re killing me,” he says roughly. “You know that?”

“Good,” you mumble, though you’re already yawning. “Suffer with me.” You say pressing your lips to his.

“I shouldn’t have to deal with my ovulation alone.” And suddenly the wheels are turning in Seungcheol’s head. He goes completely still against your lips, his brain clearly short-circuiting as he processes what you just said.

“Your…what?” He pulls back to look at you, eyes wide.

“Ovulation,” you repeat matter-of-factly, like you’re discussing the weather. “Why d’you think I’m so horny? It’s science, Cheollie. Biology. Nature.” You wave your hand dramatically. “My body wants a baby and it’s making me crazy and you’re—you’re just sitting here looking all hot and responsible and—”

“Okay,” he interrupts, voice strangled. “Okay, we’re not, you can’t just drop that information on me while you’re drunk and expect me to—”

“To what?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious despite the alcohol. “Finally give your wife what she wants?”

His eyes flutter closed and he takes several deep breaths, clearly fighting an internal battle. When he opens them again, there’s a new tension in his expression; want, restraint, and something darker all tangled together.

“That’s not fair,” he says roughly. “You can’t use the ovulation card. That’s playing dirty.”

“Everything’s fair in love and baby-making,” you counter, then giggle at your own modification of the phrase.

“We are not having this conversation right now,” he says firmly, even as his hand unconsciously tightens on your hip. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. When you’re sober, when we can have an actual discussion about—about family planning and—”

“Already know I want your babies,” you interrupt, cupping his face. “Known that for years. Since like…our third date probably.”

“Third date,” he repeats faintly.

“Mhm. You were wearing that gray sweater and you laughed at my joke and I just thought—” you sigh dreamily, “—‘yeah, I want tiny humans with his laugh and dimples.’”

Something shifts in his expression; it goes soft and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart squeeze even through the alcohol haze.

“You’re not playing fair at all,” he whispers.

“Don’t wanna play fair,” you whisper back. “Want you. Want your baby. Want—” another yawn interrupts you, “—want you to stop being so responsible and just…”

But exhaustion is finally catching up with you, the alcohol and emotional rollercoaster of the evening taking their toll. Your eyes are getting heavier despite your best efforts.

Seungcheol notices immediately, his expression gentling. “There we go,” he murmurs, carefully maneuvering you under the covers. “Finally.”

“’m not tired,” you protest weakly, even as you burrow into the pillow.

“Sure you’re not.” He slides in next to you and immediately you roll toward him, seeking his warmth.

“Cheol?” you mumble against his chest.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Tomorrow…we can talk about it? The baby thing?”

His arm tightens around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Tomorrow,” he promises. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow.”

“And you’ll actually consider it? Not just…say we’ll talk and then avoid it?”

There’s a pause, and then, “I’ve been considering it for months,” he admits quietly. “I just wanted to wait for the right time. When we were both ready.”

You manage to pull back just enough to look at him, suddenly feeling more alert. “Months?”

He smiles, a little embarrassed. “Why do you think I cleared out the guest room last month? I’ve been planning…thinking about turning it into a nursery. Eventually.”

“You—” your eyes well up again, “—you sneaky, wonderful man.”

“Don’t cry,” he says, but he’s smiling as he wipes away the tears with his thumb. “Save it for tomorrow when you can properly yell at me for not telling you sooner.”

“Gonna yell and cry,” you inform him. “And then jump your bones.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says dryly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel terrible in the morning.”

“Worth it,” you mumble, already drifting. “Got you to admit you want babies…”

“I want your babies,” he corrects softly. “There’s a difference.” 

But you’re already asleep, a small smile on your face, wrapped securely in your husband’s arms. Seungcheol lies awake a little longer, looking down at you; his drunk, ridiculous, beautiful wife who just ambushed him with baby talk and ass puns in the same conversation.

“What am I going to do with you?” he whispers, echoing his earlier question.

But this time, he’s smiling as he says it. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow they’ll talk—really talk—about the future. About expanding their family. About all the things he’s been too cautious to bring up, worried about timing and readiness and a thousand other factors.

But tonight, you’re here, safe and warm and his, talking about wanting his babies since the third date.

Yeah. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.

He presses one more kiss to your forehead before settling in, keeping you close. His ovulating, drunk, perfect disaster of a wife. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The next morning, you wake up to three things; a pounding headache that feels like a marching band has taken up residence in your skull, blinding sunlight streaming through curtains you thought you closed and the smell of coffee and something sweet wafting from the kitchen.

You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Your mouth tastes like something died in it and when you try to sit up, the room spins just enough to make you regret every life choice that led to this moment.

“Oh god,” you mutter, flopping back down.

Fragments of last night start filtering back through the haze. Coming home late. Seungcheol’s concerned face. The bathroom counter. Worm terrarium? You definitely said something about worms. And then—

Your eyes fly open.

“Oh no.”

The baby conversation. The ovulation announcement. Your very detailed commentary about your husband’s ass. The—you bury your face in your hands—the begging.

“Kill me now,” you whisper to the empty room.

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. Seungcheol is leaning against the doorframe, holding a mug of coffee and wearing an expression that can only be described as deeply amused.

He’s already somewhat dressed for the day in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, hair slightly damp from a shower, looking infuriatingly well-rested and attractive. Meanwhile, you’re pretty sure you look like a gremlin who lost a fight with a bottle of wine.

“How long have you been standing there?” you croak.

“Long enough to hear you bargaining with God.” He pushes off the doorframe and walks over, setting the coffee on the nightstand. “How’s the head?”

“Like I deserve it,” you admit, gratefully reaching for the mug. “How much did I—” you pause, coffee halfway to your lips, “—how bad was it?”

His smile grows. “On a scale of one to ten?”

“Cheol.”

“You asked if I’d love you as a worm,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You accused me of wanting Jeonghan. You made approximately ten puns involving the word ‘ass.’ And—” his expression shifts to something more heated, “—you made some very compelling arguments about baby-making.”

You choke on your coffee. “Oh my god.”

“Also, apparently you decided you married me for my ‘fat ass’ and not my money or status, which is good to know.”

“I hate everything,” you moan, setting the coffee down so you can bury your face in your hands again. “I’m never drinking again. I’m becoming a nun. I’m moving to a remote island where I can’t embarrass myself—”

“Hey.” His hand wraps around your wrist, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His expression is soft now, affectionate. “You were cute.”

“I was a disaster.”

“A cute disaster.” He coils a loose curl around his finger. “You always are when you drink. It’s part of your charm.”

“There’s nothing charming about drunk me telling you I want to—” you can’t even finish the sentence, heat flooding your face.

“Keep me warm?” he supplies helpfully. “Just want it inside you, you’d behave, you promised?”

“Seungcheol.”

He’s grinning now, clearly enjoying your mortification. “Or was it the part where you said your ovulation shouldn’t be a solo activity?”

You grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it. He laughs, catching it easily and tossing it aside before catching both your wrists in his hands.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, eyes dancing with mischief, “you were very…articulate about your needs.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” you announce, trying to pull away. “Wake me in ten years when I’ve died of embarrassment.”

“Can’t do that either.” He releases one wrist but keeps hold of the other, his thumb tracing circles on your pulse point. “We have things to discuss. Remember?”

Your heart skips. The amusement in his expression hasn’t faded, but there’s something else there now; something serious and warm and a little nervous.

“The…baby thing?” you venture quietly.

“The baby thing,” he confirms. “But first—” he reaches over to the nightstand and retrieves two pills and a glass of water you hadn’t noticed, “—pain meds. Then breakfast. Then we talk.”

“Cheol, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or—”

“You didn’t.” He’s firm about that, waiting until you take the medication before continuing. “You surprised me, yeah. But uncomfortable? No.” He pauses. “Turned on while trying desperately to maintain my morals? Absolutely, but not uncomfortable.”

Despite everything, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. “I really tried to break you, huh?”

“You almost succeeded,” he admits. “The ovulation thing was a low blow.”

“It’s true though,” you say, then immediately want to take it back because…

“I know.” His voice drops, eyes darkening. “I checked the calendar while you were sleeping. You’re right in the middle of your fertile window.”

The air between you shifts, charges. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in bed, wearing only his t-shirt and he’s looking at you like,

“Breakfast first,” he says firmly, standing up. “You need food and hydration. Then we’ll talk. Really talk. About timing, readiness and what we both want.”

“And if we decide we want the same thing?” you ask, unable to help yourself.

He leans down, bracing one hand on the mattress beside you, bringing his face close to yours. “Then I clear my schedule for the rest of the day,” he murmurs. “And give you exactly what you were begging for last night.”

Your breath catches.

“But sober,” he adds, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before straightening. “And enthusiastically consenting to every single detail.”

“That’s—” you have to clear your throat, “—very responsible of you.”

“Someone has to be.” He heads toward the door, then pauses. “Oh, and baby? For the record?” He looks back with a devastating smile. “I’ve been ready for months. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

Then he’s gone, leaving you sitting in bed, headache temporarily forgotten, heart racing with possibilities. From the kitchen, you hear him call, “French toast or pancakes?”

“French toast!” you call back, already scrambling out of bed.

Suddenly, you’re feeling much better about facing this day and the conversation that could change everything.

You pad into the kitchen after finishing your morning routine. He’s plating the last of breakfast before sitting down and as you go to take your place beside him, he pulls you onto his lap.

“Cheol?”

“You asked me to keep it warm last night,” he whispers. “Think you can do that while we sit and have breakfast, love? Bet I’d be able to slide right in.”

You freeze, every nerve ending suddenly awake and hyper-aware. Your headache? Gone. The lingering nausea? Vanished. There’s only Seungcheol beneath you, solid and warm, his breath hot against your ear.

“I…what?” Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.

His hands settle on your hips, fingers slipping just under the hem of his t-shirt you’re still wearing. “You heard me.” His voice is low, rough in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. “You wanted this last night. Said you’d behave. That you just wanted to feel full.”

“I was drunk,” you manage, even as your body is already responding, already leaning back against his chest.

“And now you’re sober.” His lips brush the shell of your ear. “So, I’m asking properly. Do you want this? Want to sit here, keeping me warm while we eat breakfast and talk about our future?”

Your breath hitches. This is…it’s obscene. It’s intimate in a way that makes your head spin and you want it so badly you can barely think straight.

“What about the talking?” you whisper. “The responsible conversation?”

“We can still talk.” One hand slides up your spine, settling between your shoulder blades. “I can be very articulate, even when I’m buried inside you. Question is, can you?”

It’s a challenge. One you’ve never backed down from.

You turn your head just enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark, intense but there’s a question there too. Real consent. Making sure this is what you actually want and not just lingering drunk decisions.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I want this.”

His grip tightens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You shift in his lap, feeling him already half-hard beneath you. “Want you. Always want you.”

He makes a low sound in his throat. “Lift up a little, baby.”

You obey, bracing your hands on his thighs as he shifts beneath you. You hear the rustle of fabric, feel him pushing his sweatpants down just enough, and then,

“No underwear?” His voice is strained as his fingers trace up your bare thighs, discovering you came to the kitchen in just his shirt and nothing else.

“Seemed inefficient,” you manage, gasping when his fingers brush where you need him most.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and you feel him stroke himself once, twice. “You’re already so wet.”

“Told you,” you say breathlessly. “Ovulation. Biology. Can’t help—oh—”

He’s guiding himself to your entrance, letting you feel the blunt pressure of him. “Slow,” he murmurs. “Take your time. We’ve got all morning.”

You lower yourself gradually, inch by torturous inch, feeling the stretch and burn and perfect fullness of him. His hands are steady on your hips, helping you and his breathing is harsh against your neck.

“That’s it,” he encourages roughly. “Just like that, baby. So good for me.”

When you’re fully seated, both of you still for a moment. You’re trembling slightly, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it; sitting in his lap in your bright kitchen, completely joined, the morning sun streaming through the windows.

“Okay?” he asks, voice strained.

“So okay,” you breathe. “So…Cheol, you feel—”

“I know.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I know, baby. Now—” he reaches around you for the plates, sliding them closer, “—breakfast.”

You laugh, slightly delirious. “You can’t be serious.”

“Completely serious.” He picks up a fork, cutting a piece of French toast. “Open.”

This is insane. You’re sitting on your husband’s lap in the kitchen, full of him, while he feeds you breakfast like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You open your mouth and he slides the fork in. The French toast is perfect, crispy outside, soft inside, with just the right amount of cinnamon and syrup. You chew slowly, hyper-aware of every small movement, how even that makes you shift slightly on him.

His breath catches. “Don’t,” he warns.

“Don’t what?” You shift deliberately, just a little and feel him twitch inside you. “I’m just eating breakfast.”

“You’re playing with fire,” he growls but he’s already cutting another piece. “Now, let’s talk about this baby thing.”

You nearly choke on nothing. “Now? You want to have this conversation now?”

“Why not?” His free hand settles possessively on your lower belly, thumb stroking just above where you’re joined. “Seems like the perfect time. Can’t run away. Can’t deflect. You’ve got my undivided attention.”

His voice is teasing but there’s an edge of seriousness underneath. He really does want to talk about this. Like this. Your utterly insane, wonderful husband.

“Okay,” you manage, reaching for your coffee with shaking hands. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

“So,” Seungcheol says, his voice remarkably steady despite the situation, “you said last night you’ve wanted this since our third date.”

You take a sip of coffee, trying to focus on the conversation and not the fact that you can feel every minute shift of his body. “I—yeah. I mean, not immediately, obviously but I knew. Knew that I wanted a future with you. Kids. All of it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His hand is still on your belly, thumb tracing idle patterns that are absolutely not helping your concentration.

“I don’t know. Timing? We were building our careers, and I didn’t want to pressure you, and—” you gasp softly as he shifts slightly beneath you, “—are you doing that on purpose?”

“No,” he says but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Just getting comfortable. Keep talking.”

“You’re evil.”

“You’re stalling.” He offers you another bite of French toast. “Come on. I want to hear this.” You accept the bite, chewing while trying to organize your thoughts, which is nearly impossible when you’re so acutely aware of him inside you, stretching you, filling you so completely.

“I was scared,” you finally admit. “That maybe you didn’t want the same things. That I’d bring it up and you’d feel trapped or obligated and then months kept passing and it felt like the moment never came up naturally and—” you laugh shakily, “—I guess drunk me decided to just rip the bandaid off.”

“Drunk you has terrible timing but good instincts.” His lips brush your shoulder. “I’ve been wanting to have this conversation for months too.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He sets down the fork, both hands coming to rest on your hips now. “I meant what I said earlier. About clearing out the guest room. I’ve been thinking about it constantly…what it would be like. You, pregnant. A baby. Our baby.”

Your heart stutters. “Cheol…”

“I think about you with a bump,” he continues, voice going rougher. “About feeling them kick. About watching you become a mother.” His hips shift up slightly, making you gasp. “About putting a baby in you.”

“That’s—oh god—that’s not fair,” you whimper, fingers digging into his thighs.

“What’s not fair?”

“Saying things like that when I can’t move, can’t—”

“Who says you can’t move?” His grip tightens on your hips. “I said sit still during breakfast. We’re done eating now.”

Your breath catches. “Are we?”

“Mhmm.” One hand slides up to cup your breast through the thin t-shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple. “I think it’s time for dessert. Don’t you?”

“Seungcheol—”

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, voice dropping to that commanding tone that never fails to undo you. “Use your words, baby. Sober words.”

You’re trembling now, desperate. “Want you. Want this. Want—” you break off as his other hand slides between your legs, finding where you’re joined.

“Want what?” he presses. “Say it.”

“Want you to fuck me,” you gasp out. “Want you to put a baby in me. Want…please, Cheollie, please—”

“There she is,” he murmurs approvingly. Then his grip shifts, and he’s lifting you slightly before pulling you back down, finally, finally giving you the friction you’ve been craving.

You cry out, head falling back against his shoulder as he sets a devastating rhythm. The breakfast dishes rattle on the table with each thrust and you distantly think you should care about the mess you’re probably making but then he angles his hips just right and all thoughts scatter.

“That’s it,” he growls against your neck. “Take it. Take all of me.”

“Yes, god, yes—”

His hand on your breast squeezes while the other works between your legs and the combination is overwhelming. You’re already close, wound too tight from sitting still for so long, from the filthy intimacy of it all.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Gonna give you exactly what you want. What we both want. You want that, baby? Want me to get you pregnant?”

“Yes,” you sob and you’re not even sure if it’s the hormones or the moment or the fact that this is your husband, your partner, your person and you’re finally talking about this, finally doing this…

“Come for me first,” he demands. “Let me feel it. Show me how much you want this.”

His fingers press harder and that’s all it takes. You shatter, clenching around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you in waves.

“Fuck, baby—” his rhythm falters, becomes erratic and then he’s following you over, groaning against your neck as he pulses inside you, holding you tight against him. For a long moment, neither of you move. You’re both breathing hard, trembling, still joined together as aftershocks roll through you.

“So,” Seungcheol finally says, voice rough and satisfied, “I think that’s a yes? We’re doing this?”

You laugh breathlessly, turning your head to kiss him. “Yeah, we’re doing this.”

“Good.” He nuzzles into your neck. “Because I meant every word. I want this. Want you. Want our family.”

“Even though I ambushed you while drunk?”

“Especially because you ambushed me while drunk.” You can feel his smile against your skin. “Shows you trust me. Even when you’re not in control.”

You shift slightly and he groans. “Don’t move yet. Just…let me hold you like this for a minute.”

So, you do, sitting in your dining room in the morning sunlight, still connected, still close, talking softly about the future you’re going to build together.

About nursery colors and baby names and how you’ll tell your families and whether you want to know the gender or be surprised. About all the beautiful, terrifying, wonderful possibilities ahead and when he finally, reluctantly slips out of you, he immediately scoops you up and carries you back to the bedroom.

“Again?” you ask, surprised but definitely not opposed.

“We’re optimizing our chances,” he says seriously but his eyes are dancing. “It’s just good planning.”

“You’re a fein.”

“You’re ovulating,” he counters, laying you gently on the bed. “And I have months of baby-making fantasies to work through. So,” he crawls over you, settling between your thighs, “we’re going to be here a while.”

“What about our schedules?” you tease. “Don’t you have meetings? I have work.”

“Cancelled everything,” he says, leaning down to kiss you slowly, deeply. “Told them I have important business with my wife.”

“Very important business,” you agree, gasping as he enters you again.

“The most important,” he murmurs against your lips. He flips you on your hands and knees first, arched just the way he wants you.

“Stay just like that,” Seungcheol commands, his hands spreading across your lower back, pressing down slightly to deepen the arch. “Perfect. So, fucking perfect.”

You’re trembling already, forehead pressed against the sheets, completely exposed to him. You feel vulnerable like this, open, but the way he’s looking at you; you can practically feel the heat of his gaze dragging over every inch of exposed skin.

“Cheol—” you start but the word cuts off into a moan as he runs his hands up your sides, thumbs tracing your spine.

“Shhh,” he soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s positioning you, adjusting your hips exactly where he wants them. “Just feel.”

One hand wraps around your hip while the other slides between your legs, finding you still wet, still sensitive from before. You jerk at the contact and his grip tightens, holding you steady.

“Still so ready for me,” he muses, almost conversational, like he’s not currently destroying your composure with just his fingers. “Even after I just filled you up. You really do want this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp into the sheets. “God, yes, please…”

“Please what?” He’s teasing now, the head of his cock brushing against you but not entering, just barely there, making you crazy.

“Please fuck me,” you whimper, trying to push back against him, but his hand on your hip keeps you in place. “Please, I need—”

“Need what, baby? Use your words.”

“Need you inside me,” you practically sob. “Need you to…to get me pregnant, need you to—oh fuck—”

He slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself completely, and the angle is devastating. You can feel him so deep like this, stretching you, filling every inch.

“This what you need?” His voice is strained now, control slipping. Both hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and you hope they do, want to see the marks tomorrow, proof of this.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop—”

“Not stopping,” he growls, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. “Not until you’re dripping with me. Not until I know it took.” The pace he sets is brutal, desperate, his hips snapping against yours with a force that has you crying out with each thrust. One hand leaves your hip to fist in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding you.

“Gonna look so good pregnant,” he pants. “Gonna love watching your belly grow. Knowing I did that. That you’re carrying my baby.”

“Cheol—” you’re incoherent now, can only hold on as he takes you apart.

“Say it,” he demands. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want your baby,” you gasp out. “Want you to…to come inside me, want—god—want everyone to know I’m yours.”

His rhythm stutters at that, becomes somehow even more intense. “Mine,” he agrees roughly. “Always mine. My wife. Mother of my children. Mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice, the certainty, sends you spiraling. Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, whiting out your vision and you feel yourself clench around him rhythmically.

“Fuck—baby—” he groans and then he’s there too, pressing as deep as he can go, holding you against him as he fills you again. This time when he pulls out, he immediately maneuvers you onto your back, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under your hips before you can protest.

“Elevate,” he explains breathlessly and you can’t help but laugh.

“You really did research.”

“Told you.” He collapses partially on top of you with his head resting on your chest. “Months of thinking about this. I’m prepared.”

Your fingers find his hair, feeling satisfied and tender and so completely loved. “How long do I have to stay like this?”

“Twenty minutes at least.” His hand finds your belly again, splaying possessively across it. “Maybe thirty to be safe.”

“And what are we doing for the next twenty to thirty minutes?”

His eyes darken again and you feel him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Well,” he says thoughtfully, “I can think of a few ways to pass the time. After all—” he rolls you on your side carefully, mindful of the pillow, settling behind you and lifting your leg up and over his hip, “—we should really make sure we’re being thorough.”

“Thorough,” you repeat breathlessly.

“Very thorough,” he agrees, kissing down your neck. “It’s important to be thorough about these things.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“You’re irresistible.” He nips at your collarbone. “And ovulating. And my wife. Who I’m trying to get pregnant. So yes—” he enters you again, slow and deep, making you both groan, “—insatiable sounds about right.”

And as he begins to move again, slow and intimate and perfect, you think that maybe drunk you had the right idea after all.

Sometimes the best conversations happen in the most unexpected ways.

Seungcheol folds you with both legs to your chest and you know your body is going to complain about it later.

“Wait, Cheol—” you gasp as he pushes your knees toward your chest, folding you in half.

“Trust me,” he murmurs, his hands hooking under your knees, spreading you open as he presses them down. “This angle—fuck, baby, you have no idea—”

And then he’s sliding back in, and oh—he’s right. The angle is incredible. Overwhelming. He’s somehow even deeper like this, hitting spots that make stars explode behind your eyelids.

“Oh my god—” you can barely breathe, pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching where you’re joined with dark, hungry eyes. “Take it. Take all of me.”

Your flexibility has never been your strong suit and you can already feel the strain in your hips, your thighs protesting the position but the pleasure overrides everything else; the way he’s grinding against you with each thrust, the delicious pressure, the intimacy of being folded completely under him.

“You’re so deep,” you whimper, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his forearms. “I can’t…it’s too much—”

“Not too much,” he counters, but there’s a question in his eyes even as he maintains the brutal pace. “Color?”

“Green,” you gasp immediately. “So green, don’t stop, please don’t—ah—”

His thumb finds your clit, circling with perfect pressure, and you nearly scream. Everything is heightened like this, every nerve ending on fire, every thrust punching the air from your lungs.

“Gonna keep you just like this,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temple. “Gonna fill you up so deep it has to take. You want that?”

“Yes—yes—Cheol, I’m—”

“I know, baby. I can feel it.” His movements become more purposeful, grinding deep rather than thrusting, the friction against your clit constant and maddening. “Come for me. Squeeze my cock. Show me how much you want my baby.”

The combination of his words, his thumb, the relentless pressure against that spot deep inside, it’s too much. You shatter with a cry that’s probably too loud for the morning, clenching around him so hard you see white.

“Fuck, just like that—” Seungcheol’s rhythm falters, his hips jerking erratically as he follows you over the edge for the fourth time, groaning your name like a prayer as he empties himself inside you.

He stays buried deep for a long moment, both of you panting, trembling. Then carefully—so carefully—he releases your legs, helping you straighten them out with gentle hands.

“Ow,” you whimper immediately as your hips protest, muscles cramping.

“Sorry, sorry—” he’s already massaging your thighs, pressing kisses to your knees. “I got carried away.”

“Worth it,” you manage, even as you wince. “But I’m definitely going to feel that tomorrow.”

“I’ll give you a massage later,” he promises, still working the tension from your muscles. “A proper one. With oil and everything.”

“You better.” You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss. “I’m going to be walking funny for days.”

“Good,” he says against your lips, unrepentant. “Let everyone wonder why.”

“You’re terrible.”

“You love it.” He rolls to the side, immediately pulling you with him, tucking you against his chest. His hand finds your belly again; it’s apparently his new favorite spot. “Think it worked?”

“Cheol, we can’t possibly know that yet—”

“But do you think it worked?” he insists, almost childlike in his eagerness.

You soften, covering his hand with yours. “I don’t know, maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“And if not?”

“Then we try again,” you say, smiling. “And again. As many times as it takes.”

His answering grin is devastating. “I love this plan. Best plan we’ve ever had.”

“Of course you love it,” you tease. “You’re getting sex on demand.”

“I’m getting to start a family with the love of my life,” he corrects, suddenly serious. “The sex is just a bonus. A really, really good bonus, but still.”

Your throat tightens with emotion. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead. “Now, twenty more minutes with your hips elevated, and then I’m running you a bath.”

“And then?”

“And then lunch. Hydration. Maybe a nap.” His smile turns wicked. “And then round whatever we’re on.”

“Again?!”

“Baby,” he says solemnly, “we’re not leaving this bed until tomorrow. I told you, I’m being thorough.”

You should protest. Should remind him you both have lives, responsibilities, that you can’t spend an entire day having sex no matter how appealing that sounds but then his hand starts tracing patterns on your belly again and he’s looking at you with such love and want and hope that all protests die in your throat.

“Thorough,” you agree weakly. “Right, very important.”

“The most important,” he confirms and as he settles beside you, already planning the rest of your day—which apparently consists entirely of various positions and strategic pillow placement—you think that maybe, just maybe, drunk you deserves some credit.

After all, she got the conversation started, even if her methods were…unconventional. Your husband certainly isn’t complaining and neither—despite your aching hips and the knowledge that you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow—are you.

The shower was supposed to be innocent, just washing off, getting clean, maybe some gentle aftercare. That lasted approximately three minutes before Seungcheol’s hands started wandering from “helpful” to “decidedly unhelpful.”

“Choi Seungcheol,” you warned but it came out breathless as his fingers traced your hip. “We’re supposed to be cleaning up.”

“We are cleaning up,” he murmured against your neck, pressing you forward until your palms hit the cool tile. “Very thoroughly.”

“That’s not—oh—”

His hand slid between your thighs from behind, finding you still sensitive, still wet with more than just water. “Still ready for me,” he observed, voice dropping an octave. “Even after all that.”

“It’s the hormones,” you managed, even as you arched back into his touch. “I told you, ovulation makes me—fuck—”

“Makes you what?” He was already lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. “Insatiable? Desperate? Willing to let me fuck you against the shower wall?”

“All of the above,” you gasped as he pushed in, the slide easy despite how much you’d already taken him today.

This time was different, harder, more primal. The tile was cold against your breasts, your cheek, contrasting with the hot water and his body pressed against your back. His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly, keeping you in place as he took you apart.

“This is what you do to me,” he growled in your ear. “Walking around, talking about my baby, being so fucking perfect—”

“Cheol, baby please—”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, I need—”

“I know what you need.” His other hand found your clit, and you nearly sobbed. “Need me to breed you. Need me to pump you so full—”

You came with a sharp cry, clenching around him, and he followed immediately after, groaning against your shoulder as he held you pinned to the wall.

The water was starting to run cold by the time you both caught your breath.

You genuinely thought he’d be tired after the shower. Thought maybe you’d eat, cuddle, take that nap he’d mentioned.

You made it halfway through your sandwich.

“Come here,” Seungcheol said suddenly, pushing his chair back.

“I’m eating—”

“You can finish later.” There was something almost feral in his eyes as he stalked around the table toward you. “Right now, I need you bent over this table.”

“Choi Seungcheol—” but you were already standing, already letting him turn you around, already bracing your hands on the polished wood as he flipped up the oversized t-shirt you’d thrown on.

“No panties again,” he noted with approval. “It’s like you want me to fuck you at every opportunity.”

“Maybe I do,” you shot back, then gasped as he entered you in one smooth thrust.

The angle was perfect, the table the ideal height and he took full advantage of it. His fingers dug into your hips as he set a punishing rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin obscenely loud in your quiet dining room.

“Look at you,” he panted, gathering your hair in one fist. “Taking it so well. So eager for it. Bet you’d let me fuck you anywhere right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, god, anywhere—”

“Kitchen counter? Bedroom floor? Against the windows where the neighbors might see?”

The thought shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but combined with his relentless pace, it pushes you over the edge. You came with a strangled moan, and he wasn’t far behind, but he didn’t give you time to recover. Just pulled out, ignored your whimper, and guided you to the couch.

“Hands on the back,” he instructed. “Ass up.”

You were shaking as you obeyed, gripping the back of the couch as he positioned himself behind you again. This angle was even deeper, and you could feel him in your belly with each thrust.

“Too much,” you whimpered, but you didn’t use your safeword, didn’t actually want him to stop.

“Not too much,” he countered, one hand sliding up your spine. “You can take it. You can take everything I give you.” And you did, you took it until you were crying with pleasure, until your legs gave out, until he had to hold you up as he finished inside you for the—you’d lost count at this point.

When he finally pulled out, your legs couldn’t support you. You collapsed onto the plush living room carpet, and he followed you down, immediately positioning you on your hands and knees.

“One more,” he said, voice rough. “Just one more, baby, and then we’ll rest.”

“Can’t—” you protested weakly, but your body was already responding, already arching for him.

“You can.” He slid in easily, and the stretch was almost too much on your oversensitized flesh. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so perfectly. Gonna make such a good mother.”

The praise broke something in you. You dropped to your elbows, pressing your face into the carpet as he took you with long, deep strokes. There was something almost desperate about it now, like he couldn’t get deep enough, close enough, like he was trying to merge you into one person.

“Love you,” he panted. “Love you so fucking much. Gonna give you everything. Everything you want. Everything you deserve.”

You were too far gone to respond with words, could only moan and take it and feel yourself building toward yet another impossible orgasm.

When it hit, it was almost painful in its intensity. You felt him swell inside you, felt the warmth as he came again, and then everything went soft and hazy.

You came back to yourself slowly, aware of gentle hands cleaning you with a warm cloth, of being lifted and carried, of soft sheets against your skin.

“Did I pass out?” you mumbled.

“Just for a minute.” Seungcheol sounded worried now, the feral intensity finally broken. “I’m sorry, I got carried away—”

“Don’t apologize.” You caught his hand, pressing it to your cheek. “That was…I didn’t know you had that in you.”

He laughed shakily. “Neither did I. I just—when you said you wanted a baby, something in my brain just…short-circuited.”

“Clearly.” You shifted, wincing at the soreness. “I’m going to be feeling this for a week.”

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised immediately. “Bath, massage, whatever you need. I’m sorry—”

“Stop apologizing.” You pulled him down beside you. “I liked it. Loved it, actually. I just…didn’t expect the conversation about trying for a baby to turn my usually controlled husband into…that.”

“Into what?”

“Into someone who fucks me in every room of the house,” you say bluntly. “Who can’t go an hour without being inside me. Who looks at me like he wants to devour me.”

He flushed. “The ovulation thing wasn’t helping. Knowing you’re fertile right now, that any of these times could be the one—” he broke off, shaking his head. “It did something to me.”

“I noticed.” You traced his jaw. “For the record? I’m not complaining. I’m just surprised and very, very sore.”

“Nap now,” he decided. “Then massage. Then dinner. And then—”

“If you say ‘and then round whatever number we’re on,’ I’m divorcing you.”

He grinned, unrepentant. “I was going to say ‘and then we’ll see how you feel.’”

“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”

“But if you’re feeling up to it…” His hand slid to your belly again. “We should probably maximize our chances.”

You stared at him. “You’re actually insatiable.”

“Only with you.” He kissed your forehead. “Only ever with you.”

And despite the soreness, despite the exhaustion, despite the fact that you’d had more sex in one day than most couples have in a month, you found yourself smiling because this was your husband. Your partner. The father of your future children and if his method of “trying for a baby” involved fucking you in every room of the house until you couldn’t walk straight?

Well.

You’d had worse problems.

“Fine,” you conceded. “But after a nap and a massage, you’re carrying me everywhere for the next week.”

“Deal,” he agreed immediately, already pulling you closer.

Nothing came from that day of marathon sex but with how feral your husband had gotten that day you knew something had awakened in him that would be hard to reign in which is how you found yourself in your current position, bent over the balcony of your bedroom at the Airbnb that had been booked for his work trip to Hawaii which he insisted you come on. Something about a second honeymoon.

You should have known something was up when Seungcheol insisted you come on his work trip.

“It’s Hawaii,” he’d said, showing you the booking confirmation with an innocence that should have been your first warning. “We’ve never been. Plus, my meetings are only in the mornings. We’d have the afternoons and evenings together.”

“A second honeymoon,” he’d called it with that devastating smile.

What he’d failed to mention was that the “trying for a baby” conversation had apparently permanently rewired something in his brain.

You’d learned this over the past few weeks. The man who used to be controlled, measured, professional in every aspect of his life had developed a hair-trigger when it came to you. A lingering glance, your hand on his thigh at dinner, the way you bit your lip while concentrating—any of it could result in him finding the nearest private surface and bending you over it.

The office after hours? Check.

The car in the parking garage? Check.

The fitting room at the boutique where you’d been shopping for maternity clothes (optimistically)? Very much check.

But this—this was a new level, even for him.

“Cheol,” you hissed, gripping the balcony railing as he pressed against your back, his hands already pushing up your sundress. “We’re outside. Someone could see—”

“The nearest villa is hundreds of feet away,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “No one can see unless they’re in a helicopter.”

“That’s not the point—”

“The point,” he interrupted, one hand sliding between your thighs to find you already wet—because of course you were—your body had learned to anticipate him now, “is that you’ve been walking around all day in this dress. This tiny, barely-there dress. Bending over to pick up seashells. Stretching in the sun. Driving me insane.”

“We were on the beach,” you protested weakly, even as you arched back into him. “What was I supposed to wear?”

“Nothing.” His fingers hooked into your panties, pulling them aside. “Preferably nothing.”

You were about to respond when he pushed inside you in one smooth thrust, and all coherent thought fled. Your fingers tightened on the railing as he set a deep, rolling rhythm that had you biting your lip to keep quiet.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, one hand gripping your hip while the other slid up to cup your breast through the fabric. “Take it. Take all of me.”

The view from the balcony was stunning; turquoise water stretching to the horizon, white sand beaches, palm trees swaying in the breeze. The sun was setting, painting everything gold and pink. It should be romantic.

It was romantic. Just also obscene.

“God, you feel so good,” Seungcheol groaned, picking up his pace. “So perfect. Made for me. Made to take my cock. Made to carry my baby.”

There it was, the thing that set him off every time. The baby talk. Ever since that day, since you’d opened that door, he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was like the idea of getting you pregnant had become an obsession.

“Cheol—” you gasped, trying to keep your voice down even as pleasure built in your core. “Someone might hear—”

“Let them hear.” His hand slid from your breast to your throat, tilting your head back. “Let them hear how good I make you feel. How well you take me. How desperate you are for my baby.”

“You’re insane,” you managed, but it came out more like a moan.

“You made me this way.” His lips brushed your ear. “Walking around, talking about wanting my babies, being so fucking perfect—you broke something in me, baby. Can’t think straight anymore. Can’t function unless I’m inside you.”

His hand left your throat to slide down your body, finding your clit with practiced ease. The dual sensation—him inside you, his fingers working you expertly—was too much.

“That’s it,” he encouraged as you started to tremble. “Come for me. Come on my cock while I fill you up. Maybe this time it’ll take. Maybe in nine months you’ll be here with my baby in your belly.”

The image he painted—you pregnant, round with his child—combined with his relentless pace pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry you couldn’t quite muffle, clenching around him and felt him follow seconds later with a groan. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, the sound of waves crashing below mixing with your racing heartbeats.

“We need to talk about this,” you finally said, even as you melted back against his chest.

“About what?” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, still not pulling out.

“About this—” you gestured vaguely, “—thing that’s happened to you. This breeding kink you’ve developed.”

You felt him smile against your skin. “Is it a kink if we’re actively trying for a baby?”

“Cheol, we’ve had sex multiple times everyday in the last week. Everyday.”

“You’re counting?”

“Hard not to when I can barely walk straight.” You turned your head to look at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the sex. The sex is incredible but you’ve been…intense. Ever since that conversation.”

His expression shifted, becoming more serious. He finally pulled out—you whimpered at the loss—and turned you around to face him, hands gentle on your waist.

“I know,” he admitted. “I’ve been…I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like something clicked that day, and I can’t turn it off. Every time I look at you, I think about getting you pregnant. About you carrying our baby. About our family. And it just—” he broke off, looking almost embarrassed. “It does something to me. Makes me crazy.”

“I’ve noticed,” you said dryly.

“Is it too much?” There was genuine concern in his eyes now. “Am I being too much? Because if you need me to dial it back—”

“No,” you interrupted quickly. “I mean, yes, it’s a lot but it’s also…kind of hot? Knowing you want me that badly. That you’re that desperate to start our family.”

His eyes darkened. “You have no idea how badly I want you. How much I want this.”

“I’m getting a pretty clear picture,” you teased, feeling him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Case in point.”

He huffed a laugh. “Can you blame me? You’re standing here, freshly fucked, my cum dripping down your thighs, the sunset making you glow and you’re surprised I want you again?”

“We literally just finished—”

“And I’m already thinking about round two.” His hands slid down to cup your ass. “And three. And four. We have all night, baby. No work tomorrow. No interruptions. Just you and me and this view and a very comfortable bed inside.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it.” He kissed you, deep and slow. “Now, shower, dinner and then I’m taking you apart in that massive bed. Sound good?”

It sounded perfect, actually. Even if your husband had apparently turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation. Especially because your husband had turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation.

“One condition,” you said as he started leading you inside.

“Anything.”

“When we get home, we’re making a doctor’s appointment. To make sure we’re doing everything right. That I’m healthy. All of it.”

His expression softened. “Of course. Whatever you need. I’ll set it up as soon as we’re back.”

“And maybe—” you bit your lip, “—maybe we dial it back just a little? Don’t get me wrong, I love the enthusiasm, but I’d like to still be able to walk when we get home.”

He grinned. “No promises but I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

As he pulled you inside to the shower, his hands already wandering again, you thought about how much had changed in just a few weeks. Your controlled, measured husband had been replaced by someone who couldn’t keep his hands off you. Who fucked you on balconies and whispered filthy promises about getting you pregnant. Who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

The test from last week had been negative. You’d both been disappointed but not surprised, these things took time but watching Seungcheol now, the way he touched you with reverence even as his eyes promised wickedness, you knew something had fundamentally shifted between you.

This wasn’t just about making a baby anymore. It was about the intensity of wanting something together. About the intimacy of trying. About how the goal had somehow made everything—every touch, every kiss, every time he was inside you—feel weighted with meaning and possibility.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, soaping your shoulders.

“About how that drunk conversation might have been the best terrible decision I ever made.”

He laughed. “Oh, it was definitely terrible. But yeah,” he pulled you close, “also the best.”

“Even though I asked if you’d love me as a worm?”

“Especially because you asked if I’d love you as a worm.” He kissed your forehead. “Now come on. We have dinner reservations in an hour and I plan on having you at least twice before then.”

“Twice?! Cheol, we just—”

But he was already lifting you, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically, and honestly? You weren’t complaining, not even a little bit.

Your insatiable, baby-crazy, utterly perfect husband. You wouldn’t change a thing.

You didn’t make it to dinner.

Well, not the reservation anyway. By the time Seungcheol had finished with you in the shower and then carried you to the bed still dripping wet, you were both too boneless and satisfied to even consider getting dressed and going out. Instead, he’d ordered take out—an absurd amount of food—and you’d eaten on the balcony wrapped in plush robes, watching the stars come out over the ocean.

“This is nice,” you murmured, stealing a bite of his dessert. “Romantic. Almost makes me forget you’ve turned into a caveman.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Caveman?”

“Mhm.” You grinned. “Me want baby. Me fuck wife constantly. Me carry wife everywhere because wife can’t walk—”

He silenced you with a kiss, tasting like chocolate and coconut. “I don’t hear you complaining when I’m making you come.”

“That’s because my brain stops working when you’re making me come.”

“Mission accomplished then.” His hand found yours on the table, fingers interlacing. “But seriously, are we okay? This isn’t too much?”

You squeezed his hand. “We’re more than okay. I promise. Yes, you’ve been insatiable. Yes, I’m going to need a week to recover when we get home. But Cheol,” you met his eyes, “I love seeing you like this. Passionate. Uninhibited. It’s like you’ve finally let yourself want something without overthinking it.”

“I want you,” he said simply. “I want our family and yeah, maybe I’ve gone a little crazy about it, but…” he shrugged, unapologetic, “I’m not sorry.”

“Good.” You stood, letting your robe slip off your shoulders. “Because I’m not done with you yet either.”

His eyes went dark, tracking the fall of fabric. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You moved to straddle his lap, the balmy night air warm on your skin. “We have four more days in paradise. Might as well make the most of them.”

“Four more days,” he repeated, hands spanning your waist. “Think we can set a record?”

“For what? Most times having sex in a single vacation?”

“I was thinking most creative locations, but that works too.” His thumbs traced circles on your hipbones. “There’s the beach at night. The private pool. That hammock near the—”

“You’ve been planning this.”

“Maybe.” He pulled you down for a kiss. “Can you blame me? My beautiful wife, a tropical paradise, and no responsibilities for four whole days? I’m going to worship you in every way possible.”

And he did.

You woke to his mouth between your thighs, the sunrise painting the room in shades of gold and pink. He brought you to orgasm twice before you were even fully awake and then pulled you into the shower where he took you against the tiles while water cascaded over you both.

Breakfast was served on the balcony, and you made it through most of your meal before he was pulling you onto his lap, pushing your sundress up, filling you while you clutched his shoulders and tried to keep quiet.

“Love you like this,” he murmured against your neck as you rode him slowly. “Sun-kissed, desperate and so fucking wet for me.”

“Always wet for you,” you gasped. “Can’t help it.”

“Good.” His hands guided your hips, helping you find the perfect angle. “Never want you any other way.”

Later, he kept his promise about the hammock. You’d been reading peacefully in the shade when he appeared with that look in his eyes and suddenly your book was forgotten as he stripped you down and arranged you across the swaying fabric.

“Cheol, this is going to tip—”

“I’ve got you,” he promised and he did, holding the hammock steady as he knelt between your legs and proved that his mouth was just as talented as the rest of him. By the time he finally entered you, you were already trembling, oversensitive, and the gentle sway of the hammock with each thrust was unlike anything you’d experienced.

“This is insane,” you laughed breathlessly.

“This is perfect,” he corrected and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his universe—made your chest tight with emotion.

His morning meeting ran long and you’d gone down to the beach alone, content to swim and sunbathe and give your body a much-needed break. You should have known better. You were waist-deep in the crystal-clear water when you felt arms wrap around you from behind.

“Meeting over?” you asked, leaning back against his chest.

“Cancelled the rest.” His lips found that spot behind your ear that made you shiver. “Told them it was a family emergency.”

“Cheol! You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what? Choose my wife over a conference call about quarterly projections?” His hand slid down your stomach, disappearing beneath the water. “Pretty sure I can since y’know, I’m the boss.”

“Someone could see—”

“No one’s around.” And he was right—the beach was completely empty, the nearest people just tiny dots in the distance. “And you’re wearing this bikini. This tiny, barely-there bikini. What did you expect?”

“I expected to swim peacefully—oh—”

His fingers had found their target, working you expertly while his other arm banded around your waist, holding you against him.

“Can you be quiet?” he murmured. “Or are you going to let the whole beach know how good I make you feel?”

You bit your lip, trying desperately to stay silent as he worked you closer to the edge. The water lapped around you, warm and gentle and the contrast between the peaceful setting and what he was doing to you was almost too much.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Come for me, baby. Right here in the ocean where anyone could see how desperate you are for me.”

You came with a strangled gasp, your legs giving out and only his arm around your waist kept you upright.

“Good girl,” he praised, turning you around. “Now, think you can stay quiet while I fuck you?”

You couldn’t, as it turned out but the beach stayed empty, and Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind your breathless cries as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he entered you in the warm, shallow water.

The private pool became his new favorite place. You’d lost count of how many times he’d taken you there; bent over the edge, pressed against the infinity wall overlooking the ocean, on the submerged lounger, against the smooth rocks of the artificial waterfall.

“We’re never leaving,” he declared as the sun set on your last full day. “I’m cancelling our flights. We live here now.”

“We have jobs,” you reminded him, though you were currently in his lap in the pool, still joined, neither of you in any hurry to move.

“We’ll work remotely. I’ll buy this villa. We’ll raise our kids here.”

“Kids, plural?”

“At least three.” His hands slid over your belly, possessive and tender. “Maybe four.”

“Let’s start with one,” you laughed. “See how we do.”

“We’ll do perfectly.” He kissed you slowly. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”

“And you’re going to be an amazing father.” You cupped his face. “Even if you are a sex-crazed maniac right now.”

“Only for you,” he promised. “Only ever for you.”

You woke early, bodies tangled together, the sound of waves your only alarm. Seungcheol was already awake, watching you with that soft expression that still made your heart skip.

“Morning,” you murmured.

“Morning.” He brushed hair from your face. “Last day.”

“Don’t remind me.” You snuggled closer. “I’m not ready to go back to reality.”

“Me neither.” His hand found your belly again,it was becoming a habit. “But we’ll take this with us. This feeling. This certainty.”

“The certainty that you can’t keep your hands off me?”

“The certainty that we’re ready for this. For our family. For our future.” He shifted, rolling you beneath him. “And yeah, also the certainty that I’ll never get enough of you.”

The morning light filtered through the curtains as he made love to you slowly, tenderly, so different from the frantic desperation of the past few days. This was soft and sweet and full of promise.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “So much. More than I can say.”

“I love you too,” you breathed. “Even when you’re being insane.”

“Especially when I’m being insane,” he corrected with a grin and as you lay together afterward, wrapped in each other and the morning warmth, you thought about the past few weeks. The conversation that started it all. The shift in your relationship. The intensity and passion and sheer want of it all.

You still didn’t know if you were pregnant yet. Wouldn’t know for another week at least but somehow, it didn’t matter as much as you thought it would. Because you had this. Had him. Had the absolute certainty that whatever happened, you were in it together. Even if your husband had apparently developed a permanent breeding kink in the process. You could think of worse problems to have.

“Round two?” Seungcheol murmured hopefully against your neck.

You laughed. “We have to pack. And check out. And catch a flight.”

“So that’s a yes to a quickie before all that?”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

And because he was right—because you did love it, loved him, loved this new chapter you were writing together—you pulled him down for a kiss.

“Make it quick,” you warned. “We actually do need to pack.”

His answering grin was wicked. “Oh baby, I haven’t done anything quick with you since university.”

He was right about that too. You missed your flight but honestly?

Totally worth it.

The next few months go by in blur of your everyday life and the fact that you and your husband behaved like two virgins in a whorehouse at every given opportunity. He had somewhat simmered down, a work project keeping him busy and away from you for the past month.

You knew he was stressed so tonight you had planned to treat him, leaving work early to set up everything and it was well worth it when he comes through the door of your home calling out for you. He asks what smells so good before he stops when he takes in the way you’re dressed, in that cherry red dress he loves, and his mind starts wandering to important dates.

“Did I forget something?”

You turn from the stove, wooden spoon in hand and can’t help but smile at the panic already creeping into his expression. Seungcheol stands frozen in the doorway, briefcase still in hand, tie loosened, eyes frantically scanning you for clues.

“Did I forget—” he starts again, more urgently this time. “Is it our anniversary? Your birthday? Some other important—”

“Relax,” you interrupt, setting down the spoon and crossing to him. “You didn’t forget anything.”

“Then why are you wearing that dress?” His eyes drag over you, taking in the cherry red fabric that hugs every curve, the neckline that shows just enough to be distracting. “You only wear that dress for special occasions.”

“Maybe I just wanted to look nice for my husband,” you say innocently, reaching up to loosen his tie the rest of the way. “Is that a crime?”

His hands find your waist automatically, pulling you closer. “You’re up to something.”

“Maybe.” You stretch up to kiss him softly. “Or maybe I just missed you. You’ve been working so much lately.”

Something in his expression shifts, guilt mixing with exhaustion. “I know. This project has been insane. I’m sorry, baby. I’ve barely been home and when I am, I’m usually passed out or distracted—”

“Which is exactly why I wanted to do something nice tonight.” You smooth your hands over his chest. “So,no work talk. No stress. Just dinner, wine, and your wife who’s been very lonely without you.”

His eyes darken at that. “Lonely?”

“Mhmm.” You let your fingers trail down his abdomen. “Very lonely. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve touched me?”

“Twenty-two days,” he says immediately and you blink in surprise.

“You’ve been counting?”

“Of course I’ve been counting.” His grip tightens on your waist. “You think I haven’t noticed? That I haven’t been dying every night, coming home to you already asleep, leaving before you wake up? I’ve been going insane.”

“Have you?” You press closer, feeling him already starting to respond. “Because you seemed pretty absorbed in your work.”

“The only reason I’ve been able to focus on work is because I’ve been channeling all my sexual frustration into spreadsheets and project timelines.” His forehead drops to yours. “I’ve missed you so much. Missed this. Missed touching you.”

“Well,” you slide your hands up to his shoulders, “dinner’s going to take another twenty minutes. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”

“Twenty minutes?” He’s already backing you toward the counter. “I can work with twenty minutes.”

“Cheol,” you laugh as he lifts you onto the granite, “we eat here.”

“We’ve done worse shit here.” He’s already pushing your dress up your thighs, and his eyes go even darker when he discovers what you’re not wearing. “No underwear. You really were planning this.”

“Maybe I was planning to torture you through dinner,” you tease. “Make you wait. Make you suffer.”

“Fuck that.” He drops to his knees, pulling you to the edge of the counter. “I’ve suffered enough. Now I’m collecting.”

Your protest dies as his mouth finds you and suddenly the simmering pots on the stove are the last thing on your mind.

Dinner is slightly overcooked by the time you both make it to the table—flushed, disheveled, and thoroughly satisfied. Seungcheol keeps apologizing for ruining your perfect meal but you just laugh and pour more wine.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, serving the pasta that’s only a little too soft. “This was kind of the plan anyway.”

“To seduce me before dinner?”

“To remind you that I still exist.” You raise your glass. “That we exist. Outside of work and stress and trying to conceive and everything else.”

His expression softens. “I know we exist. I always know that.”

“But you’ve been distant,” you say gently. “And I get it, this project has been huge, and you’re under a lot of pressure but Cheol…” you reach across the table for his hand, “I’ve missed my husband. Not just the sex, though yes, definitely that but you. Talking to you. Laughing with you. Just being with you.”

He squeezes your hand, looking guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—I thought I was handling it okay, but I guess I’ve been shutting you out.”

“A little bit,” you admit. “And I know it’s not intentional. You get focused on work and everything else fades but we can’t let that happen, especially not now when we’re trying to start a family.”

“You’re right.” He stands, moving his chair closer to yours so he can pull you against his side. “I’m sorry. Really. The project wraps up next week, and then I’m all yours. No more late nights. No more missing dinner. No more—”

“No more twenty-two day dry spells?” you supply with a grin.

“Especially no more dry spells.” His hand slides up your thigh. “In fact, I think I need to make up for lost time.”

“We haven’t even finished dinner.”

“We can reheat it.” He’s already pulling you into his lap. “Right now, I need to apologize properly to my wife for neglecting her.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

His smile turns wicked. “I have some ideas.”

You’re curled up on the couch together, plates pushed aside, wine glasses empty, and you’re finally feeling like you have your husband back.

“So,” Seungcheol says, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your bare shoulder; your dress didn’t survive the transition from dining room to living room, “I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Hmm?” You’re pleasantly drowsy, content in a way you haven’t been in weeks.

“About the baby thing.”

That gets your attention. You sit up a little, looking at him. “What about it?”

He’s quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve been trying for almost three months now. And I know that’s not that long in the grand scheme of things, but…I don’t know. I guess I thought it would happen faster.”

Your chest tightens. You’ve been thinking the same thing but haven’t wanted to say it out loud. “Yeah. Me too.”

“And I was thinking—maybe we should make that doctor’s appointment. Like you said. Just to make sure everything’s okay. That we’re doing everything right.”

“Okay,” you agree softly. “Yeah, we can do that.”

“I’m not worried,” he adds quickly. “I mean, I am a little worried, but mostly I just want to be proactive. Make sure we’re giving ourselves the best chance.”

You cup his face, making him look at you. “Hey. Three months is nothing. The doctor will probably tell us to keep trying and come back in a year if nothing happens.”

“I know, but—” he breaks off, frustrated. “I just want this so badly. Want to give you this and every time another month goes by and the test is negative, I feel like I’m failing somehow.”

“You’re not failing,” you say firmly. “This isn’t something we can control. It happens when it happens.”

“I know that in my head. But in my heart,” his hand finds your belly, “I’m impatient.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease gently. “The whole ‘acting like virgins in a whorehouse’ thing kind of gave it away.”

He huffs a laugh. “Was I that bad?”

“You were that eager,” you correct. “Which was actually pretty hot. Still is, when you’re not drowning in spreadsheets.”

“No more spreadsheets,” he promises. “Project’s almost done, and then I’m taking some time off. We’ll go somewhere. Relax. Maybe not having so much stress will help.”

“Maybe.” You kiss him softly. “But either way, we’re in this together, okay? Whether it happens next month or next year, we’ll figure it out.”

“Together,” he agrees, pulling you closer.

You settle back against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, and try to ignore the small kernel of worry that’s been growing with each negative test.

Three months isn’t that long but it feels longer when you want something so badly. When every month brings hope and then disappointment. When you see the look on your husband’s face each time that single line appears instead of two.

“Hey,” Seungcheol murmurs, as if reading your thoughts. “No spiraling. We’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” you repeat.

And you are, you will be. Even if it takes longer than expected. Even if the road is harder than you hoped. You have him, and he has you, and that’s what matters.

Everything else will come in time, you just have to keep believing that.

Seungcheol had accompanied you to your usual checkup with your doctor and you’re currently waiting for your results to come back. When she enters with your files there’s a look on her face you can’t really read.

“Is there something wrong?” Seungcheol asks, his hand squeezing yours tighter.

“Well, that depends Mr. Choi,” she says before turning to you. “This happens quite often and I know it can be a shock, but I hope you both will make the decision that suits you best.”

The suspense is killing you and before you can ask what she means she says “Mrs. Choi, did you know that you’re three months pregnant?”

“Que?”

You must be hearing things. You took tests, hell you had a period two weeks ago. The room tilts slightly, and you’re glad you’re already sitting down.

“I’m—what?” Your voice comes out strangled, disbelieving. “That’s not—I can’t be. I’ve been having my period.”

Dr. Kim’s expression softens with understanding. “What you experienced was likely implantation bleeding and spotting, which can be mistaken for a light period. It’s more common than you’d think. Based on your blood work and the ultrasound we just did, you’re measuring at about twelve weeks.”

“Twelve weeks,” you repeat numbly. Your mind is racing, trying to do the math. Twelve weeks ago was…

“Hawaii,” Seungcheol breathes beside you, and when you look at him, his face has gone pale. “That was twelve weeks ago.”

Dr. Kim pulls up something on her computer screen, turning it so you can see and there it is. A tiny blob on the screen, barely distinguishable, but with a flickering white spot in the center.

“That’s the heartbeat,” Dr. Kim says gently, pointing. “Strong and healthy.”

Your own heart seems to stop entirely.

“But—” you’re struggling to process this, “—I’ve taken at least four pregnancy tests in the past two months. They were all negative.”

“How early were you testing?”

“I don’t know—a few days before my period? And then after what I thought was my period…”

“That’s likely why. Some women don’t produce enough HCG hormone early on for home tests to detect. It’s rare, but it happens.” Dr. Kim’s smile is warm, reassuring. “But your levels now are exactly where they should be for twelve weeks. You’re pregnant, Mrs. Choi. Congratulations.”

The word hangs in the air between you and Seungcheol.

Pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’ve been pregnant for three months and didn’t know.

“I—” your voice cracks, “—I’ve been drinking coffee. And I had wine at dinner last week. And I, oh god, I’ve been taking ibuprofen for my headaches—”

“Hey, hey,” Dr. Kim interrupts gently. “Let’s take a breath. Small amounts of caffeine are fine. One glass of wine before you knew won’t hurt anything. And occasional ibuprofen, while not ideal, isn’t going to cause problems at this stage. Your baby looks perfectly healthy.”

Your baby.

“I can’t—” you turn to Seungcheol, and the expression on his face nearly breaks you. He looks stunned, overwhelmed, and like he might cry at any moment. “Cheol—”

“We’re having a baby,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “We’re actually…holy shit, we’re having a baby.” And then he is crying, tears streaming down his face as he pulls you into a tight embrace.

“You said there was a decision to make?” Seungcheol asks suddenly, pulling back and looking at Dr. Kim with concern. “Is something wrong? You said—”

“Oh, no—I’m sorry, I worded that poorly.” Dr. Kim looks apologetic. “I just meant that unexpected pregnancies can be a shock, and I wanted to make sure you knew you had options. But if this is welcome news—”

“It’s welcome,” you say immediately, even as your hands are shaking. “Very welcome. We’ve been trying. We just—we didn’t know it had already worked.”

“Well then—truly, congratulations.” Dr. Kim starts printing out information. “I’m going to refer you to an OB for your ongoing care. You’ll want to schedule your first official prenatal appointment within the next week or two. I’m printing out the ultrasound photo for you, and some information about what to expect in your first trimester—though you’re already almost through it.”

Almost through the first trimester. You’re almost through the first trimester and you had no idea.

“Can you—” your voice is shaky, “—can you print two copies of the ultrasound? Please?”

“Of course.” Dr. Kim smiles knowingly. “Most parents want several.”

Parents. You’re going to be parents. The rest of the appointment passes in a blur. Dr. Kim goes over nutrition, what to expect, warning signs to watch for, answering questions that Seungcheol asks because you seem to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences.

By the time you make it back to the car, you’re both silent, clutching the ultrasound photos like lifelines. Seungcheol doesn’t start the car. Just sits there, staring at the grainy black and white image in his hands.

“We made this,” he finally says, voice thick. “In Hawaii. In that villa with the ocean view. We made our baby.”

“All those times,” you whisper, then laugh slightly hysterically. “All those months we kept trying, and it had already happened. We were already pregnant during—oh my god, we were pregnant when you bent me over the dining room table last month—”

“And in the shower last week,” he adds, then starts laughing too, slightly wild. “And on the counter. And—Jesus, we’ve been having incredibly athletic sex while pregnant.”

“Dr. Kim said it’s fine—”

“I know, I just—” he runs a hand through his hair, “—I can’t believe we didn’t know. How did we not know?”

“I don’t know.” You’re staring at your own copy of the ultrasound, at that tiny blob that’s apparently your baby. Your baby who’s been growing inside you for weeks while you had no idea. “I feel like I should have known. Like my body should have told me somehow.”

“Hey.” Seungcheol reaches over, taking your hand. “This is okay, right? This is—we wanted this.”

“We wanted this,” you confirm, squeezing back. “I’m just…I’m in shock. Are you in shock?”

“Completely.” He brings your hand to his lips. “But also, baby, we’re having a baby. We’re actually having a baby.”

The reality of it starts to sink in, and suddenly you’re crying too. Happy tears, overwhelmed tears, scared tears, all mixed together.

“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, and it feels more real each time you say it. “In—oh god, when? When am I due?”

Seungcheol scrambles for the paperwork Dr. Kim gave you. “It says…June. June tenth. Holy shit, that’s only six months away.”

“Six months.” You press a hand to your stomach, which still looks completely normal. “There’s a baby in there. Right now. With a heartbeat.”

“The fastest heartbeat in the world,” Seungcheol says, smiling through his tears. “Did you hear how fast it was going? Like they’re already excited to meet us.”

“They.” The pronoun makes it more real somehow. “We’re going to have a tiny human. Who depends on us for everything. Who we’re responsible for.”

“Are you freaking out?” he asks gently.

“Little bit. You?”

“Completely.” But he’s smiling, radiant, more happy than you’ve ever seen him. “But also,I’ve never been more excited about anything in my life.” You lean over the center console to kiss him, tasting salt from both your tears and his.

“We’re going to be parents,” you whisper against his lips.

“Best parents ever,” he promises. “This kid is going to be so loved.”

“So spoiled.”

“That too.” He pulls back just enough to cup your face. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this. For giving me this. For—” his voice breaks, “—for making me a father.”

“Cheol—” now you’re really crying, “—you did half the work.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one growing them. Carrying them. Creating an entire human being inside you.” His hand moves to your stomach, reverent. “You’re incredible.”

“Ask me again in four months when I’m huge and miserable and demanding pickles at 3 AM.”

“Still incredible.” He kisses you again. “Now, we need to celebrate. And tell people. And—oh god, my mom is going to lose her mind. Your mom is going to cry. Jeonghan is going to make fun of me for crying earlier—”

“We don’t have to tell anyone right away,” you interrupt. “I’m only twelve weeks. A lot can still—” you can’t finish the sentence, but he understands.

“You’re right. We’ll wait. Just, maybe a little longer? Until we’re into the second trimester?”

“Which is only a few more weeks now,” you realize. “We’re already almost there.”

“We’re already almost there,” he repeats wonderingly. Then, more firmly, “Okay, new plan. We go home. We process this. We maybe have a minor freak out and then we start planning.”

“Planning what?”

“Everything.” His smile is infectious. “Nursery. Names. Parenting books. Baby-proofing. Everything we need to do in the next six months to get ready for this tiny human who’s apparently already been along for the ride.”

You look down at the ultrasound again, at that flickering heartbeat frozen in time. Your baby. Made in paradise, growing in secret, already loved beyond measure.

“Let’s go home,” you say softly.

Seungcheol finally starts the car, but before he pulls out, he looks at you one more time.

“I love you,” he says. “You and our little blob.”

“I love you too.” You press your hand over his on your stomach. “All three of us.” And as he drives home, both of you stealing glances at the ultrasound photos, you think about how everything has changed in the span of one appointment.

All those months of trying.

All that hoping and waiting and disappointment and it had already worked.

Your baby had been there all along, growing quietly, waiting to surprise you. Just like everything else with Seungcheol—unexpected, intense, and absolutely perfect.

Even if you had been doing very athletic things while pregnant without knowing it.

You’d probably need to apologize to your baby for that eventually but for now, you just hold the ultrasound close and let yourself feel it.

Pure, overwhelming joy.

You’re going to be a mom and Seungcheol is going to be a dad. In six months, your family of two is going to become three.

Best surprise ever.

You both still haven’t told anyone and it’s been two months since you found out. Your body hasn’t changed much but your need for your husband has which has made Seungcheol work from home twice now and this morning is no different when he wakes up with your mouth on him.

Seungcheol wakes slowly, consciousness returning in gradual waves. There’s warmth, wetness, and a familiar pressure that has him groaning before he’s even fully awake.

“Fuck, baby—” His hand instinctively goes to your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. You’re under the covers, between his legs and the sight when he lifts the duvet nearly finishes him right there—your eyes meeting his as you take him deeper.

“What are you—oh god—what time is it?”

You pull off with an obscene pop, your hand replacing your mouth as you stroke him slowly. “About six thirty. You have a meeting at nine.”

“Then why are you—” his words cut off as you lick a stripe up his length, “—trying to kill me?”

“Because,” you pause to take him in your mouth again, working him in that way that makes his brain short-circuit, before pulling back, “ I need you…again.”

“Again?” His laugh is strained. “Baby, love we went three rounds last night. How are you—”

“Pregnant,” you finish, crawling up his body. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else and when you straddle him, he can feel how wet you already are. “I’m pregnant and my hormones are insane and I can’t stop thinking about you inside me.”

“Not complaining,” he manages, hands gripping your hips as you position yourself above him. “Just concerned about your poor—Jesus—”

You sink down on him in one smooth motion and his concern evaporates. You’re so wet, so ready, that he slides in effortlessly despite no preparation.

“Fuck, you feel good,” you moan, starting to move. “So good. Why do you always feel so good?”

Seungcheol can’t answer because his brain has officially stopped working. You’re riding him in the early morning light, his t-shirt riding up to reveal the slight swell of your stomach, barely visible but there. Evidence of your baby growing inside you.

His baby. The thought still makes him feral.

“That’s it,” he encourages, helping you find your rhythm. “Take what you need. Use me.”

And you do, you ride him with an urgency that’s become familiar over the past two months. Dr. Kim had warned you that increased libido was common in the second trimester, but this was beyond anything either of you expected. Not that Seungcheol is complaining.

“Cheol,” you’re already close, he can tell by the way you’re clenching around him, “touch me, please.”

His thumb finds your clit, circling with practiced pressure and you come apart with a cry that could wake the neighbors. He follows seconds later, pulling you down onto him as he empties inside you. You collapse on his chest, both of you breathing hard.

“I’m calling in sick,” he announces.

“You can’t. You have that important meeting—”

“Then you’re coming to the home office with me,” he decides, rolling you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Because if the past two months have taught me anything, it’s that you’re going to need me again in approximately—” he checks his watch, “—two hours and I’d rather be here than trying to take a ‘lunch break’ or hoping my camera stays off.”

You laugh, remembering last week when he’d had to abruptly mute himself because you’d walked into his office wearing nothing but a smile.

“That was your fault for working from home in grey sweatpants,” you point out.

“Everything is apparently my fault now.” But he’s smiling as he says it, pressing kisses down your neck. “You needed water at 3 AM? My fault for getting you pregnant. Your jeans don’t fit? My fault. You cried at that commercial with the puppy? Definitely my fault.”

“It was a very sad commercial,” you defend, even as you’re arching into his kisses. “And yes, this is literally all your fault. You and your—” you gesture vaguely at him, “—your everything.”

“My everything?” He’s laughing now, working his way down your body.

“Your face. Your body. Your—Cheol, what are you doing?”

“Well—” he settles between your thighs, “—if I’m working from home anyway, might as well make sure you’re thoroughly satisfied before my first meeting.”

“You just…we literally just—”

“And you’re going to need me again soon anyway,” he points out reasonably. “Might as well get ahead of it.” His mouth finds you and your protests dissolve into moans.

Seungcheol is forty-five minutes into his video call when you appear in the doorway of his office. He sees you in his peripheral vision and tries to focus on the presentation his colleague is giving but you’re wearing that look. That needy, desperate, “I need you right now” look.

He mutes himself and mouths, After this meeting.

You pout. Actually pout. Then you do something that nearly makes him fall out of his chair; you pull up your dress to show him your stomach, running your hand over the small bump. It’s not fair. It’s biological warfare. You know exactly what seeing you like that does to him.

He unmutes. “Actually, I need to step away for a moment. Personal emergency. Give me ten minutes?”

His colleagues agree—they know he’s been working from home more lately—and he kills his camera and mic before you’ve even crossed the room.

“Ten minutes,” he warns as you climb into his lap. “That’s all we have.”

“Then you better make it count,” you challenge, already undoing his belt.

He does.

“We need to tell people,” Seungcheol says over lunch. You’re both in the kitchen, you’re eating pickles and bacon cream cheese spread—a combination that horrifies him but apparently makes perfect sense to your pregnant brain—and he’s trying not to watch in fascinated disgust.

“I know,” you agree around a mouthful of your horrible creation. “We said we’d wait until after the first trimester, and we’re at—what? Fifteen weeks now?”

“Sixteen tomorrow,” he corrects. He’s been tracking it religiously, has an app on his phone that tells him how big the baby is each week. Currently, the size of an avocado.

“Sixteen weeks,” you repeat. “And I’m starting to show. Like, actually show. I can’t hide it in loose clothes forever.”

“You look beautiful,” he says immediately.

“I look pregnant.”

“Beautiful and pregnant.” He comes around the island to wrap his arms around you from behind, his hands spanning your small bump. “Best combination ever.”

You lean back into him. “Your mom is going to cry.”

“My mom is going to plan the entire baby’s life before they’re even born,” he corrects. “Your mom is going to cry.”

“Both our moms are going to lose their minds,” you decide. “And then they’re going to become best friends over baby shopping.”

“Jeonghan is going to make fun of me.”

“Hannie’s going to be the uncle who teaches our kid bad habits.”

Seungcheol groans. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe we don’t tell anyone. Just let them figure it out when you go into labor.”

“Cheol.”

“Fine.” He kisses your temple. “This weekend? We’ll have both families over. Tell them together?”

“Together,” you agree. Then, after a pause, “Are you scared?”

“Terrified,” he admits. “But also, this is real now. We’re really doing this. In four and a half months, we’re going to have a baby. Our baby and I want to share that with people. Want everyone to know how happy I am.”

You turn in his arms, looking up at him. “Even though I keep attacking you at inappropriate times?”

“Especially because you keep attacking me at inappropriate times.” He grins. “Though maybe we should warn the doctor at your next appointment. Make sure this is…you know. Normal.”

“I already asked,” you admit, blushing. “Last appointment while you were filling out paperwork. She said it’s completely normal and actually healthy.”

“Healthy,” he repeats, smirking. “So really, we’re just being responsible parents-to-be.”

“Exactly, very responsible.”

“Speaking of responsible—” his hands slide down to cup your ass, “—I think I have another meeting in an hour. Which means we have time—”

“On the counter?” you ask hopefully.

“Wherever you want,” he promises, already lifting you.

The pickles and cream cheese are forgotten as he makes good on his promise and later—much later—when he’s finally back at his computer for his afternoon meetings, you curl up on the couch in his office with a blanket and one of your pregnancy books.

This has become your routine over the past two months. Him working, you nearby and periodic breaks for the insatiable need that’s apparently a hallmark of your second trimester. It’s chaotic and wonderful and occasionally makes him miss important conference calls but he wouldn’t change a thing.

This is his life now. His pregnant wife who can’t keep her hands off him. His baby growing bigger every day. His future taking shape in ways he couldn’t have imagined a year ago. All because of one drunk conversation about worms and ovulation and wanting his babies.

Best conversation ever. Even if it did result in him having to work from home regularly because his wife has turned into an insatiable pregnant goddess. He glances over at you, at the small bump visible even under the blanket and feels that now-familiar surge of overwhelming love.

Four and a half months until they meet their baby but first, telling their families this weekend and surviving whatever chaos that brings.

He can’t wait.

[randomsvt]

"You looked cool earlier, but now you look like the 'Home Alone' burglar"

(Seungkwan to S.Coups)

[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.

[slut4kwon]

sulky baby vs. even sulkier baby

[cheolaholic]

found myself a cheerleader; csc (01)

summary; the captain has his eyes set on a cheerleader. problem is, she isn't so keen on the idea of dating a jock. so, he tries to prove her wrong.

duology • modern! au • uni! au • rugby player x cheerleader • fluff, angst, smut

pairing; choi seungcheol x fem!reader | wc; 8.6k | rating; 18+ explicit nsfw

contains; rugby captain! cheol, cheerleader! reader, they’re both business majors but it’s barely mentioned, cameo of other svt members, mentions of shownu from monstax, reader has trust issues, cheol is a yearner here, everyone ships them together & are playing wingman/woman, beach ‘episode’ but i swear it works well for the plot, cheol’s a good/subtle flirt, reader opens up just a little but is still very much guarded

mature/trigger warnings; N/A in this chapter

petnames; his (Captain, Cheol), hers (Sunshine, Baby)

a/n; wasn't really planning on having this released as a duology but oh well- ik i said i was supposed to upload this in march, but guess who got too caught up in work (again, rip) hope yall still enjoy this fic tho 🥹 i genuinely think this was by far one of my fav cheol fic i’ve released, second to RoL based on this ask from rugby cheol anon months ago... hopefully ur still around for this release, rugby cheol anon 😭🫶🏻

✨ support me by becoming a patreon (enjoy exclusive perks & content) OR tip me on kofi !! 💜 if you are unable to do so, you can also show support by reblogging your favourite works of mine !!

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Cheerleading was something you never understood.

Sure, your parents signed you up for classes when you were a kid, but you dropped it some time in middle school. Something about being the stereotypical cheerleader that sleeps around with the players or dating the captain was something that didn’t appeal to you.

You thought you’d never get back into it.

That is until your friends pushed you into signing up for tryouts for your university’s cheering team. They tried a lot to get you to fill in your name – “Give it a shot!”, “You can’t go through the next three years without doing something.”, “Even if you don’t make it, it’s still a story to tell!”

And so, you picked up the pen and filled out your name on the form.

The memory of the tryout was a blur. The burn in your arms from holding a position too long, the nervous shake in your voice as you shout out the cheer – you swore you’d be cut immediately.

So imagine the shock you felt when in your student inbox sat an acceptance email.

Dear Kim ___,

Congratulations!

We at Cheonghwa University’s cheer team, The Hwa-roes, are excited to inform you of your acceptance into the team.

Please reply to this email within 3 working days to let us know if you will be joining us on the quads to hype up the players and crowd!

Warm regards,

The Hwa-roes.

(Word play on Heroes)

You read the email at least three times – waiting for the words to morph into a rejection email, for someone to tell you it was sent by mistake.

Yet, here you were – pom-poms in hand and sneakers laced tight, standing with the other newcomers in the basketball stadium in a uniform that was low-key a little too short for your liking. As the seniors began the introduction, announcing a little freshies night would be done that weekend, you realised that… maybe this wasn’t a joke anymore.

You were in.

The late afternoon sun stretches across the quad, the grass looking more vibrant; even a little golden. The sound of a whistle being blown pierced through the field, followed by the heavy thud and grunts of The Hwa-rriors, Cheonghwa’s rugby team, as their bodies collide with one another during their on-going practice.

Enter Choi Seungcheol, Captain of The Hwa-rriors.

Seungcheol is the type of man where one look at him out on the field, you’d know he was meant to play. Knew that he was meant to be captain with how he barked orders whenever someone slacked.

He practically lived for the game. The sweat, the grind, the competition – nothing could ever divide his attention from the field.

Or at least, nothing used to.

His gaze had managed to stray from his team to the corner of the field where The Hwa-roes were practicing their cheer routine. Half the team were forming a base while some of the male cheerleaders were balancing the girls mid-air, laughter filling the air in a way that was infectious – causing a small smile to tug at his own lips.

Then, his eyes land on a particular cheerleader.

Unlike the stereotypical looks most female cheerleaders would have – long hair that’s pulled into a ponytail, probably one of the two main colours of the university as a bow stuck at the top; this cheerleader had a bob that almost went past her shoulders.

Seungcheol felt… something in his stomach, but it wasn’t from the mediocre cafeteria food for sure.

It was weird.

The Hwa-roes and Hwa-rriors had always co-existed during practices, yet since two weeks ago, he finds himself watching the bobbed-hair cheerleader.

“Captain, ball!”

He came back to his senses a little too late – the rugby ball smacked against his head, bouncing off onto the grass.

Groans echoed from his team.

“Seungcheol, I swear to God,” Jeonghan huffs, flicking sweat out of his hair. “If you’re going to keep staring at the cheer squad, at least don’t ogle to the point you’re physically here, but mentally there.”

“I wasn’t staring,” Seungcheol defended, muttering a curse as he picked up the ball.

Joshua snorts, leaning an elbow against Jeonghan. “Sure. Your eyes probably have a mind of their own and decided to wander off.”

His jaw tightened at the jest, but he knew they were right.

He barks at the team to get back to practice, trying to regain his focus in the process. Yet, when he hears the cheer captain announcing they take five, his head snapped back towards them just for a minute too long before he starts the countdown.

On your side of the field, you’ve learned to treat the rugby team’s shouts and grunts as background noise for your practice. In a way, it helped the cheer team in finding the tempo.

However, several cheerleaders, including the seniors would point out that their captain was staring – specifically at you. From what you’ve heard, Choi Seungcheol was practically Cheonghwa’s pride and glory.

He was tall, broad – even his presence was commanding, the kind that made people pause mid-step whenever he walked by. When your head of cheer announced a five minute break, you glanced over to the rugby team and watched as he barreled into a tackle. The sound of impact was enough to make even the cheer team wince.

Still, he didn't flinch.

You shake your head, reminding yourself of the reputations rugby players had – loud, cocky, out of your league. You may be a cheerleader, but you were a new cheerleader. You were one voice in a choir at the sidelines.

You weren’t someone special.

“Mingyu.”

“ ‘Sup, hyung?”

Seungcheol hesitated, mainly because Mingyu gave him a knowing grin. God, he was never going to hear the end of this. He inclines his head subtly towards the cheer team, “The girl at the top of the pyramid. Layered bob. You know who she is?”

The giant followed his line of sight, his grin widening almost instantly. “Ohh, I see.”

“See what?”

“Our captain’s taken a fancy to one of the cheerleaders,” Mingyu teased. “I thought Joshua was just imagining things, but apparently not. Guess I owe him ten bucks.”

“You lot are impossible,” the elder groans, running a hand down his sweaty face. “Just answer the question, Gyu. Unless you’d want to run five laps.”

Mingyu laughs, clearly having a blast poking at his captain. “She’s one of the newcomers they recruited. Kim _.” He observes Seungcheol’s face for any sort of reaction, his canines showing off when he sees the tips of his ears turn red. “I think she’s in her first year, final sem. Heard from one of the cheer guys that Haesoo told them she wanted her in after she left the audition. Kinda obvious why.”

Seungcheol nods, repeating the name in his head.

Kim ___.

Pretty name for a pretty girl.

“So,” Mingyu leaned in with a wicked grin, “Planning to shoot your shot?”

Seungcheol scoffed, “Get back to practice, Gyu.”

The campus library was almost empty that evening. The scratch of the metal nib against your tablet screen paired with the soft hum of the air conditioning was almost perfect until someone slots themselves into the empty seat across from you.

“Hey there, Miss Cheerleader.”

The voice was unfamiliar to you yet the owner greets you with such familiarity it felt… odd.

Looking up, you’re greeted by none other than Choi Seungcheol himself. Captain of The Hwa-rriors, heartthrob of the campus. He hangs his backpack over the chair he’s seated in with a big puppy grin on display.

He looked far too alive for the library. Out of place. Sweat clung to his temple, dark hair pushed back and messy like he’d run his hand through it dozens of times before this.

You blinked at him, “Shouldn’t you be out on the field, Captain?”

Seungcheol shrugs, “Practice ended. What about you? Was expecting you out on the field cheering and doing flips.”

“Thursdays, Fridays and weekends are our off-days.”

“Off-days, huh?” He leans closer, propping his arms on the table. “Didn’t think you guys would have that kind of schedule.”

You raised a brow, deciding to tease him a little. “We don’t run on triple A batteries, Captain. We like to preserve our energy unlike you jocks that can’t go a day without needing to run into a wall of muscles.”

Something about your tone made his heart flutter. He hadn’t expected you to tease back and the fact that you did intrigues him. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your little focus bubble,” he continues. “Just… didn’t expect to see you elsewhere other than… y’know, flying through the air.”

“Are you assuming cheerleaders are bimbos, Captain Choi?”

HIs eyes widened, scrambling to defend himself and forgets his surroundings momentarily. “No!”

The librarian shoots him a look and Seungcheol smiles sheepishly before bowing his head apologetically. Turning back to you, he lowers his voice. “No, I would never have that ideology. It’s just… I expected you to be more of a social butterfly like the others.”

“Well, cheerleaders can be academically driven too,” you said dryly.

He lets out a quiet laugh, “Noted. Guess I only ever see you on the sidelines cheering us on.”

“Well, that’s the whole point of the cheer team, Captain.”

“Yeah.”

You set your stylus down, deciding to give him your time. “So, what brings you here, Seungcheol?”

God, his name sounds so right when it comes from your lips.

“Trying to look academic to swoon some girls?”

“Maybe,” he teases. You watch as he then turns to the shelf behind him and grabs a random book, “Or maybe I came to get some study materials for my subject.” Glancing at the book he had just plucked off the shelf, he regrets it instantly.

‘The Trade Policy of the European Union’ by Gstöhl and De Bièvre.

You let out a small laugh and it made the tip of Seungcheol’s ears go beet red. “I understand you’re a Business Major, Captain. But try something less… heavy… next time. That one will put you to sleep before the first chapter.”

That pearly white grin returns, “Got it, Sunshine.”

You blinked, “What?”

He froze, realising what he’s just said. “Oh– Sorry. It’s just…” He awkwardly gestures towards the window. “The… The light is… It makes you look bright.”

Get a grip, Choi Seungcheol. You’re Captain of the football team. Why are you fumbling over your words?

God, you look like such a–

You can’t help the quiet laugh that slipped past your lips, caught between being thrown off guard and amusement. “Didn’t realise you were terrible at giving compliments, Captain.”

He gives you a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… Guess a pretty girl like you has me fumbling over my rehearsed lines.”

“Uhm… Thanks..?” You turn your focus back to your study material.

“Anytime, Sunshine.”

There’s a faint pink in your cheeks when you look up again. “You gonna start calling me that now, Seungcheol?”

He shrugs, grinning again. “Only if it annoys the hell outta you.”

“Careful now,” you warned, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “It just might.”

“Then I’m not stopping.”

“Hey, Yejin?” One of the seniors called out to the Head of Cheer.

“ ‘Sup?”

“Sky’s looking a little gloomy… Should we call in a rain check?”

The Head of Cheer waves her hand dismissively with a smile, “Oh, y’know the sky is always gloomy. We’re nearing the middle of fall season so the sun is just a little shy.”

“But what if it rains? We can’t risk the team falling sick or getting injuries. The big game is coming up and we can’t really form a new routine if we do have casualties.”

Yejin seems to consider the words before announcing to the cheer squad that they’ll do one final routine and call in a rain check. The others, you included, agreed but not before casting a glance up to the sky where the graying clouds start to gather. You hear Seungcheol’s voice behind you, barking out orders and telling his team to keep an eye out for the weather.

It was clear the gloomy weather had both teams on high alert.

But it was soon pushed to the side when the rugby team was halfway through scrimmage drills, and the cheer squad ran through several formations that needed more focus in perfecting. This routine had somehow become a source of to you – how everything falls into a steady rhythm.

5 minutes later, any trace of sunlight was gone.

Then came the first drops, turning the once green field into a polka dotted pattern. Both teams glanced at each other, as though they were telepathically asking – “Are you retreating? Because if you do, I do.”

They didn’t have much time to ponder as within the seconds, the slight drizzle turned heavy. Y’know, the kind of downpour that soaks you in less than a minute.

Chaos broke out when a gust of strong wind swept across the fields. Laughter, squeals and shouts rang through the field as everyone sprinted towards the auditorium to take cover. In contrast to the humid rain outside, the auditorium had its air conditioning running and the coldness sent shivers down your spine and damp uniform.

You wring out your skirt and tried your best to laugh with the others, but the cold was starting to get to you. Your hands were freezing, the fabric of your top was sticking to your skin and no matter how much you rubbed at your arms, the goosebumps wouldn’t go away.

You hear Seungcheol talking to the Head of Cheer, “Did everyone from the cheer team make it in?”

“Yea, I counted three times. Yours?”

“All counted for. Make sure neither of you cheerleaders get sick, yea? We’d be lost without y’all cheering us on.”

Yejin snorts, “Yea?” She nods towards his team that were raking their hands through their damp hair, teasing them about resembling golden retrievers trying to dry themselves off. “Better make sure neither of them get the flu either. Not only will Coach kill you, we won’t have a team to cheer for.”

Mingyu chuckled behind Seungcheol, “Well, I’m sure Cheol hyung can cover for all of us.”

“Careful, Gyu. I might just drag you with me.”

The trio laughed, knowing the threat wasn’t serious nor that deep.

His gaze soon landed on your shivering figure.

You stood a little further from the others, staying quiet while your teammates whined about their ruined hair and soggy sneakers. One of the newcomers complained about how the soaked fabric of the uniform was starting to stick uncomfortably against their skin. You smiled when one of them teased you for shivering like you were just dumped into the middle of a snow pile, but the smile was tired.

Mingyu noticed Seungcheol was staring somewhere and following his line of sight, he smirked. “Staring at the pretty cheerleader again, Captain?”

Yejin’s eyes followed and she too joined in on the teasing. “Fancy our little ___, Cheol?”

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes, “Both of you.”

The Head of Cheer grins, leaning in, “Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but so far she’s still single. But, unfortunately jocks don’t seem to be her type.”

“Why not?”

Yejin shrugs, wringing the edges of her skirt. “Well, nobody really knows, but my two cents is that it has something to do with jocks being players with better stamina. You know how the rumours are with you guys – always flirting, never really committing. Probably forgetting a girl’s name once the next game rolls around.”

Mingyu frowns, placing a hand over his chest. “Ouch, that hurt.”

“Um, dramatic much?” Yejin snorts. “She probably doesn’t want to end up as another cautionary tale in the locker room or y’know… The entire campus of why you should steer away from jocks.”

“Hey, we can’t be that bad.”

She raises a brow, “For some of y’all? Maybe. But the reputation the media paints? Kind of hard to shake it off when a few of them fit the bill. Loud, cocky, always surrounded by cheerleaders or girls.”

She turns to one of the senior cheerleaders, “Kinda allergic to communication.”

Seungcheol moved to his duffel before his brain could catch up, grabbing his varsity jacket – the black one with his name stitched in gold thread. “You say that like we’re a species, Yejin.”

She all but grins, watching with Mingyu as he crosses the room, “Well, if the boot fits, Cheol.”

You sat on a bleacher that was close to the heater, rubbing your arms to try and chase the chill away. While you adored the sleeveless design of the cheer uniform, sometimes you wished the sleeves were a little longer to make it less chilly. Not that it’d help in your current situation.

The rest of your squad huddled nearby, helping each other to brush out their damp hair or to undo the ponytail it’s been put in.

A shadow looms over you and looking up, you see him.

“Sunshine.”

“Captain.”

He held out his varsity jacket, voice low and steady, “Here.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his gesture. “What?”

Seungcheol chuckles, “I’m offering you my jacket, sunshine. You’re freezing.”

“I’m okay, Seungcheol. I’ll live.”

He raised a brow, “_, even I can see that you’re clearly shaking from the cold.”

He’s not wrong. The heater wasn’t doing much to warm you up and you could practically feel the cold seep into your bones. Before you could reject him a second time, he had already draped his jacket over your shoulders. The warmth hit in an instant – the jacket soft, heavy and carried a faint scent that was him. Behind him, you hear several ‘ooohs’ and ‘awws’ from the others.

“Feel better?” He asks quietly, knuckles making contact with the side of your neck as he brushes your hair to the side.

You swallowed, “A lil..”

He smiles, taking a seat next to you but with enough distance so he doesn’t crowd into your personal space. “Won’t you need it?” You asked. The Captain simply shakes his head, “Nope. I’ll live without it.”

You snort, “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Well, that’s because I need you on the sidelines,” he teased. “If you catch a cold, whose chants am I supposed to listen to? I might start missing passes and pissing the whole team off.”

You rolled your eyes, though a soft smile tugged at your lips. “So now your entire performance depends solely on me?”

“Kinda, yea.”

You huff, tugging at the jacket to wrap it tighter around you. It was definitely one or two sizes larger, engulfing your body in warmth – though some of it wasn’t actually from the piece of clothing. Seungcheol tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, catching you off guard and he’d half expect you to pull away – but you didn’t.

He gives you a small smile, lips parting to say something until one of his teammates yelled from across the room. “Yo, Seungcheol! If you’re done flirting, Coach said to hit the showers so we don’t get sick!”

A chorus of laughter erupted in the auditorium – some of the boys whistled while the cheerleaders had teasing smiles on their lips. The noise mixed with the distant patter of the rain outside, making the whole situation feel a little lighter.

You caught the way a faint flush crept up Seungcheol’s neck before he sighs, turning to give you a sheepish smile. “Well, guess that’s my cue to leave.”

You nodded. “Don’t catch a cold, Captain. Otherwise you won’t hear my cheers.”

He grins at your tease, lingering by your side just a second longer before walking across the room to his teammates.

Your thumbs brush against the fabric of the jacket, trying your best to ignore the stupid flutter in your chest.

📣 Hwa-roes Squad 🤸🏼‍♀️

HoC Yejin: hey there Hwa-roes, Head of Cheer here with some news !! HoC Yejin: our Cheer Coach & the Hwa-rriors’ Coach organised a little squad bonding this weekend for us to well, bond with each other. deets are as follows: Date: XX October - XX October 20XX, Saturday - Sunday Time: 8AM Sat - 3PM Sun Venue: Busan Coastal Beach Planned activities include Balance Exercises Grill Night !! Bonding Bonfire Tug of War And more… 🫦 HoC Yejin: attendance is compulsory unless there’s a valid reason for absence. see yall this weekend !!

The morning air at Cheonghwa’s main parking lot was a little chilly, but definitely noisier than most weekends. The clattering of luggage wheels against the gravel pavement, thumping of duffel bags being loaded onto the bus’ luggage compartments. Some were already on the bus to try and catch a quick nap, others were discussing what food they bought for the Grill Night.

The cheer squad, all wearing their navy warm up jackets, were gathered near the front of the bus as Yejin conducts her usual headcount that reminds the rugby team of a military headcount. Just a few feet behind them were the rugby team loading the rest of the luggages onto the bus.

You arrived a minute later, tote bag hanging off a shoulder with a cup of iced coffee in one hand, a pretty pink luggage in the other. “Morning, Yejin,” you greet with a smile. She checks your name on the clipboard, “Morning, honey,” she greets back, peeking behind you and shoots you a teasing smile.

“Looks like fanboy there is already staring.”

Turning your head to follow her gaze, you make eye contact with Seungcheol. He gives you a small smile, and while you were unsure of how you felt – the corner of your lips lifted to return the smile.

“Cheer squad, anyone missing right now?” Yejin calls out.

“Minjoo went to grab snacks from the vending machine with Jeonghan!” Someone from the rugby team calls out. Coach Song, the rugby team’s coach, glances at his watch. “Better hope those snacks will last the two hour bus-ride.”

On the bus, you managed to find a seat near the middle and slid in, tucking your tote under your legs. Halfway through pulling out your earphones, a familiar voice came from the aisle.

“Hey sunshine, mind if I sit here?”

Seungcheol stands there, a paper bag in one hand while the other holds his water bottle. “Oh– Uh, no,” you said, realising you were staring.

“Thanks.” He slides in, shoulder brushing against your for just a brief second.

You took a sip of your coffee and watched as the campus rolled past when the bus departed. The early sunlight flickers through the windows and you finally take out your earphones, glancing at the paper bag in his lap. He notices and reaches in, pulling out a KitKat bar and offering it to you. “I got a bunch of snacks for the trip. Some healthy, some unhealthy.”

You took the chocolate, chuckling, “I’m not sure I should be having a KitKat for breakfast, Seungcheol.”

He grins, fishing out a sandwich box with the words ‘Egg Mayo’ written on its packaging. “Well, lucky for you, I also got some sandwiches.”

Two thoughts popped in your mind.

First – Wow, this man is well prepared.

Second – Why is that lowkey hot?

Successfully getting your earphones out and plugging them into your phone, the captain leans closer. “What’re you planning to listen to, Sunshine?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” you mutter, “Any suggestions, Captain?"

“Hmm, why don't you give Love Again by Dutch Melrose a try?”

You offered him the left piece of the earbud, “Wanna join?”

He blinked, surprised at your offer. But who was he to pass up on, what he deems, the opportunity of a lifetime. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Mingyu, sitting two rows behind, catches the little interaction and elbows Wonwoo who’s sat next to him. “Would you look at that,” he teases. “Captain’s whipped as hell.”

It was roughly 10AM when the squads arrived at the beachside – the air filled with the scent of seawater and coconut (add a bit of sunscreen into the mix). Several of the boys from the rugby team were helping the cheer girls move their stuff into the beach cabins, some snack stealing going on because Dokyeom claimed while they didn't need to do drills,they certainly were too early for dinner.

Everyone was brainstorming on activities to pass the time until the designated beach activities. That is until – “Guys, I found water guns!”

“Where the hell did you even get these?” Yejin asked. Wonwoo snorts, “Hey, I warned you not to let him wander off when he’s bored.”

The tall giant shoots his signature grin, “Found these and a few more in the duffel bags Coach packed. Let’s have a water gun battle to see who’s the better squad. Winning team gets bragging rights for the rest of the season!”

That’s all it took.

In just minutes, the rugby boys and cheer team split up into “teams”.

You crouched behind one of the benches, peeking over the seat as you pumped your water gun in a random direction, somehow successfully hitting Chan who yelped – “Noona, I didn’t even do anything to you!”

You can’t help but giggle, shouting out an apology while Seungcheol barked out orders like this entire game was a championship match instead of a simple water battle – typical.

You squeal when cold water splashes onto your arm. “Hey! Whoever that was, you better count your days!”

“Would be a dream!”

“Jiwoo, she’s off limits!”

You like this. The chaos that fills the air with laughter. It’s simple and pure, just like how the movies portrait or romanticise college life for cheerleaders and the rugby team.

Rounding a tree for cover, you collided with someone else who had the same idea. You squeak and a strong arm caught you by your waist before you could fall on your butt. Looking up, there stood Seungcheol in all his glory.

His shirt was drenched and clinging to his chest, droplets of water ran down his neck and Gods, if you didn’t have some form of self control, you’d probably jump him.

He looked just as surprised as you were – but it only lasted a second before that infuriating smug grin of his spread on his lips. “Didn’t think I’d find you here, sunshine.”

You huffed, trying to play it cool. Trying to act like your heart didn’t do that stupid flutter. “This is a water gun battle, Captain. You’re supposed to be fighting, not flirting.”

Seungcheol chuckles, “Who says I can’t do both?”

Before you can come up with a comeback, the captain lifted his water gun and fired at you at close range. The stream hit your shoulder, the water cold enough to make you gasp at the sensation.

“Choi Seungcheol!”

He laughs, dodging the spray of water you fired in return. You chased after him across the beach, trying both your best to not trip over your steps, shouting half-formed threats in between laughter. The rest of the squad had fallen into a similar form of chaos – Jihoon was wrestling Mingyu for some waterballoons, some of the cheer squad had formed a barricade with one of the picnic tables and Yejin was chasing after Joshua for a spare water gun.

You finally caught up to Seungcheol near one of the beach cabins, both of you panting, soaked, but still fiercely competitive.

“Okay, okay,” he said between breaths, “You’re a tough one, Sunshine.”

He extends a hand towards you, “Truce?”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicions high. “You’re a Leo who’s fiercely competitive. You don’t do truces.”

He smirks, “Maybe I make an exception for a certain cheerleader whose smile reminds me of the rays of sun.”

You hesitated, but decided to trust him. “Fine. Truce.”

He takes a step closer, lowering his water gun. “See? We can work together afterall.”

Just as you lowered your gun, you felt a stream of water his you right in the chest.

You blinked. “You–!”

He was already laughing, running away with his hands raised in the air as you chased after him. “You should know better than to trust the enemy who is also a competitive Leo, _!”

“You are so dead, Choi Seungcheol!”

Whoever said the sunsets look even more gorgeous at the beach was right. The sky was a blend of soft pink, purple, and orange. Whatever team bonding or rivalry was done for the day and everyone settled into a new routine with the rhythmic rolls of the ocean waves in the background.

Several of the rugby boys moved the grills a little further from the campsite, but not too close to the tides so they could enjoy both sides without compromising too much.

Yejin claps her hands together, “Alright! Cheer squad on sides. Rugby boys on grilling.”

“Try not to poison us with the grill,” Minjoo teases.

“Excuse me,” Mingyu scoffs. “We know how to cook. In fact, we’re excellent cooks!”

“Seungcheol had to search up how to cut an onion last time,” Yejin snorted.

“Hey!” Seungcheol called out from the grill, raising the tongs at the cheerleader. “That was one time!”

Moments go by and you’ve decided to hover nearby Seungcheol’s grilling station, watching his actions curiously. The sizzling sounded promising, but the smell… not really. “I don’t think they’re supposed to smell like that, Captain.”

Seungcheol frowned, “It’s fine, sunshine. They’re on a grill.”

He lifted a skewer and is rendered speechless when one side is visibly blackened. You tilted your head to the side, “Define… fine.”

Mingyu picks up another skewer, waving it in front of the captain's face. “I think it's fighting back, hyung.”

Seungcheol glares at him, “Go and see if the cheerleaders need help with the sides, Gyu.”

The giant raises his hands in surrender, walking away with a shit eating grin that makes the captain want to punch it off his face. You stepped closer, "You're flipping them too late, Seungcheol.”

“It's not that bad.”

You raised a brow, “Would you eat them when they look like that?”

He huffed a laugh and stepped aside to make room for you. “Alright, ___. Show me how to not turn dinner into… charcoal.”

You sprinkled some water onto the grill to lower the heat and spread out the skewers while the captain observed quietly, secretly impressed. “Didn't think you'd be the type to be good with grills, sunshine.”

“Went on several camping trips with my family and had my dad teach me some tricks.”

“So you're an outdoors girl, eh?”

“Only if food isn't about to be burnt and I'm not shoved deep into a forest.”

Seungcheol didn't think he'd be more attracted to you, but here he is – whipped because his little cheerleader crush enjoys the great outdoors.

Food was finally ready by the time the sky darkened and stars started blinking in one by one. Everyone gathered around the grill and bench table with paper plates and plastic cups. “Remember to throw your trash in the bags, team!” Minghao called out, “If I see anyone littering, you will get an ass whooping!”

Jihoon takes a seat next to you on one of the driftwood logs. “So… ___, right?”

You turn to him, “Depends on who's asking.”

“The Flanker.“

You shift and he chuckles, “Don't worry, I'm not here with ill intentions. Just curious about the girl that's got the captain so down bad.”

You snort, “Oh, please. You say that like it's something serious.”

He chuckles, taking a sip from his red plastic cup before replying. “Well, I did grow up with him so it's safe to say that I know when something's up. Cheol is… I guess you can say he's not the type to fall for people. If I remember correctly, he's had two ex-girlfriends but he didn't really like them as much as they did to him.”

“Why did he get together with them, then?”

Jihoon's lips twitch into a smirk. “Curious, arent'cha?”

You narrowed your eyes and he shrugged. “He likes them enough to be with them, but relationships aren't exactly a priority to him. During his first year, when we just enrolled, it was studies and the girl was more of a party animal which did kinda turn him off.”

You raised a brow. “I thought you jocks like going to parties. Alcohol, hook-ups, weed–”

“Okay, maybe some of them do. But, Seungcheol is more like… He's there to keep an eye on us, y'know? Gotta make sure his boys don't end up too deep in trouble.”

You hum in understanding. Maybe not all jocks are hormonal party animals, you thought.

“In second year, when he got accepted into the rugby team, his priorities became study and rugby. It was a little hard for him to balance those two while maintaining a relationship so, yeah.”

“And you think that this time it'll be different because I'm a cheerleader?”

Jihoon snorts. “Please, if you're thinking of that stereotypical jock and cheerleader trope, you can abandon it. I think it'll be different because you check out at most eighty percent of whatever his ideal type is.”

“And that is?”

“Passionte about what you love. Independent. You talk back or challenge him in a sense, and trust me when I say that shit turns him the fuck on.”

“Excuse me?”

He smirks, “You'll find out sooner or later. That is if you give him the chance. Kink aside, you also prioritise your studies.”

A beat of silence before he nudges your arm, “But, you didn’t hear it from me. Anyways, I gotta bounce because I can feel Cheol staring daggers at me. I'm not saying all these things to persuade you into accepting him as a boyfriend if he does decide to tell you. Think of it as me vouching for some kind of long-term investment that will benefit you both.”

“Nice business talk, Jihoon.”

“Hey, I'm a Finance major. Gotta know how to talk business.”

Both teams gathered around a bonfire after dinner. Joshua strummed the chords of the guitar while Dokyeom sang a random line from one of Mariah Carey's songs. You and Yejin passed around some marshmallows while someone yelled out, “Alright, time for a game of Truth or Dare!”

“I got a good one!” One of the cheerleaders announced. Pointing at Seungcheol, she asks him to pick. Being the Leo that he is, the captain chose Dare. The cheerleader grins, “Sit next to someone you'd like to get to know better.”

For a moment, he hesitated.

You felt his gaze on you even as your gaze was focused on the fire, watching the sparks rise and disappear. The silence was torturous to the group, but their gaze soon followed his and landed on you. Mingyu nudges him, “You buffering, Captain?”

Seungcheol cleared his throat, his neck turning a light shade of red. He moves to sit next to you and the teasing was immediate

“OHH–”

Seungcheol glares at his team, “Shut your mouths before I make you lot run laps tomorrow morning.”

The cabin lights flickered on one-by-one as everyone retreated for the night.

In your cabin, Yejin is quick to start the conversation as soon as she kicks off her sandals and plops onto her bed. “So, are we going to talk about it or pretend it didn't happen?”

All eyes were on you.

You blinked, “Talk about..?”

Another girl turned her head, mid-way putting on her face mask. “Don't play dumb, ___. Obviously about Choi Seungcheol.”

The cabin erupts into a chorus of hums and giggles. You groaned, “Come on, girls. What's there to talk about?”

“Um, have you forgotten the incident where he lent you his jacket when it rained a few weeks ago?”

“How he sat next to you for the dare?”

“Not to mention the way he kept looking at you whenever you laughed. Like, constantly.”

You rolled your eyes, braiding your hair for sleep while also hoping the somewhat dim lighting managed to hide the warmth creeping up your neck. ”It doesn't mean anything. He's just being nice.”

Yejin snorts, clearly unconvinced. “Right, nice. Last I remembered, the only people who got this level of ‘niceness’ were those girls he dated. And based on my observations, there's a difference when it comes to him being nice in general and down so bad I need this girl to be mine kind of nice.”

You don't respond – partially because you had no idea on how to respond to that. Even if you were to respond, what were you supposed to say? That for some odd reason, you kind of liked the way he hovered around you without it feeling like he was invading your personal space? That occasionally your heart would flutter at the thought of giving him a chance?

Noticing your lack of response, Yejin diverts the topic – not wanting to pry even though she wanted to.

Eventually, the voices softened. Someone had fallen asleep mid-scroll, the dim light of their phone lighting up their face before blacking out. Another cheerleader muttered something in her sleep before rolling over, snoring softly. One by one, the girls in your cabin settled into sleep – except you.

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling with the sound of waves rhythmically crashing against the shore playing in the background. Your mind replays several instances of Seungcheol essentially pining after you. While you try to convince yourself that it meant nothing, you begin to doubt your thoughts too.

That doesn't really answer a lot though – why you?

Out of all the cheerleaders, out of all the girls – why specifically you?

You shifted carefully, careful to not wake either of the girls as you slipped out the cabin. Walking along the shoreline, you let the tide roll onto the cool sand and occasionally soak your feet. It was peaceful and the view was breathtaking, bringing you a sense of peace.

You stop when you feel someone behind you. Turning around, you're face-to-face with Seungcheol.

“Creeping up on me now, Captain?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “I view it more as me making sure you don't get hurt out here, sunshine.”

“By walking at a very questionable distance behind me?”

“Touche.”

You let him come up to stand next to you, watching the silver painted ocean while the gentle breeze blows in your faces. “Guess I'm not the only one that can’t sleep tonight,” he starts. “Penny for your thoughts?”

For a second, you had an internal debate. Do you ask him about his feelings? Or should you just… play dumb and act like nothing is going on?

The words slipped through your lips before you could stop them.

“Do you like me?”

The captain blinks, clearly caught off guard. His lips part, then shuts; and opens again. For a second, you wonder if you had maybe read too much into it – that maybe Yejin and Jihoon also read too much into his actions. But, he lets out a quiet huff. “Should've known Jihoon said something to you when he sat next to you.”

“Yejin said some things too,” you added.

“Of course she did.”

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, looking up at the stars. “They're not wrong, though. I do like you. Like, like like you. As in, I want you to be my girlfriend kind of like.”

You stare at him, taking in the way he looks right now. The moonlight softened his usual sharp features, stripping away any roughness that's usually seen on the field. Right now, he just looks… gentle. Soft. Like he just belongs to the calmness of the night.

“But… Why?”

He looks at you,”Do I really need a reason to like you, sunshine?”

“Um… In this day and age, clearly. How can I be sure you aren't those jocks that tell cheerleaders they like them to get up their skirts?”

He rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah… The media and how some of the boys act aren’t really helping my case, huh?” Sighing, he turns to look at you – really look at you. What caught your breath was the look in his eyes.

Genuine. Full of emotions.

“Look, I just… I don’t want you to look at me and think I’m like that,” he starts. “How jocks, athletes and captains are all the same. I get it, y’know. A few bad apples s’all it takes to ruin the bunch, but I don’t want you thinking I’m just another version.”

“Another version of what, Seungcheol?”

“That I don’t mean what I say. That I thrive off of attention, which while is true, doesn’t apply to… romantic interests. I don’t want you thinking that I’m doing all this just to get up your skirt and leave.”

A breeze picked up and a shiver shot up your spine. The word slipped past your lips before you could stop yourself, “Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away, tearing his gaze away from you to look at the dark ocean. “I do things with intent, sunshine. Sure, you could look at what I’m doing right now like I’m trying to increase my chances of sleeping with you; but that’s not my intention. You… You kind of… expect the worst from people, which I don’t blame you for. But I don’t want to be that.”

You swallowed, “You don’t know me that well.”

“And I want to.”

Silence followed – the air charged with something and the ocean kept lapping at the shore.

“I don’t offer my trust to just anyone. Especially when that trust involves my feelings.”

He waited for a ‘But’ that never came. It was evident to the rugby captain that chasing after this little cheerleader would be a challenge.

Luckily, he’s never one to back down.

After a while, he stood. “We should get some sleep. Tomorrow’s probably going to be even hectic before we head back to campus.” He offers you his hand, and you hesitated for several seconds before taking it.

“Yeah… Yeah, we should,” you mumbled.

He gently helped you up and only let go when you were steady.

“Goodnight, sunshine.”

“Goodnight, captain.”

Several weeks have passed since that night by the beach.

There was no drastic change in the way Seungcheol interacts with you, but he has been acting more… thoughtful? Considerate? You weren’t even sure what word to use. Sure, your routine in Cheonghwa is pretty much the same – it’s just that now you’re seen with a particular rugby captain more often.

How it started?

Well, let’s just say that Seungcheol has taken it upon himself to walk you home.

It started off unintentionally, or at least that’s what you both have been telling yourselves.

Practice ran later than expected one evening. By the time you had finished stuffing your pompoms into your duffel and zipped up your hoodie to hide the cheer uniform, the field light flickered to life. You sigh, slinging the bag over your shoulder and begin to walk across the field towards the gates.

You were about halfway there when you heard quick footsteps catching up to you.

“If you’re thinking of jumping me–”

“Whoa there, sunshine.”

Seungcheol had his hands raised in mock surrender, his own duffel hanging over his shoulder. “I’m not a threat.”

“Count yourself lucky I didn’t have my pepper spray in hand, captain,” you retort. “Could’ve blinded the star player before his Friday game.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Honest. I just… Well, your studio is in the same direction as mine so…”

The jock almost wants to kick himself at how bad he’s failing in trying to act and sound non-chalant.

“Are you offering to walk me home, Seungcheol?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

From that night on, it became part of your routine if practice ran on longer than usual. He’d catch up to you without a word, his pace adjusting to match yours almost immediately. After the first three times, Seungcheol’s even took it upon himself to carry your duffel bag for you – letting it hang over his own shoulder. You’ve tried to protest several times, technically every time, but he just shrugs it off.

“I want to do this, sunshine. Let me, alright?”

The walks with him were comforting, easy even. The conversations you both had never felt forced. It just came naturally – he’d ask about your routines, you’d ask about his pre-game ‘rituals’. Sometimes he’d even ask you about your classes, which subject made you nervous or which lecturer needed to be better at their job. Whenever you complained, he’d always make sure your feelings were valid.

When you talked about pressure and expectations, he shared some of his own experiences. How while he loved being captain, it was still a role he wasn’t expecting to receive.

“I always thought it’d be either Wonwoo or Jihoon to be honest,” he chuckled. “They’re both more… strategic.”

He goes on about how there were days he wishes he wasn’t captain – that the weight of leadership was heavy, especially when everyone expects you to have all the answers when you were figuring things out too.

Whenever you reach the lobby of your studio, he’d always make sure you walked through those gates. He never insisted that he followed you up to your studio in case it was crossing a line.

“Text me when you’re inside,” he would say, every time.

And every single time, you would.

What you didn’t know was that he’d only leave the lobby if he got that text. On the days you’d forget or were too tired to, he’d linger around for about ten minutes before leaving.

seungcheol 🏉: hey sunshine seungcheol 🏉: u up? seungcheol 🏉: kinda need hlp with some stuff sunshine ☀️: it’s 12am captain sunshine ☀️: what help could u possibly need? seungcheol 🏉: can i call u?

At first you thought he just needed to jog up his memory from previous classes – ones he’s taken before but had forgotten, and since you were both in the same course, it’d only make sense for him to do so. It was just two students helping each other with their grades, until you remembered he’s made the Dean’s List the past two years.

“You don’t actually need help, do you?” You asked over the phone.

Seungcheol lets out a laugh, one that’s warm and sheepish – like he’s been caught red-handed. “Okay, you got me. I don’t really need help with my studies.”

“Then why the calls?”

A pause.

It wasn’t the awkward kind, but you can tell he’s choosing his words carefully.

Then, he sighs. “Look, sunshine. I… I really like hearing your voice. I think it’s cute and admirable that you’re trying to explain something that you haven’t learnt, but still did it because you wanted to help me. And… Well, I like you.”

“You know I don’t trust anyone with my feelings, captain,” you reminded him. “Especially jocks.”

“I know,” he mutters. “I know you’re… scared of something, and I know my… courting methods probably aren’t making it any better. But, that doesn’t mean I won’t stop trying to earn your trust.”

His words had your fingers tightening around your phone. He wasn’t begging nor was he making a promise that’s too big to deliver.

He was just being honest.

Those calls stretched longer as time went on. Sometimes it’s about classes and exams; other times it’s just him indirectly getting to know you a little better. He’d ask you about your favourite colour, your childhood memories – sometimes he’d manage to get you to open up just enough where you’d say things you rarely said out loud.

Then, there were nights when exhaustion wins over you and you’d fall asleep mid-sentence.

Seungcheol never tried to wake you up.

He doesn’t hang up immediately either. He just listens to your steady, quiet breathing for a few minutes before he does hang up.

Like he’s making a silent promise to stay with you even when there are days where the world feels too heavy, where you’re too tired to speak.

One afternoon, right after practice, Yejin approaches you in the locker room. She leans against one of the mirrors, arms crossed when she says very matter-of-factly, “Seungcheol’s in love with you.”

You scoffed, “He’s not.”

“___, he carries your bag.”

“So? That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I heard he’s been calling you at night, too.”

“Studies.”

Yejin raised a brow.

You pursed your lips together, realising how weak that argument was. “Okay, fine – I’ll let you have that one…”

Another girl chimed in softly, “I’m gonna be honest, girl, he looks at you like you’re the only girl in the room. Anyone would kill to have that kind of attention from him.”

Your words came out harsher than intended, “That’s the problem.”

The silence that followed was heavy. You swallowed the lump in your throat, “Everyone wants his attention. Everyone wants him. Sure, he says all these sweet words and pays attention to me now; but jocks are all the same. They’ll get bored, ‘busy’, or maybe someone else will come along and then suddenly, you’re just… an afterthought to them.”

Yejin sighs, “Seungcheol isn’t like that, _.”

“How do you know for sure he isn’t like that?”

Tense silence fell over the locker room once again.

Against your paranoia or overthinking self, part of you wants to believe what Yejin is saying about Seungcheol. Hell, you want to believe the captain is genuine, too – especially with how his unspoken confession was seen everywhere.

In the way his knuckles brushed yours when he walked you home.

In the way he searches for you after winning every game with that stupid grin.

In the way his gaze softened whenever it met yours.

To the cheer and rugby squad, it was obvious that Choi Seungcheol’s feelings and intentions were pure even if you didn’t want to admit it.

And that terrifies you.

Seungcheol finds you sitting on one of the bleachers later that evening, lost in your own thoughts. He takes a seat next to you, maintaining a small; yet respectable distance between you both. The kind that tells you he’ll give you space, but if you need a shoulder to cry on, he’s just within reach.

“Yejin came to me to have a little chat,” he said carefully.

He hears you suck in a sharp breath. Turning to look at you, he studies your face. “She didn’t say anything bad about you, don’t worry. Just said that based on her observations or conversation from earlier, you have some… trust issues.”

He lets his words hang in the air for a moment.

“I’m not here to corner you, sunshine. I’m not here to force answers out of you too. I just… I want you to know that whatever it is you’re carrying, I’m not offended nor am I afraid of it.”

You let out a slow breath, though it trembled just a little. “It’s not you. I’m just… not good at trusting people without being reminded that there are consequences.”

He nods. “People don’t build walls without reason.”

He nudges you a little with his elbow, “I’m patient too, y’know.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Again, my feelings or actions aren’t temporary, sunshine. I really mean it when I say I want to be a part of your life. Highs and lows. Pretty and ugly. All of it.”

You desperately wanted to believe him, but the fear won’t let you.

“I’m not going to forcefully tear down your walls. I just… I want you to know that I’m willing to stand by your side. If you’ll have me.”

You slowly turn to meet his gaze. The longing and devotion in them were loud. They were telling you that he’s already chosen you.

You should’ve told him to leave. Tell him you wanted him to stop this pursuit quest he’s set his mind on.

But, you don’t.

taglist;

@cherry-zip @gyuhao365 @2holover

[coupsiesss]

a little pick-me-up

pairing: csc x fem!reader

wc: 1.4k

warnings: nsfw‼️18+, unprotected sex (stay safe people), big!cheol, dirty talk, headlock 🤭, cheol tummy enthusiasts!!!, reader gets manhandled but gently, cheol is obsessed with reader's tits and ass and can't seem to decide whether he's a tits guy or an ass guy, actually really sweet, petnames: baby, gorgeous, pretty girl, beautiful girl, also gets called filthy girl once (hers), baby, cheol (his), uhmm i think thats it. and lowercase is intended

author's note: first time writing smut like this i hope i don't sound stupid 🤣 and i actually had this idea AGES ago just like jotted down and never continued but now i have hehwhwhehw anyway who doesn't love some slow touchy and clingy sex w cheol and who doesn't love big and soft cheol. i need this man TERRIBLY i wish he was real 😮‍💨 PLS ENJOY SORRY IF THERES MISTAKES

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it's already a little late, you’re lying in bed having resorted to doomscrolling on your phone in just a big shirt of seungcheol's and no shorts, legs swinging lazily, waiting for your boyfriend to be back. you hear him come in, footsteps heavy, keys dropped in the bowl by the door and bag by the couch.

“baby,” he calls. his voice low and a little raspy, tired after a long three-hour practice as he pads through your shared apartment to the bedroom.

you barely have time to turn before he’s already through the door, climbing onto the bed and moving over to lie on top of you. his head flops onto your shoulder as the rest of his body covers yours totally. the faded smell of his cologne hitting your nose almost immediately. seungcheol's hands wander under your shirt, fingertips slow and deliberate, like he’s memorising the feel of you again.

“you were waiting for me?” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts gently, "sorry i'm late, gorgeous."

he starts to kiss your shoulder through the shirt, before he trails them to your neck. your phone falls onto the bed, already forgotten and you let your head rest on your arms. "wanted to see you," you answered softly, taking away his worries of coming home late to which he hums against your skin.

his hands moved again, now cupping both your breasts and he squeezes them softly like his personal stress balls as his little kisses continued. he did this a lot, claiming they were his favourite part of you countless times. so many days of him coming home exhausted only to bury his face between them for cuddles and head scratches.

you shudder when he rolls your nipples under his thumbs and pinches them, eliciting a whine of his name from you.

"mmh?" he hums lowly, "can you roll over for me, baby?" and he moves off of you just enough for you to roll onto your back.

now that you're on your back, his hands start to push up your shirt, over your chest as his fingers return to your nipples. "cheol," you breathed, arching up into his touch.

he smiles at your reaction, "so pretty, baby." he coaxes you to pull your shirt all the way off and discards it off the side of the bed before he dips down and closes his lips around one of your nipples. and he groans like this was his sole purpose of life.

his palms find home on your ass, of course. grabbing and squeezing like it’s routine—like he has to feel it or he’ll go crazy. the mixture of his warm mouth on you, tongue swiping over your increasingly sensitive nipple, and his hands palming your ass has you squirming under him.

“can’t decide...” he murmurs, between kisses, “what i love more, baby.” with a smack of his lips, he pulls back, moving to the other breast to give it equal love. "burying my face in these... or watching your pretty ass bounce on me."

he grunts when your hips punch up weakly, brushing against his front. he kisses down your chest. soft and wet, his teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper. then he pulls away, sits on his knees and pulls his shirt off over his head.

and fuck, your boyfriend is so hot. arms you want locked around your head more times than appropriate, shoulders that you love clinging onto, and his torso firm beneath all his softness—your favourite. his abs are barely there, but you can definitely see the ghost of the lines. you love his little bit of chub. you'd spend all day kissing it if you could.

as soon as he's done with that, he tugs you nearer with his hands on your thighs, spreading them simultaneously before he leans down and kisses you deep and needy.

your cold hands rest on his tummy, digging your nails into his softness as you breathe him in between kisses. he was so full everywhere, you couldn't get enough of it. admiring how his waist spills over the elastic of his pants with your hands like the masterpiece of a creation he was.

“waiting for me in my shirt and this useless thing..." he mumbles against your lips, fingers pulling the waistband of your underwear only to let it snap back against your skin, "it's like a reward, baby."

seungcheol's hands are on your back, keeping you arched up against him. you already feel how worked up he is as the painful-looking tent in his sweats presses into your clothed cunt.

"wanna turn you over again, pretty girl. let me see all of you," he says gently, maneuvering you easily back onto your belly.

you arch just a little when he places you back down—cheeks up, thighs pressed together—and he moans, like he felt it in his chest.

“fuck yeah, there she is," he praises as he grabs your hips, ruts against you slowly just to feel the curve of your ass against his clothed cock, and leans down again, chest to your back, dragging his hands under your body to cup your tits from below while continuing to grind on your ass.

"seungcheol- baby..." you choke out once you feel his hand snake down between your legs, rubbing you slow and steady over your stupid underwear as you writhe against the mattress.

you’re on your stomach, squirming from the way he's touching you so carefully and skilfully. he’s pressed between your legs—his cock hard against your ass, one hand working over your clit to get you wet enough for him, the other toying and pinching your nipple.

“can’t believe this is all mine,” he groans, dragging his lips along your spine. "every inch of you, baby... i swear to god. can't believe i get to make my beautiful girl feel so good...”

he presses kisses between your shoulder blades as he slowly grinds against you, breathing getting heavier. finally, he sits back, leaving you laying on the bed for a second to yank his sweats down just enough, and pulls you back up by your hips, his thumb pulling your underwear to the side and lining himself up.

one of his hands goes to rub your clit as he slides in, letting you feel everything nice and slow. you let out a muffled whine as you press your face into the duvet, the stretch of him always overwhelming. "fuck, gorgeous. missed you so much."

he pulls almost all the way out and agonisingly grinds back in. "was thinkin' about this the whole time at practice, baby."

he leans over you, hands planted by your head as he keeps his hips steady. he moans in your ear—deep, and raw, almost painful. "you’re takin’ me so good, pretty girl.”

he maintains the slow pace at first, deliberate, watching how your hips curl up to meet his every time. he's biting his lip so hard he groans through his gritted teeth.

and because he's way too obsessed with your tits, he leans down again and presses his chest against your back, one hand curling under your body to pull you up against him, letting him grab and squeeze at your tits while he fucks into you from behind. it’s overwhelming and you can feel him everywhere.

"always feel so fuckin' good for me, baby. love you so much," he grunts, digging his hips in deeper, making your eyes roll back with a throaty whine.

you feel his thick arm wrap around your neck, keeping you there in a headlock and your cunt clenches hard on him. "fuck, baby-" his hips stutter, "filthy girl. you like that, huh?"

you let out a broken whine of his name, feeling the knot in your belly grow tighter and tighter. he feels it too, your hips bucking erratically against his.

"you close, baby? can you touch yourself f'me?" he groans out by your ear. your hand shakily finds its way to your clit, messily rubbing circles over yourself as your breath quickens, moans turning more high-pitched.

you barely get any words out before your body locks up against his, trembling as your high crashes over you. your other hand flies to grip at his arm around your neck, trying to find something to ground you.

“so pretty when you cum,” he pants, his voice soft as he slows his hips, still chasing his own orgasm.

“i love you so much, baby- fuck, i’m so-”

he thrusts into you once more, burying himself deep as he finishes. groaning your name into your neck and holds you close like you're oxygen for him.

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hehe 🫶: @choco-scoups @matchawoozii @pearl23sworld @jaja-salute @cheoliranggyu @raefoxiegirl @hemmofox13 @slut4kwon @haorangis

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‼️ as of right now, all my works can be found in the last tag which is #coupsiessswrites bc i have not made a masterpost/masterlist yet so if you'd like to check out anything else i've written it's under that tag 😆😆

thank you for reading until the end!!!

[smileysuh]

cinnamon girl

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. When you’ve thought about your first time with Seungcheol, you always assumed he’d be the one taking care of you, but now you realize, although you’re the anxious one, your anxiety makes him extra nervous about doing something wrong. In this situation, you need to make the first move; you need to show him you want this, and as you adjust to sit up onto your knees, he grabs the bedsheets, a betrayal of how wound up he is over the fact that you’re finally ready for the next step. 

tw/cw. Protected sex, foreplay, body worship, breast worship, big dick seungcheol, pussy eating, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, dirty talk, praise, hair pulling, sex while there’s a storm outside, mentions of past celibacy and wintertime sadness, mentions of a big fire and workplace exhaustion, lowkey soft first-time missionary sex, multiple sex positions, etc… I pet names: (hers) princess.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.9k 

🍭 aus. Non idol au, fireman! Cheol, librarian! reader, a fireman saves a kitten from a tree and now you have a cute cat and an equally cute fireman, sad girl! reader, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I used “Cinnamon Girl” by Lana Del Rey as inspiration and adapted some of the lyrics to form a plot for this fic.“Cinnamon in my teeth from your kiss, you're touching me. All the pills that you take: violet, blue, green, red, to keep me at arm's length, don't work. You try to push me out, but I just find my way back in. Violet, blue, green, red, to keep me out. I win. There's things I wanna say to you, but I'll just let you live. Like if you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did.”  I’m on new antidepressants because my doctor says I have severe depression, and I’ve been in my feels. Writing is an outlet, so I wanted to do something that felt applicable to some of the things I’m dealing with, while still being artistic and interesting.  

One:

You’re walking a little faster than usual as you head home after finishing your shift at the library. Heart pounding, eyes scanning the trees as you get closer to the firehall- it’s your ears that pick up the small mewing sounds before you even see the kitten, who is still in the tree she was in when you were coming back from your lunch break four hours ago.

You stop by the trunk of the Callery Pear, whose autumnal purple leaves half obscure the black kitten as she struggles on a high branch.

Then, you look around, and your eyes land on the fire station. With a deep sigh, you cross the street toward the old brick building, wrapping your arms around yourself as anxiety floods through you.

You’re not the type to make a fuss about anything, not the type to bug others or ask for help, so when your eyes land on the broad shoulders of a man who appears to be doing pre-shift tasks with his back to you, it feels like the cat has your tongue. 

Another deep breath and a shake of your own head to remind yourself that you can do this.

“Excuse me!” you call, not wanting to step into the station but instead stopping on the threshold of the large bay doors. 

The man turns to look at you, and you swallow thickly at the sight of strong, regal features, of dark curly hair.

“Can I help you?” he asks, setting down whatever he was working on so he can turn his full attention toward you.

“Yes, um, I think so. There’s a cat,” you explain, pointing back toward the tree, “it’s been stuck in that Callery Pear for at least four hours. I saw it on my walk back to work after my lunch break, and now it’s still there. It’s just a small kitten-”

“Say no more,” the man assures you, slightly jogging toward the wall, where there’s a folded A-frame ladder. “Which tree?”

You hurry to show him where the kitten is, and as he sets up the ladder, he explains, “I just started my shift, I had no clue there was a cat up here, and our air vac system is pretty old and can be pretty loud, so I didn’t hear any meowing.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him, watching as the man begins to climb the ladder.

His red fireman shirt is tight on his shoulders, and you watch the way his muscles ripple under the fabric as he climbs.

You swallow the lump in your throat, heart racing as he sweet-talks the kitten, who allows him to pick her up and cradle her against his broad chest. 

He slowly comes down to the pavement, checking the kitten as she purrs and cuddles closer to him.

“No collar, no ear tag, no nothing,” the fireman tells you. “Probably a street cat, we’ve got a lot of those kicking around. The fire department leaves dog and cat food out for strays, but I’ve never seen this cat before.”

“Have you heard of the cat distribution system?” you ask. 

He laughs, looking up at you, handsome face alight with amusement. “Yeah, I’ve heard of the cat distribution system.”

“Well, maybe this is finally my chance.” You release a shaky breath. “I can take her to the vet, sort this whole thing out.”

“Works for me,” the firefighter nods, gently handing the kitten over to you. 

“Thanks for helping me,”

The beautiful man smiles, turning to close up the A-frame ladder so he can get back to work. “Don’t mention it.”

Two:

You’re on the same route you always take home when the firefighter you saw a week ago waves you down from the station.

“Hey!” he calls, jogging to catch you despite his long, baggy, yellow bunker gear pants.

“Hello,” you nod, stopping to address him.

“I uh, I realized last week I never got your name,” the handsome man explains, coming to a stop in front of you.

“Y/N.”

“I’m Seungcheol. It’s nice to meet you,” he smiles, holding out a hand.

You swallow thickly, adjusting your book bag so you can gently press your palm to his. He’s soft with the handshake, and you’re quick to retract, downcasting your eyes instead of looking at this handsome, broad firefighter. 

“So how’s the kitten doing?” he asks.

“Oh, she’s good. You were right about there being no microchip, so I officially adopted her. She’s named Brontë.”

“Brontë… that’s ringing a bell.”

“It’s a literary name, in reference to the Brontë sisters,” you explain.

“Oh.”

“I work at the library,” you tell him, skin heating with embarrassment. “I’m a bit of an English nerd.”

“That’s cool though,” Seungcheol assures you. “Listen, my shift starts in a moment, so I have to run, but I’m on schedule for nights for a couple more days, and then, I’d love to drop off some cat food or something if you’re okay with it. I feel bad that no other firefighters realized there was a cat in the tree, even though saving cats from trees is the most stereotypical non-fire-related job that firemen do.”

You find yourself giggling, and you can’t help but peek at the way Seungcheol’s face lights up as he smiles at you. 

Then you correct yourself, looking down again. 

You’re not in the market for a relationship. It’s the Fall, and soon it will be Winter, and this is your sad girl era. Now is not the time for cuffing season; now is the time for reading books and watching movies with your new cat in the warmth of your tiny apartment while the world rages and dies outside your window. 

But… if it’s just some cat food he wants to drop off, that could be acceptable.

“I’ll give you my number,” you tell him, “I’m sure Brontë would love to see you.” 

Three: 

Seungcheol pauses at your door, adjusting his grip on the bag of cat food as he raises his knuckles to tap on the wood.

“One moment!” you call out, and he steps back to give you space as you appear on the threshold.

You’re wrapped in a cream coloured cardigan, and you look completely relaxed, as if you’d just put down a book. Seungcheol has always liked smart girls; cute nerds are definitely his type, and he finds himself kind of tongue-tied as he looks at you.

“I uh, I brought the cat food,” he chokes out, lifting the bag.

“Would you like to come in for a moment? I was just drinking some Chai tea and reading with Brontë.” You step to the side, and Seungcheol realizes that in your own home, you’re much more relaxed than the previous two times he’s seen you.

He steps into your apartment, and the sweet spicy scent of cinnamon perfumes the air around him. It must be from your tea, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the candles that litter the space are also to blame for the pleasing aroma. 

There’s a small thump as the tiny black kitten jumps from the couch and stretches, yawning deeply before padding over to Seungcheol.

He can’t help himself; he puts down the cat food and picks up the kitten. She starts purring like a train engine, immediately cuddling up to his neck and trying to get into his hoodie, which she succeeds at despite his laughter and protest. 

“Brontë likes you a lot,” you muse, drawing his attention as you shift to the kitchen. “Would you like to have some tea? It’s getting stormy outside.”

“That would be great,” Seungcheol tells you, highly aware that his plan was not to invade your space and annoy you, but you’re the one making the offers, so who would he be to turn them down?

Soon, the two of you are sitting in your small living room area, and your gaze shifts to the window as you sip on your tea.

“I like Autumn,” you muse.

“The rain and bad weather?” Seungcheol asks with a laugh.

“Yes, an excuse to stay inside and not talk to anyone.”

“I guess that’s one way to look at it,” Seungcheol nods. He plays with his teacup, bringing it to his lips. The taste of honey and cinnamon washes over his tongue, and he closes his eyes for a second to enjoy it before setting his tea down again. “If I’m being honest, I don’t really like the Fall, or the Winter for that matter. Seasonal depression is a bit of a hereditary thing in my family.”

“Seasonal Affective Disorder,” you nod, and it’s immediately clear that you’re also aware of the simply acronymed ‘Sad’ that so many people face. “I deal with that too.”

There’s a stagnant pause, but the room is not silent; instead, the pattering of rain on the cement outside becomes even louder, and your gaze shifts once more to the window. 

“What got you into firefighting?” you ask.

“I always wanted to help people,” Seungcheol responds immediately, releasing a breath as the tensions shift in the room. He cuddles Brontë closer under his hoodie, and she purrs like a little engine. “Police men get a bad reputation at times, but firefighters are always the good guys. There’s no question that they’re there to save you, no question that we have the best intentions.”

“I can understand that.”

“And you?” he asks. “What made you want to be a librarian?”

“I just love books. I like peace. I don’t love people.” You let out a laugh, turning to look at him. “As an antisocial bookworm, the library felt like the place to be.” 

“Makes sense,” Seungcheol smiles, admiring you.

You’re one of those dark, mysterious, moody, smart girls. 

Just his type.

But you’re working on things, so it's clear that now is not the season to try to engage with you.

In many ways, the two of you are opposites.

Seungcheol is loud and social compared to your quiet aversion to talking. He’s an athlete; you’re clearly a girl who had her nose buried in a book during high school.

But regardless of these base-level differences, it’s also clear you’re kindred as people who know and have felt sadness. 

You’re extremely alluring to him, but Seungcheol has never wanted to be the guy who disregards the social cues that a woman is not interested… only, you’re giving mixed signals, so he’s not quite sure what to make of you.

Instead of trying to figure all of this out, he simply sits with you, turning his attention to the storm brewing outside as he pets the tiny cat now cuddled in his hoodie. 

This is a slice of life he could get used to, but if it is a fleeting moment, he’ll be sure to enjoy it as it comes.

Four:

“I’m really sorry about this,” you apologize when you invite Seungcheol into your home for the second time in one week. “The sink was leaking, and I just didn’t know who else to call.”

“You called the right person,” he assures you, slipping past you with his toolbag in hand.

You guide Seungcheol to the kitchen, showing him the leak under the sink, and he’s quick to get down onto his knees to start working.

Sipping your tea, you try not to be too obvious about the way you’re watching him, but his biceps are just so beautiful as he begins to use a wrench to tighten bolts.

Brontë is quick to jump onto his chest, and he jolts in surprise, only to laugh, reaching down to pet the black kitten. “Hi, Honey,” he greets the cat, and your heart flips in your chest at how soft this big, burly man is.

God, he really is so handsome…

Truly a Prince Charming, like the softer heroes you read about in your books.

Sure, he’s not a Mr. Rochester or a Heathcliff, but you’re entirely fine with that. Gothic love interests are always a touch too dangerous for you anyway.

“So a few bolts weren’t tight enough,” Seungcheol explains. “Try the water again.”

“With you under it?” you ask in shock.

“I’m pretty confident I’ve fixed the problem, might as well put my money where my mouth is,” he laughs.

With a shake of your head, you hesitantly turn on the water.

“Good as new,” Seungcheol concludes after a moment, adjusting himself out from under your sink. He sits up, cuddling Brontë close to his chest. “Any other broken or wonky things I can fix for you?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Not off the top of my head.”

“Oh.” He looks around. “Any art I can help you put up?”

“Not really,” you grin.

“Okay, well… I’ll get out of your hair then.”

Part of you wants him to stay, but you’re too shy to say it out loud, so you watch him stand up, collect his tools, and hand Brontë back to you. As you walk him to the door, he stops.

“I don’t want to overstep or anything,” he tells you, and you notice a pink tint in his cheeks, betraying he might be just as flustered as you are. “But uh… I was thinking maybe I could take you out for a coffee date or something sometime? I mean, we could do dinner, but you seem like a coffee date kind of girl to me.” 

Your heart leaps into your throat, and you do your best to swallow it. There’s a war inside of you, with part of you wanting to stay in your little single bubble, and another part of you wanting to take a leap of faith with this beautiful man.

“No pressure or anything,” Seungcheol says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Sorry, no, I, uh… I just, I haven’t been on a date in a while,” you try to explain.

“Me neither,” he admits. “Maybe, if it’s less pressure, we can just say let's go out for coffee and leave the ‘date’ word out of it.”

“I think that would be nice,” you smile.

He returns your grin. “Perfect, it’s a coffee then,” he muses, adding a twist to the age-old saying ‘it’s a date.’ 

He can be kind of dorky, too, which isn’t something you expected from this beefy fireman, and your heart melts as you watch him go. 

Five:

The coffee date that’s not a date, except that it is, is going better than you had imagined. Seungcheol is charismatic, honest, and intelligent, all things that you enjoy in a man. He makes you laugh, and you find yourself becoming more and more comfortable with him.

There’s still something in the back of your mind that tells you that maybe you should hold yourself back, that you’ve been burned before, that you’re still working on yourself, and don’t want to enter a relationship while you’re not fully healed.

But there’s the other side of you that acknowledges you’re not perfect, and despite that imperfection, you deserve happiness. You deserve to be laughing with a handsome man over coffee as it rains outside. You deserve to find some joy even as the seasons shift from bad to worse.

It’s clear neither of you wants the date to end, and you spend three hours in this coffee shop until the rain slows a bit, and then, with a sigh, Seungcheol offers to walk you home.

You both have umbrellas, and there’s a space between you as you meander down a couple of city blocks until you arrive at your apartment.

“That was a good coffee,” Seungcheol muses, once again using the word ‘coffee’ as a substitute for the word ‘date,’ and you can’t help but smile.

“It was.”

“You don’t have to answer right now, but I’d love to do this again sometime.”

“I think I would too,” you say, honesty getting the better of you.

Seungcheol’s smile widens, and the two of you stare at each other for a moment, then he leans forward and kisses your cheek. “Say hi to Brontë for me.”

Your skin practically burns from where his lips had brushed you, and your heart thunders in your chest. You trip over your words, whole body tingling. “Yes, I uh, I will.”

“See you soon,” Seungcheol promises, reaching down to gently squeeze your hand. With one final smile, he turns and leaves, and you stand in shock for a moment in front of your building, heart racing, whole body alight with a fire that contrasts with the cool fall air.

You feel giddy and excited, which are not feelings you’ve experienced for quite some time, and your hands are shaky as you push your key into the door to enter the building. You feel like you’re buzzing as you get back to your home, and you let out a deep breath as you reach your apartment.

Brontë lets out a soft mewl, stretching by the window before she jumps down to approach you.

You pick up your little blessing, kissing her soft head as he purrs with pleasure to have you home again. She’s already saved you in more ways than you can count.

Six:

Your second date is spur of the moment, as you’re sitting down to watch a movie, you decide to text Seungcheol, and upon a short back and forth, you invite him over to watch with you.

He’s as respectful as ever, waiting an entire movie before he asks if you want to cuddle, and he allows you to dictate how close you get as you adjust next to him, gently grabbing his arm and leaning against his shoulder.

You relax during this date, and when it comes to a close, standing on the threshold of your apartment, he asks if he can kiss you for the first time.

Your heart leaps at the question, and you nod, hardly able to contain a smile as he gently pulls you closer by your hips. One hand cups your cheek, and he moves in slowly, giving you ample time to change your mind before he presses his lips to yours.

It’s as if a ton of pressure is released from your body, your muscles relaxing as you melt into the kiss, pressing your palms gently to his broad chest as you lean closer.

Seungcheol adjusts, wrapping you in his arms, and you have to fight back a moan, your skin tingling with need.

Then, he pulls away, and you notice he’s breathing heavily, as if holding himself back from you is taking a lot of effort.

“We should do this again sometime,” Seungcheol muses with a half-chuckle.

You compose yourself too, managing a smile. “I would like that.” 

Seven:

It’s been a month of movie dates and cuddling without taking the next step, and Seungcheol hasn’t brought it up at all. He seems perfectly content to spend time with you, to cuddle, and kiss… There have been heated moments for sure, but the two of you have always cooled down. If Seungcheol is good at anything, it seems he’s good at putting out fires, even metaphorical ones.

He has an inherent understanding that you need to take things slow, and his respectful nature draws you closer to him every day. You’re becoming used to being in his arms, used to the feeling of safety he has gradually brought you.

It’s a new experience, as all the guys you’ve dated in the past have ended up hurting you… badly.

But… you’re starting to realize, maybe not Seungcheol.

The most difficult thing about this budding relationship - which isn’t even Seungcheol’s fault - is that as a firefighter, he’s in a high-stress environment and can’t always be on his phone to message you back.

Sometimes you go a few hours without hearing from him, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to endure that. It’s not that you’re worried he’s off with some other girl; he’s clearly not the type to be like that, but you worry about his safety.

Even with all of the safety rules in action for firefighters, accidents still happen, and you’d be devastated if anything happened to Seungcheol.

Tonight, you haven’t heard from him for about four hours, and you’re starting to worry. Even your books can’t distract you, and you keep checking your phone, but to no avail.

When there’s a knock at your door, your heart leaps into your throat, and your body freezes for a moment before you will yourself to stand up and see who is in the hallway. 

A breath escapes you when you find Seungcheol standing there, but he looks worn out, and you immediately reach for him.

“Cheol?” you ask.

He doesn’t say anything, just wraps you in his arms, squeezing you desperately.

You melt into the hug, rubbing his back, and although there’s something clearly wrong, you’re just happy he’s here, happy he appears to be okay.

After a minute, Seungcheol pulls away, and you invite him into your apartment, where the two of you sit on the couch. You sneak closer to him, resting your hand on his thigh, giving him space to tell you what’s gotten him worked up.

“I uh…” Seungcheol swallows thickly. “There was this big fire, some low-level drug dealers made a kitchen in their apartment, and something went wrong. The whole building lit up. I just spent the last half of my shift there, and it was a lot.”

You nod, squeezing his thigh to show him you care while not wanting to interrupt his train of thought.

You can smell the smoke on him, although it’s clear he’s had a shower, his hair wet, yet still carrying the scent of fire.

“I don’t want to stress you out with the details, but I just…” Seungcheol lets out a deep sigh. “I think we both clearly have roadblocks. I can’t speak for you, but I know on my side, I have a dangerous job. Being a firefighter is rewarding for me, but I think I’ve held back a bit with you because I don’t want to put you in a situation to be hurt if something happens to me. And I think you have a past where you’ve been hurt before. I just… today made me realize, although we both are holding back for our own reasons, if something bad had happened to me today, I didn’t want you to be left wondering how I feel about you.”

Your breath catches as Seungcheol turns to look at you, and he places his hand over your own.

“I’m crazy about you,” he admits. “I knew there was something different about you from the moment we met, and getting closer to you this month has been the most rewarding thing outside of being a firefighter that I’ve ever experienced. I want to give you time, and I don’t want to pressure you, but if you’d consider being my girlfriend… I just… I’d love to take that next step with you.”

You feel tongue-tied as you look at him, and he’s as respectful now of giving you the floor to speak as you had been when he’d first sat down, so you collect your thoughts.

“I mean… It’s no secret that I struggle with depression. I’ve been hurt before, and it makes me scared of relationships. But… being with you this past month has been so different from anything I’ve experienced before.” Your voice cracks, and you swallow to control yourself, looking down at where your hands are connected. “I would love to be your girlfriend, it’s just scary sometimes to put yourself in a position to get hurt.”

“I know all about that,” Seungcheol admits, cracking a smile. “But the most rewarding things can come from putting yourself out there.”

“I guess we’re just built different,” you laugh. “You, the firefighter, me, the librarian.”

“I like that you’re a librarian,” he assures you, cupping your cheek while you lean against his palm. “You’re smart, and funny, and I always come away from my time with you having learned something new.”

“Yeah?”

“For example, the first time we talked, you pointed to a tree and called it a Callery Pear. That tree is one of the most common trees in the city, but I never bothered to learn its name. You taught me that. Now every time I’m on the streets, and I see one, it reminds me of you.” Seungcheol smiles. “You’re smart, and it’s one of the many things I love about you.”

Some past boyfriends have been intimidated by your brains. They’ve made your intelligence and memory something to be put down, but not Seungcheol, and your heart warms at his words.

“You’ve had a long night,” you tell him. “You must be tired.”

“I am pretty exhausted,” he concedes.

“Why don’t you stay here?” you suggest, feeling confident.

“Really?”

Even in a month of slow dating, Seungcheol hasn’t stayed at your home for a night, but if there were ever a time to rip the band-aid off, it would be now. You get the sense he needs the comfort, and you want to comfort him more than you’ve wanted to do anything in a long time.

“Come,” you prompt him, standing up. “I’ll get you a guest toothbrush, and we can get you settled.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re both set for bed. Seungcheol is lying flat while you curl next to him, and Brontë is on his chest, enjoying the attention from both of you.

This feels so natural, and you know it’s helping Seungcheol calm down after his stressful day at work.

Soon, you hear him softly snoring, and your entire body relaxes, knowing that you’ve helped this man find some peace.

Falling asleep next to a new man has always been something of a difficulty for you, but before you know what’s happening, you’re drifting into an unbothered dreamland. 

Eight:

You wake up slowly, pressing against something warm. It takes you a moment to realize it’s Seungcheol, and he pulls you closer with a groan, still asleep.

A smile appears on your lips, and you release a deep breath, feeling your entire body relax.

That had been one of the best sleeps you’ve had in a very long time. 

You open your eyes and notice some light coming through the blinds. It’s a grey day outside, and you can hear rain now, softly pattering against the window pane. 

Brontë notices you’re awake and lets out a small chirp. She sits up and stretches, mewing at you.

After a moment of enjoying the situation, you carefully get out of bed, the little kitten running around your ankles as you go to the kitchen to get her some breakfast.

While she’s preoccupied, you go back to the bedroom, gently closing the door behind you.

Seungcheol is a vision even while he’s asleep, and you simply look at him for a few seconds, admiring him.

You pop into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and freshening up before going back to bed.

Returning under the warm covers, you cuddle up close to his chest, and Seungcheol stirs, letting out a soft groan as he takes you in his arms.

Everything about this feels so natural, and Seungcheol slowly wakes up, smiling as he cuddles closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Good morning,” he groans, and the deepness of his voice makes your skin tingle.

“Hi.” 

“Been awake long?” he asks.

“Not really. How did you sleep?” 

“Really good,” Seungcheol chuckles. “You?” 

“Best sleep I’ve had in ages.”

“That’s nice,” he muses, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

The two of you cuddle, enjoying a soft, lazy Sunday morning, and then Seungcheol asks if he can have a quick shower. The smell of smoke is still clinging to his skin, and while it’s not necessarily a bad smell, you know a rinse off will make him feel better.

You wait patiently while he’s in the bathroom, and a short time later, he returns.

You put your book down, admiring the fact that he’s shirtless now, using a damp towel to scrunch through his dark curls while his sweatpants hang low on his hips.

You’ve never seen him like this, and while you’ve always known Seungcheol is beefy under his hoodies, finally seeing his uncovered form with your own eyes takes your breath away.

He’s an absolute vision, a true physical masterpiece, but you suppose you shouldn’t be shocked, as he’s a firefighter and being physically fit is part of his job. 

“Do you have plans for the day?” you ask, putting your book on the nightstand.

“Was thinking maybe I could stay here with you for a bit, if that’s okay. I could also take you out for breakfast since we both have the day off. Whatever works.”

“That all sounds nice,” you muse, stretching and forcing your eyes away from his chisled body.

Seungcheol comes and joins you on the bed, gently grabbing the blankets to adjust them to cover your legs. “Are you cold?” he asks.

“A little,” you admit. 

“Here.” Seungcheol gets under the covers with you, and you curl against his side, enjoying the warmth he provides. His hand gently strokes your arm, and you release a deep sigh.

“Where’s Brontë?” Seungchol asks.

“Eating breakfast.”

“The bedroom door is closed,” he muses.

“Yeah.” Your skin heats. “I thought maybe we could have some alone time.”

“Really?” Seungcheol laughs, tugging you closer to his body. 

“Last night I realized how safe I feel with you,” you admit quietly. “I think… I’m ready for another next step, if you are.”

“Another next step,” Seungcheol echoes, and it takes a moment for it to click for him. “Oh.”

You laugh shyly, tucking your face down against his chest to hide your embarrassment. “Or not.”

“No, sorry, I just, I didn’t expect-” Seungcheol’s chest is blooming pink now. “I don’t want you to feel pressured that just because I asked you to be my girlfriend and you let me stay over last night, now you have to… put out, or whatever.”

“I don’t feel pressure,” you assure him, trailing your finger along his bare skin.

Seungcheol looks down at where you’re tracing his bicep, and he lets out a deep breath, shifting slightly. You avert your gaze, and that’s when you notice that he’s started to stiffen in his sweatpants.

Tingles erupt through you, and you move your hand down his body slowly until you reach his waistband. Then you look up at him again. “I want this,” you confirm. “Do you want me?”

He swallows thickly and nods, and you realize he’s holding his breath, waiting to see what you do next.

When you’ve thought about your first time with Seungcheol, you always assumed he’d be the one taking care of you, but now you realize, although you’re the anxious one, your anxiety makes him extra nervous about doing something wrong. In this situation, you need to make the first move; you need to show him you want this, and as you adjust to sit up onto your knees, he grabs the bedsheets, a betrayal of how wound up he is over the fact that you’re finally ready for the next step. 

Part of you wants to just go for it, to pull his pants down, but it would be a shame for your first time to lack more foreplay, so instead, you mount him.

Seungcheol’s hands find your hips to steady you, and you press your palms against his broad chest, leaning down so your lips can meet.

He kisses you back desperately, and you love how he’s already coming undone.

Seungcheol cups the back of your head, and the kiss deepens as you begin to grind down slightly against him, earning a groan that sets your whole body on fire.

You can feel his cock pressing up against his sweatpants as you tease him, gently rocking your hips for stimulation while you remain in a heated battle of lips and tongues.

Part of you wants to continue, to move down toward where he needs you most, but kissing him just feels so good. Your entire body is buzzing with pleasure, and the anticipation of the ecstasy to come.

He’s stiff as a rock now, and even with clothing acting as a barrier, the feeling of a hard cock rubbing against your clit has you whimpering already.

Seungcheol finally breaks the kiss, panting hard, and you lock eyes as you both try to collect yourselves. 

You reach a hand between your bodies, rubbing him through his sweatpants, which makes him groan again, his eyes closing. His hips rock slightly, pushing up toward your palm.

Then, quite suddenly, Seungcheol flips you onto your back, his lips finding your throat as you let out a giggle of surprise.

So maybe you won’t have to be the one taking control of this situation; maybe Seungcheol just needed a bit of a push. 

He grinds down against your core at the same time his mouth finds your sweet spot, and you let out a moan, tangling your fingers through his hair.

One of his hands reaches up to cup your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple through your shirt. Your buds are hard and ready to be attended to, and when Seungcheol realizes this, his mouth descends from your neck.

You take the opportunity to try to get a breath while you lift your shirt, and he gives you enough space to take it off completely, now leaving your torso bare for him.

“You’re so pretty,” he groans, his hair tickling your skin as he leans down to lick one of your nipples, his hand massaging the other breast.

You can only mewl in response, your entire body lighting up with pleasure as he begins to suck on your sensitive bud. 

As he works you up, you continue to tangle your fingers in his soft hair, using him as an anchor of sorts as you give yourself to him.

Your core is practically throbbing now, and you can feel your panties getting wetter by the second, your body anticipating something you haven’t had in months. 

While you’ve chosen to be celibate and distance yourself from men, you still have needs, needs that have never been quite fulfilled while flying solo. You’re shocked at how sensitive your body is, how you react when he flicks his tongue against your nipple and makes you gasp, writhing against the bed as insatiable need overtakes you.

You’re getting more desperate by the second, but you do your best to take what he’s giving you, to let him choose the pace now. 

By the time he sinks lower, kissing down your abdomen and hooking his fingers in your shorts, you’re sure your panties are soaked through.

“Can I take these off?” he asks.

“Please,” you moan, lifting your hips to make the task easier.

There’s a distant rumble of thunder outside, and the air in your room is cool as Seungcheol gets you completely naked, but there’s something comforting about sex during a storm.

Seungcheol gets down onto his knees next to the bed, and your heart skips a beat when he drags you closer, his breath warm on your wet core.

“Please, I need-” you whimper, writhing against the sheets already.

“I’ve got you,” Seungcheol promises, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

The slow way he works his mouth toward your core has your skin feeling electrified, and you’re throbbing by the time he makes contact with your pussy.

He starts with a long, drawn-out lick that ends with your clit, which he circles deliciously with the tip of his tongue. 

“Oh my God,” you pant, throwing your head back as your entire body jolts from such a soft, yet intense motion.

You feel Seungcheol smirk a little as he continues to kitten-lick you, switching between soft kisses and languid movements with his tongue.

His warm hands find your thighs, and he pushes them into a spread eagle position, giving him plenty of room to work on you.

“Cheol!” you whimper when he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on it with a little more pressure. “I’m close already!”

You’re not sure if your sensitivity is due to going so long without having the proper attention of a man, or if it’s because Seungcheol is just so good at this, and you have such a great connection.  Regardless, your muscles are already tensing, and your eyes are clenched shut, your breath coming out in hot pants of pleasure.

Seungcheol lets out a small groan, and the vibration makes your legs shake, your body teetering on the edge. You understand his sound as an affirmation that you can cum, that he wants you to experience an orgasm without holding back.

So you don’t hold back.

You reach down and tangle your fingers in his hair again, prompting him to suck on your clit harder, and seconds later, your first orgasm crashes into you like the thunder that erupts in the skies outside.

You’re a moaning mess as he works you through your high, your core throbbing desperately around nothing as waves of pleasure overtake you. 

Fuck, cumming has never felt this good, and it leaves you breathless as your muscles begin to relax.

You let go of his hair, and Seungcheol chuckles, pulling away from your core to look up at you.

“Was that okay?” he asks.

“That was amazing,” you tell him, heart still racing in your ribcage.

“Yeah?” He plays with your slit, rubbing you with a finger, toying the tip inside of you, and making you groan.

“More,” you demand. “Please.” 

“You got it, princess,” he muses, pushing his digit into you, testing your walls, which immediately try to clench around him.

It feels like you haven’t been touched here in years, and your body is eager for this. As he finger fucks you gently, adding a second finger, you can hear your pussy squelching, its wet sounds mixing with the noise of rain splattering against concrete, brick, and glass outside.

“You sound so pretty when you cum,” Seungcheol muses, leaning in to press a kiss to your clit that makes you shiver. “I want to hear it again.”

Two orgasms before he even puts his cock in you? 

You’ll take that action.

You wiggle your hips slightly, looking for more pressure, and Seungcheol responds by crooking his fingers up to find your G-spot. You groan deeply from the feeling, closing your eyes and focusing on the pleasure that’s still surging through you.

“Right there?” he asks.

“Right there,” you confirm. “Feels so good.”

Satisfied he’s found a good spot, Seungcheol presses his mouth to your clit again, sucking on the sensitive bud and making your legs shake.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, pleasure radiating out from your core and engulfing your entire body.

The combination of pressure on your G-spot and his mouth on your clit has you writhing within minutes, grasping at the bed sheets, heart thundering in your chest.

“Just like that,” you tell him, “I’m close again.” 

Like the first orgasm, when you tell Seungcheol you’re close, he increases the pressure of his motions, sucking your clit harder and thrusting his fingers up into your sweet spot with a faster speed that has you seeing stars.

All you can do is whimper and moan in ecstasy as you get closer and closer to the edge again. 

You let out a loud gasp and a moan when you cum, your core clamping down on his fingers, squeezing him as he works you through your second high.

Your entire body is pulsating. There are no thoughts in your mind as you give yourself completely to the pleasure.

He works you through your high until you’re twitching, almost overstimulated by all the sensations overwhelming your body. Then, Seungcheol pulls away.

You open your eyes to watch him lick his fingers clean, releasing a small groan, then he heads over to where his hoodie is lying on the floor. He pulls out his wallet. “I brought a condom just in case,” he tells you shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as his skin blossoms with pink.

“Good idea,” you tell him, still trying to catch your breath.

You adjust on the bed, scooting back up so you can rest against the pillows.

Seungcheol slips off his sweatpants, and you have to swallow the drool that immediately fills your mouth at the sight of him.

He’s big.

Maybe the biggest you’ve ever seen up close like this, and suddenly, you’re thankful he’d worked you open with his fingers because how else would you fit a cock of his size inside of you after being celibate for months?

He rolls the condom onto his cock, and then he joins you in bed.

You’re struck by how shy he is as you pull him close, pressing your lips to his pink cheek. “I want this,” you assure him again.

“I do too,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose against your throat. “Let me know if it’s too big or I need to slow down or-”

“You’ll be fine,” you tell him, nibbling on his earlobe. “We’ll make it fit.”

He laughs a little at your comment, and to try to show him you truly mean it, you reach between your bodies to grab his cock. Your thumb and pointer finger can’t even touch with the girth of him, and you groan as you adjust his tip to your entrance.

Seungcheol lets out a shaky breath, looking down at where you’re gripping him, then back at you.

As he pushes his tip into your wet core, he presses his lips to yours, and you kiss him back desperately as he stretches you open, slowly working himself deeper and deeper and deeper.

You can’t help the whimpers that escape you, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as your body adjusts to accommodate him. 

When he’s fully snug inside of you, you both break the kiss to take strangled breaths, and Seungcheol swallows thickly. “Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to slow the racing of your heart, but it’s a pointless attempt because when he slowly starts to fuck you, your pulse surges even faster.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, throwing your head back, which gives Seungcheol more room to press his lips to your throat.

He fucks you languidly, still giving your body time to adjust to his motions while he does his best to relax you with kisses elsewhere.

Your toes are curling already, and you adjust slightly, lifting your thigh higher onto his hip for a better angle.

The tip of his cock hits a spot deep inside of you that makes you groan, and you thread your fingers in his hair, drawing his mouth back to your own.

His pace is slowly increasing, matching the desperate way your lips are locked. The room is filled with the sound of skin on skin, the noise of the rain and thunder outside, and the music of moans intermingling as you find pleasure in one another.

“Wait,” you tell him, as you feel another orgasm threatening to bubble in the pit of your stomach. “I want to be on top.”

There’s a moment where he looks shocked, but then he nods, allowing you to flip him over onto his back.

You press your hands against his broad chest to get an anchor, enjoying the view of him below you. Then you slowly ride him. It’s a shift in pace, but it feels so good to be on top, and when he presses his thumb to your clit, your entire core tightens around him.

You let out a deep moan, throwing your head back and bouncing faster.

“You’re so pretty like this,” Seungcheol groans, his other hand cupping your breast and teasing your nipple, making you whimper even louder.

Then, he begins to rut his hips, fucking up into you and making you gasp.

“Cheol,” you groan, knowing that an orgasm is now extremely close.

Seungcheol sits up abruptly, cupping the back of your head so he can press his lips to yours.

You grab onto his shoulders, anchoring yourself better as you bounce desperately on top of his cock, chasing the high that’s so close you can almost taste it.

A few seconds later, you cum with a loud gasp, throwing your head back as your walls threaten to suffocate his length, which is still buried completely inside of you as you sink to a fully seated position. 

Seungcheol growls, pressing his lips to your throat, and as your walls clench around his cock, he jolts, signifying that he’s cumming too.

Part of you wishes he didn’t have to wear a condom, but he’s a firefighter, so you suppose safety is in his nature. And the flimsy piece of rubber clearly doesn’t take much away from his own orgasm if his sounds are anything to rely on.

God, his groans are music to your ears, making you whimper even louder, clutching his shoulders as the pleasure engulfs you both as if you’re one complete entity.

Your legs are shivering, and as your orgasm subsides, Seungcheol slumps back down against the bed, looking up at you. 

You’re both trying to catch your breath, but you lean down, kissing him one more time before you collapse against his shoulder, nuzzling your nose along his neck.

A large, warm hand strokes your back, comforting you as you twitch with aftershocks of one of the most insanely passionate orgasms of your life.

You spend a few minutes just breathing together, holding onto each other, and basking in the warmth and afterglow of your highs.

“I know you’re not supposed to have dessert before breakfast, but I could get used to this,” Seungcheol says, cracking a smile to finally break the soft, comfortable silence.

“I could too,” you admit with a chuckle.

“I still want to take you somewhere nice for food, though,” he assures you. “I’m not one of those guys who gets laid then stops trying.”

“Trust me, I know that.” You shake your head at him, charmed by how soft and shy and awkward he can be sometimes.

Seungcheol presses a kiss to your lips. “Maybe we could shower together first?” he suggests. “You know, proper aftercare and everything.”

Your heart melts for him, and you nod. “I’d love that.”

“Is it weird for me to say I’m excited about all of this?” he asks, his chest flushing that rosy pink colour that’s starting to become a signature of his. “I mean… you’re kind of my dream girl.”

“Cheol…”

“I mean it,” he says. “I just… I think this could really work.”

“I think so too.”

“And after breakfast, I want to go to a store and get more treats and toys for Brontë, since she’s the matchmaker behind all of this.”

You laugh, shaking your head at him. “Has anyone ever told you that for a big, burly firefighter, you’re kind of adorable?”

“Don’t tell my coworkers,” he teases.

You melt at his words, a happiness unlike any other overtaking you. As the storm continues outside, you and Seungcheol shower together, basking in the warmth and promise of this new relationship, and for the first time in a long time, you’re excited about what the future may bring. 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I appreciate those of you who responded to my post about the tough month I've been dealing with. I'm working on posting fics earlier but life has just put me through the wringer lately.

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview.  He’s so sexy, and you look up at him, loving the way the water drips down his chiseled chest, his curls all wet. You like the way his skin flushes, not from the temperature of the shower, but from you working him up with your mouth. The sounds he makes are the true goal, however, and the deep groans seem to echo in the small shower, filling you with confidence as you suck harder on his cock.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, shower sex, oral, pussy eating, blow job, multiple reader orgasms, reader overstimulation, praise, dirty talk, use of sex toy, vibrator, multiple sex positions, fingering, munch/pleasure kink!cheol, big dick! Seungcheol, etc…  I petnames. (hers) princess. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 100

🌙 starring. Seungcheol x afab!Reader

bonus

Springtime has so many new wonders now that you’re in a relationship. 

You’ve always kind of morbidly enjoyed the death, decay and antisocial vibes of Autumn, but with Seungcheol, Spring is starting to signify new hope and joy. 

He’s the king of cheesy dates, taking you to flower farms, on picnics, to the minigolf spot, and out for farmers market walks. Seungcheol has also taken to getting you lavender and other beautifully scented plants, and your apartment has truly never smelled so nice.

After months of discussion and relationship growth, the two of you are taking a new step. 

Seungcheol is moving in with you. 

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