The Way || Choi Seungcheol
Summary: Your boyfriend’s hot, you know it, he knows it and so do the numerous women constantly in his orbit. You’re usually good at holding your tongue but according to Yoon Jeonghan, your face needs deliverance from god because whatever you didn’t say was always shown in your facial expressions. Your boyfriend however loves using this to his advantage, especially when he wants you to act up.
Warnings: idol!seungcheol x gradstudent!f.reader, slight mentions of Cheol’s surgery and road to recovery,teasing,mild jealousy, possessiveness(they both are), switch dynamics but not really, shit talking, dirty talk, smut! MDNI!, oral(f&m.rec),Cheol disregarding his knee to deliver back shots galore, riding, overstimulation, as usual I might be missing something.
W.C: 5.1k
A/N: This has been sitting,collecting dust in my docs since GDA 2024 and since I’m cleaning house I figured why not. So if you’re wondering which Cheol to picture here, it’s these very specific gym pics, Nana Tour Press con and GDA 2024.
You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed how much bigger Seungcheol had gotten.
The loose, oversized T-shirts he used to drown in now clung shamelessly; stretched tight across the broad plane of his chest, the thick curve of his shoulders, the swell of his biceps that flexed every time he reached for something innocuous. You weren’t blind and the women constantly orbiting him definitely weren’t either.
At first it hadn’t bothered you much. He’d been recovering from surgery; no one outside the immediate circle had really seen the full extent of how much he’d bulked up during those quiet, house-bound months. Until that one cursed Weverse post.
“Just because I have to skip leg day doesn’t mean I can’t do other workouts.”
You’d scolded him—half seriously, half playfully—reminding him the doctor had been crystal clear about rest. It spiraled into a petty little argument that ended, predictably, with your thighs clamped around his ears while he murmured apologies against your skin, tongue working slow and deliberate until you forgot why you were even mad.
Now, though, he’d been cleared for a semi-normal schedule. Award shows, press conferences, concerts looming on the horizon. You were proud—god, so proud—of him and the boys but these idiots had a lifelong habit of treating medical advice like polite suggestions rather than orders.
He wouldn’t be dancing or doing anything choreo-heavy, sure. Still, you knew Seungcheol. He’d push every boundary of “semi-functional” just to be present for the members, for Carats, for the stage. Which led directly to your current predicament.
If you had to sit through one more second of this new makeup artist openly flirting with him, you were going to combust.
“I see what Jeonghan meant when he said if your mouth doesn’t say it, your face definitely will.” The voice was warm, amused, and far too close.
You turned your head, already scowling, and met Joshua’s knowing smile. He leaned against the wall beside the couch you’d claimed in the converted dressing room, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself.
“She’s not going to spontaneously combust the harder you glare, you know,” he teased, voice light.
You scoffed and folded your arms tighter across your chest. “There’s nothing wrong with my face.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that. You can control your mouth, but all your emotions show on your face.” He tilted his head toward the makeup chair across the room.
Your gaze tracked back to the scene that had your jaw clenched, the substitute makeup artist—young, pretty, all glossy lips and practiced smiles—running a beauty blender across Seungcheol’s collarbone, lingering far longer than necessary. One manicured hand braced on his shoulder as she tilted his chin, inspecting her work with an expression that bordered on reverent.
“I really didn’t ask to be called out like this, Josh. What’s so damn funny anyways? He’s not even sweaty yet,” you muttered under your breath. “What the hell is she dabbing his chest for?”
When Mingyu had mentioned that Seungcheol had been assigned a substitute makeup artist as his previous was on maternity leave, you didn’t think much of it; that’s until you had to sit through thirty minutes of some woman making heart eyes at your boyfriend as she did his makeup for their Nana Tour release press conference. Now, as you sat in the conference room that had been turned into a dressing room at the hotel they were staying at in Jarkarta for the Golden Disk Awards; you had to once again watch the woman ogle and feel up your boyfriend’s bulked up frame.
Joshua chuckled quietly. “Don’t stress. She’s not even his type.”
“But he’s sure as hell hers,” you grumbled, sinking deeper into the cushions.
“Okay, and?” Joshua’s tone gentled, but the point was unmistakable. “You’re his girlfriend. If he wanted to look anywhere else, you really think your relationship would’ve lasted as long as it has?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t need one. You both knew he was right.
You knew Seungcheol would never, but still, the ugly little voice in the back of your head whispered anyway, maybe he’d be happier with someone more…on his level.
You shoved it down.
“Did you eat?” Joshua asked, changing the subject smoothly. “He mentioned you only had something light before we came down.”
“Not yet. I’m teaching an online class later, so I’ll grab something before or after.” You forced a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “I should probably head back to the room before the real chaos starts down here anyway.”
Joshua studied you for a beat but didn’t push. He simply handed you your phone and the small bag containing Seungcheol’s street clothes from earlier. You knew you were being unreasonable. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but your thoughts had overpowered your rationality and so you left without saying goodbye to him.
Without even looking back.
It’s almost 3am when Seungcheol gets back to his room. They had gone out to eat and celebrate their wins after the award show and time seemed to fly as it always did when they gathered together.
He’d expected to find you already asleep, curled under the thick duvet like you usually were after long days.Instead, the lamp beside the sofa glowed softly. You sat cross-legged, an open book balanced on your knee, pretending to read while your eyes kept drifting toward the door.
He doesn’t interrupt you,simply pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head as he makes his way to the bathroom to change and shower. It had been an incredible night and as much as he enjoyed it,his mind had wandered numerous times throughout the night as to why you left without telling him earlier.
Once he’s showered and changed, he finishes his skincare before moving back to the bedroom. The lamp is off and you’re settled in bed scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Seungcheol doesn’t say anything, he climbs into bed and simply settles some of his body weight onto you; chest to your stomach, arms caging your sides, face nuzzling into the soft give of your lower belly.
Your phone is locked and placed on the bedside table before your fingers find his hair, combing through the damp strands in slow, soothing strokes.
“You guys killed it tonight,” you murmured after a long stretch of quiet. “Every award was deserved.”
“Thank you,baby.” He mumbles pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist where your hand had entangled with his.
“I can believe Chan pulled off that inside joke,” you laugh lightly. “I guess Pi Cheolin finally made his official debut.”
Seungcheol hums a sound of affirmation before he shifts slightly, chin resting on his hands so he could look up at you properly. “How much longer are you going to avoid the conversation you know I’m about to start?”
“Ain’t nobody avoiding you.” The blinds hadn’t been drawn yet so he can see the subtle roll of your eyes in the otherwise dark room.
“Okay, His voice stayed calm, almost lazy. “Then why’d you leave without saying a word earlier?”
“You were occupied.”
“You could’ve still said something to me, had it not been for Joshua I wouldn’t have known that you left.” He replies, shifting once more so he’s sitting in front of her with his legs stretched out as hers rest over his.
“What, was I supposed to come over and kiss you goodbye in front of everyone,Seungcheol?” She questions, arms crossed and eyes anywhere but on him.
He lets the silence sit just long enough. “Shit, anything would’ve been better than watching you behave like a jealous brat because some makeup artist touched my chest for like thirty seconds.” The way your eyes snap to him—sharp, dangerous—is enough to let him know that he has you right where he wanted you.
“Jealous?” The word came out like a hiss. “What the fuck do I have to be jealous of? Jealousy is wanting something someone else has. I already have you. Why the hell would I be jealous?”
“He smiled—slow, filthy—entirely too pleased with himself. “Hmmm. Maybe not jealousy then. Possessiveness.”
Your eyes shift from his and he just knows he’s right on target.
Call him a little shit but it was exactly what he’d hoped to accomplish when he started cracking jokes with his makeup artist. Seungcheol can count on one hand the number of times you had let your possessiveness show and to be completely honest, he lived for these rare glimpses; the way your composure cracked, the way that cool, collected mask slipped just enough to show how deeply you wanted to claim him. How territorial you could get when pushed.
He’d spent half the makeup session deliberately leaning into the artist’s jokes, laughing a little louder, letting her touch linger—only because he knew you were watching. Only because he wanted to see that exact look on your face.
And god, had it worked.
It might seem toxic as fuck but he likes knowing the way he affects you. Likes knowing that you’re just as into him as he is to you. It’s not often that you let that side out but when you do, boy oh boy do you give him a run for his money.
“Deus, you’re such a little shit.” He can’t help the shit eating grin that’s plastered on his face when you realize that you had played right into your boyfriend’s trap.
“What? You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice you mean mugging the fuck out of the makeup artist? You’re good at controlling what comes out of your mouth baby but, your face…those eyes…they display your every emotion princess.”
Once again you’re being read for filth and you don’t quite like it. Before any other words can spill from your boyfriend’s lips you’re pouncing on him and knocking him onto his back. Thick thighs caging him under you with your hands on his chest.
“You like this don’t you? Like when I get possessive. When I turn into a territorial bitch because some women forget where the fucking line is? Like when I act out so you can fuck the attitude out of me?” You spit out, eyes locked on his as you dance the fingers of one hand up his chest.
His cock twitched hard beneath the sweatpants. He didn’t even try to hide it.
He loves it actually, loves that little bit of a mean streak you have. Loves that to everyone else you’d seem like a cold/mean person when in reality you were so damn soft, it just took the right people to get to see that side of you.
He laughs, low, dangerous. “Keep talking and see what happens.”
“What would Carats say if they knew that their cherry, their precious alpha leader gets rock hard at the thought of his girlfriend acting like a possessive brat, hmm? That big, scary S.Coups is actually just a fucking simp?”
God, he forgets that you play this game just as well as he does. He’s so hard in his pants right now but he lets you continue to think that you have the upper hand.
“Watch that mouth princess,” he warnes, voice gravel-rough but his hands were already sliding up your thighs, possessive in return. “also, let’s not pretend like this doesn’t affect you just as much as it does me. Sometimes you forget just how easily I can read you, you think I don’t know where your thoughts took you earlier? Think I don’t know why you left without so much as texting me?”
“You love it when I get like this. Love that I only get like this for you, knowing that I’ll give you this cock you love so much until you’re an incoherent mess on top of me and under me. Until you understand that I love you, that you’re my person and I’ll spend every fucking minute reminding you of all the reasons why I love you until they’re engraved in that pretty little head of yours. Now, the methods by which it shall be done all depends on—”
Your lips are on his before he can finish his sentence, both hands cupping his cheeks as his settle on the curve of your ass. There’s a slight smirk playing on his lips before you bite down lightly at his bottom lip. In one smooth motion he sat up, flipped you, and pinned you beneath him. Broad shoulders blocked out the faint city light. His weight pressed you deliciously into the mattress.
“Baby, your kne—mhmmm,”you start but he silences you with another deep, filthy kiss.
“You’ve had your fun,love.” He murmurs against your mouth. “Now you’re going to lay back and take whatever I give you.”
“Don’t act like you don’t love being under me.” You shoot back, smirking even as your breath hitches. “You’ve been enjoying the pillow prince treatment for months.” You tease. Seungcheol never thought that his sex drive was high but from the moment you let him have a taste of you, he was a goner.
Seungcheol absolutely hates when you both have to be separated for work and school but god does it result in some of the best sex ever. You hadn’t been able to attend his last medical checkup so you had no idea that he’d been cleared for strenuous movements albeit he still had to be careful. He planned to use this information to his advantage. It’s been months since he’s been able to have his way with you and he’s not complaining because he loved that you always take care of him in every sense but sometimes he just wishes you’d let him take care of you instead.
He doesn’t answer with words.
He kisses down your throat, your collarbone, your sternum—slow, deliberate—until he’s settled between your spread thighs, shoulders forcing you open wider.
“Three months,” he said, voice reverent, “and you haven’t sat on my face once. She’s been starving you, hasn’t she?” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of each thigh. “I’m sure you missed me as much as I missed you.”
You snort despite the heat pooling low in your belly. “Why’re you talking to my pussy like it’s gonna respond?”
“She’s not?” Seungcheol retorts with that stupidly hot raise of his eyebrow as he easily slips two thick fingers slid inside you—easy, slick, no resistance at all. The wet sound echoed obscenely in the quiet room and Seungcheol’s smirk was devastating. “Thought so.”
He curled his fingers and your back arched off the bed.
“Still think you’re not jealous, princess?” he murmured, lowering his mouth. “Let’s see how long that attitude lasts.”
And then his tongue was on you and every coherent thought you’d ever had promptly left the building.
Seungcheol didn’t tease for long.
He never did when he was this wound up—and especially not when he could feel how badly you needed to be reminded.
His mouth sealed over your clit without warning—hot, wet suction that dragged a broken sound from your throat. Those two thick fingers plunged deep, curling relentlessly against that spot that made your hips jerk like you’d been shocked. His tongue moved in slow, punishing circles, then flicked fast and merciless, alternating until your thighs shook violently around his head.
“Fuck—Cheol—” Your voice splintered on his name. Fingers twisted hard in his damp hair, pulling, claiming.
He groaned against you, the low vibration ripping straight through your core. He was loud on purpose—letting the wet, filthy sounds of his mouth and fingers fill the room, making sure you heard exactly how drenched you were, how desperately your body answered him.
You tried to snap your thighs shut when the pressure climbed too fast. He didn’t allow it. Big hands clamped down on the backs of your thighs, forcing you wider, pinning you open like an offering.
“None of that,” he growled, voice rough and muffled against your cunt. “You think I’m letting anyone else taste this? No one else gets my mouth. No one else gets to feel how fucking soaked you get when you’re claiming what’s yours. Spread wider, baby,let me remind you I belong between these thighs and nowhere else.”
Another hard suck pulled your back off the mattress. “No one else. Just me. And I’m only ever this hungry for you.” He added a third finger—stretching you fuller, the delicious burn making you whine—and fucked them deeper, faster, tongue never letting up on your swollen clit.
“Look at this greedy little pussy dripping for me,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to watch his fingers slide in and out, coated and glistening. He spread them on the withdraw, letting you hear the obscene squelch. “All because some girl dared touch what’s yours? You’re fucking flooded thinking about how no one else will ever have me like this—hard for you, leaking for you, dying to fill only you.”
You couldn’t speak. Only desperate, broken whines as your hips rolled, grinding shamelessly against his face.
He laughed dark and low. “That’s it. Ride my tongue like you own every inch of me. Because you do. No one else gets to see me like this; chin shiny with you,begging with my eyes because I’m so fucking addicted to being yours. Mark me up with that pretty cunt. Show me no one else will ever come close.”
You did. Hips bucking hard, smearing yourself across his lips, nose, chin until he was drenched in you. He groaned like he was the one coming undone, hands gripping your ass to yank you down harder, smothering himself until breathing was secondary to tasting you.
The coil snapped and you came with a shattered cry, thighs clamping his head, back arching so violently you saw stars. He didn’t stop; kept licking, sucking, fingering you through it until you were shaking, oversensitive, shoving weakly at his shoulders.
“Too much, Cheol…fuck—”
He finally pulled away, lips and chin glistening, eyes black with raw need. He crawled up slow, predatory, until his weight pinned you beneath him. When he kissed you, you tasted yourself everywhere—deep, filthy, possessive. His cock throbbed against your thigh, leaking through the sweatpants, aching.
Turn over,” he growled against your mouth. “Hands and knees. Let me fuck you like the only thing you’ll ever need.”
You flipped fast, ass up, back arched—offering yourself like a claim. He shoved his sweatpants down and sank in with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
You gasped, nails shredding the sheets. Thick, hot, stretching you wide, that curve dragging against every spot that made you see white.
“Fuck, still so tight for me,” he groaned, fingers bruising your hips. “Even after you came all over my face. This greedy cunt knows it’s the only one that gets my cock. The only one that gets to milk me dry.”
He didn’t wait. Pulled out slow, then slammed back in—hard, deep, punishing. Skin slapped skin in a filthy rhythm. Each thrust stole your breath, rocked your whole body.
“You think anyone else could ever take you like this?” His voice was low, dangerous. One hand fisted your hair, yanking your head back to arch you prettier. “Think anyone else could make you sob on their dick? Make you drip like this? No one else gets to hear these sounds. No one else gets to feel you clamp down like you’re trying to keep me inside forever.”
“No—” you gasped, voice wrecked. “Only you…only you, fuck—”
“That’s right.” Brutal snaps of his hips. “This pussy is mine to ruin. You’re mine to fill. No one else gets my cum. No one else gets to see me lose it like this. Say it, tell me who owns every fucking inch of me.”
“Me,” you choked. “I own you, only me…Cheol,baby please—”
He released your hair, banded an arm around your chest instead, hauling your back to his front. The angle drove him impossibly deeper. His other hand dove between your legs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, merciless circles.
“Come again,” he growled into your ear. “Come all over the cock that belongs to you. Squeeze me so tight I can’t think about anyone else, because there is no one else. There’s only ever been you. Only ever will be you. Let the whole goddamn hotel hear who I belong to.”
The words, the filthy promises, the relentless pressure—it broke you open.You came harder than before, walls clamping like a vice, fluttering, pulling him deeper. A sob tore from your throat as pleasure bled into too much.
He fucked you through it; growling low, reverent praises against your neck, teeth grazing your shoulder until his rhythm stuttered. One last punishing thrust and he buried himself deep, coming with a guttural moan. Hot, thick pulses flooded you, spilling so much it leaked around him.
He stayed buried, chest heaving against your back, cock still twitching. Slow kisses trailed your shoulder, neck, ear.
“Mine,” he whispered, softer, almost broken with it. One hand slid down, cupping where you were joined, palm pressing possessively. “This cunt is the only one that gets my cum. The only one that gets me hard just by looking at me. No one else will ever have any part of me. I’m yours; body, cock, everything. Say you know it.”
“I know,” you breathed, turning to catch his lips. “You’re mine. Only mine.”
He smiled against your mouth—smug, wrecked, devoted.
“Good girl.”
He eased out slowly, both hissing. Guided you down, pulled you into his chest. Thick arm around your waist, fingers tracing the bruises he’d left like badges.
“Still jealous?” he teased, nose in your hair.
You huffed. “Shut up.”
He chuckled, kissed your temple. “Love you.”
“Love you too, you possessive fuck.”
But then you felt the subtle shift, the way he favored his good leg when he moved.
You sat up, eyes narrowing. “Your knee.”
“It’s fine—”
“Bullshit.”
You pushed his chest until he rolled onto his back with a dramatic groan. “You’re still healing, dumbass. Doctor said no prolonged strain.”
He paused, breath ragged, searching your face. Then that slow, devastating smile spread. “Worried about me now?” he teased, but he let you push him.
You shoved him onto his back, careful of the brace he still wore at night sometimes, careful of the way he hissed softly when his leg shifted wrong. Once he was flat, you straddled him, thighs bracketing his hips, palms planted on his chest.
“My turn,” you said, voice low and dangerous.
His cock lay against his stomach; heavy, thick, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking again. You didn’t tease. You lined him up and sank down in one slow, deliberate slide, taking every inch until your hips met his.
Both of you groaned—long, broken sounds.
“Fuck,” he hissed, head tipping back, hands flying to your thighs. “So tight, still so fucking tight even after coming twice.”
You didn’t give him time to adjust either. You rolled your hips once, twice, then started riding him in earnest. Hard. Deep. Claiming.
Every downward stroke dragged his cock against that spot inside you that made your vision blur. His hands gripped your ass, helping you move, but he didn’t take control. He let you have it, let you use him.
“Look at you. Hard again already.” you hissed, leaning down until your lips brushed his ear. “Leaking inside me like you can’t help it. Because you can’t. This cock only gets hard for me. Only comes for me. No one else will ever get to feel you throb like this.”
“No one,” he growled immediately, voice wrecked. “Only you. Always you.”
You clenched around him on purpose. His hips jerked up involuntarily, sharp, helpless.
“Say it again.”
“Only you,” he repeated, eyes locked on yours, dark and reverent. “No one else gets my cock. No one else gets my cum. No one else gets me. I’m yours, every fucking inch, every drop. Yours.”
You rode him harder—faster—chasing that edge again. His hands slid up to your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples, then higher to cup your face.
“Look at me,” he demanded softly. “Watch me fall apart for you. Only for you.”
You did. You couldn’t look away. The way his jaw clenched, the way his abs flexed under you, the way his eyes never left yours, it was all for you.
The pressure built again, white-hot and overwhelming.
“Come with me,” you gasped. “Fill me up. Remind me no one else will ever have you like this.”
His control snapped as he thrust up to meet you—deep, desperate—growling your name like a prayer. His fingers found your clit, rubbing fast, rough circles.
You shattered first; walls clamping down like a fist, fluttering, milking him. A sob tore from your throat as you come harder than before, nails digging into his chest.
He followed instantly, burying himself as deep as possible, cock pulsing, spilling hot and thick inside you. Pulse after pulse, marking you, claiming you right back. His groan was low, guttural, almost pained with how good it felt.
He didn’t let you go. Even after, he kept you seated on him, cock still twitching inside, softening slowly. His arms wrapped around your back, pulling you down until your chest pressed to his. One hand stroked your spine; the other cupped the back of your head.
“Mine,” he whispered against your temple. But then—quieter, almost tender—“And I’m yours. Only yours. No one else. Never anyone else.”
You turned your face into his neck, breathing him in.
“Promise?”
“Swear it,” he murmured. “On everything.”
You stayed like that for long minutes—sweaty, spent, tangled—until you finally lifted just enough to kiss him slow and lazy.
“Love you,” you breathed.
He smiled against your lips—small, soft, completely unguarded.
“Love you more, possessive brat.”
You huffed a laugh, nuzzling closer.
“Damn right.”
He squeezed you tighter, careful not to jostle his knee, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Now stay right here,” he said quietly. “Let me feel you keep me inside you a little longer. Let me feel how much you wanted to keep me all to yourself.”
You clenched around him on purpose, ust to hear him groan.
He laughed under his breath, warm and wrecked.
“Fucking menace.”
“Your menace.”
“Always.”
When you finally lifted off, his cock slapped wetly against his abs, glistening with both of you. You slid down, settled between his legs, wrapped your hand around him.
“Wait—baby,I’m tapped out,” he half-laughed, half-groaned. “You already took everything tonight.”
You looked up through your lashes, lips brushing the tip. “I don’t care. I want to taste what you do to me. What only I can pull out of you. Every drop that’s left is mine.”
His protest died when your mouth closed around him.
You took him slow; savoring the mix of him and you, salty-sweet, the way he throbbed heavy on your tongue. Hollowed your cheeks, swirled slow around the head, then sank deep until he hit your throat.
“Fuck—fuck—” His hand tangled in your hair, not pushing, just holding on. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
You hummed around him, vibration making his hips jerk. Worked him with mouth and hand—slow, wet, possessive—until his thighs tensed, breath ragged.
“Baby, seriously, I’ve got nothing left—”
You pulled off just enough to murmur, “Then give me the nothing that’s left. It’s still mine. Every last bit of you is mine.”
You took him deep again, sucking hard, tongue relentless.
He came with a broken groan; smaller pulses this time, you swallowed slow,deliberate, eyes never leaving his as you licked your lips clean. His cock gave one last weak twitch against your tongue before you released him with a soft pop.
Seungcheol looked utterly ruined; chest rising and falling hard, sweat beading along his collarbones, eyes glassy and dark like he’d been hollowed out and filled back up with nothing but you.
You crawled up his body, straddling his waist again just to feel the heat of him under you. Leaned down until your lips brushed his ear.
“See?” you whispered, voice low and viciously sweet. “Even when you think you’re empty, there’s still something left for me. Because everything you have—every drop, every throb, every fucking breath when you come—is mine. No one else will ever get even the ghost of this. No one else will ever taste how you fall apart only for me.”
He groaned, hands sliding up your thighs to grip hard. “Jesus, baby…you’re gonna kill me with that mouth.”
“Good.” You nipped his earlobe. “Because if anyone ever tries to take even a piece of what’s mine, I’ll remind them—and you—exactly who owns this cock. Who owns these hands. Who owns every stupid, pretty sound you make when you’re inside me.”
He flipped you suddenly—careful of the knee this time—pinning you beneath him with his weight. His voice came out rough, wrecked, but so fucking earnest it made your chest ache.
“Only you,” he said, forehead pressed to yours. “No one else has ever had me like this. No one else will. This dick? Yours. This cum? Yours. My fucking heart when it’s pounding out of my chest? Still yours. I don’t look at anyone else. I don’t want anyone else. There’s only ever been room for you—only you—inside every part of me.”
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing the sharp line of his jaw. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” he repeated, slower, like a vow. “Forever. No take-backs. No one else gets to touch what you claimed. No one else gets to hear me beg, or feel me shake, or taste me like this. Just you. Always just you.”
You kissed him deep—slow this time, less frantic, more like sealing something permanent.
“Mine,” you breathed against his lips. “My leader. My simp. My everything.”
He huffed a soft laugh, burying his face in your neck. “Damn right, my possessive little demon.”
You both stayed tangled like that until sleep finally dragged you under; his bad leg carefully stretched out, your thigh slung over his hip like you were still staking your claim even in dreams.
Sunlight slipped through the half-closed blinds, painting thin gold stripes across the sheets. You woke first; face smushed against his chest, one of his arms slung heavy over your waist, the other tucked under your head like a pillow. His breathing was slow, deep, still mostly asleep.
You shifted just enough to press your lips to the center of his chest, right over his heart.
“Still mine?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
He hummed low, not even opening his eyes. Arm tightened. “Always yours.”
“No one else gets to wake up like this with you.”
“Never.” His voice was gravel-rough. “No one else even knows what you sound like when you’re half-awake and possessive. That’s mine to keep.”
You smiled against his skin, nosing along his collarbone. “This heart only beats like this for me.”
“Mmm. Only for you.” He cracked one eye open, sleepy and soft. “This body? Only gets hard for you. Only comes for you. Only wants to be marked up by you.”
You dragged your nails lightly down his side, gentle, claiming. “Good. Because if I ever catch even a hint of someone else thinking they can have you…”
He caught your hand, brought it to his lips. Kissed each fingertip slow. “They’d be wrong. Dead wrong. I don’t belong to anyone else. Never have. Never will.”
You tucked your face back into his neck, breathing him in. “Mine.”
“Yours,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Forever, baby.”
You both drifted again, lazy, warm, wrapped in each other like nothing else existed.
Later that morning when you’re both finally vertical; him in low-slung sweats and nothing else, you in one of his oversized tour hoodies that drowned you. Coffee was brewing. The hotel suite smelled like sex and espresso.
He stretched, winced slightly when his knee protested, then leaned against the counter watching you pour.
You slid his mug over, smirking. “How’s the tank this morning, big guy? Still running on fumes after I milked you dry?”
He snorted, taking a sip. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”
“Nope.” You hopped up to sit on the counter beside him, legs swinging. “I mean…you whined about having nothing left. And then—” You leaned in, voice dropping to a mocking whisper. “—gave me the saddest little load anyway. So cute. My big scary leader, tapped out and still trying so hard for me.”
His ears went pink. He set his mug down, caged you in with both arms on either side of your hips. “Keep talking like that and I’ll prove the tank’s not empty.”
You laughed, tipping your head back. “Oh please. You’re limping. Your knee’s screaming and your dick probably needs a vacation. Admit it, you’re empty, Cheol. I wrung you dry. Poor baby.”
He growled low, nosed along your throat. “You think I can’t get it up again right now? Just to shut that bratty mouth?”
You hooked your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I think you’d try and then cry when I make you come dry. Again.”
He groaned—half tortured, half turned on. “You’re evil.”
“And you love it.” You tugged his hair lightly.“Because even empty, even sore, even limping, you’re still mine. Still hard just hearing me talk shit. Still leaking in your sweats because no one else could ever do this to you.”
He buried his face in your neck, laughing softly despite himself. “Fuck, yeah. Still yours. Always yours. Even when the tank’s on E.”
You kissed the top of his head. “Good boy.”
He squeezed your hips. “Brat.”
“Your brat.”
“Damn right.”
You both stayed like that—coffee cooling, morning stretching lazy and golden—trading soft insults and softer kisses until it was time to face the day.
And even then, his hand never left yours.
Like he was scared to let go.
Like he never would.
