(a/n): hellooo hellooo annyeonghaseo!!! I'm back. naked seungcheol got me all hot and bothered i couldn't help but write this. also the fact that i already knew he had a dad bod 🤨(not surprising because we literally live together) also it's my first time writing a headcanon, so I hope you like it ;)
SMUT ahead under cut!!
dad bod!seungcheol who still looks massive when he walks by. broad shoulders, heavy steps, arms that could still lift you like nothing if he tried - but there’s a softness to him now, one that’s crept in over the years. a little extra weight on his stomach, smells of baby formula, and that constant stubble because shaving every day doesn’t feel worth it anymore.
dad bod!seungcheol who complains about it sometimes, grumbling in front of the mirror while he runs a towel over his face. “need to start running again,” he mutters, or “can’t believe I used to have abs.” but you just lean against the doorframe, watching him, half-smiling because he’s still the same man - just… fuller
when he sits down, he spreads out - thighs taking space, arm slung behind the couch, posture lazy and open. you love that he doesn’t even notice how he fills a room anymore
dad bod!seungcheol who doesn’t understand why you’ve gotten clingier. why your hands always seem to find their way under his shirt when you hug him from behind, why you keep brushing crumbs off his chest when there are no crumbs, why your lips always linger a second too long when you kiss him goodbye
dad bod!seungcheol who still still wakes up before everyone else, shuffling around the kitchen shirtless, hair a mess, making coffee like it’s a ritual. you watch him from the doorway - all broad shoulders, soft stomach, stubble catching the morning light - and suddenly you’re way too awake.
dad bod!seungcheol who just mere minutes later, is now a moaning mess as you suck him as if your life depends on it.
"fu-uck," he pants, "slow down, babe." but the way he holds your head even tighter, says otherwise.
"can't!" you pant, taking him out of your mouth. "you get me all hot and bothered." he swears he could come right then and there and with that look in his eyes - he'd give you another child already.
"fuck me, baby." you moan, and he's trembling, barely holding onto the edge.
dad bod!seungcheol who grips your hips so hard, you're sure they're will be marks by the time you're done.
he wraps his arms around you, pushes you onto the wall and thrusts up into you - heavy balls smacking against your ass. the whines that comes out of your mouth is just pitiful.
he pinches your clit and your walls clench him tighter.
"fuck baby, you're so tight" he huffs. "you want to make me a dad again? huh?"
“cheol- slo- ugh. slow down” you pant as your legs shake every time his tip brushes your spot. the way his large, bulbous tip was brushing against your very inner walls had you dizzy. “-want more.”
"I'll give you exactly what you want, mama"
you moan so loud that the whole damn block might know exactly what he’s doing to you.
"not so loud, mama. baby'll wake up" seungcheol is grinning.
"mhmm, cheol." you breathe, gripping his biceps harder. "feels so good."
your fingers dig into his shoulders, velvet walls clenching around him as your body shook violently, thighs quaking as pleasure surged through your veins.
“fuck, cheol - ohh fuck ‘m gonna cum!” your legs feel like liquid - you are glad he's holding you - otherwise you'd be as good as putty.
“thaaat’s it, mama. come f’me.” he groaned, pushing in with a few more punishing thrusts before spilling inside your spasming cunt, thick, hot ropes of cum filling you to the brim.
he’s holding you flush against him, fingers pressing into your back, thumb tracing along your jaw. “god…you really are relentless,” he huffs, voice low, teasing but strained.
you grin, smirking up at him. “can you blame me?” his chest rises with a laugh. "hmm…nope,” he murmurs, lips grazing your temple. “not at all. and I think…I like it.” you trace over his shoulders, leaning closer, feeling the weight of him, the warmth, the lingering tension.
“good,” you whisper. “because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”
⊹ 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.
“did you know…”, you begin, tracing vernon’s neck as he hums in delight.
“know what?”, the vibration of his throat reaches your lips.
“they say that your moles mark the places your soulmate liked kissing you in your past life”, your words come out calmly, even though your heart is beating loudly inside your chest.
vernon chuckles, firmly wrapping an arm around your waist in a silent plea of ‘please, don’t stop’.
“that’s kinda cute.”
“it is”, you nod, breathing in his scent. “and i think it’s true, that would explain why you have so many moles on your neck.”
“do i?”
vernon pulls back a little, just enough to look you in the eyes. he tries not to focus on how red and plump your lips are right now.
“you do. one on the left side, one on the right side, and one on the back”, you say with a little smile, like you had his body memorized by now - which you did.
he smiles softly. “and you’re the one who did it?”
“i mean…”, you bite back a smug smile. “who else could have loved your neck in the past life as much as i do today?”
“no one”, he says in a heartbeat. “plus, you only have one soulmate.”
you lean forward to peck his lips, humming when he deepens the kiss.
“and that’s me?”, you whisper against his lips.
vernon laughs. his eyes are closed, and you melt in the way his thumb is caressing the skin of your waist underneath your shirt.
“you said it yourself”, he whispers back. “who else could it be?”
a/n: i am just a girl with a heavy crush on her bias, pls forgive me.
Summary: After a long tiring week you decide to go to a bar to wind down in solitude. However, it seems that the universe has different ideas about the ways you need to wind down. And if it sends a handsome hefty man your way, who are you to decline such an offering?
Word count: 2.7k
Genres/warnings: smut, pwp (plot? what plot?); non-idol au; implied strangers to lovers; recreational drinking
Smut warnings: intention of a one night stand, huge grower!Seungcheol, reader goes through whiplash of impressions within minutes, some hand- and oral (m receiving), proper fingering and oral (f receiving), piv sex (unprotected, please don’t do it like they did), multiple orgasms (f receiving), creampie, manhandling, multiple poses, size and strength kink, breeding kink if you squint, Seungcheol is a tiny bit mean but not too much, the usual degradation mixed with praise
A/N: hehe, hello lovelies, hope you missed me🤭 I certainly missed ya all. but rejoice! as I bring to you this little drabble, inspired by that recent fact reveal of Seungcheol being able to deadlift 140kg. it’s not a direct involvement of this fact but it does include some manhandling and Seungcheol being a big boy in all senses, so I do hope all of you who waited for this fic enjoy reading it. And therefore, more than ever, I want to see your feedback on it, please leave comments, asks and ofc reblogs. And I will see you in my next fic; requests are open ᙏ̤̫
If you see any mistakes: I try to proofread but English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.
Masterlist.
The week crushes you with its merciless press of deadlines and demands that leave you feeling like a roadkill. By Friday, you're a hollowed-out shell and want nothing else but get obliviated with a few drinks. However, the idea of calling your friends to join you, of having to narrate the same soul-crushing story again, makes your skin crawl. You love them, but you simply cannot handle anyone else's shit on top of your own.
So you go alone.
The bar is a dim, humming sanctuary. You stake your claim on a bar stool, ordering the first cocktail with a gesture that hopefully reads as 'leave me the hell alone'. It's the second one, deceptively sweet on your tongue, that finally starts to loosen the knots in your shoulders. You're deep in the pleasant, buzzing void when a presence materializes beside you.
"Is this seat taken?"
The voice is low, a soft rumble that cuts through your haze. Two cocktails in, you couldn't give a shit. You shake your head without granting him a glance. In your periphery, you see him settle onto the stool, the movement easy. He orders a whiskey, neat. The clink of the glass as the bartender sets it down is unnaturally loud.
Of course, he talks. "Rough week?"
Annunciation flares, hot and immediate. You just want to get drunk in peace, to not be perceived. The irritation finally forces you to turn your head, a sharp retort dying on your lips.
Your tipsy brain takes a stumbling, syrupy second to process him. Gorgeous isn't the right word. It's insufficient. You blink, half expecting him to be an illusion that has to dissipate and reveal a mediocre Bob sitting by your side. But he remains, solid and real. Big, round eyes fringed with lashes you'd kill for, thick eyebrows that do most of the talking—one quirks up now as you stare, silent and stupid. His lips are distractingly full, and his features are soft and strong at the same time. A single, crystal clear thought cuts through the alcohol: You have been criminally underfucked. A man like this, for just one night, seems like a divine solution.
You signal the bartender for another drink. You know you shouldn't, but if you're going to survive this conversation without doing something truly unhinged, you need the liquid courage.
"That bad, huh?" he asks, a small smile playing on those lips.
"You have no idea," you murmur.
The longer you talk, the less you hear the actual words. You're distracted by the whole of him. His scent—something masculine like bergamot and cedar—messes with your head. The muted blue henley he wears stretches taut over what are clearly broad shoulders and strong arms; his jeans do nothing to hide the powerful thickness of his thighs. You can already imagine the solid weight of those arms around you, and your thighs press together of their own volition. You have to consciously wrench your mind back to the present, offering a non-committal hum in response to something he said.
His name is Seungcheol. You learn this when he offers it, his gaze steady and knowing, as if he can read every illicit thought scrolling behind your eyes.
Somehow, the conversation twists into a dare. A challenge in your tone, a spark in his.
"My place is closer," you say, the words out before you can reconsider. It's not a question. It's a statement. A decision.
"Then let's go," is all he says, his voice dropping an octave.
Now you're in the back of a taxi, the city lights streaking past the windows like liquid gold. The silence inside the car is an entity of its own. It's thick with the unspoken, charged with a static tension that makes the fine hairs on your arms stand up. He's not touching you, but you can feel the heat of his leg mere inches from yours. You stare straight ahead, your hands clenched in your lap, but your entire being is hyper-aware of him. The scent of his perfume is stronger in the enclosed space, and you can see the solid line of his thigh from the corner of your eye.
You could probably straddle him right here, and the driver wouldn't even blink. The thought is so vivid, so tempting, that a shiver runs down your spine. But you're not that insane. Not yet. You just watch the city blur, counting the seconds until you're alone with him.
All hell breaks loose the moment the apartment door clicks shut.
The sound of the lock engaging is a starting pistol. In one fluid motion, Seungcheol has you spun around and pinned against the solid wood. His big hands are everywhere at once—cupping your jaw, sliding down your spine, gripping your hips to grind you against the hard muscle of his thigh covered in the rough fabric of his jeans. His mouth crashes down on yours, and every coherent thought you've ever had evaporates.
Kissing him is exactly what you imagined—maybe even better. It's not gentle; it's all hungry lips and slick, hot pressure. You can't breathe, and you don't care. A broken sound, half-whimper, half-sigh, escapes you.
"So responsive," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a dark, rough thing that vibrates through your very bones. His teeth scrape your bottom lip. "Knew you would be."
"Just- just get on with it," you gasp out, tugging at his henley.
He chuckles, the sound low and wicked. "So impatient." He captures your mouth again, swallowing your next retort, his tongue tangling with yours until your knees go weak.
But you don't want to stay by the door. With a strength fueled by pure, frantic need, you push at his chest, backing him off. Your fingers lace with his, and you lead him into the darkness of your bedroom.
The impatience from the hallway explodes into a frenzy here. Clothes become the enemy. Your hands fumble with buttons and zippers, a tangled, breathless dance. When he finally pulls his henley over his head, your mouth actually waters and you catch yourself gulping at the sight. The dim light from the streetlamps outside cuts across his torso, revealing a build that is nothing short of devastating. Thick, defined muscle layered with a tantalizing softness—a body built for strength and comfort. You can swear this realisation pushes you to ovulate a week earlier than you're supposed to because suddenly, all you can think about is that you need this man to rail you into oblivion and fill you up real good. And as your eyes follow a thin happy trail leading to the waistband of his jeans, you find yourself swallowing thickly.
But when it's his turn to remove his underwear, the world tilts on its axis.
You prop yourself up on your elbows, disbelief wiping lust clean from your face. He's... small. Adorably, comically small. A short, cute fucking cock, resting innocently against a thatch of dark hair, a stark, almost hilarious contrast to the godlike miracle of the rest of him. A wild thought flashes: he was too perfect, so the universe had to balance him out. You press your lips together, a Herculean effort to keep from laughing or letting a truly stupid, tactless comment slip. Your face, you're sure, says it all despite your efforts. The sharp, clawing desire you felt moments ago recedes, not out of disgust, but sheer, baffled surprise. Your mood isn't ruined, just... recalibrated.
To your astonishment, Seungcheol isn't offended. If anything, his confidence seems to amplify, a lazy, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "See something you like?" he taunts, his voice a low purr.
You let out a disbelieving huff of a laugh. "It's... cute."
His smirk widens. "Go on. Play with it."
You laugh again, for real this time, but you comply. Why not? The guy is still ridiculously pretty. Your hand wraps around him easily, your fingers meeting with room to spare. A condescending, almost cooing comment slips out as you give a slow, experimental pump. "So tiny," you whisper, leaning down to kitten-lick the limited length of the underside.
Seungcheol just watches, utterly entertained, which strikes you as unusual. It rings a faint, distant bell in the back of your head, but you're too tipsy, too caught in the absurdity of the situation to do the math.
It's just a minute in, your movements becoming lazy and rhythmic, that you realize something is off. The sensation in your palm is changing. It feels less... contained. You stop, pulling back to observe, and your brain short-circuits.
You are watching a metamorphosis. His shaft is expanding, thickening, lengthening right before your eyes, transforming from a cute novelty into a weapon of mass destruction, no less. The understanding hits you like a physical blow: he's a grower. A huge fucking grower. At this point you're certain this is his little game, his secret power, and he probably gets off on the whiplash of reactions.
You swallow thickly, your throat dry. Now sitting in your hand is a solid, heavy eight inches of cock, the circumference so thick your fingertips strain to meet. The way the tip is narrower than the formidable shaft makes the rest of him look even more substantial—not that it makes that much of a difference, he's still obviously big without the visual illusion.
You are shocked into silence.
Now it's Seungcheol's turn to have fun. A deep, triumphant chuckle rumbles in his chest. "What's wrong?" he coos, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Cat got your tongue?" he taunts softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your jaw. "You were so talkative before."
You find your voice, a thin reedy sound. "You… you're…"
"I'm what?" he prompts, leaning in, his breath warm against your ear.
"A monster," you whisper, half in fear, half in reverence.
He genuinely laughs at that and you're mesmerised to see his dimples showing again. "Don't worry, I know how to use it."
From that point on, the night descends into the wildest, most primal experience of your life. But fear not—he is chivalrous, in his own way. He doesn't just plough into you. He preps you first, with a devastating expertise that leaves you sobbing. His fingers, thick and clever, find a rhythm inside you that has you coming apart with a broken scream, your back arching off the sheets. He stretches you with two, then three, then all four of his digits, scissoring them until you're panting and begging for something, anything more.
"Lube," he commands, his voice rough with his own restraint.
You can't move, your body a boneless, oversensitive puddle. "D-drawer," you manage to slur, pointing a limp hand towards the nightstand. "Top."
He retrieves it, and the sound of the cap snapping open is obscenely loud. He lubes himself up generously, the slick, sticky sound making you shiver, then applies more to your throbbing, already-drenched heat. He positions himself at your entrance, the narrow, blunt head of him a terrifying promise.
"Breathe," he orders, his eyes locked on yours.
He pushes inside.
To Seungcheol's credit, he wields his weapon with the skill of a master. Just like he promised. He doesn't rush, is painfully, exquisitely slow and patient, giving your body time to stretch and accept him. And still, when he finally sheathes himself fully in your tight heat, you feel ripped in two, stuffed so full you can't remember your own name.
A broken, continuous sound falls from your lips—a mix of a sob, a mewl, and a prayer. You realize he doesn't need to hunt for any specific spot; the relentless, thick pressure against every single inch of your inner walls is enough. You're ready to cum again immediately, every minuscule shift and rub against your assaulted nerves sending lightning through your veins.
It only destroys your brain more when he begins to thrust, slow and deep at first, smearing the lubrication, the wet, filthy sound squelching in the quiet room.
This is where the condescension returns, but it's laced with a dark, almost possessive heat that doesn't feel cruel. Maybe because you're already crying and drooling onto your own pillow, your mind turned to mush.
"Look at you," he grunts, his voice strained with effort. "So fucking tight. Taking me so well." His pace picks up, stealing your breath. "What were you saying before? Something about... cute?"
"N-no," you choke out, the word barely recognizable.
"No, what?" he demands, driving into you harder, nailing a spot that makes you see stars.
"Not- not cute," you stammer, your mind blanking. "Big... s'so big."
"I know," he breathes hotly against your ear. "Stop thinking. Just feel it."
And who are you to argue?
It matters even less when he decides to make a portable fleshlight out of you. He pulls out with a slick, obscene pop, leaving you feeling gaping and empty. Before you can protest, his hands are on you, manhandling you with effortless strength off the bed. He pulls you up, your limbs useless and shaky, and guides you into a full nelson, his arms hooking under your knees, his chest a solid wall against your back as he stands up straight by the bed.
From this impossible position, he sheathes his rock-hard cock back into your cunt, which now clenches around him even tighter, the new angle making everything feel brand new and more intense. A helpless, overstimulated keen is torn from your throat. You're lightheaded, but the dizziness triples when you catch your reflection in the dark window across the room. The visual is devastating: the powerful bulge of his muscles as he holds all your weight, the way his thick dick disappears into your body, the utterly wrecked expression on your face. You cum right then and there, a silent, seizing explosion that makes your vision tunnel.
The way your cunt violently milks his cock makes Seungcheol curse, a raw, guttural "Fuck!" that hotly hits the back of your neck. He falters for a single second, then resumes, hammering into you throughout your violent orgasm, not giving you a second of reprieve until you're oversensitive and babbling, "Too much, please, 's too much."
It is not the end, however.
With a grunt, he throws you back onto the bed, face down. He mounts you from behind, one hand angling your hips up for his use, and rams back into your well-used, thoroughly stretched cunt. There's no slowness this time; your body has already been molded to his shape. One of his thick arms snakes around your neck, not choking, but holding you in a firm headlock as he lays his full weight atop you, his muscles bulging with the effort of his punishing pace and cutting off your oxygen just enough. You feel dizzy, owned, completely and utterly conquered.
He batters your cervix like this, fucking into you with animalistic grunts, as you keen and whimper and whine, reduced to a mindless, pleasure-drunk creature. You feel the exact moment he loses control, his thrusts becoming erratic, stuttering. You feel his dick begin to pulse and jerk violently inside you.
"Gonna fill you up," he snarls, his voice ragged. "Take it. Take all of it."
He spills deep inside you with a long, low groan, flooding your abused opening with his release, giving a few final, harsh thrusts to make sure every drop is seated within you. Only then does he collapse, crushing you into the mattress with his spent weight, too tired to pull out and roll off.
And you are frankly glad for the crushing weight of him. It's surprisingly grounding when your soul threatens to leave your body. The pressure of him the only solid thing in a universe that has been reduced to the smell of sex and sweat, the sound of your ragged breaths mingling, the feel of his heart hammering against your back.
Your mind is still fogged and swimming in bliss, tiny spent mewls escaping you on exhales, but you already know for a fact you won't be able to walk straight tomorrow—and a few days after too—after being fucked this properly. And yet, you'd let Seungcheol ruin you all over again before you even get a chance to recover. If only he would want to.
And with the way Seungcheol's lips begin a slow, lazy trail from your shoulder to the sensitive skin of your neck, a low, appreciative hum vibrating through his chest and into yours, you think he's very, very willing.
*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.
Synopsis: You missed to pay the rent on time once again, good that Seungcheol knows how to collect his payments.
Warnings: pwp, oral sex (f. receiving), masturbation, use of all sorts of nicknames. MDNI.
Word count: 1k
A/N: Hi guys, I'm still on hiatus, this was in my drafts for long so clearing it out as my contri to kinktober. Feedbacks are appreciated.
[ SVT Masterlist ]
It was a missed deadline.
You once again forgot to pay your rent on time. Work is hectic, deadlines piling up there as well that your mind has been into work only. So when you see Seungcheol, your landlord at your door as soon as you return from work, you feel guilty. His last ultimatum plagues your mind.
“Don't be late next time, doll. I have a way or two of collecting payments with interest that a pretty woman like you wouldn't like to know.”
Seungcheol is incredibly hot and you've noticed the way his eyes undresses you whenever in his vicinity. So when he trudges you inside your apartment, you don't protest.
“I’m here to collect payments.”, he tugs on your shirt and you obey immediately, “Let's see what's underneath, hmm doll?”
And you don't even speak a word when he cups your bare breasts and pumps them before stripping you entirely naked under his hungry eyes and eager hands.
His words are as vile as his gaze, “I'll be charging interest too, babygirl. Don't tell me that I didn't warn you already.”
"You can call me Cheol. You'll need it a lot tonight."
That's how you end up sitting on his face.
Your thighs shake as Seungcheol pulls you down harder onto his face, his palms spread wide across your hips and ass cheeks like he owns every inch of you, your body. You are straddling his broad chest, knee digging into the mattress, wet pussy pressed to his mouth while his sharp nose nudges obscenely against your clit every time he shifts, sucks and flicks.
He groans, hums low like burying his face between your legs is the most natural thing in the world. “Sit properly, darling. Can't feel you.”, his voice breaks off into a groan when you whimper, grinding against his tongue without meaning to. “That’s it, doll. Fuck, such a good slut for me.”
“Cheol, I c-can’t, it’s too much, oh god,” you whine, nails scratching into his shoulders for balance, chest heaving.
Seungcheol doesn't flinch, his lips latch onto your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking with calculated precision. He drags you back and forth across his mouth like he is using you, but he is the one groaning deep into your cunt, throat vibrating against your soaked folds. You might pass out from the sensation.
“Ride my face harder, princess.”, he orders softly, calm but firm, like you have no choice but to obey. “Let me taste all of it. Don't hold back.”
Seungcheol is so pussy drunk that he barely registers that his other hand has held his cock is in his fist, big, thick and flushed, pumping in slow, deliberate strokes. Every time you moan louder, he squeezes himself harder, precum smearing down his length. The veins stand out angry against his pale skin, his hand streaks with the mess he’d already leaked.
Your keen hips rolling messily against his tongue, slick dripping down his chin and jaw, “You’re making me feel so good”.
You gasp, digging nails on his shoulders, “Cheol, I'm close… please….”
“So wet for me, darling”, his voice is calm but heavy with hunger, “Stay still and let me eat this cunt properly. This cunt is made for me, ain’t it, honey?”, he chortles.
“Cheol, can't hold anymore, gonna cum..”, you sob, thighs trembling uncontrollably as you try to lift off, but his grip has you pinned in place.
“Where are you off to, doll? If you're gonna cum, you're gonna have to do it right here, on my face.”, his voice drops, steady and rough. He groans into you, tongue pressing flat between your sopping folds while his nose rubs against your swollen, abused clit. He palms your thigh, calloused hands on your soft skin, kneeding the muscles to stimulate, coax your orgasm.
You scream as your orgasm rips through you, hips jerking down against his mouth, gushing all over his face. “Cheol.. oh god.. Cheol”
Seungcheol continues to eat you like a man starving, licking everything you give him, swallowing shamelessly as you soak his face and jaw. Your body shakes so violently that you think you’d collapse, but it doesn't stop him, tongue dragging slow circles on your clit as you sob from how sensitive you are. Your hands base at his hair now to anchor yourself.
He strokes his cock harder, jaw clenched, watching your wrecked face as he works himself over the edge. “shit, that's it.”, his voice drops into a guttural growl as his hips jerk, his balls tightening.
“F-Fuck!”, he comes undone with a sharp grunt, thick ropes of cum splattering hot across his abs, dripping down to his fist. He keeps stroking himself through it, groaning into your soaked pussy while you whimper and tremble above him.
When you finally slump forward, panting, his beautiful black hair damp from sweat, lips and chin glistening with your juices, he kisses your thigh with that maddening composure of his.
His eyes gaze up, sharp and dark, voice calm but wrecked, “Get on my cock, I need this pretty pussy wrapped around me. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
Your eyes fly open, meeting his eyes, “I-I have work Cheol that I need to finish by tonight–”
He tuts looking at your wide eyes and fatigued physique without any consideration whatsoever, “Forget work and do me, will you now, doll?”
all seungcheol wants is to be yours, but you’re too busy.
౨ৎ──𝐌𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓。f1-driver!seungcheol x f!reader, suggestive
seungcheol knows how unprofessional it is to be close to one of the staff at ferrari outside of the racing world. you're no different than a pr manager or an engineer. you just happen to be one of the social media admins for the team. there to entertain both the drivers and the fans with short videos.
that's all you do. fans would basically die if they heard about you and seungcheol; his manager would question it, and fred? well, he's just annoying, and you purposely ignore his calls asking the communications team to post a tiktok about him. seungcheol could actually care less if anyone on the team found out.
there he lies, next to you on his hotel bed. he's fast asleep, resting his head on your chest. it's six in the morning, just a day after the monaco grand prix. seungcheol finished p2, and all the tiktoks you've been seeing from fans are how he's back in his prime from last year’s mess. you agree with it just a little, but you're thinking about what tiktoks to make for damage control. either way, all the spotlight is on his teammate anyways.
your 6:15 alarm rings and he slightly jolts awake. you lightly push him off you to sit up. to the nightstand where your phone is set down, you reach over to shut it off and pick it up to check what's next on your agenda for today. seungcheol stops you, holding onto your wrist before you can even unlock your phone.
"don't go yet," he mutters as you look down to him, still half sleeping close to you. he lets go, and you put your phone down on the nightstand. you run your fingers through his hair as you lie back down on your side next to him.
he moves his head closer to your collarbone, where he begins to press kisses on it. his lips slowly trail from your collarbone to your neck to your jaw and leave his last kiss just right next to your lips. he lies down on top of you and wraps his arms around you, resting his head next to yours.
one hand is playing with the back of his hair, and the other hand is on his shoulder. "just a few more minutes," you whisper, turning your head a bit to just hover your lips over his cheekbone.
from angela，loooool if ur also on f1blr and you’ve seen this same exact fic for lando norris, js pretend u don’t see it
tags: situationship!au, angst, hurt/comfort, bff!seungkwan, reader just have attachment issues, mingyu lowkey a flirt and an asshole, unresolved fight, co-producer!gyu, fluff in the beginning, matured themes (will have nsfw content in the next part) bad communication
a/n: it’s finally here 😮💨 you can read the drabble as a “teaser” for the next part :3 likes, reblogs and comments are so much appreciated! they encourage me to continue writing and will help to post quicker updates >.>
PART 01 | PART 02
The deal was simple.
No strings attached, no feelings involved, no romantic commitment needed.
You had agreed because the idea of getting into a new relationship seemed pretty exhausting. You just got out of a messy breakup months ago, one that left deep wounds. Pain was still there, although faded over time. But still, you couldn’t enter a new one when you haven’t truly moved on.
Mingyu was just nice, kind, caring, and someone you enjoyed having a long conversation with. You ignored the very important part about yourself which is your severe attachment issues, but oh well, he was willing to fill in the void you were so desperately seeking.
“I can’t do relationships either,” he had informed you on a random Tuesday evening, both of you seated next to each other in a karaoke room crowded with your loud friends. Seungkwan’s voice and Dokyeom’s dramatic high notes somehow muted in the background when the piece of information gained your attention the most.
“Why?” You asked, curious. Because Mingyu looked like a person who preferred something real, something genuine, definitely not the type to mess around.
He chugged down an entire glass of soju, softly hissed at the taste of it afterward. His tongue caught his bottom lip in a short swipe, hooded gaze shifting back to you with a small, dangerous smile. “It feels better when people pay attention to you and not expect more.”
You understood immediately.
“I haven’t done this with anyone honestly,” The glass in your lap was left untouched, you barely drank because you thought one person needed to be sober at least. Glancing at your friends, half of them were already tipsy, some knocked out. But the concern for your friends was nothing more terrifying than the deal. You wondered if it was possible for you to try, but the need to have someone close and listen to you after a long day was more tempting. You had been lonely for so long.
Mingyu’s eyes softened as he studied your face, “You don’t have to do it if you’re not ready. We can still be friends.”
You looked up at him, and offered a smile, thankful. He was so sweet. You had only known him for three weeks, first meeting at Seungkwan’s sister’s wedding. Both of you were at the same table when he introduced Mingyu to you. You learned that they used to work together under the same company before Mingyu left. The conversations flowed seamlessly as both of you shared each career's journey, hometown, university and childhood memories which led to numbers being exchanged.
Not much texting at first. Probably because you two were busy adults.
But then you saw a notification that he had followed your Instagram, which was kind of the starting point of your current situation with him.
It went from compliments to playful remarks, then slowly the comments and story replies got a little bit.. flattering. Or so you thought. He could be really honest, but your heart did triple flip regardless when he called you pretty. It was a new, baby pink dress you wore for your friend’s party. You did feel cute and pretty that day, but you were not prepared to see Mingyu leave a heart reaction on your story with the comment once you got home.
“So, your answer?”
You snapped back to reality, neon-colored lights illuminated the dark room with an upbeat song playing in the background. The silence between you and him stretched out, his dark gaze looming over you, looking like he couldn’t wait a minute longer. Your heart skipped a beat.
Mingyu looked so infuriatingly attractive in a simple black leather jacket, hair parted in a way that made you swoon. The scent of sandalwood and soft musk clinging onto his fabric was addictive, and you knew you couldn’t say no to such an offer from the man, not when he looked so good effortlessly. Even more so, when he seemed just as eager to have you.
He wasn’t pushing. But he wasn’t subtle either.
“I'd still like to try,” You finally responded after a minute, and in a brief moment, you noticed his eyes glinted.
Then he grinned, looking rather satisfied with your answer. Your breath hitched when he casually sneaked his hand and interlaced his fingers with yours, thumb brushing softly against your palm.
“Don’t worry, it’s no different than us being friends. We both just need.. a companion.”
That’s what he said.
And you agreed because it was fitting. There were no further questions, because the deal was simple. You didn’t bother asking more, he wasn’t your boyfriend that you need to be particular about every single thing he likes.
And you were fine with that.
—
It was late evening on a Friday when Mingyu suddenly dropped by your apartment. Your eyes widened at the sight of him holding a plastic bag filled with boxes at your entrance.
“Pizza?” He smiled, and you let him in with a laugh.
“I didn’t know I ordered a delivery,” You jokingly teased as he set up the table, the living room instantly filled with the aroma of the freshly baked pizzas. He had a dramatic pained look upon hearing your words, and you couldn’t help but to snort in amusement.
“Well maybe you should’ve checked your phone, ma’am, because this is a limited edition pizza and I almost fought with the manager to give me extra pineapple topping,” He let out a huff, eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t believe they put so little. Good thing I checked.”
You hummed softly as you took a seat next to him. Both of you decided to watch a movie while you had your dinner. “Good thing you did. Though I don’t really like pineapples.”
Mingyu gasped so loud it made you giggle.
“Unacceptable,” He shook his head playfully, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “You should try, seriously. They’re sweet, and pizza tastes better with extra sweetness.”
You made a face at his suggestion and he pinched your cheek aggressively in return, making you giggle out loud. “Brat, aren’t you?”
“Nope,” You grabbed a slice of the pizza and took a bite, the cheese pull was so satisfying that you let out a happy noise. “Mmm..”
Mingyu watched your reaction with a wide, proud grin, “Good, right?”
You gave him a nod and he chuckled. The dinner continued with the two of you chatting about each other’s work, the office drama and some recent gossip surrounding people Mingyu has worked with. You were impressed to know he had so many spicy news under his sleeve. Two boxes of pizzas cleared after an hour of gossiping and laughing at comedic scenes from the movie, Mingyu demanded dessert time and you just so happened to have extra vanilla ice cream in your fridge.
“No chocolate?” You could tell he just wanted to be annoying, so you gave him a soft flick on his forehead instead. His little ‘ouch’ made you grin in victory.
“Brat, aren’t you?” You mimicked back the way he said it to you just now, ready to witness his cute frown but his next action caught you off guard.
His hand moved fast to grab yours, pulling you closer to him on the couch, your back hitting the side of his chest with a soft yelp. You had no time to think about how close you were when he wrapped his arms around you, warmth enveloping your body like a blanket. He rested his chin comfortably against your head and once again you were reminded just how small you were being near him.
“You are.”
It made you feel dizzy.
“Thought you wanted to eat ice cream,” You murmured, ignoring the blush on your cheeks and the rapid beat inside your chest. You heard a soft hum in response, but he didn’t make a move.
“Feed me?”
Oh, god.
You tried to act nonchalant, complaining with a low “what a grown baby” under your breath which he managed to catch, followed by the sound of his chuckle. You scooped up a spoon of the ice cream, then carefully raised to his mouth.
His eyes fell on you first, and you could practically feel your cheeks burning as he remained his gaze on you while he tasted the ice cream.
Both of you didn’t speak, letting the silence thicken and a soft, dizzying hum settled in the pit of your stomach. The way he looked at you was heavy, and his lips lingered on the metal spoon before he slowly pulled back.
“Sweet,” He murmured, but his eyes were not focusing on the ice cream bowl. Your heart did that weird lurching thing.
A fake cough was what you could manage in a frantic attempt to redirect the focus back on the abandoned TV. The room suddenly felt hotter even with the AC running. You tried to pay attention to the movie but could feel that his eyes still fixed on you.
“You’re staring.”
Mingyu shifted, somehow getting even closer as he tightened his arms around your waist. “Hard not to.” Then he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. You nearly let out a shaky sigh.
"You have this look on your face when you’re flustered. Like you’re trying to solve a math equation in your head."
It made you roll your eyes, but your cheeks remained flushed nonetheless. He was pretty observant. "Maybe I am. Maybe I’m calculating how much I'm going to charge you for being this needy."
"Put it on my tab," he joked, but then he got quiet. The playful energy shifted into something softer, more grounded. He shifted his head so his temple was resting against yours, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on your arm. "Seriously, though. You okay? I know I just barged in here."
There it was. That genuine kindness that made you want to scream.
"I'm okay," you said, and you meant it. His presence did ease some of the tension you had at work. “The pizza helped. The company... isn't bad either."
Mingyu pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, a triumphant, boyish grin breaking across his face. "Only 'isn't bad'? Ouch. I guess I’ll have to try harder next Friday."
You bite your bottom lip, hiding a shy smile. If he tried to be flirty, guess it wouldn’t hurt to do the same. “G’nna see me again?”
Mingyu responded with a faint hum, gently brushing your hair away from your forehead. “Mm. Wanna see you again, many times.”
“Clingy,” you teased, but you were not any different. You liked his attention.
Mingyu, on the other hand, was shameless. “And?” You were about to come out with a smart reply before he tickled your side out of revenge. You shrieked.
“Don’t—!” He laughed, and you made a move to stay a little far away but he was faster to pull you back to his arms, his chest collided against your back.
You were fully seated on his lap now.
“Stay still, bunny,” he murmured, his hold secured around your waist. “Don’t make me use my strength on you.”
Your whine died in your throat.
“Good girl,” he whispered, and heat rushed to your face instantly. He didn't let go. Instead, he reached for the remote, hitting play on the movie that was paused, but the plot was the last thing on your mind when all you could think of was the musky scene of his cologne seeping from his body, the way your head tucked perfectly under his chin, his bigger frame almost enveloped you.
Your thoughts almost drifted to a dangerous territory when a sudden ring from his phone echoed through the room.
Mingyu let out a deep groan and picked up the call, tone quickly adjusted to a more formal one seeing the caller’s name. “Yes? You couldn’t find the files?”
You waited until he finished the conversation which sounded like it needed serious attention. Then you heard him sigh before he turned to you with an apologetic smile. “Bun, I’m so sorry. Urgent matters need to attend. Can I make it up for you next time?”
You smiled back, understanding. “Yes, of course. Don’t worry. Go ahead and get it done before they can bother you some more.” Work can be really tough sometimes, even though it’s already past the working hours. It’s a culture you were very familiar with.
Mingyu squeezed you in a warm hug and placed a brief kiss on your cheek, then a soft pat on your head. “See you later, yeah? Don’t sulk.”
You blinked, mouth agape, cheeks tinted in pink.
He let out an amused laugh and made his way toward the front door. You followed him until he had his shoes back on, ready to leave. He looked at you one last time, a sweet smile plastered on his face.
“Goodnight, bun. I’m glad I could see your face today.”
Your heart did something stupid again.
“Goodnight, Mingyu. Drive safe.”
—
You didn’t think you could make it this far, but you did. It has been four months of no-label thing between you and Mingyu, and the arrangement surprisingly worked well.
Perhaps you just focused too much on your work, and him, and nothing else. It had been easy that way, because adulting didn’t give you much freedom to do anything else unless you had taken days off.
And it was your day off today— a full week, actually.
Which explained why you were bed-rotting instead of cleaning up your room like you had intended to do. Mingyu was also busy, you assumed. Because he didn’t text you as often now. You had asked if he was free for dinner but apparently he was currently in Japan for work. So, no Mingyu until further notice.
You decided to check his Instagram instead with the excuse that you were starting to miss him.
His recent posts were a series of aesthetic shots of the places he went to, some mirror selfies and behind-the-scenes of his work. You found yourself grinning like a middle schooler as you stalked his feed. He could easily pass as a model if he wanted to— being 6’2 tall with an ethereal face and fine muscles everywhere. The aggressive tapping of the heart reaction was simply not enough to convey your obsession with him. Everyone knows he’s madly attractive.
Then you saw the colorful ring around his profile picture. You didn’t notice he had uploaded a story.
Your breath caught when you saw he had reposted someone else's story. It was a candid photo of Mingyu, looking relaxed and devastatingly handsome in a casual knit sweater, leaning across a table at a brightly lit izakaya. He was laughing, that genuine, eye-crinkling laugh that usually only came out when he was comfortable.
The original poster’s handle was at the top— a woman’s name you didn't recognize, followed by a small, fluttering heart emoji. The caption was simple: “Finally back together in Tokyo 🥂.”
Your heart didn’t just sink, it felt like it hit the floor.
You stared at the photo, zooming in on his face. He looked... happy.
The spiral started instantly.
You began to dissect the phrase “back together.” Who was she? An ex? Someone he’d been seeing the whole time while he was busy? Was that why he couldn’t text you?
Then you realized you had no right to ask. You weren't his girlfriend. You weren't even someone he had to check in with. No strings attached, remember?
So why did you feel so heavy at the thought of him with someone else?
“Probably a friend,” you tried not to jump into conclusions, but you couldn’t sit still. A minute later, you tapped on the woman’s Instagram profile next.
The account was set to public.
You contemplated whether to continue, part of you thought it’s pointless to do this kind of work, it will only give you damage if you found something you weren’t fond of. But your curiosity was over the roof. You clicked on her stories, ignoring all the warning signs in your head.
It started with a normal update of her visiting an art gallery, then photos of the painting, two iced matcha lattes from the street then her dinner. The same place Mingyu had been. You focused more on the photo, there was nobody else there. Just two people, two glasses of wine. The next story was the one Mingyu had reposted.
All taken on the same day.
Art gallery, matcha, dinner.
Were they out on a date?
You threw your phone onto your bed with a growing sting on your chest. You had no reason to be upset with who he hung out with, but god, did it hurt.
A laughter escaped from your mouth then, you felt ridiculed at your own feelings, the sheer audacity to feel betrayed by someone who wasn’t even yours in the first place. The flashbacks from the karaoke show rewinded at the back of your mind, replaying his exact words.
“It feels better when people pay attention to me and not expect more.”
He already laid out the first rule for you.
But the implications of it didn’t hit so hard until you finally tasted it.
“A companion,” you repeated his words, staring at the ceiling with a hollow space in your heart. “I’m just a companion.”
The silence in your room felt suffocating. You thought you had it controlled, that you were confident enough this arrangement would work out as long as you don’t try to dig further than what you needed to know. But you did it, the damage has been done and now you couldn’t stop thinking how many people he had entertained too. The mere thought that you were just one of them made you sick.
Ironic. You had agreed. It was your choice.
You rolled onto your side, pulling your knees to your chest. The bed suddenly felt too big. The sting in your chest deepened.
Just then, the screen lit up. A notification banner popped across the top, making your breath hitch.
Mingyu: [Photo]
Mingyu: it’s raining here, and it’s so cold. what are you up to right now?
The casualness felt like a slap. He had no idea the kind of state you were pulled into. Your heart no longer asked you to seek comfort in him, rather it begged you to step away because it started aching. You listened.
The text was left delivered, unreplied.
—
By the second day, he sent a follow-up:
Mingyu: busy? or did you finally decide to clean your room? lol
You felt a flare of irritation. Lol. As if your silence was just a funny little quirk and not a screaming signal that something was wrong. You waited six hours before typing a reply that felt like ice.
You: just busy. enjoy tokyo.
He didn't reply for a full day after that, and the silence felt like a heavy weight on your chest. You went back to your planned agenda for the day. If you had to spend days with free time alone with a heartbreak, you needed some kind of distractions to go through it.
A few days later, another text arrived.
Mingyu: am landing tonight. should i stop by with dinner? found these snacks you'd like at the airport :)
In the past, you would have jumped at the offer. You would have tidied the living room, sprayed your favorite perfume, and waited by the door. But now, all you could remember was the Instagram story. The date he had with a woman he reunited.
You: maybe some other time.
You tossed the phone face down on the carpet. It felt powerful to say no, but it also felt like you were cutting a limb off. You were protecting your heart, sure, but the void you had tried so hard to fill was opening up again, wider and darker than before.
The two weeks of keeping him at arm’s length felt like a slow, agonizing detox. You were training yourself to live without interacting with him, and honestly, you thought you were doing a decent job. You’d mastered the art of the three-word reply.
“Busy with work.” “Already ate.” “Maybe next time.”
You were becoming a ghost in your own life, and for fourteen days, Mingyu seemed to accept the distance. Guess he really didn’t care.
But then, the bubble burst.
It started on a rainy Thursday. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand— a call. Mingyu. You watched the screen glow, his name flashing like a warning sign. You didn't pick up. You just watched it until it went to voicemail, your heart thumping a painful rhythm against your ribs.
Another call. You ignored it.
A minute later, the vibration started again. A text.
Mingyu: are you seriously avoiding my calls now?
You didn't answer. You stared at the phone, trying to ignore the way your hands were shaking.
Mingyu: i’ve been back for two weeks. tried to see you four times. what is going on?
Still, you stayed silent. You felt a tiny sense of satisfaction seeing him lose his cool. Wasn’t this what he wanted? For you not to expect more?
Mingyu: don’t do this. just talk to me. did i do something?
You could feel his irritation through his texts. But you remained silent. He would give up after some time.
Mingyu: I’m outside your building. Pick up the phone or I’m coming up.
Your stomach did a violent flip— a shaky gasp escaped you. He was never this blunt. You finally typed back, suddenly the situation hadn’t flowed like you had narrated it.
You: don’t come up. i’m tired, mingyu. go home.
His reply was instant.
Mingyu: I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you’ve been acting like I don't exist since I got back from Japan. If the deal is over, fine, but have the decency to say it to my face.
You sat up in bed— irritated, unsettled, and angry all at once.
You: I just want to be left alone tonight. Or next week. Is that a problem?
You waited, holding your breath. You wanted him to back off, instead, your buzzer rang.
He wasn't leaving.
You marched to the door, the anger finally overriding the heartache. You didn't even bother checking the peephole; you just yanked it open, determined to end this before you lost your nerve.
Mingyu was leaning against the doorframe, looking exhausted and genuinely agitated. His hair was a mess from the rain, and that casual image he usually maintained was completely gone. The second he saw you, his expression shifted from irritation to a flicker of relief, but you didn't give him a chance to speak.
"Go home, Mingyu," you said, your voice flat and cold.
He blinked, taken aback by the ice in your tone. "Are you kidding me? I’ve been trying to reach you for days. You don't just go silent for two weeks and then tell me to go home without a single word of why."
"I don't have to give you a 'why'," you snapped, gripping the edge of the door so hard your knuckles turned white. You were losing patience. "That was the whole point of this, wasn't it? I don't feel like seeing you, so I'm not seeing you."
Mingyu stepped forward, closing the gap between you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. "If I did something to piss you off, just say it. Is it because I was busy in Japan? Is that it?"
A bitter laugh escaped you. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing you'd seen that story. You weren't going to admit you'd spent your vacation wondering who the other woman was.
"You're overthinking it," you lied, mirroring the casual tone he used to have. "I'm just bored of the arrangement. I don't owe you an explanation for how I feel or how I don't feel."
The words came out faster than you thought— even you were surprised.
Mingyu’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardened with a visible frown. Like he couldn’t believe what you were saying.
"I don't owe you an explanation," he repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous, quiet hiss. "Right. I forgot. We’re just companions when it’s convenient, but the second we’re done, the door is shut."
"Exactly," you said, though it felt like you were stabbing yourself. Swallowing a lump, you pretended to be composed. “So, go back and leave me alone."
Mingyu let out a sharp, harsh exhale that sounded like a scoff. He stepped back, putting distance between you, his face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated anger. He looked at you for one long, silent moment— a look that said he didn't even recognize the person standing in front of him.
"Fine," he spat, turning on his heel. "Have it your way. I'm done trying to figure you out."
He didn't look back as he stormed down the hallway. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed against the walls, and you stood there until the elevator dinked and he was gone.
You slammed the door shut and leaned your back against it, sliding down until you hit the floor. You had won. He was pissed, he was gone, and your secret was safe. But as you sat there in the dark hallway of your apartment, the victory tasted like nothing but salt and regret.
"I'm such an idiot," you choked out, pressing your face into your palms.
The anger that had felt so powerful seconds ago had vanished, leaving behind nothing but a hollow, aching regret. You had wanted to protect yourself, to prove that you didn't care as much as he did, but all you'd done was drive a knife into the one good thing you had left. You had seen him hurt and instead of being honest, you’d used the rules of your deal as a weapon to push him away.
You sat there on the cold floor for what felt like hours. Part of you wanted to run out that door, find his car, and tell him everything. But the other part of you— the one that was still hurting from being one of his many options— stayed frozen.
So you were indeed not ready at all to do this. Not even the slightest bit.
Mingyu had been everything you wanted in a guy. Everything except the part where you wished you hadn’t figured out so soon. Were you so desperate to fill in the space, that you unintentionally projected a version of him that only fitted your selfish needs?
Your lips trembled slightly. You had no right to complain, you reminded yourself many times.
So you went to sleep with a never ending ache.
—
Seungkwan looked like he could murder someone the way he almost snapped his chopsticks from gripping them too hard.
You had to nudge him with your feet to get his head cleared with whatever crimes he planned to commit. “Hey— stop. You’re thinking too much. It’s okay now.”
He gave you a hard look. “Which part of this is okay? Care to explain?”
A soft groan left your mouth.
“He’s literally your friend,” you reasoned, which is true. You didn’t want to cause a fight between him and Mingyu just because you couldn’t handle your situation.
Seungkwan, however, couldn’t care less about it. “And that is why I am giving him hell. But you,” he suddenly pointed his chopsticks at you with a piercing stare. “You should have told me sooner. I could have warned you before you got yourself tangled with this mess.”
“So you knew?”
“A lot.” Your friend sighed. “It’s not news. He’s working in the entertainment industry as a co-producer of popular television shows. His networking is part of his job. He attracted a lot of people.”
You chewed the inside of your cheek. You have heard of Mingyu’s career. Just didn’t think too much about it.
“Never dated any of them?” You didn’t want to know, knowing it will deepen the ache if Seungkwan revealed that he did. But he shook his head, and you felt a tiniest bit of relief.
“They’re all very busy people. Some just wanted to have fun without needing to put extra commitment into something else than their work.”
That sounds like Mingyu.
Then, Seungkwan added, “The girl from the story is one of the production staff, currently based in Tokyo. They used to work together when Mingyu was assigned for a Japanese special, the same one I was featured in for a few episodes. They.. well, they had some kind of history.”
You paused on chewing— the information caused your stomach to sink.
“It was never official—” Seungkwan must’ve noticed the shift in your reaction the way he quickly panicked. “Just, it went on for about one year. I don’t know too much about the relationship. Every time I asked if they were dating, Mingyu just laughed it off and said no. So, that’s that.”
A low, troubled sigh escaped you, “Still doesn’t change the fact that they are still in contact.”
Seungkwan softened his gaze, his chopsticks put down. “You are not the type to do this kind of thing. I know you. Don’t waste your time thinking about him, okay?”
You responded with a soft hum before you picked up your chopsticks again, finishing your meal even if you felt like your appetite slowly disappeared. “I guess he introduced all of his girls to his mom too.”
Seungkwan let out a nasty, aggressive cough. “Sorry— he what?”
You blinked rapidly, heart racing. “What? I just said he probably brought his girls to meet his mom too.”
“Did you see Mrs Kim?”
“I did.” Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why? Is that so surprising?”
It looked like Seungkwan was going to say something but closed his mouth quickly. Then he cleared his throat, his demeanor suddenly shifted from a wild, frantic look into a calmed one.
“No. It’s just— it has been a while since she came to visit. That’s all.”
You stared at him, unconvinced but brushed it off. If it was something important he would tell you. "I figured. She seemed to know her way around the city.”
“Did she suspect anything between you two though?”
“No..” You trailed off, trying to recall the moment you had met Mingyu’s mother.
You were heading to his place to return the jacket he left.
It was 2 pm on a Sunday, and Mingyu just came back from a shooting. You had not thought much, just going to deliver his item and maybe grab some pastries from a nearby cafe afterward. You pressed the buzzer of his apartment, revealing a grinning Mingyu in a comfy, knitted sweatshirt.
“Hey,” he pulled you into a hug. “Thanks, bug. You really didn’t have to.”
You quickly shook your head. “I insist. It’s not a big deal anyway. And it’s your favourite one!”
“My mom’s here,” he’d whispered, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that made your heart skip. “Join us? We are about to have lunch anyway.”
Your heart raced, mind turning blank. Confusion was understatement, you simply had no idea why he was acting like it was no big deal for you to meet his mother. It felt.. intimate. He seemed to know your internal battle though, the way his eyes crinkled with an easy laugh. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you inside before you could refuse more.
“Come. She'd be happy to see you.”
When you stepped into the living room, his mother was standing by the dining table, setting down a bowl of steaming rice. She stopped, her eyes widening as she took you in. She looked at you, then at Mingyu, then back at you— specifically at the way his hand was still wrapped firmly around your wrist, as if he was afraid you’d bolt.
"Oh?" her voice hovered between surprise and curiosity. "You didn't tell me you had company coming over, Mingyu."
"She was just dropping off my jacket, Eomma," Mingyu said, his voice dropping into that smooth, casual tone he used when he was trying to play it cool. But he didn't let go of your wrist. "I told her she had to stay for your cooking. You wouldn't want her to go hungry, would you?"
His mother wiped her hands on her apron, her gaze lingering on your face. You felt exposed, nervous, standing there in your casual weekend clothes, clutching a leather jacket like a shield.
"Of course not," she said, her expression shifting into a warm, genuine smile. "Come, sit. There’s plenty."
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
The lunch was... surprisingly comfortable. She didn't grill you like you expected. Instead, she seemed to find your presence a delight. She laughed when you told her how Mingyu was always losing his things, and she grew fond of you the more you ate. She kept pushing the best cuts of meat onto your plate, watching with a soft expression as you thanked her.
At one point, Mingyu went to answer a work call, leaving the two of you alone. The silence was brief before she leaned in.
“Did Mingyu give you a hard time?”
Her question was so random it made your heart pulse ten times quicker.
“N-no,” you replied, folding your hands in between your lap with a polite smile. “He is really a good friend, eomonim.”
She responded with a hearty laugh. “I was kidding. I haven’t seen you before, dear. Did you two recently meet?”
You nodded, “At Seungkwan’s sister’s wedding.”
Her eyes lit up at the mention of your friend. “Ah, Seungkwannie. Haven’t met that sweet boy in so long. You two should come visit us at Anyang sometime. The three of you are close, right?”
“Yes, we are.” You answered with a smile and she returned with a soft chuckle.
“Then it won’t be a problem for Mingyu to bring you all there.”
The way she said it was so casual, yet it made your heart misfire in your chest.
Mingyu stepped back inside, tucking his phone into his pocket, his face returning to that perfectly practiced, effortless smile. He looked between the two of you, his eyes flickering with a momentary tension before he relaxed.
"What are you two whispering about?" he asked, walking over and sliding his hand naturally onto the back of your chair. The heat from his palm seeped through your shirt, making your heart do a frantic backflip.
"Just Anyang," his mother said, her tone perfectly innocent as she picked up her chopsticks. "I was telling her she should visit. With Seungkwannie."
Mingyu’s hand stilled on the chair. It was only for a fraction of a second— but you felt it. He didn't laugh it off. He didn't make a joke. He just looked at you, his gaze deep and unreadable.
"Yeah," he said quietly, then he smiled— warm. "Maybe we should."
The flashbacks had you stuck with a deep, lingering confusion. Even Mrs Kim’s casualness with you was strange. Perhaps she was just familiar with Mingyu’s many friends. Perhaps you were indeed not the only person who had met her.
The thought only made the sting worse.
You were not special.
—
An event for a post-production celebration for a new streaming series was held at rooftop lounges in Gangnam. The air smelled of expensive cologne and nervous ambition. You were there because Seungkwan had dragged you along as his "plus one," claiming he needed "moral support" from his best friend before he could maximize his social skills with the rest of the people he had worked with.
But the universe has a sick sense of humor.
You saw him before he saw you. Mingyu was across the terrace, leaning against the marble bar with a drink in one hand and the other draped casually over the back of a high stool. A woman was sitting there— a tall, effortlessly chic girl with a laugh that carried over the music.
The sight of him made your heart hit a glitch so hard you actually stumbled.
He was leaning in, his head tilted in that specific way that suggested she was the only person in a room of five hundred. He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the shell of her ear for a beat too long. It was the same attentiveness he’d given you, the same focus he’d used on you that made you think you were the center of his world.
A sharp, jagged static buzzed beneath your ribs. You felt the blood drain from your face, replaced by a heat so intense it felt like a fever. Your hands, tucked into your coat pockets, curled into tight, shaking fists.
You watched as she whispered something in his ear, and he let out a laugh, the kind that used to vibrate against your own shoulder on Friday nights. He looked happy. He looked like a man who had simply shifted his space to a new coordinate.
Your vision blurred with a sudden, stinging heat. You wanted to march over there, grab that drink, and throw it in his perfectly practiced face. But instead, you stood frozen. You were a ghost watching a living man, and the realization that he could replace your presence with hers so seamlessly made you feel small.
“Don’t mind him,” Seungkwan whispered, a glass of wine in his hand. “He’s working hard to get that casting director’s business card.”
“By being a total flirt?”
“It’s the easiest way for him to make money.”
You let out a bitter scoff. “So I was a victim.”
Seungkwan grimaced, “Don’t say that. You weren’t aware.”
The wine in your glass stirred as you moved it slightly before you finished it. Your throat burned not from the alcohol, but the mere reminder that you were a fool for thinking that you could ever manage a situationship with Mingyu.
“I’m going inside,” you informed your best friend which he nodded. The need to stay away from watching more of Mingyu “working” was palpable. A minute longer at the terrace would result in you losing your mind.
The interior of the lounge was a different world— the lighting was a hazy, neon violet, and the air was thick with the scent of fog machines and expensive spirits. A DJ was tucked into a booth in the corner, spinning tracks.
You slipped into the crowd on the small, packed dance floor. You didn't care about looking graceful, you just wanted the music to drown out the image of Mingyu’s laugh. You closed your eyes, letting the beat take over, your body moving in a way that felt like shaking off a layer of dust.
In the middle of a transition, the crowd surged, and you stumbled back, colliding solidly with a firm chest.
“Whoa, careful there,” a voice laughed, light and melodic over the music.
You gasped, your heart doing a frantic backflip as steady hands caught your shoulders to keep you from face-planting. You looked up, expecting a frustrated stranger, but instead, you were met with a face that looked like it had been carved out of moonlight. Sharp jaw, feline eyes that crinkled with genuine amusement, and hair that shimmered under the neon strobes.
It was Taeyong.
You knew him— everyone did. He was the choreographer and performer who usually avoided these stiff industry parties unless the music was good.
“Sorry!” you shouted over the bass, your face heating up. “I wasn't looking where I was going.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, not letting go of your shoulders just yet. He leaned in so you could hear him, his grin widening. “You were the only one actually dancing instead of just posing. It’s refreshing.”
Before you could stammer out a response, the beat dropped into something infectious and fast. Taeyong didn't pull away, instead, he caught your hand, spinning you back into the rhythm.
“Stay,” he challenged, his eyes sparking. “The fun is right here.”
He started to move, and it was impossible not to follow his lead. Taeyong danced with an effortless energy. You joined him with a laugh— a real, unpracticed sound that tore through the tightness in your chest. Taeyong matched your energy, pulling you into his orbit, his movements playful and bold.
"You have a good rhythm!" he shouted over the thumping beat, his voice a low, teasing hum. He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing yours as he caught one of your hands. He raised it, spinning you in a slow, deliberate circle that made the neon lights smear into streaks of violet and gold.
When you finished the turn with a giggle, you landed right back in his space. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned down, his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear to be heard over the synth, whispering something silly about your dancing that had you throwing your head back with a laugh.
The tension loosened, the knot in your chest, which had been twisted into a painful ache ever since you saw the sight of Mingyu, began to unravel. You allowed yourself to dissolve into the dizzying rush of this new person— vibrant, flushed, and entirely untethered.
Unaware that a pair of dark eyes had been watching you from a distance.
genre fluff, short au | starring boyfriend!seungcheol x gn!reader | warnings|contains pouty and shy cheol | wc 0.4k | status proofread | masterlist | jho's notes. cheol's pout might be the greatest thing god created + his dimples
you weren't even trying to catch it. someone screamed, someone shoved and the next thing you knew, the bride's bouquet landed directly in your hands.
you stared at the flowers in your hand with shock, slowly blinking. a few people clapped, someone whistled— but the moment didn't fully hit you until you turned around and saw seungcheol.
he was standing near the back of the crowd, completely frozen. hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks, shoulders tense, eyes slightly wide and lips parted in a small, helpless pout— like he'd just witnessed his own surprise proposal.
beside him joshua was bent over laughing, seungkwan slapping his arm like he'd just hit the jackpot. you watched as joshua leaned in and whispered something in seungcheol's ear— whatever it was, it made his ears turn red instantly.
you bit your lip and held up the bouquet in his direction, trying— and failing— to hide the massive smile threatening to take over your entire face.
he looked at it, then at you still frozen in his place. a deep sigh escaped his lips as he finally moved, walking toward you at a pace like a man heading into his own wedding completely unprepared. when he finally reached you, he didn't say a word— he just kept looking at the bouquet, and then at you.
"i didn't even want to catch it" you teased, barely containing your laughter. he squinted at you, crealy not buying a single word, "sure, you just accidentally manifested it the all day long"
you giggled as he stepped closer, one arm slipping around your waist as his forehead fall against your shoulder with a dramatic groan. "they're never gonna shut up about this" he mumbled into your collarbone, you could feel the smile forming against your shoulder.
"good" you whispered, grin widening, "you look cute when you panic" he whined, then peeked up at you with the saddest, most drammatic expression ever. you tucked a hand into his hair, brushing your fingers through it slightly.
"you know i'd marry you tomorrow, right?" he muttered under his breath. you blinked, stunned for a second making him panicking instantly. "wait, i didn't mean— like, unless you want to" you kissed his cheek before he could melt completely into the floor.
his hand tightened around your waist, grounding himself again. you could feel the heat still raising in his ears, the tension easing out of his body with your touch. after a moment, you said softly "well, you'd make a cute groom"
