Warning: slice of life, with detailed mature content 🔞 (cursing, sex and etc.) So if your underage, pls scroll away. If you get trigged with detailed smut stories, well... read at your own risk.
Words: 800ish
Disclaimer:
- this story is just made up, none of this are real. The Characters are just inspired from the artist mentioned. While they share names in this fanfic, the actions, personality, stories and experiences in this story are all fictional.
- English is not my first language, please be nice 😊
- not proof read sorry hehe
- lmk if any warnings are missed. TY
A/N: been a while since i try to write hehe. So this is just something short and random
******
It all started during his solo album preparation. When was so busy, focused and serious in producing and writing all of his songs with the help of your brother.
You first notice the change when he then begun making sure you were included in their conversations even though you were just there in the studio to kill time and watch. He also kept sitting right next to you whenever its dinner time. Casual and yet comfortable coz he is sweetest person ever.
Your shoulders would rub effortlessly during the chatting and his arm would casually fall behind you like it was ment to touch you the lower part of your back whenever he leans his bavk to relax. He was aching to touch you early on; But he didn't yet.
It took a few more nights of getting to know each other a bit better, testing the waters, before it went to his thumb softly caressing the exposed skin of your back or you leaning into his arms when you are laughing outloud with the guys' jokes.
Everything were so subtle. Not until that one night in the studio. When your brother was away out of town for work for a few days and the other two producers left early to call it a day, leaving you and Mingi all alone. It was a big step to whatever is going on between you two.
It was your first time having sex in a studio. In a public place where people might show up randomly without notice and having the door not locked. It was also your first time having the man fucking you, who's cock is stomach deep in you, was recording your moan and whines to add it to his song.
That terrified you and embarassed you a bit, hearing yourself. But Mingi made sure to make you feel empowered, beautiful and sexy with all the sounds you make. And so since then, you don't get shy now whenever orgasm hits you and moaning loudly is how you expressed it
---
[Two months into the relationship]
"Should we call it a day too?" You ask quietly, a few minutes after the other producers just left to go home.
"Do you want to go already?" He ask, still looking at his monitor.
You lock your ipad and put it away in your tote bag. "Not really...but you haven't touched me at all today... so... I assume... you don't want me here."
He quickly turns his chair around, "I always want you. I crave you day and night, everyday."
"Then why didn't you touched me earlier when we were sitting together." You sulk "I even wore this top for you..." you push your long hair away to give him the full view of your white halter crop top. "Since we have not seen each other for more than a week... I made sure you have a great view of my cleavage."
"Fuck... I know baby." The way he says his endearment to you gives you butterflies already. "I was looking... pervertedly... I swear but its just..." He then opens his legs apart and lightly taps his right thigh, inviting you in "Come here."
You got up from the sofa quickly and spread your legs, to straddle on top of his thigh.
"I held it in. Did my best...not to touch you... because I don't think, rubbing your back while the guys are here would be enough for me..."
You lean on him, wrapping arms around his neck and sweetly left a kiss on the tip of his nose. "But we're alone now... so... does that mean...we can now play around?" You smile cheekily, then started to make slow rythm on his thigh.
The friction is driving you insane already as its been a minute since you two have had sex. You miss him. You are aching for him to split you in half.
"Fuck." Mingi cursed under his breathe, watching you make a mess of his gray sweatpants. "You're so wet already."
"Always wet." You breathe, "for you..."
You throw your head back, feeling the wetness pools down there. It feels like you can come by just fucking his thigh. It's so firm and big. It's rubbing your core the way your body likes it.
"Slow down baby...no need to rush..." he then licks his index and middle finger before sliding it in your pants.
"Nngghh... shit." You hiss when he puts two digits in.
"You sound so heavenly, baby..." he whispers to your ear. "If only I can make a full album now... just with your sounds..."
"Ah!" You hug him tighter. "Please... p-please... Mingi..." you cry
"Please what, baby?" He curves his finger just enough to hit the spot. "C'mon... use your words..."
He devours your mouth, not allowing you to speak up. He inhales your whines. He sucks your lower lip making it plump and more pink.
"Fuck!" You gaps as you felt your stomach tightens.
A smirks spreads on his lips. "I love it how sensitive my baby is. You come undone by just having contact with my thighs and fingers." He chuckles. "So fucking cute."
You are catching your breathe after you just came. "You are my weakness... what can I do?"
You look at him with the most endearing doe eyes. "Ditto." He says before kissing you again while cupping your face. "My place or yours?"
You kiss the tip of his nose again. "Mine. Its your day off tomorrow... and I want to spend my whole day with you... without disturbing any of your members."
Synopsis: Choi San never chased people. He never had to.
Cold, powerful, and feared by everyone around him, San built his world on control. So when a desperate man fails to repay his debt, San takes the only thing left of value: his daughter.
Y/n’s life changes the moment San walks through her front door. Torn from everything she knows and trapped inside his world, she’s forced into a marriage meant to secure her family’s safety.
But what begins as business quickly becomes something far more dangerous because the moment San saw her photograph, he already knew: nobody else was ever going to have her.
The city stretched beneath my window, restless and loud, but up here everything stayed quiet. Contained. Predictable. I like it that way.
Control wasn't something I worked for anymore, it was something I had.
The file on my desk sat open, untouched for the last five minutes.
Joo-woon.
Late payments. Broken terms. No collateral worth taking.
A waste of time.
My jaw shifted slightly as I closed the folder.
People like him always thought they were different. That they'd find a way out before it caught up to them.
They never did.
My phone rang, I glanced at it, it's Wooyoung.
I answered and he said " Joo-woon is at home. "
Of course he was. Running only lasted so long.
" Who's with him? " I asked.
" Wife. House is quiet. "
Quiet.
I stood, reaching for my coat without another word. The call ended the moment I pulled the phone away from my ear.
No instructions needed, they knew what came next.
**
The drive was uneventful, it usually was.
There's nothing dramatic about collecting what's already yours.
The house looked like it was holding itself together out of habit more than anything else. Lights on. Curtains drawn just enough to pretend privacy still mattered.
It didn't.
I stepped out of the car, my shoes hitting the pavement with a soft, deliberate sound.
No rush, no hesitation.
Fear moved faster than I ever needed to.
The door opened before I knocked.
Joo-won stood there, already defeated. That made easier.
" Mr. Choi- "
I walked past him. No acknowledgement. No interest.
" You know why I'm here. " I said, my voice filling the space without effort.
" I can pay you. " He said quickly, almost tripping over the words " I just need more time- "
" You already used your time. "
I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to.
His face tightened and said " I'm close. I swear, just a little longer- "
" No. "
The word landed flat.
Unmoving.
There was no space for argument in it.
His shoulders dropped slightly, like something inside him finally given out.
That was usually when people started begging.
He didn't get that far.
Movement from the hallway caught my attention.
A woman walked into view, stopping the second she saw me. Her hand gripped the wall beside her, her expression tightened with recognition.
Fear came easy to people like her.
" Joo-won.. " She said quietly.
" Go upstairs. " He snapped.
She didn't move.
My gaze shifted away from them. Something else had already taken my attention.
A photograph.
Simple. Framed. Placed where it would be seen often.
Important.
I walked toward it without asking, picking it up.
The room fell into a deeper silence behind me.
A family.
Joo- won. His wife.
My focus stilled when I saw.. Her.
For a moment, I didn't move, didn't speak.
My thumb brushed the edge of the frame.
" .. Who's this? " I asked, my voice quiter now.
" M-My daughter. " Joo-won said, tension threading through every word " Y/n. "
Y/n.
The name sat easily, too easily.
" Where is she? "
The question came out colder, more deliberate.
His wife answered this time " She's out. "
I looked up and said " Out? "
" With friends. "
Friends.
The word felt misplaced.
Like it didn't belong anywhere near this house anymore.
My jaw tightened slightly.
I looked back at the photo, taking one last second to memorize her face.
Then I set it down. Not rough, not careful.
Just enough.
" She should be here. " I said.
Silence followed.
They understood.
Good.
I turned back to Joo-won, walked closer until there was nowhere left for him to go and I said " You don't have the money. "
He didn't argue. Didn't try to lie again.
Smart.
" And you don't have anything else I want. " I said.
His breathing faltered. I let the silence stretch and said " I'll come back. * Pause * When she's home. "
The shift was immediate. His wife's breath caught sharply. Joo-won went completely still.
I turned toward the door because the conversation was over. The outcome decided but as I stepped outside, the cold air settled against my skin the second I stepped outside.
Sharp. Clean. It should've cleared my head, it didn't.
I paused at the bottom of the steps, my gaze lifting briefly toward the dim glow of the windows. The house looked the same as it had minutes ago - fragile, pretending nothing had already shifted inside it but I knew better.
Things like this didn't go back to normal. They unraveled, slowly at first, then all at once.
I adjusted the sleeve of my coat, expression unreadable, before turning slightly toward the car. My men were already waiting, watching, reading the situation without needing it explained.
They knew the visit hasn't ended the way it usually did.
No raised voices.
No broken furniture.
No immediate collection.
That alone was enough to unsettle them.
I opened the car door but didn't get in. Not yet.
My gaze drifted back to the house. She wasn't there, that was the problem.
My jaw shifted once, subtle but controlled.
Timing, always timing.
I didn't like variables I couldn't account for and right now, she was one.
A quiet breath left me before I straightened again, turning my attention to the side and said " Seonghwa. "
He stepped forward immediately and said " Yes? "
" Stay. "
His brows pulled together slightly, not confusion, but calculation and said " Here? "
I held his gaze for a second and said " Until she gets home. "
Silence followed. No hesitation. Understanding.
It settled quickly in his expression, even if he didn't question it out loud and said " Understood. "
I gave a small nod, like the decision didn't carry any weight beyond logistics because to anyone watching.. it didn't.
This was business. Unfinished business. Nothing more.
" Don't engage. " I added, voice even " I want to know when she arrives. "
" Yes. "
He stepped back into position without another word, already shifting into place like part of the environment itself.
Invisible. Observing. Useful.
I finally slid into the car, the door closing behind me with a quiet click. The engine started, the car moved but my gaze stayed on the house for just a second longer before it disappeared from view.
The city blurred past in streaks of light and shadow, familiar and distant at the same time.
I leaned back into the seat, one hand resting loosely against my thigh, the other adjusting the cuff of my sleeve out of habit.
Routine, everything was routine except -
My thoughts circles back again.
Uninvited, unnecessary.
Her.
The image from the photograph hadn't faded. If anything, it had sharpened.
The way she stood between them. Unaffected. Like she existed outside of everything that had already begun to collapse around her.
My fingers tapped once against my leg before going still again.
I didn't dwell, didn't fixate.
People were numbers. Assets. Leverage. Nothing more.
That's how it worked, that's how it stayed simple but this.. this didn't feel simple.
Not because of her, because of what she represented.
Something untouched, something that didn't belong in the same world as the one I operated in and yet, it would soon enough.
I exhaled slowly, shifting my posture slightly as my gaze moved to the passing city outside the window.
" She should be here. "
The words replayed in my head, quiter now, more deliberate.
Not frustration, not quite.
Expectation.
I didn't like returning twice for the same thing.
I didn't like unfinished situations and now, this was one.
My hand slid into my pocket, pulling out my phone, Wooyoung picked up, before he could say anything and I said " Get me everything on Joo-won's daughter. "
Wooyoung didn't ask questions, he never did and said " Name? "
" Y/n. "
A short pause and he said " School? Work? Friends? "
" All of it. "
Another pause, longer this time, but not by much and he said " I'll have something by morning. "
" Tonight. " I corrected.
Silence, then he said " Understood. "
The call ended, I lowered the phone slowly, my gaze settling forward again.
This wasn't personal.
It wasn't interest.
It wasnt anything beyond preparation but the truth, that part that sat just beneath that clean, controlled reasoning, was simpler.
I wanted to know who she was before I saw her in front of me.
Before the moment her life shifted.
Before she realized exactly what she'd just been pulled into.
My jaw tightened slightly because when that happened, there would be no going back.
Back at the mansion, Seonghwa would still be there.
Waiting, watching, and eventually she would walk through that door.
Unaware, unprepared, and the moment she did.. everything would change.
**
~ Y/n's POV ~
" Thanks for driving me home. "
" Of course. "
I leaned down to hug her through the open car window and said " Drive safely. Text me when you get home. "
She hugged me back and said " Will do. "
We pulled away from the hug, I stepped back as her car pulled away, the headlights sweeping across the front of my house before disappearing down the street.
Everything felt normal. Comfortable.
The kind of night that didn't hint at anything waiting for you.
I turned, walking up the driveway, fishing my keys out of my bag. The porch light was already on, casting a warm glow across the door.
Home.
I pushed it open and said " Mom? Dad? I'm back- "
" You're home. "
I blinked, pausing mid step. They were both in the living room, sitting on the couch. Waiting.
That alone felt.. off.
My Mom looked like she'd been crying, her eyes slightly red, hands clasped lightly together in her lap.
My Dad sat beside her, shoulders tense, his posture too rigid to be relaxed.
" .. Yeah. " I said slowly, closing the door behind me " Everything okay? "
Neither of them answered right away, they just looked at me, like they didn't know where to start.
That made it worse.
I walked closer, dropping my bag onto the chair by the door and said " What's going on? "
My Dad exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face and said " We need to talk. "
My stomach dropped.
That sentence never meant anything good.
" Okay.. " I said cautiously, sitting down across from them " About what? "
Another glance passed between them.
Quick. Silent.
My Mom's fingers tightened together and said " It's just- things have been a little difficult lately. "
" Difficult how? " I asked, my voice tightening slightly.
My Dad opened his mouth, then a sound cut through the room. A car pulling up fast, too fast.
The engine didn't just idle - it stopped hard, like whoever was driving didn't care how it sounded.
My Dad froze completely. I noticed immediately and said " .. What's going on? "
He didn't answer, didn't move. The tension in the room snapped tight, then BANG the front door banged so hard it echoed through the house.
I flinched, my heart jumping into my throat as I shot to my feet instinctively. Heavy footsteps followed, more than one.
My Dad stood quickly, moving toward the door like he had no choice.
" Dad- " I started, panic creeping into my voice.
He didn't look back, he reached the door, opened it, stepped aside and that's when I saw.. HIM
He didn't hesitate, didn't wait.
He walked in like the house already belonged to him, his presence filling the space instantly. Three men followed behind him, silent, looming - closing off the doorway like an exit had just been erased.
The air shifted. Cold. Heavy.
My breath caught as my eyes locked onto him. He didn't look around, didn't take in the room, his gaze went straight.. to me and stayed there.
Slow. Deliberate. Like he'd already been looking for me.
A chill ran down my spine.
" .. Who are you? " I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
No one answered.
Not my parents, not the men behind him.
The man took a step forward. Just one, but it was enough to make the room feel smaller. Tighter. Controlled.
" You're Y/n. " He said.
Not a question. A fact.
My stomach twisted and I said " .. Yeah. "
His gaze didn't waver, didn't soften. If anything, it sharpened.
Like he was confirming something. Something he already knew.
Behind me, I heard my Mom shift, her breath uneven and she whispered, barely audible " Please.. "
The man didn't look at her, didn't acknowlege anyone else in the room.
His attention stayed on me and somehow, that felt worse than if he'd been shouting.
" Good. " He said quietly.
The word sent something cold straight through me because of how calm he sounded, because of how certain.
I swallowed, my pulse racing now and said " What is going on? "
Silence, then he moved closer. Slow. Unrushed.
Like there was no one in the world who could stop him and he said " You're going to help me solve a problem. "
My breath hitched and I said " What- ? "
" You'll understand soon enough. "
My Dad stepped forward suddenly and said " No- she has nothing to do with this- "
The man didn't even look at him but one of the men behind him shifted instantly, stepping forward just enough to make my Dad stop where he was.
Like an invisible line had been drawn.
Don't cross.
My chest tightened, fear settling in fully now.
" This is between us. " My Dad continued, his voice shaking " Take me, I'll- "
" You don't have anything I want. " The man's voice cut through him effortlessly.
Final. Cold.
His eyes dropped back to me and said something about the way he looked at me.. wasn't just business.
It lingered a second too long, like he was already deciding something.
My stomach twisted and he said " Get your things. "
The words didn't sound like a suggestion.
I didn't move and whispered " ..What? "
His gaze hardened slightly and said " Don't make me repeat myself. "
A sharp silence filled the room. My heart was pounding now, loud enough I was sure everything could hear it.
" This isn't happening. " I said, more to myself than anyone else.
But it was, I could feel it.
In the way my parents looked.
In the way no one was stopping him.
In the way he stood there like he already owned the outcome and when I looked back at him, really looked, there was nothing uncertain in his expression.
Nothing hesitant, just control and something else.
Something I didn't understand yet and I knew one thing for sure, the moment he walked through that door, everything changed.
My hands felt cold.
I didn't remember when that happened. I just knew I couldn't feel them properly anymore.
No one moved.
Not my parents.
Not the men behind him.
Not even me.
Everything felt.. stuck.
Like the moment hadn't decided how to move forward yet.
" Y/n. " My Mom's voice broke, barely holding together " Just.. Just do what he says. "
My head snapped toward her.
" What? " I whispered, disbelief cutting through the fear for a second " Mom.. what are you- "
Her eyes filled instantly, tears spilling over before she could stop them. She shook her head slightly, like she couldn't explain it. Like she didn't even know how.
That made it worse, way worse.
I turned back to him, my chest tightening and said " You're not serious. "
He didn't answer, didn't argue, didn't need to. That silence said everything.
" I'm not going anywhere with you. " I said, forcing my words out even though my voice trembled at the edges.
A mistake. I knew it the second his expression changed.
Not dramatically. Just.. enough.
His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze sharpening as he took another step closer.
Now he was too close. Close enough that I could see the details I hadn't noticed before, the calm in his eyes, the complete lack of hesitation, the way he looked at me like this was already decided.
Like I was already his to take.
" Don't make this difficult. " He said quietly.
Something in my chest snapped.
" No. " I shot back, taking a step backward " You don't just walk into my house and tell me to leave with you. I don't even know who you are. "
His gaze didn't leave mine and said " San. "
The name landed heavier this time, not because I recognized it, but because of how he said it.
Like it should mean something, like it would.
I shook my head, backing up another step and said " I don't care. "
" You will. "
The words cut through mine. Sharp. Certain.
My breath hitched. Behind me, I could hear my Dad again, his voice cracking under the pressure " Please, she doesn't understand, just give me more time- "
San didn't even look at him and said " Time ran out. "
Flat. Final.
My stomach dropped.
" Time for what? " I demanded, my voice rising now " What is he talking about? "
Silence. Then my Dad said " .. I owe him money. "
The words hit like something physical. I stared at him and said " What? "
" I- " His voice broke " I didn't think it would get this bad- "
" How much? " I asked, my voice shaking now.
He didn't answer. That was my answer. I laughed, sharp, disbelieving and said " And you think I'm just going to go with him because of that? "
No one laughed back, no one even reacted because they all knew something I didn't.
My gaze snapped back to San and said " I'm not part of this. "
" You are now. "
The way he said it. Like it was the simplest thing in the world..
It made my chest tighten.
" No. " I said again, quiter this time, but firmer " I'm not. "
For a second, just one, something shifted in his expression. Not softness, not hesitation.
Something more dangerous, interest, then it was gone.
Replaced with that same controlled calm.
" Take her. " He said.
Everything happened too fast after that.
One of the men moved, then another.
My breath caught as panic finally hit fully, sharp and overwhelming.
" Wait.. no.. don't touch me! "
I stepped back quickly, but there was nowhere to go. One of them caught my arm, not rough but firm enough that I couldn't pull away.
" Let go of me! " I struggled, my heart racing out of control now " Dad! "
" I'm sorry. " He said, his voice breaking completely this time.
That.. That hurt more than anything else.
I twisted, trying to pull free, but it was useless.
San didn't move, didn't step in, he just watched. Like this was exactly how it was supposed to go.
" Please! " My Mom cried out suddenly " She's scared.. just- "
" I know. "
His voice cut through hers.
Calm. Controlled. Certain.
His eyes met mine again and this time, there was no mistaking it.
This wasn't just about money.
Something in the way he looked at me had changed, like he'd already decided something far beyond this moment.
My breathing came fast, uneven, panic clawing it's way up my throat as I shook my head.
" This isn't happening. " I whispered again, but it sounded weaker now.
Less certain, because it was happening.
I could feel it in the way they were already pulling me toward the door.
In the way my parents weren't stopping it.
In the way he stood there..
Untouchable, unmovable. Like nothing in this world could go against him.
My feet stumbled slightly as I was dragging forward, my heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. Except one thing, his voice.
" Careful. "
The command was quiet, but immediate.
The grip on my arm adjusted instantly, less forceful now. Not gentle but.. controlled.
Like even this, even me, was something he intended to handle a certain way.
My breath caught again as I looked back at him, my vision blurring slightly from everything hitting at once.
Fear. Confusion. Anger.
San wasn't looking away.
Not even now.
Not even as I was being pulled out of my own house.
And the worse part?
The part that made my stomach twist even tighter, was the way his gaze stayed on me like this wasn't the end of something, but the beginning.
My feet didn't feel like mine anymore. They moved, but not because I told them to.
The grip on my arm guided me down the steps, steady, controlled, like even this had been practiced before. Like I was just another part of a process that had already been decided.
I barely felt the ground beneath me. All I could hear was my heartbeat.
Loud. Fast. Wrong.
" Let go. " I said again, but it came out weaker this time, the fight in it fading without my permission.
No one answered. Of course they didn't.
I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes up, back toward the house. The door was still open. Still lit, still mine, but it didn't feel like it belonged to me anymore.
My Mom was crying.
My Dad wouldn't even look at me.
Something inside my chest twisted painfully.
That was it. That was the moment it settled.
No one was going to stop this.
Not them, not anyone, not even me.
" Please.. " I tried again, softer now, barely more than a breath " I didn't do anything. "
" You don't need to. "
His voice, right behind me.
I froze mid step. The sound of it, low, controlled, too close, sent something sharp down my spine.
I hadn't heard him come closer, but he had.
Of course he had.
Slowly, I turned my head. He was there, San.
Close enough that I could see the way his expression hadn't changed at all.
Not when I struggled.
Not when my Mom cried.
Not when my Dad broke.
Nothing touched him and somehow, that made everything worse.
" You're not being taken because of what you did. " He continued, his voice even, almost quiet " You're being taken because of what your Dad failed to do. "
My throat tightened.
The words felt heavier this time, like they were settling deeper.
" That's not fair. " I whispered.
I didn't even think about it. It just came out.
His eyes shifted slightly. Not wide, not shocked.
Just.. focused.
" Fair. " He repeated.
Like he was testing the word.
Like it didn't belonged in the same sentence as anything happening right now.
He stepped closer, just enough.
My breath hitched as instinct pulled me back, but there was nowhere to go.
" There's nothing fair about debt. " He said.
Flat. Certain. Unmovable.
And just like that, whatever weak argument I had left, disappeared.
The car door opened beside me. The sound cut through everything. A clear next step, an expectation, a command without words.
" Get in. "
I didn't move, I couldn't. My body locked up, every instinct screaming at me to run, but there was nowhere to run.
No space, no time, no chance.
I looked back at the house at the house again one last time. My chest tightened so hard it hurt.
" Mom.. " I whispered.
She covered her mouth, shaking her head, tears spilling over fast now.
My Dad still wouldn't look at me.
Something inside me broke quietly.
Not loud, not dramatic. Just.. gone.
" .. Please. " I said again, turning back to San, my voice small, fragile in a way I hated " Don't do this. "
For a second, just one, I thought maybe something would change.
Maybe he'd hesitate.
Maybe he'd look away.
Maybe-
He didn't. His gaze stayed exactly where it was.
Steady. Controlled.. Certain.
" You'll be fine. "
The words didn't comfort me.
They didn't even try to, they felt like a conclusion.
Like the decision had already been made somewhere I couldn't reach.
My fingers curled into my palms, nails pressing hard enough to sting. I forced myself to breathe, to move, because if I didn't, they would make me and somehow, that felt worse.
So I did it, I got in. The seat was cold. The air inside felt different.
Closed. Tight.
Like I'd just stepped into something I couldn't get out of.
The door shut behind me.
Loud. Final.
I flinched slightly, my heart jumping as the other side opened and then, he got in.
San sat beside me without hesitation, without pause, like this was exactly where he belonged.
Like I was.
The door closed again and just like that, there was no space left.
I shifted immediately, pressing myself toward the window, trying to create distance that didn't exist.
It didn't help. He was still there.
Too close, too present, too.. aware.
The car started moving. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence and then, nothing.
No one spoke, not the driver, not the men in the front, not San.
The quiet stretched. Thick. Suffocating.
My hands stayed in my lap, fingers tangled together, squeezing tightly just to keep them from shaking. It didn't work, I could still feel it.
The tremble. The panic sitting just under my skin, waiting for a reason to break through completely.
I stared straight ahead at first, then out of the window. Watching the street pass by in blurred streaks of light.
Familiar, but not anymore.
Everything felt.. distant.
Like I'd already been pulled out of my life.
Like I didn't belong to it anymore and then I felt it.
His attention. It hadn't moved, not once.
It stayed on me like it had from the beginning.
Heavy. Quiet. Constant.
My breath caught slightly as I turned my head, slowly, carefully, and just like I knew it would be.
He was already looking at me.
My chest tightened instantly, up close, it was worse. There was nothing to hide behind.
No distance, no distraction.
Just him.
His gaze didn't flicker, didn't soften. It held mine like it had every right to.
Like I was something he was still trying to understand or maybe he already had.
".. Where are you taking me? " I asked.
My voice came out softer than I wanted, but I couldn't fix it.
Not now, not like this.
He didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed on mine for a second longer, then he looked forward and said " To my house. "
Simple. Final.
My stomach twisted.
" .. Why? " I asked, even though I wasn't sure I wanted the answer.
This time, he didn't look away, not fully. His gaze shifted just enough to meet mine again and there it was, that look.
The one I didn't understand.
The one that felt like more than just this.
" Because, " He said slowly " you're the only thing he has left that holds value. "
The words hit differently.
Harder. Closer.
My breath caught, something twisted sharply in my chest and I said quietly " .. I'm not a thing. "
It wasn't defiant, not anymore.
Just.. true.
For a second, something flickered in his expression.
Not softness, not regret.
Something quiter. Harder to read, then it was gone.
" I know. " He said.
But it didn't change anything. Not really.
I turned away from him again, pressing myself closer to the window, my reflection faintly staring back at me in the glass. I barely recognized myself.
Everything felt wrong. Off.
Like I'd stepped into something I couldn't wake up from.
The city passed by outside.
Unfamiliar now, distant, and when I glanced back at him one last time, I wish I hadn't because he was still watching me.
Still calm, still completely in control.
Like nothing about this was uncertain.
Like he already knew how this was going to end and that, that was the part that scared me the most because I had a feeling.. I wasn't going to like it when I found out.
The car felt smaller the longer we drove. At first, I thought it was panic.
That eventually my breathing would slow down, my heartbeat would settle, my thoughts would stop spinning long enough for me to think clearly again.
It didn't happen. If anything, everything got worse because every few seconds, I became aware of him all over again.
The quiet shift of fabric when he moved slightly beside me. The faint scent of his cologne. The steady calm coming off him while my entire world felt like it was collapsing.
I hated it. I hated how unaffected he looked.
My fingers curled tighter against my sleeves as I stared out the window, trying to focus on the city lights streaking past instead of the fact that I was trapped in a car with a man who had just taken me from my own house like I belonged to him now.
The thought made my stomach twist violently.
I swallowed hard and whispered " My parents let you do this. "
The words came out before I could stop them.
The silence that followed felt heavier than before, then he said " They didn't have a choice. "
I let out a shaky laugh, turning toward to him sharply.
" Everyone keeps saying things like that. " My voice cracked slightly " But you had no choice. "
His gaze met mine instantly, steady and said " You think this was unnecessary? "
" Yes. " I snapped " Obviously. "
A muscle in his jaw shifted slightly and said " You don't understand the situation. "
" No. " I shot back " I don't, because no one's explaining anything to me. "
" You know enough. "
My chest tightened instantly.
" That my Dad owes you money? That's not enough to explain this. "
His eyes stayed on me for a long second before he finally spoke again " Your father borrowed from people he shouldn't have. "
The way he said it.. People. Plural.
Something cold slid down my spine.
" He made promises he couldn't keep. " San continued evenly " Then he ran out of time. "
I stared at him, trying to process every word through the panic clouding my head.
" And that somehow makes kidnapping me okay? "
" You're collateral. "
That answer came immediately.
Cold enough to make my chest ache and I whispered " I'm a person. "
His expression didn't change and he said " I'm aware. "
" Then stop talking about me like I'm an object! "
The words burst out louder than I meant to.
The driver stayed silent. The men in the front didn't move but beside me, San finally shifted slightly, turning more toward me fully for the first time since we left.
The moment alone made my pulse jump and he said quietly " You think I don't know the difference? "
I swallowed hard but forced myself not to look away and said " I think you don't care. "
For the first time, something changed in his expression.
Small. Brief. Not anger.
Something darker than that.
His gaze lowered slightly, dragging over my face slowly before returning to my eyes again and said " You're wrong. "
The quiet certainty in his voice unsettled me more than if he'd yelled because he believed it.
Whatever this was, whatever he'd decided, I could feel how deeply convinced he was that he was justified.
That terrified me.
I looked away first. The city outside blurred together now, unfamiliar streets replacing the ones I recognized.
My chest tightened harder and I said " How far away is it? "
" Not much longer. "
I nod my head faintly, even though I hadn't meant to.
A few seconds passed before I spoke again " .. Am I allowed to call my Mom? "
The question felt pathetic the second it left my mouth.
Too small, too hopeful.
Silence filled the car again and then he said " Later. "
My throat tightened instantly.
" Later. " I repeated quietly " That's not a yes. "
" It's not a no either. "
I closed my eyes briefly.
I hated that answer. Hated that he spoke like every word had already been weighed before he said it.
Nothing rushed. Nothing careless.
Even this. Especially this.
I leaned my head lightly against the window, exhaustion beginning to creep in underneath the panic now.
Everything had happened too fast. One minute I was hugging my friend goodbye. The next. Gone. Taken.
My life split into a before and after so quickly my brain still couldn't catch up to it.
I blinked hard against the burning in my eyes.
Don't cry. I refused. Not in front of him, but my breathing still shook slightly anyway and I knew he noticed because beside me, the silence changed again.
Softer somehow. Not comforting. Just.. aware.
" You're scared. " He said quietly.
I laughed once under my breath, disbelieving and said " What gave it away? "
His gaze stayed on me and said " You keep checking the locks. "
My stomach dropped. I immediately looked away from the door handle I haven't even realized I'd been staring at.
Heat rushed to my face despite everything.
Humiliating.
Of course he noticed, he noticed everything.
" I'm not going to jump out of a moving car. " I muttered.
" I know. "
" Then stop watching me like I might. "
A pause, then he said " I'm watching you because you're mine to protect now. "
The words hit so hard my breath caught. I turned toward him immediately and said " What? "
His expression didn't shift at all, like he hadn't just said something completely insane and he said " You heard me. "
" No. " I said sharply, panic flaring all over again " No. Absolutely not. I'm not yours. "
His gaze held mine steadily and said calmly " Right now, you are. "
The air left my lungs. Anger burned through the fear of half a second and I said " You can't just decide that! "
" I already did. "
The certainty in his voice made my chest tightened painfully. I stared at him, horrified by how calm he was, how normal he made it sound.
Like this wasn't destroying me in real time.
" You're crazy. " I whispered.
Something flickered in his eyes then.
Not offense, almost amusement, but faint. Brief.
" Maybe. "
That answer scared me more than detail would have. The car slowed suddenly, I looked forward instinctively, huge black gates stood ahead of us, tall enough to swallow the entire road.
My pulse spiked instantly.
No. No. No!
The gates began to open slowly. The sound alone made dread crawl up my spine. I stared through the windshield as lights came into view beyond them.
A massive estate.
Cold white stone.
Dark windows.
Security everywhere.
My stomach dropped so hard it hurt and I whispered " That's your house? "
" Yes. "
The car rolled forward. I looked back automatically. The gates behind us were already beginning to close.
My chest tightened sharply.
The outside world disappeared inch by inch behind heavy black steel and suddenly.. I understood something awful.
This wasn't temporary to him.
This wasn't just one night.
This was something he'd already built space for.
Beside me, San finally looked away from me for the first time since we left my house but somehow, that felt worse too because it meant he was comfortable now.
Certain.
Like bringing me here had never been a question at all.
**
Two weeks.
Fourteen days since I was brought here.
Fourteen days since the gates closed behind me.
Fourteen days since my life stopped belonging to me.
The mansion still didn't feel real.
Nothing about it did.
The hallways were too quiet. The rooms too large. The windows too tall, like they existed only to remind me how far away the outside world was. Everything here was controlled. Scheduled. Watched.
Including me.
I sat near the bedroom window with a book rested open in my lap, unread. I'd been staring at the same page for twenty minutes. The rain traced softly against the glass, the sky outside was dark already, heavy clouds swallowing the city lights below.
I liked rainy nights here. They made the mansion quieter. Smaller somehow.
I hated this room. Not because it was ugly, because it wasn't.
It was beautiful in the coldest way possible. Expensive furniture. Softlighting. Fresh flowers replaced every morning. Clothes appearing in the closet without me asking. Meals arriving exactly on time.
A cage dressed up as comfort.
I hated how easily San fit into my routines now. The sound of his footsteps no longer startled me immediately. I recognized the low murmur of his voice from rooms away. I knew the exact moment he'd entered a space without even looking because the entire atmosphere shifted around him and somehow, that terrified me more than the first night.
At first, I'd fought everything. The meals. The quiet instructions from staff who looked at me with careful sympathy they tried to hide. I refused to speak to him unless I absolutely had to.
It hadn't changed anything because San never argued. Never shouted. Never forced chaos into a room.
He simply waited and somehow, that patience was worse.
The first time I demanded to go home, he'd looked up from the papers in his office and calmly said " Home doesn't exist for you the same way anymore. "
I stopped asking after that. Not because I accepted it. Because hearing him say no so calmly started breaking something inside me.
My parents called twice. Both times were short. Painful. Awkward.
My Mom cried quietly the entire first conversation.
My Dad barely spoke at all.
The second call hurt worse because they sounded relieved I was alive. Safe. Fed. Untouched.
Like that somehow made this acceptable.
A soft knock sounded against the door. I looked up immediately, tension tightening in my shoulders out of instinct, and said " Come in. "
The door opened and one of the staff members stepped inside carefully and said " Miss Y/n? "
I straightened slightly and said " Yeah? "
" Mr. Choi asked for you downstairs. "
My stomach tightened automatically. It always did.
I glanced toward the clock. Almost mine. Late enough that he was finally home.
I hated that I noticed things like that now too.
" Okay. " I said quietly.
The woman gave a small nod before leaving again. The door shut softly behind her. I stayed still for another few seconds. Part of me wanted to ignore it. Refuse. Make him come upstairs himself but I already knew how that would end.
I slowly closed the book and stood, smoothing my hands against the fabric of the sweater I wore. One of his sweaters. The realization hits me halfway to the door and made irritation flare instantly in my chest.
I hated that too.
The hallway outside was quiet as I made my way downstairs. The soft lighting cast long shadows across the marble floors, everything elegant enough to feel unreal.
By the time I reached the bottom step, I already knew where he was.
His office door stood slightly open. Light spilling through the gap. I hesitated outside before knocking once against the wood.
" Come in. "
That voice. Low. Calm. Immediate.
I pushed the door open slowly. San sat behind his desk, dark suit still perfectly fitted despite the late hour. One hand rested against a file in front of him while the other loosely held a glass of whiskey.
His eyes lifted the second I entered. Straight to me. Something unreadable flickered through his expression before his gaze slowly moved over me once. Taking me in. The oversized sweater. Bare legs. Loose hair.
Awareness crept up my spine instantly and I hated it.
" You wanted to see me? " I asked quietly.
" Sit down. "
Not harsh. Not cold. Just certain.
I walked further inside reluctantly, lowering myself into the chair across from him. The office smelled like him. Whiskey. Smoke. Expensive cologne. Control.
Silence stretched between us for a moment. He studied me quietly while I avoided looking directly at him, I heard a drawer being opened, I looked at him, San took out a folder, and opened it.
My stomach tightened instantly.
Without a word, he pulled out a stack of papers and slid them across the desk toward me, it stopped directly in front of me.
I looked down at it. A contract. Slowly, I lifted my eyes back to him and said " What is this? "
San rested one arm against the chair, gaze steady and said " It's a contract. Read it. "
Simple. Cold. Like he was discussing business instead of my future.
My fingers hesited before I picked it up. The moment I started reading, my chest tightened harder with every line.
Marriage agreement.
Duration: Indefinite
Public appearances required.
Obedience expected.
Residence transfer mandatory.
Failure to comply will result in immediate withdrawal of financial protection.
My hands nearly froze on the page.
Financial protection.
My family. My Fathers debt.
I swallowed hard and kept reading.
In exchange for entering the marriage willingly, all outstanding debts connected to the Y/L/N family will be erased. Full protection will also be extended to immediate family members under Choi San's authority.
My pulse started pounding in my ears. It wasn't a proposal. It was ownership written in ink.
I looked up sharply and said " You're serious. "
San's expression didn't change and said " Very. "
" You want me to marry you? "
" I want your cooperation. "
The way he said it made heat crawl uncomfortably up my spine. Not soft. Not romantic. Controlled. Certain.
Like he'd already decided this was happening.
I set the papers down carefully before my hands could start shaking and I said " You can't just force someone into marriage. "
One dark eyebrow lifted slightly and said " I'm not forcing you. "
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh and said " Really? Because threatening my family's safety sounds a lot like forcing. "
His gaze hardened slightly then. Not angry. Worse. Calm.
" Your Father owes dangerous people money. People far crueler than me. "
My jaw tightened.
" I clear every debt. I protect your family permanently. No one touches them. " His eyes locked onto mine " In return, you become my wife. "
The room suddenly felt too small. I hated how composed he looked while my entire world tilted sideways. I looked back down at the contract, scanning the lines again until one section caught my attention.
My breath stalled.
Clause 7
The wife will fulfill all duties expected within the marriage, including maintaining physical intimacy at the husband's discretion.
My face burned instantly. I looked up at him again and said " What the hell does this mean? "
San's eyes flicked briefly toward the page before returning to me. Completely unfazed.
" It means exactly what you think it means. "
The heat climbed higher into my cheeks and I said " You put this in a contract? "
His gaze dragged over me slowly, deliberately, and suddenly I couldn't breathe right.
" You'd be my wife. Not decoration. "
The way he said wife made my stomach twist.
Not affectionate. Possessive
I pushed the papers back slightly and said " And if I say no? "
San leaned forward, forearms resting against the desk as he clasped his hands together. For the first time since I walked in, he looked almost dangerous up close.
" Then your Fathers debt remains unpaid. " His voice stayed low. Steady. " And eventually someone comes to collect. "
Fear curled coil in my stomach because I knew he wasn't lying.
San studied me silently for a moment before speaking again " But if you sign, your family lives comfortably for the rest of their lives. "
His eyes dropped briefly to my lips " And you belong to me. "
The words should've terrified me. Maybe they did, but beneath the fear, was something worse. Something warmer because the way he looked at me made it feel less like a threat.. and more like a promise.
I hated that my body reacted to him before my mind did.
Hated the way my pulse stumbled when he said those words.
" And you belong to me. "
Like he meant them. Like somewhere in his head, this was already done.
My fingers tightened against the edge of the contract as I forced myself to look away from him. The paper blurred slightly in front of me, the words twisting together under the weight pressing down my face.
Wife. Obedience. Physical intimacy. Protection.
Every line felt less like a marriage agreement and more like terms of surrender.
I swallowed hard and said quietly " You really think this is normal? "
San didn't answer immediately. He leaned back slightly in his chair, whiskey glass resting loosely in his hand as his eyes stayed fixed on me and said " No. "
The answer caught me off guard enough that I looked up, his expression remained unreadable and he continued " But normal stopped mattering the moment your Father borrowed money he couldn't repay. "
My jaw tightened, I hated how he always spoke like everything was already inevitable. Like emotions were irrelevant compared to outcomes.
" So this is what, your solution? " I asked bitterly.
" It's the safest one. "
I stared at him in disbelief and said " For who? "
His gaze didn't waver and said " You. "
The word landed harder than it should have because he believed it.
That was the terrifying part.
San wasn't pretending to be kind. He wasn't pretending this was romantic or fair or even decent. He genuinely thought taking control of my life was protecting me.
My chest tightened painfully and I whispered " You kidnapped me. "
A flicker crossed his expression then. Subtle. Almost impossible to catch. Not guilt. Something quieter.
" I removed you from a dangerous situation. " He corrected calmly.
I let out a sharp breath of disbelief and pushed back from the desk slightly and said " You keep changing the words like that somehow makes it better. "
His eyes lowered briefly to my mouth again before lifting back to my eyes and said softly " Words matter. "
The way he said it made warmth crawl uncomfortably beneath my skin. I hated that too.
The office suddenly felt too warm, too close, too full of him.
I stood abruptly, the chair scraping lightly against the floor and said " I'm not signing this. "
Silence.
San didn't react right away. He simply watching me stand there across from his desk, breathing unevenly, contract still clutched tightly in my hand like I needed something solid to hold onto.
Then slowly, deliberatly, he stood too. My stomach dropped instantly. He was somehow worse like this. Closer. Taller. More imposing without even trying.
The air shifted the second he moved around the desk. Calm. Controlled footsteps against marble floors as he approached me without any rush whatsoever.
I backed up instinctively before I could stop myself. His gaze sharpened slightly at that.
Not angry. Aware.
" You're afraid of me. " He observed quietly.
I laughed once under my breath, nerves fraying sharp at the edges and said " Shouldn't I be? "
He stopped in front of me then. Not touching. Not yet. Just close enough that I could smell whiskey and smoke lingering beneath his cologne.
" I've never hurt you. "
My breath caught because somehow, that sounded worse and I whispered " You took my entire life away from me. "
For the first time all night, something in his expression shifted fully. Not enough to soften him, never that, but enough to let me see something underneath all that control. Possession.
It sat in his eyes dark and quiet as his gaze dragged slowly across my face again and said calmly " No, I took responsibility for it. "
My pulse jumped painfully and I snapped " That's not romantic. "
" Good. "
The answer came immediately.
His hand lifted then, slowly enough that I could've moved away if I wanted to, but I didn't.
That realization terrified me more than him touching me at all.
His fingers brushed lightly against a strand of hair near my face before tucking it carefully behind my ear. The gesture should've felt gentle. Instead it felt deliberate. Intimate in a way that made heat crawl down my spine against my will.
My breathing turned uneven instantly. San's eyes darkened slightly as he looked down at me and quietly said " You react to me even when you're angry. "
My face burned and said " Stop. "
" Why? "
The question came softer than I expected.
I shook my head immediately, stepping back away from his hand and said " Because you're making this worse. "
Something unreadable flickered across his face again, then he said the one thing I wasn't prepared for " I don't want this to feel cruel to you. "
The honesty in it stunned me silent. Not because it fixed anything. It didn't, but because he sounded genuine.
That was the problem with San. He wasn't pretending. Not once. Every terrifying thing he said, every possessive look, every impossible decision, he meant all of it completely.
I stared at him for a long moment before whispering " I think that's the first thing you've said that actually scares me. "
Silence settled between us heavily.
His gaze held mine steadily, unreachable again now and then slowly, he reached past me toward the desk.
I flinched instinctively. The moment stopped instantly.
San's eyes snapped back to mine, something sharp flashing through them and for the first time since meeting him, he looked angry.
Not at me. At himself.
The realization made my stomach twist strangely.
His jaw tightened once before he reached more carefully this time, taking the contract from my loosened grip and setting it back onto the desk beside us. Then he looked down at me again and said " I won't touch you without permission. "
The words settled over me slowly.
I searched his face for manipulation, for calculation, for some hidden catch but all I found was certainty.
Like that line mattered to him.
My throat tightened unexpectedly and I asked softly " Even if I signed that? "
His gaze didn't waver and said " Especially if you sign it. "
Something dangerous shifted low in my stomach at the answer. Fear tangled together with something warmer, something confusing.
I hated that. Hated him for causing it.
My eyes dropped away from his face because holding his gaze for too long felt overwhelming now.
The office felt quiet except for the rain tapping softly against the windows behind us. Then quietly, before I could stop myself, I asked the questions that had been sitting inside my chest for days.
" Why me? " I said.
The silence afterward stretched long enough to make me think he wouldn't answer. Then San stepped closer again. Carefully this time. Slowly enough that I could step away if I wanted.
His voice dropped lower when he finally spoke " Because the moment I saw your picture, I knew nobody else was ever going to have you. "
My breath stopped completely. The confession settled into the room like something alive. Heavy. Possessive. Obsessively. Certain. And the worst part?
The absolute worst part was the way he looked at me after saying it. Not like a man making a threat. Like a man admitting a truth he'd accepted long before I had.
The words still lingered in the air..
" Because the moment I saw your picture, I knew nobody else was ever going to have you. "
It didn't feel like something a person should be able to say so calmly. Like it wasn't a confession at all, just a fact he'd filed away long before I ever stood in front of him.
My fingers curled slightly at my sides.
I should've been focusing on the threat. On the contract. On everything he'd already done.
I forced my breathing to steady, but it didn't listen.
" If I signed this, " I said finally, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be " do I get to see my parents? "
San didn't answer immediately. That pause alone made my chest tighen. His eyes stayed on me, unreadable as ever.
Then I added, sharper this time because I hated how small I sounded the first time.
" Not just see them. At the wedding. "
Something shifted in his expression at that.
Not surprise, understanding.
The room felt colder as I held his gaze, refusing to look away even though my pulse was climbing into my throat and I said " I want them there. If I'm doing this.. I want them there. "
A beat of silence passed, then San leaned back slightly, like the answer had already been prepared long before I asked and he said " Yes. "
One word. Clean. Certain.
My breath caught anyway.
" .. Yes? " I repeated, because I needed to hear it again. Needed to make sure I wasn't imagining it.
His gaze didn't move from mine and said " They will be at the wedding, if you sign. "
Something twisted painfully in my chest.
It shouldn't have sounded like relief.
It shouldn't have mattered that much.
But it did because it meant they wouldn't lose me completely. It meant I wouldn't disappear from them without even a goodbye.
My throat tightened as I looked down at the contract again.
Marriage agreement.
Residence transfer.
Obedience.
A life rewritten in ink.
My hands shook slightly when I picked up the pen from his desk. I hated that he didn't rush me. Didn't push. Didn't say another word.
He just watched. Like he already knew where my hand was going to land.
I pressed the pen to the paper. For a second, I stood, just one second.
My entire life narrowed into that point. That tiny space between refusal and surrender.
My parents faces flashed in my mind.
My Mom crying.
My Dad unable to look at me.
And underneath it all.. the sound of San's voice.
" You're the only thing he has left that holds value. "
My grip tightened, then I signed. The ink spread across the line like something irreversible. When I lifted the pen, my hand felt strangely numb.
Silence filled the room immediately after.
No applause, no reaction, no visible satisfaction.
Just San watching me like he was confirming something had finally settled into place.
I swallowed hard and pushed the pen down onto the desk like I needed to separate myself from it.
" .. There. " I whispered, more to myself than him.
His gaze dropped briefly to the signature, then back to me.
It wasn't sharp.
It wasn't cold.
It was worse than both.
Calm.
" Good. " He said quietly.
That single word made something in my chest tighten painfully.
I stood there for a second too long, unsure what I was supposed to do now that I had just signed away something I couldn't fully name.
My future, my freedom, maybe both.
San finally moved, sliding the contract neatly together, as if it were just another document closed for the day, then he said, almost casually " You did the right thing. "
I let out a short, broken laugh before I could stop myself and muttered " Don't say that. Don't.. make it sound like I had no choice. "
His eyes lifted to mine again and for a moment, something quieter passed through them.
Not softness, not regret.
Just certainty and he said " You did. It just would've cost more not to. "
My stomach turned at that because I understood what he meant and worse.. some part of me did.
San stepped slightly to the side. Picking up the contract again like it no longer needed to be debated and said " Your parents will be informed. Preparations will begin. "
" Preparations. " I repeated flatly.
" Wedding arrangements. " He clarified.
The word hit harder the second time.
Wedding.
My knees felt suddenly less steady. I forced myself to speak anyway " ... And after that? "
San paused just long enough for the question to matter, then he looked at me and said " After that, you stay. "
The room went quiet again after that. Not awkward quiet. Not uncertain. The kind of silence that only existed around San.
Controlled. Intentional. Heavy enough to press against my chest until breathing felt harder than it should.
I stared at him across the office, trying to process how casually he'd just decided the rest of my life.
Stay.
Like it was obvious. Like there had never been another possibility.
The rain outside blurred against the tall windows behind him, silver streaks running down the glass white soft amber light filled the office. Everything about the room reflected him.
Expensive. Precise. Untouchable.
And now somehow, according to a signed piece of paper sitting on his desk.. I belonged here too.
My stomach twisted sharply at the thought. I looked down at my signature again. The ink had already dried. No taking it back. No pretending it didn't happen.
A strange numbness settled over me suddenly. Not calm. Something worse. The kind of exhaustion that came after crying too long, even though I hadn't cried at all.
San gathered the contract carefully, sliding the pages nack into the folder with the same composed expression he'd worn all night. Like he wasn't holding the remained of my freedom in his hands.
The sound of paper shifting seemed too loud in the silence.
That was it then. My life reduced to signatures and clauses and his calm, unreadable expression across the desk.
I stared at the folder for a second longer before forcing myself to look away. My chest felt hollow now, like all the panic had burned itself out and left exhaustion behind instead.
I swallowed hard and said " .. Is that all? "
San's eyes lifted to mine immediately.
I hated how quickly he focused on me every single time I spoke. Like nothing else in the room mattered once I did.
My fingers curled lightly against the sleeves of his sweater still hanging past my hands and I added quietly " Can I go? "
Silence.
Not long. Just enough to make me feel every second of it.
His gaze moved over my face slowly, searching for something I couldn't name before he answered " Yes. "
The word should've felt relieving. Instead, it settled strangely in my chest because of how softly he said it.
I gave a faint nod and turned toward the door immediately before he could say anything else. Before he could look at me like that again. Like he'd already accepted something I still couldn't process.
My legs felt heavy walking across the office. The closer I got to the door, the more aware I became of him behind me. Watching. Always watching.
My hand wrapped around the handle, but before I opened it, his voice stopped me " Y/n. "
I closed my eyes briefly.
Something about the way he said my name always felt too deliberate. Too familiar for someone who destroyed my life only two weeks ago.
Slowly, I looked back over my shoulder. San was still standing near the desk, one hand resting against the closed folder containing the contract. The contract. Our contract. His expression remained composed, but his eyes stayed fixed on me with that same unreadable intensity and said " Your room will be changed tomorrow. "
My brows pulled together slightly and said " What? "
" You're no longer staying in the guest wing. "
The words took a second to settle.
Then my stomach dropped and I said " .. Why? "
He held my gaze steadily and said " Because future wives don't sleep on the other side of the mansion. "
Heat rushed into my face instantly. Not warmth. Shock. Panic. Something worse.
" No " The answer left me immediately.
San's expression didn't change. Of course it didn't and he repeated calmly " No? "
" I'm not sleeping in your room. "
A dangerous quiet settled over the office then. Not angry. Not harsh. Certain.
San took a slow step forward and said " I didn't say tonight. "
My breath caught slightly. He stopped again, keeping distance between us this time. Controlled. Intentional.
" But eventually, you will. "
The calm certainty in his voice made my pulse stumbled painfully.
I hated how he said things like that. Like the future already belonged to him.
Before I could respond, before I could argue or panic or say something reckless, he spoke again " Go get some sleep, Y/n. "
I stared at him for one long second before opening the door without another word. The hallway outside felt colder than the office. Or maybe it was just the absence of him.
I stood there for a moment, unmoving, staring at nothing while my thoughts spun too fast to hold onto.
" Future wives don't sleep on the other side of the house. "
The words wrapped around my chest until breathing felt difficult again.
I started walking before I could think too hard about it, my footsteps quiet against the marble floors as the mansion stretched endlessly around me. Too large. Too quiet. Too much like him.
Everything here belonged to San.
The walls. The staff. The security standing outside every entrance. The clothes hanging in my closet. The bed waiting upstairs and now.. me too.
My throat tightened painfully. By the time I reached my room, exhaustion sat so heavily inside me I could barely feel anything else. I pushed the door open slowly, stepping inside before locking it behind me out of habit more than necessity.
Not that a lock would stop him if he wanted in.
The thought sent another wave of tension through my chest.
I leaned back against the door, staring at the room around me. The soft lighting. The neatly folded blankets. The flowers replaced earlier than morning. A cage dressed beautifully enough to almost make you forget it was one.
Slowly, I crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Then finally, for the first time since signing the contract.. I cried.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just quietly. Helplessly.
Tears slid down my face as I covered my mouth with one hand to keep the sound in, my shoulders trembling under the weight of everything I'd been holding back.
My wedding. My future. My freedone. Gone.
And the worst part? The truly terrifying part?
Somewhere beneath all the fear and grief and anger.. was the memory of the way he'd looked at me tonight.
Like this meant something to him. Like I meant something to him.
That should've made it earlier to hate him. Instead, it made him impossible to understand.
Outside, rain continued falling softly against the windows while somewhere else in the mansion, San was probably still awake. Still working. Still perfectly composed.
And upstairs, alone in a room that no longer felt like mine, I realized something that made fresh tears burn behind my eyes.
This wasn't the beginning of surviving him anymore.
Warnings: MDNI (19+) Rough Sex, Edging, Drinking, Smoking, Dom & Sub Dynamics, Choking, Dirty Talk, Praise, Pinning, Unprotected Sex, Bondage, Oral Sex (f & m receiving)
Genre: Smut
Word Count: 3.7k
Featuring: Song Mingi & Fem!Reader
————————————————————————
You walk into the house, crowds of people consuming the little space that was held. You anxiously searched for Wooyoung, the man you loved dearly.
You made your way through the tight space, shifting your body to move through.
You stop for a second to take a look around in hopes to find Wooyoung.
“You’re so funny, WooWoo.” A giggle of an unfamiliar voice rang through. Your stomach fell. Who the fuck is talking to Wooyoung like that? You thought, creeping your way towards the giggles.
“Wooyoung?” You pause to find your boyfriend cuddled up with another woman.
“Wooyoung!? What the fuck!?” You interrupt. “Y/n! I-“ Before he could speak, you slapped him across the face. “What the fuck are you doing!?”
Tears fill your eyes, your hands trembling. “So, this is who you’re fucking around with!?” You begin to sob. “For months I have been trying to get this close to you, but time and time again, you’ve been letting this whore get close to you!”
“What the fuck did you just call me?” The girl tried getting in your face but without a second thought, you swung your hand to slap her. “You heard me.” You say with grinned teeth.
“It’s not what it looks like.” Wooyoung tries to defend his actions, reaching out his hand to hold your wrist. “Then what the fuck do you think it looks like!?” You yell, slapping away his hand.
“6 months down the fucking drain because you couldn’t control your fucking lust!?” You say. “I gave you my everything and yet you treat me like this!?”
Wooyoung stayed silent, dropping his head. “I’m sorry, Y/n.” He utters.
“How long has this been going on for?” Tears roll past your cheeks, anger and sadness filling your chest with aches of loneliness.
“2 months.” Wooyoung admitted. “2 months?” You repeat, gulping the lump that can never leave your throat.
“Alright..” You walk away without a word, going into the crowd.
You were wiping your tears away, gasping for air to try and calm your nerves down. Nothing that just happened felt real, you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that the man you planned your feature with could cheat on you in ways that remained unthinkable.
You grab a cup filling it to the brim with alcohol trying to forget your thoughts, trying to wrap your mind around what you just witnessed. Taking a shot, you continued to repeat your actions until your vision began to slow, finally being able to just sip on the remaining alcohol in your cup.
The house continued to grow with more people, eventually crowding you out of the room. You walked up the stairs leading to the balcony. Sliding the door open, you find a tall, dark haired guy standing on the balcony.
His broad back stayed turned, a red plastic cup held ever so slightly in his hand. His black suppressed shirt defined his muscles, loose baggy pants that sat perfectly around his waist.
“Out here alone?” You ask gently, now standing next to him. You glance at him, but his gaze isn’t shared.
Your eyes darted around his features, his large Adam's apple bulging as he swallowed his beverage, to his slender nose, his plumped lips, his jawline that was dangerously defined, from the way his hair slightly danced in the wind to the lights reflecting on his clear skin. He was handsome.
“Yeah.” He responded. “Trying to avoid the crowd, you know?” He says, sipping on his alcohol.
“Yeah.” You say. “It got crowded fast.”
The silence filled the space between you two, the sound of the wind breezing against the autumn leaves, the chill chasing goosebumps against your soft skin.
“You good?” He asks, still looking afar. “Me? Oh, I guess you could say that.” You chuckle, running your finger around the brim of your cup.
“You seem like you just got your heart broken.” He utters now sharing the eye contact. “I mean, I did, but..” You sigh, looking down at your little alcohol that was left. “Theres nothing that I could do, he chose me over some… girl.”
He looks away, pressing his lips together and nods slowly.
You were near breakdown before you fixed your posture and smile, clearing your throat. “Let’s change the subject.” You say.
“Did you finish the essay?” Mingi turned to face you, the gaze being shared. “Yeah, I finished it before coming here.” He says. “Did you?”
You press your lips together before shaking your head from side to side. “No, not yet- I’m procrastinating.” You say with a soft giggle.
Mingi chuckles. “That seems to be your number one complaint this semester.” He jokes.
“Hey! It’s not my fault I have a gold fish brain.” You laugh.
You and Mingi share a few classes together. You didn’t know him, just a few words that were exchanged when walking past each other in the halls or in class. He was rather reserved. He had no interest in wanting to be close to others, it only seemed like he was tolerating most people. You couldn’t blame him though, most people are insufferable.
You take a glance at Mingi and you see his smile, although it was something you hardly got to see since he was always a reserved person. It felt genuine.
“Hey, I’m going to head out. I’ll see you in class on Monday, yeah?” Mingi says.
“Yeah! I’ll see you on Monday.” You say, smiling.
Mingi turned to walk away before stopping to turn towards you.
“Do you want my number, you know, just so we can chit chat about class?” He asks.
Your heart flutters at his question which was weird — no one ever made your chest flutter with a simple question. And the fact a nearly complete stranger made your heart flutter was enough to make questions swarm your mind.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” You agree, exchanging your numbers with his. “See ya.” He says before fading into the crowd inside.
—————————————————————-
Y/N: Hey, is this Mingi? :>
You turn your phone down against the wooden table letting out a soft sigh, leaning your back against the chair. It has been two days since you officially had a conversation with Mingi, but it took you two days just to send a simple text. But for some odd reason, you felt so… Nervous.
You stared at the clutter that was scattered across your desk, papers after papers that hid the wooden desk. You were awful when it came to homework, a constant struggle you’ve faced since freshman year. It was a hassle just to complete one assignment let alone complete every assignment that was coming due in such a short amount of time.
It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do it, you always liked being able to stay busy and have things completed on time, but after your break up with your boyfriend of 6 months, all your mind could think about was loneliness, the feeling that you could never shake off even if you try hard enough to. It felt like the world was crashing every moment you beat your eyes open in the morning. It was always about him. All you wanted was freedom from your own thoughts.
Your phone lit up with a notification.
MINGI: Yeah, it’s me.
Your heart dropped, swiftly picking up your phone. A soft smile creeped across your lips.
MINGI: Are you free right now?
“Double texting?” You whisper to yourself, your thumbs hovered over your keyboard with thoughts quickly racing to fit a conversation.
You take a look around your desk. You were busy. But are you that busy?
You bit the inside of your cheek before sending a text, thinking about the appropriate response.
Y/N: I am free, why?
You watch your message go from delivered to read in a matter of seconds. His text bubble showed up a few seconds after.
MINGI: Do you want to hang out at my place? You know, to study for the quiz coming up. We can grab some dinner before we study.
You read his message four different times, your thumbs typing then deleting your typed message.
Why at his place?
Y/N: Sure. What time?
Your heart felt like it could jump out of your chest at any moment. The excitement filling your veins.
MINGI: 8pm tonight?
Y/N: Okay ! See you tonight then :]
MINGI: Okay, see you tonight.
————————————————————————
It was 6pm, you stood outside your dorm, the autumn air was cold yet warm. You wore a tank top with a loose fitting flannel tied with a skirt that rode up to your thigh. You checked the time. 6:33pm.
“Get in.” A familiar voice shouted. You jumped, seeing that Mingi had pulled up. You smiled.
Getting in the car you fastened your seatbelt, adjusting your hair to the left side of your shoulder to avoid your hair from pulling from under the thick polyester belt.
“Did you eat?” Mingi asks, pulling out of his parking spot, driving down the road. “A little.” You respond.
“What do you want to eat?” He asks, his one hand gripping the steering wheel as the other hand laid against his thigh.
“Hm, pasta?” Your voice is filled with excitement. “Sure thing.” He says. You giggle and clap your hands. “Yay! I’ve been craving pasta.” You softly whisper.
You take a small glance over at Mingi, the corner of his lip curls into a soft smile. A smile that wasn’t forced, a smile that felt real. You could not help but smile yourself, the feeling of happiness fell over your body with ease.
“We’re here.” Mingi kills the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt.
You glance to see a restaurant, a subtle gasp escaping your lips. It was tall with dim lights lighting the sidewalk. Guests eating inside with others walking on the busy sidewalk.
“This is a fancy restaurant.” You say to yourself but loud enough for Mingi to hear. “Not really.”
You turn your head to look at Mingi, your eyes darting down to his pink plumped lips then back up to his eyes. “Do you think it’s fancy?”
You stopped to think, silence falling between you two. You shifted in the seat. “No.” You utter clicking the seatbelt off.
For 6 months, Wooyoung never took you to restaurants, never gave you the time to spoil you in ways that made you feel loved. But for some reason, you felt like Mingi truly cared for how you felt, and cared for what you wanted.
Walking inside, the environment was quiet, the smell of food being served on hot plates, family and friends gathered around the table sharing laughter and stories, a chandelier hung above the entrance sparkling against the dim lighting. Soft melodies of songs being played throughout the entire restaurant made the environment welcoming. It was calming.
Being sat, you glanced at the silverware wrapped in a thin polyester cover, the candle that flickered with the warm air and the drooping of the table top that was fitted to perfection.
“Thank you.” You both said as your plates were delivered, the steam slowly spread into the air evaporating into nothing.
“Looks delicious.” You smile, taking your fork into one hand and the knife into another. “I’d hope so, you deserve delicious food.” Mingi said, cutting into his steak.
His response was warm, a response you yearned to hear. Just a response that made you feel wanted, cared for, and appreciated.
You twirl your pasta onto your fork, chewing on the last bite that you had taken.
“You have a little something.” Mingi pointed at his own lip. “Huh?” You wipe off the side of your lip. “Did I get it?” He shook his head, “the corner of your lip.”
You actively try to wipe away your mess but you can’t seem to reach where he was directing you. “Here.” Mingi reached his thumb to your lip, his soft thumb caresses over your lip, dragging softly to remove the sauce.
Your cheeks turn red, almost burning hot, heart thumping like never before. You stared at his face, taking in the feeling of his thumb touching your bottom lip.
He pulled away his thumb, smiling softly. “There, I got it.”
You pause for a moment, then smile. “Thanks, Mingi.”
It was 10:00pm. You sat on the floor of Mingi’s apartment, jotting down notes for your class. With a pause, you glance to look at Mingi, noticing the small details that he had.
His glasses were hanging on the bridge of his nose, his messy damp hair falling in front of his eyes, his slender long fingers typing on the keys, his veins flexing with each movement he took with each finger.
You shook your head and bit your lip, tilting your head to your notes.
“You good?” Mingi asks without having to take a look at you. “Huh?” You jolt up, fixing your posture. “Yeah, yeah I’m good…” You utter, fidgeting with the pen in your hand.
“You want a drink?” He asked, closing his laptop. “A drink?” You say with confusion.
“I have some soju.” He says. “Oh, soju, sure, that’ll be nice, with the amount of studying we’ve done.” You say, smiling.
Taking off his glasses he proceeds to stand to walk away, the fridge door opening then shutting. “I got 2 packs.” Mingi sighs as he sits, putting the medium sized bottle out from the carrier handing you a bottle.
You don’t even know the time now, you and Mingi were on the couch laughing, some bottles empty to half empty bottles of soju laid on the table in front of you.
“You’re so funny!” You giggle, taking a swig of your soju. Mingi was already drunk, but so were you. Mingi was smiling and laughing, leaning back to his couch.
You lay back with him. “I feel so wasted.” You drunkly utter, turning your head to look at him. “Yeah?” Mingi says in a low raspy tone. “Mhm.” You respond almost immediately.
It was silent for a moment, just the two of you staring at each other. Biting your lip, you sat up, your hand on his thigh.
At this moment, nothing mattered. Not your lousy ex who consumed your thoughts everyday or your assignments that were waiting to be completed. You’ve never felt so free, never felt like just hours ago you were consumed by thoughts that chained you down.
Mingi lifted you into his lap, his hands wrapping onto your hips. Your arms wrap around his neck, closing in the space between you and Mingi.
You were starting slow, your lips dancing in sync. You slowly started grinding your hips into his groin, his hands roaming your body, exploring every detail of your frame.
“God, Y/n.” Mingi breaks the kiss, lust pleading in his eyes. You tuck your hair behind your ear, biting your lip. Within seconds, Mingi flips your body around onto the couch, his knees reaching the floor.
“Do I have permission, Y/n?” Mingi stares up at you, as you take a look down. “Yes, Mingi.”
He straddles your skirt off from your body, exposing your pink lace. You felt shy, closing your legs. “No, baby, don’t hide your perfect parts from me.” Mingi opens your thighs, pushing your panties to the side.
“You’re so wet for me.” He cooed, rubbing his thumb gently on your clit. You jolted, a moan escaping from your lips.
His fingers enter, pumping at a pace that makes you arched your back, his one hand holding open your legs. “Look at you losing yourself over my fingers curling to your special spot.” Mingi kisses the inner part of your thighs, continuing at his pace.
“Fuck Mingi.” You moan out, your fingers reaching for something to grab. “Oh my god, I’m gonna cum.” You squeak.
He removed his fingers, your wetness coating his fingers. He had other plans. “I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.” Mingi whispers, lowering his head into your legs.
You let out a loud gasp, your hands grabbing into his dark hair. His tongue was slow, flicking your clit, licking every part of your slit. “Holy fucking shit!” You exclaim, closing your legs on each side of Mingi’s head. “God, you’re so fucking good.” You praise him, glancing down to meet his dark eyes. His tongue danced between your slit, favoring your clit.
He added his fingers while eating you out, pumping his fingers in motion. He sucked your clit perfectly, his fingers curling in ways that made you want to lose yourself on his fingers.
“Mingi please let me cum.” You plead, rolling your head back. Mingi pulls away, staring at your swollen clit, his fingers leaving you empty. “You’re so sensitive, baby.” Mingi stood, taking off his shirt, exposing his muscular figure.
You fell to your knees, staring up at Mingi who stared down at you. “I wanna suck your dick, Mingi.” You hold the seam of his pants, pushing them down to his ankles. You stared at his length that desperately pushed against his black boxers.
“Hm, yeah?” Mingi whispers, you pull down his boxers, his length springing out. “You’re so big.” You say, your hand wrapping around the base of his cock. “Can you handle it, princess?” He asks, running his fingers through your long hair.
You open your mouth, your tongue licking up his precum. That was your response to his question. He immediately moans, his loose fingers now grabbing strands of your hair. “Go on baby, show me what you can do with your pretty mouth.”
Taking in his length, you begin to suck, repeating the movement to the base of his cock and back to the tip. Your cheeks become hollow, tears filling your eyes. Your own saliva ran out from the corners of your mouth, mascara that ran past your rosey cheeks.
Mingi held your head, guiding you through sucking him off. “Fucckkk Y/n” He growls between his teeth. Before he could finish, he pushed you away from sucking him off. He lifts you without struggle, your back making contact with his couch.
“I’m going to abuse this pussy of yours.” He says, his tip meeting your entrance. “Have you lost your virginity?” Mingi asks, you shake your head in response. “You’re my first.” You manage to say.
“I’ll be gentle with you at first.” Mingi utters, adjusting his tip to your entrance. “I can’t promise that I won’t leave you weak after I’m done with you.” He says, pushing into you. His hands hold your hips to hold you in place. You gasp, the pain and the burning you felt sent your nerves into oblivion, his large length pushing through your tight walls, pausing then moving to help you adjust to his cock.
“It’s okay baby, I got you.” He says as his entire length fills your insides.
With a few moments of him pausing, he began to move his hips. The pain that once was felt turned into immense pleasure. “Holy fuck Mingi!” You moan out loudly, grabbing his forearms.
You met his gaze, his necklace was dangling down in front of your face, his hair was flopping with his movements. He had his lip tucked between his teeth, his hands exploring your body.
“Yeah? You like the way my cock fucks your pretty pussy?” Mingi groans, his thrusts hitting into your g-spot with ease. “Fuck yes.” You respond.
Mingi holds your throat, squeezing his fingers around your neck, his thrusts staying powerful.
Your moans become muffled, the pressure started to make you see stars. You hold his wrist, digging in your nails as the pleasure of his cock pushing between your tight cunt. “You take my cock so well.” Mingi praises. “You’re doing so good for me.”
Mingi lets go from choking, pulling his length out from your cunt. “Turn around for me.” Mingi commands, but you do as he says, your knees meeting the cushions.
He lines himself up to your entrance, his hands finding your way to your hips, his length pushing into you without guidance. You both let out a moan, your hands wrapping onto the couch for support.
His thrusts become powerful yet again, the sounds of your skin slapping against each other. “You love taking my cock, hm? You love how I make you feel?” Mingi takes his hand and slaps your ass as hard as he can, his hand grabbing your hair and pulling your head towards his frame, cupping your throat with his free hand.
“Yes, fuck, I love it Mingi. You do me so well.” You say in a low muffle, eyes rolling back from the immense pleasure that you’ve never experienced.
He fucks you harder, tightening his grip around your throat before letting go to bury the side of your cheek into the couch, his fingers curling to grip your hair, drilling his cock deeper. “Such a fucking slut.” He groans.
“I’m going to cum Mingi!” You moan out, toes curling as his tip continuously drills into your g-spot. “Yeah? You’re gonna cum?” He says, his thrusts becoming more sloppy.
“Yes! Fuck.” You say, continuously moaning out.
“Do it for me, cum.” He says.
You let go over him, coming to your high. “Oh my god.” You say in a muffle, your body trembling from the buildup of your release.
With a few more hard thrusts, Mingi shoots his load into you, bucking his hips in a slower motion as he lets himself go inside of you. He lets out a low groan, his nails digging into your bare skin.
He slowly pulls himself out of you, the mixture of your juices and his cum pouring out of you. “Let me get you a towel.”
Mingi goes away for what feels like forever as you hold the position afraid to make a mess by moving. “Goodness, you made a mess.” He says, wiping the mess from your genitals.
He picks you up into his arms. “Did I hurt you?” He asks as you lay on top of his bare chest. “No, you didn’t.” You whisper, nuzzling your cheek into him. “Good.”
You both fall asleep holding each other close. Maybe now you can feel how love is meant to be.
can you write a story about where cheol and reader get into a huge fight and they start to avoid cheol during practices and ignore his calls and texts and cheol tries really hard to win back the reader. you can smut or not! whatever you’d like:))
btw i really love your series!!
This turned out longer than I expected. I guess when there’s a story to be told, the words come pouring out! Enjoy ☺️
Rock and a Hard Place
📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG
Tags and warnings:
Scoups x reader
MF | more-story-than-smut | drunk sex
I lick the salt off the back of my hand, the gritty crystals dissolving on my tongue before I tip my head back and let the tequila scorch its way down my throat. The burn is fierce, igniting my insides like a match to dry tinder.
“Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!” The crowd around me erupts in the chant, and I slam the glass onto the scarred bar surface, unleashing a triumphant whoop that cuts through the pounding music.
Tonight, we're unleashing everything—me and the backup dancers from a mix of K-pop crews, all of us desperate to shake off the grind of endless practices and spotlight stress in this throbbing club.
I never intended to be here.
It all traces back to a week or so ago, when the world cracked open between us.
I'd been scrolling through my phone in the quiet of my apartment after a late practice, the glow casting shadows on the walls, when the notifications hit like shrapnel.
Gossip sites exploding with photos of Seungcheol—Scoups—leaning into Lia— tall, thin, sharp feature, big doe eyes with gorgeous skin and hair, everything I wasn’t — with her hand on his arm, his smile too easy, too intimate.
'K-pop’s new IT couple?'
‘Coups getting Cozy?’
The headlines gutted me, jealousy uncoiling like a serpent in my chest, sharp and venomous.
We’d never put a name to us, but god, it had woven into something real. What started as a raw, no-strings BDSM dynamic—me dropping to my knees in the dim glow of hotel rooms after his shows, leather cuffs biting into my wrists as he gripped my hair and thrust his thick cock down my throat until tears streamed and I choked on him—had evolved. It turned tender in the aftermath, his hands soothing the welts on my skin, pulling me against his chest as we breathed together. Late nights blurred into mornings where he'd murmur secrets against my neck, feed me bites of rice from his chopsticks, hold me when the exhaustion of being invisible in the spotlight crushed me. But labels? Impossible.
He was Seventeen's leader, the unbreakable core of the group, every move scrutinized. I was just a backup dancer, one of the shadows syncing steps behind them, easily swapped out if I faltered.
The photos were one thing. The headlines and overarching support, acceptance, hype by the public shipping them together unraveled something I’d been trying too hard to keep neatly tied together. Every glance, every touch we’d shared suddenly felt flimsy under the glare of proof I could hold in my hand. I didn’t text him. Didn’t trust myself to. I waited.
By the time practice ended, the building had quieted, the usual chaos fading into distant echoes. I caught him in the hallway outside the studio, harsh fluorescent lights casting everything in a sickly, unforgiving glow.
“Seungcheol.”
My voice came out steadier than I felt. My fingers tightened around my phone as I stepped into his path, holding it up between us. The screen lit his face.
“What the hell is this?”
He barely reacted at first—just a glance, a small crease between his brows—then that composure slipped into place like it always did. Calm. Controlled.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Paparazzi. You know how they twist things.”
Something inside me snapped at how easy that sounded.
“Nothing?” I echoed, a hollow laugh catching in my throat. “She’s got her hands on you like she belongs there, and you’re smiling like you want her there. The headlines are calling you the new golden couple of K-pop and you haven’t said anything! That’s your version of nothing?”
He exhaled slowly, like I was already exhausting him. “It was a schedule. Promo. Cameras everywhere. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
I stared at him, disbelief rising hotter than the hurt. “Out of proportion? I’m looking at you—at this—and you expect me to just… what? Be your mistress?”
His jaw tightened. “I expect you to remember what this is.”
The words landed heavier than I expected.
“And what is that, exactly?” I shot back, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it stopped being ‘casual’ a long time ago.”
His eyes flickered—just for a second—but it was enough to tell me I’d hit something.
“That’s exactly the problem,” he said, sharper now. “You’re starting to treat it like something it can’t be.”
My chest tightened. “Can’t be? Or you don’t want it to be?”
“Don’t twist this,” he snapped. “We had an understanding. No complications. No scenes like this.”
“Like this?” I repeated, voice rising despite myself. “You think this is me being dramatic? You think I wanted to stand here feeling like an idiot?”
“You’re acting like one,” he said, and this time there was no softness to blunt it.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
I swallowed hard. “Right. Because caring makes me stupid, I guess.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” My grip on the phone loosened, my arm dropping to my side. “You just made it very clear where I stand.”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through his usual control. “Look, this isn’t the place for this, and your place is not….”
That did it.
“My place?” I repeated, the words coming out dangerously quiet.
“Yeah,” he said, doubling down, like he didn’t realize the line he was crossing. “You’re not my girlfriend. You’re not someone I can be seen with, not someone I can explain. You knew that from the start.”
Each word hit harder than the last, precise and unflinching.
“So what am I, then?” I asked, even though I already knew I didn’t want the answer.
He hesitated—but only for a second.
“Someone I care about,” he said, quieter now. “But not someone I can choose. Not publicly. Not like that.”
The clarification didn’t help. It made it worse.
“Not someone you can choose,” I repeated, a brittle smile forming. “That’s convenient.”
“You think this is easy for me?” he shot back. “You think I get to just do whatever I want? One wrong move and everything I’ve built—everything the group has built—takes a hit. I don’t have the luxury of feelings the way you do.”
The way you do.
Like mine were disposable. Optional.
“Wow,” I breathed. “So this—” I gestured between us, my voice shaking now despite everything “—this is just me being… what? Emotional? Replaceable?”
“I didn’t say replaceable.”
“You didn’t have to,” I snapped, echoing him from earlier. “You just said I’m not someone you’d ever choose.”
His expression faltered then, regret flashing too late.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you meant.” My throat burned, but I refused to let the tears fall in front of him. “You just didn’t expect me to hear it out loud.”
He stepped closer, voice lowering. “Don’t do this. Don’t turn one stupid article into something that ruins—”
“Ruins what?” I cut in sharply. “There’s nothing to ruin, remember? This isn’t anything.”
He clenched his jaw, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then, quieter, almost tired, he said, “You’re misunderstanding the situation.”
Something in me went cold at that.
“Right,” I said, nodding slowly. “Of course. This is on me.”
“That’s not—”
“No, it is.” I took a step back, putting space between us before I did something worse than cry. “I forgot my place.”
The words tasted bitter, but I let them sit there.
His expression shifted, something softer breaking through. “Jagiya, don’t—”
“My mistake, Scoups sunbaenim,” I said, the formality deliberate, cutting. “It won’t happen again.”
This time, when I turned, I didn’t wait to see if he’d follow. I didn’t want to know if he would.
The hallway felt longer on the way out, each step heavier than the last. By the time I reached the door, my vision had blurred, the weight of everything crashing down at once—not just the photos, but the truth he’d finally said out loud.
Not someone he could choose.
The next week practice felt like a silent war I refused to lose first.
I always got to practice early, claiming a corner of the mirrored studio like it was neutral ground. Stretching, counting breaths, focusing on anything but the door. It didn’t work. The second he walked in, I felt it—his presence, heavy and searching.
I didn’t look up.
Not when the members greeted each other. Not when his voice cut through the room. Not even when I knew he was looking straight at me.
Formations became strategy. If a move placed me near him, I shifted. Someone else filled the gap. I stayed sharp, precise—untouchable. The routine didn’t falter, but something else had. Every near-miss, every almost-brush of hands felt louder than the music.
By the first break, tension had coiled so tight it was suffocating.
I barely made it to the water cooler before he was there.
“We need to talk.”
Low. Urgent. Not leader Seungcheol—just him.
I grabbed a paper cup, not meeting his eyes. “Not now.”
His hand came down on the cooler beside me, blocking my exit—not forceful, but enough.
“Last night… I fucked up.”
I let out a quiet breath, steadying myself before I looked at him. Big mistake.
He looked wrecked. Not tired—wrecked. Eyes rimmed red, jaw tight like he hadn’t unclenched it once since I walked away.
For a split second, it cracked something in me.
Then I remembered his voice: You’re not someone I can choose.
I stepped around him.
“I’m working,” I said flatly, and walked off.
It didn’t stop there.
If anything, it got worse.
Texts flooded in first.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean it like that.
You’re not—fuck, you’re not what I said. You’re more.
Please talk to me.
I didn’t respond.
Then came the voice messages.
I made the mistake of listening to one.
“Please, jagi,” his voice came through, rough, stripped of all that control he wore so well. “Don’t shut me out like this. Miyane. Let me explain.”
I deleted it before he could finish.
Then the flowers showed up.
Of course they did.
Too many roses. Too much meaning. Too late.
I read the card once—You’re my anchor—and felt something bitter curl in my chest.
Anchors don’t get hidden.
Anchors don’t get denied.
I shoved them into a vase and left them by the window like an obligation.
The one place I couldn’t avoid him was the practice room.
I mirrored his every move from afar, syncing flawlessly but never meeting his eyes. During a group huddle, he reached for my shoulder, but I shrugged it off subtly, stepping back.
Mingyu finally pulled me aside during the cool-down, his brow furrowed with concern. “Hey, what's going on with you and hyung? You've been dodging him all week. He looks wrecked.”
“It's nothing,” I muttered, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. “Just tired.” But inside, the conflict raged—our blurred lines, the power imbalance, the fear that I'd always be the one chasing shadows.
By the time I’d gotten home, the hallway lights had been dimmed, the building quiet in that late-night way that made everything feel heavier.
He’d been sitting on the steps outside my apartment door, elbows on his knees, a bouquet resting beside him—something softer this time. Not the loud, showy roses.
Lilies.
My favourite.
He’d looked up the second he heard my footsteps.
Relief had hit his face so fast it had almost knocked the air out of me.
“Hey,” he’d said, standing too quickly, like he’d been waiting a while.
I hadn’t moved any closer.
“Seungcheol…”
My voice had come out quieter than I wanted.
Tired.
He’d picked up the flowers, holding them out—not pushing, just offering. “I didn’t know if you’d be home.”
I’d stared at them for a second before taking them, mostly because I hadn’t known what else to do with my hands.
“They’re… not apology flowers,” he’d added quickly. “Or—not just that. I just—” He’d exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I saw them and thought of you.”
That shouldn’t have worked.
But it had.
Too much.
We’d stood there for a moment, the distance between us thinner than it had been all day.
“Miyane,” he’d said finally.
Not rushed.
Not defensive.
Just… quiet.
“I shouldn’t have said that to you. Any of it.”
I’d swallowed, fingers tightening slightly around the stems. “You didn’t just say it.”
“I know,” he’d nodded. “I know. I’ve been—” He’d searched for the word. “Careless. With you.”
I’d let out a long exhale.
“I didn’t think,” he’d continued. “I just… reacted. And I hurt you.”
A beat.
“You didn’t deserve that.”
My chest had tightened.
“Seungcheol…” I’d started, my voice softer, wavering despite myself. It would’ve been so easy to close the distance, to fall back into his arms. I’d hated how much I’d still wanted that. “You can’t keep doing this to me.”
His expression had shifted immediately, something pained flickering through it.
“I know.”
“No,” I’d shaken my head, finally looking at him properly. “I don’t think you do.”
I’d stepped a little closer before I could stop myself, the words slipping out quieter, more fragile than I intended.
“It’s not about the photo… not really. I think it was just a catalyst. I… I deserve better than this.”
He hadn’t argued.
He’d just nodded once, like that part, at least, he understood.
“You do,” he’d said.
The agreement had almost broken me.
Because it meant he knew.
“And I want to be that for you,” he’d added quickly, stepping closer too, careful this time. “I do. I just—” He’d hesitated, jaw tightening. “I need you to be patient with me.”
My grip on the flowers had tightened. “Patient,” I’d repeated.
“Yeah,” he’d said, softer now, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Things aren’t… simple for me. You know that. The timing, the situation—I just need you to trust me while I figure it out.”
The warmth from a second before had started to slip.
“Figure it out,” I’d echoed.
“I’m trying,” he’d insisted. “I’m here, aren’t I? I came to you. I’m not ignoring this, I’m not walking away—”
“But you’re not choosing it either,” I’d cut in quietly.
He’d stilled.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“That’s not fair,” he’d said, a hint of frustration creeping back in. “I’m doing what I can.”
“And I was supposed to just wait around while you decided if I was worth it?” I’d asked, not raising my voice, which somehow made it worse. “It’s Lia one day, then Mimi, then Bri, Emi… you’re with them during the day and what? I was just supposed to be waiting for you in your bed at night?”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what was it?” I’d pressed, softer now, almost pleading. “Because it still felt like I was the only one standing in it fully.”
He’d exhaled, running a hand through his hair again, that same tell.
“I just need more time.”
I’d let out a small, disbelieving laugh, shaking my head.
“Of course you do.”
“Don’t do that,” he’d said quickly. “Don’t twist it into something it’s not.”
“I’m not twisting anything,” I’d replied, my voice steadier now, even as something inside me started to close. “You’re asking me to stay exactly where I am while you… what? Have your cake and eat it too?”
“That’s not fair.”
“It is,” I’d said. “Because nothing you’re saying changes how it feels for me.”
“It will,” he’d insisted. “You just have to trust me.”
That word again.
Trust.
Like it was something he could ask for without giving me anything solid to hold onto.
Something in my chest had tightened, then settled into something colder.
“You keep asking me for that,” I’d murmured. “But you’re not giving me anything to trust in.”
His expression had tightened.
“You’re overreacting.”
“Okay,” I’d said quietly.
And then I’d turned around and walked away without looking back.
Jan’s invite came that night: Club night with the squad! Come unwind after that brutal set list!
I fired back: Oh no, I’m really not in the mood.
'C’mon, you've been MIA too long! Booze, beats, no drama. I'll buy the first round if you show,' she teased, adding pleading emojis that chipped at my resolve.
The anger simmered, pushing me to spite the pull he still had, to drown the hurt in noise despite his relentless pursuit.
Fuck it.
I’m in.
🥃
“Chug! Chug! Chug!”
The chant snaps me back into the present like a hand yanking me out of water.
I blink—lights, noise, bodies moving too close, too fast.
Someone shoves another shot into my hand.
“Woohoo! You’re killing this!” Xian yells over the music.
I don’t hesitate.
Salt. Burn. Heat flooding down my throat, pooling warm in my stomach.
Another follows immediately.
Then another.
I snatch it, tongue the salt heavier this time, the tequila slamming harder, fuzzing my thoughts. The hurt eases into numb defiance, my body loosening as the alcohol surges. I'm a dancer at heart—rhythm is my blood.
“Oh my god! Have you seen this?” whispers break out, phones are whipped out and passed around. I’m too drunk to care.
“Scoups went on weverse and denied any relationship with Lia or any idol,” someone reads, “he said, quote, it’s fake news my label threw out without my consent.”
“He said there’s someone special in his life,” a shouted whisper.
“He’s such a man,” another person giggles, “probably has a line of special someone’s.”
“Count me in!” a high voice shrieks, “I’ll be in his harem line any day!”
I down another shot. The words and whispers blurring in my head.
Jan yanks me to the floor: “I’m cutting you off. Move it, queen!”
The lights strobe, bodies press close, sweat and perfume thick in the air. I let the music take over, hips swaying to the heavy drop, my skirt riding up as I grind against the beat. I’m good at this—years of syncing to K-pop tracks honed my flow. I lose myself, spinning, dipping low, my ass brushing against strangers in the crowd.
A guy from another group slides up behind me, hands on my waist, and I don’t pull away. Instead, I arch back, grinding my hips into him, feeling his hardness press against me through our clothes. The friction sparks heat between my thighs, my pussy already slick from the booze and the rush. Shots keep coming—someone hands me one mid-dance, and I throw it back without stopping, the liquid fire urging me on. I’m drunk now, gloriously so, the world tilting in the best way, jealousy morphing into reckless abandon.
But then I feel it—eyes on me. Intense, piercing, cutting through the haze. I glance over, and there he is: Seungcheol, leaning against the bar in a dark hoodie pulled low, his gaze locked on me like a predator. His jaw clenches as he watches me grind on the stranger, those photos forgotten in the face of this real-time jealousy bait. My heart races, a mix of triumph and need surging through me. I amp it up, deliberately—pressing harder against the guy, tossing my hair, letting out a moan-laugh that I know carries, fingers trailing my own thigh, daring him to snap. I want him to burn like I did.
He pushes off the bar, stalking through the crowd like he owns it. The stranger senses the shift and backs off with a muttered 'whoa,' vanishing into the throng. Seungcheol’s hand clamps on my arm, yanking me close, his breath hot against my ear.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls, voice low and dangerous, laced with that dominant edge I crave.
I twist in his grip, the alcohol making my movements sloppy, my eyes narrowing as I shove at his chest. The words hang between us, heavy with everything we don't say—the nights tangled in sheets, the way his touch lingers too long, the fear of what it all means in his world of flashing lights and contracts. “Dancing. Having fun. You know, like normal people do when they're not… occupied.”
My voice drips with sarcasm, the hurt sharpening each syllable, but I can't bring myself to name the girl, the photos, the ache that's been gnawing at me all day. We both know it's there, that green-eyed monster twisting us both.
His jaw clenches, eyes darkening as he pulls me closer, his body heat cutting through the club's haze. “Occupied?”
There's a pause, loaded, his fingers tightening on my arm just enough to remind me of the cuffs we've used, the control he wields so effortlessly. But tonight, it's laced with something raw, unspoken—the jealousy mirroring mine, the possessiveness we pretend is casual.
I swallow hard, the tequila burning in my throat again as tears threaten. “Am I wrong?” The question slips out, quieter, laced with the vulnerability I hate showing.
He exhales sharply, his gaze flicking to the crowd before locking back on me, thumb brushing my skin in a way that's almost tender, almost an apology without words. “You think I want that? Any of it? I denied it, all of it, for you…”
My chest tightens, the tequila providing far more than liquid courage, anger flaring hot. “I don’t know Seung— Scoups! You’re the big alpha leader, no such thing as bad publicity, amiright.”
I push harder against him, but he doesn't budge, his hold steady, eyes searching mine with that intensity that always unravels me.
“Come with me,” he murmurs finally, voice dropping to that commanding timbre edged with plea. “Not here. My place.”
“No, I’m dancing,” I slur, turning away, “You might not want me, but I’m sure someone does. Hey, Xian!”
In my drunken haze, I miss how Xian’s face pales as Seungcheol glares at him.
“Over my dead body,” he steers me out, arm firm around my waist, the cool night air slapping my flushed skin as he leads me into his car.
“You don’t get to tell me what’s enough… I-I’m fineee. I always knew it would end like this. Ssssss coooopssss. Hehe, your name is funny.”
“Shhh,” his hand covered my mouth, the car suddenly silent. His hand moves down to rest on my thigh, fingers tracing idle patterns that send shivers up my spine.
I lean into his shoulder, the booze weighing me down. Sober me would’ve gotten out of the car and gotten a cab, but drunk me was still just a heartbroken girl.
“You know…” I mumble, eyes drifting shut, “I always knew I’m replaceable, I just didn’t think it would happen this quickly…”
His hand stills, squeezing gently. “You're not. You’re everything.” The response is simple, but it is more than anything he’d said in the last week, through texts, voicemails, flowers…
“I kept trying to fix things the wrong way,” he said. “Explaining. Avoiding. Managing it.”
A pause.
“I thought if I kept it controlled, I wouldn’t lose you.”
I feel the car stop. Feel him lifting me up. Walking.
“I know I messed this up,” he added. “And I don’t expect you to trust me just because I’m saying the right thing now.”
A pause. He sets me down on a bed.
“But I’m not going to keep you in limbo anymore.”
I scoff. “Sure you won’t,” I slur, moving up, cracking an eye open. “I should’ve stayed with Xian.”
That does it.
His face thunders. He surges forward, hands ripping off my top, the fabric tearing with a satisfying rip that echoes my fractured heart. The skirt slides down next, pooling at my ankles, leaving me exposed in that clinging lace, sweat-slick skin prickling in the cool air.
He steps back, shedding his hoodie and shirt in one fluid motion, muscles rippling under the dim light, ink and faint scars from endless performances tracing his chest and arms. His pants drop next, cock springing free—thick, hard, veins pulsing with the need he's barely holding back. It twitches toward me, pre-cum beading at the tip, but I don't move. I cross my arms over my chest, nipples hardening against my will from the chill and the sight of him.
“You want to talk about other men?” he says, voice hard, the edge dulled by a flicker of regret in those dark eyes.
“You think you can just drag me here, strip me, and I'll forget?” My hands ball into fists, nails biting into palms, the room spinning a little from the booze.
He doesn't flinch, but his eyes softens just a fraction, the raw vulnerability cracking through his dominance. He closes the distance again, not grabbing, but his fingers ghost along my jaw, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.
“I’ll fix it. Trust me. That’s all I’m asking. Please. Trust that I’ll do better. You’re everything to me, baby.” His thumb brushes my lower lip, parting it slightly, and I hate how my body leans in, betraying the storm inside.
It’s the please that does it. As I stare into his eyes, my heart gives in. The flowers, the texts… all of it pales in comparison to this. Him. Scoups. Choi Seungcheol. Begging me to stay.
“Prove it then,” I whisper, my breath hitches as his hand trails down, cupping my breast, thumb circling the nipple until it peaks under his touch. He pinches it lightly, sending a jolt straight to my core, my pussy clenching despite the anger.
“I will,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, leaning in to capture my mouth in a kiss that's not gentle—teeth nipping my lip, tongue invading like he's claiming territory. I push at his chest half-heartedly, but he pulls back just enough to tease, his other hand sliding between my thighs, fingers pressing against the lace over my clit. He rubs slow circles, the friction building heat that makes my knees weaken, but I lock them, refusing to fold.
He pulls back from my mouth, lips glistening, eyes dark and pleading as he guides me toward the couch in the dim glow of his apartment. The leather creaks under his weight as he lies back, cock jutting up rigid and slick from my earlier attention, veins throbbing along its length.
"Ride my face. Let me taste that fire," he rasps, voice thick with hunger and that undercurrent of apology, hands reaching for my hips to draw me over him.
I hesitate, thighs trembling from the booze and the storm raging inside. My pussy throbs, slick and swollen, droplets of my wetness trail down my inner thigh. I hover above him, not quite lowering myself, my hands pressing against his chest to keep distance. Nails dig into his skin, leaving red marks as punishment for the image of him with her, burned into my mind.
His fingers trail up my thighs, teasing the edges of my soaked folds without mercy, stroking the sensitive skin around my entrance. He circles my clit with his thumb, slow and deliberate, flicking it just enough to make my hips jerk forward involuntarily. A gasp escapes me, sharp and unwilling, as heat coils low in my belly.
"Please jagi, let me make it right," he murmurs, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, eyes locked on mine with raw vulnerability cracking through his usual control. "Let me drown in you, tiny dancer. Taste how much you own me."
The edging unravels me bit by bit—his thumb pressing firmer now, rubbing in tight circles that have my clit pulsing, juices leaking onto his waiting chin. I bite my lip, fighting the pull, but the alcohol blurs the edges of my resistance, turning fury into a desperate ache.
"Cheol-ahhhh" I gasp, voice slurring with emotion and need, as he pulls my hips down onto his face. My pussy lips part over his mouth, smearing wetness across his face as I straddle his head, thighs clamping around his ears.
His tongue lashes out instantly, flat and insistent, dragging from my entrance to my clit in one long, greedy swipe. He sucks my folds into his mouth, lips sealing around them with wet, slurping sounds that echo in the quiet room, tongue probing deeper to lap at the creamy arousal pooling inside me. I grind down hard, smothering him completely, my ass cheeks flexing as I rock my hips in frantic circles, fucking his face like it's the only way to purge the pain.
"Like this? This what you crave from me?" I gasp out, words fractured by sobs of pleasure and lingering hurt, the unspoken accusation hanging—is this all you crave from me?
He groans into my core, the vibration rumbling straight through my clit, making my walls flutter and clench around nothing. His hands clamp onto my ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh, spreading my cheeks wide as he pulls me tighter against him. Tongue thrusting deep now, he fucks into my pussy with it, curling upward to stroke that ridged spot inside that sends sparks exploding behind my eyes. I ride him harder, clit grinding over the bridge of his nose, coating his skin in a glossy sheen of my slickness—dripping down his cheeks, into his hair, the musky scent of my arousal filling the air.
Sweat beads on my skin, mixing with the dampness between us, as I brace my hands on his chest, pinching his nipples roughly to match the twist in my gut. Pleasure builds relentlessly, tangled with the ache of betrayal, every lap of his tongue a silent plea for forgiveness. We both feel it—this raw reclaiming amid the shadows of his celebrity life, the risks we ignore for these stolen moments. My thighs quake, muscles burning from the effort, but I don't stop, chasing the high that might wash away the jealousy.
I shatter with a cry, pussy convulsing as waves of ecstasy crash over me, flooding his mouth with hot gushes of cum. He swallows greedily, tongue milking every spasm, sucking my clit until I'm oversensitive and twitching, tears streaking my face from the intensity and the emotions bubbling up. He doesn't let go, licking me clean with broad, possessive strokes, until I'm boneless and panting above him.
Before I can catch my breath, he flips us with a surge of strength, my back hitting the cool leather of the couch. His body pins mine, cock heavy and leaking pre-cum against my thigh, the tip smearing sticky trails on my skin. "Turn over," he growls, voice hoarse from my taste on his tongue, but his gaze softens, tracing the flush on my cheeks, acknowledging the vulnerability I've bared.
I roll onto my stomach, knees digging into the cushions as I bend over the armrest, ass lifting high, pussy exposed and glistening in the low light. Legs spread wide, I arch my back, the position making me feel utterly open, still buzzing from my orgasm. His fingers dive in without warning—two thick digits plunging into my soaked heat, stretching me with a squelch that makes my cheeks burn. He pumps them roughly, knuckles deep, twisting to grind against my inner walls, thumb pressing hard on my clit in relentless circles.
"Fuck, you're drenched," he mutters, breath hot against my ear, the words laced with awe and regret. But his other hand glides down my spine, palm flat and soothing, tracing the curve of my back like he's mapping the hurt he caused.
"Please, Cheol," I whimper, pushing back onto his hand, the coil tightening again. He adds a third finger, scissoring them wide, curling to hit my g-spot over and over, the wet sounds obscene as my arousal coats his wrist.
He withdraws suddenly, leaving me clenching on emptiness, a whine tearing from my throat. The broad head of his cock nudges my entrance, hot and insistent, before he slams forward in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. My pussy stretches around his girth, walls gripping him like a vice, the fullness making me see stars. He doesn't hold back, fucking me with deep, punishing drives—hips snapping forward, balls slapping against my clit with every plunge, the force jolting my body against the couch arm.
Skin slaps against skin, loud and rhythmic, mingling with my moans and his grunts. "Feel me? Only your pussy does this to me," he grunts, one hand coming down on my ass in a sharp spank, the sting blooming into heat that radiates through me. He rubs the reddened flesh immediately after, fingers kneading as his pace stutters, emotion bleeding into the dominance. Another spank lands, harder, making my ass jiggle, then his palm soothes, the contrast driving me wild.
I claw at the cushions, fabric bunching under my nails, anger pouring out in broken pleas: "Harder, Cheol… prove it." The words carry everything—the demand for him to be mine, to commit. He slows then, grinding deep inside me, hips circling to drag his cock along every inch of my channel, the veined shaft rubbing my sensitive spots until I'm keening.
"I can't lose you," he confesses in a ragged whisper, voice cracking as he leans over me, chest pressing to my back. His hand snakes around, fingers finding my nipple and pinching it sharply, rolling the hard peak between thumb and forefinger until pain-pleasure shoots to my core. The admission hangs heavy—the deep feelings we circle, the dangers of his world, the future we both want but dread voicing.
It tips me over, orgasm ripping through me like fire, pussy spasming wildly around his cock, squeezing him in rhythmic pulses as I soak his length with fresh waves of cum. He thrusts once, twice more, then buries himself deep, groaning low as his balls draw up and he unloads—thick ropes of hot cum spurting into me, filling my pussy until it overflows, creamy trails leaking down my thighs.
We collapse in a tangle, his weight a comforting press as he stays inside me, softening slowly. Arms wrap around my waist, pulling me close, his lips brushing my neck in soft, lingering kisses. Fingers trace idle patterns over my sweat-damp skin, from hip to breast, grounding us in the afterglow.
In the heavy quiet, his breath fans my ear. "Miyane. I'm sorry, baby. I'll do better. Be better for you. I promise." No flowery words, just the raw truth easing the tension, binding us in the unspoken promise that this—us—is worth every shadowed risk.
Could you do a non-idol roommate smut fic with Scoups and San? Maybe have y/n see them working out in their home gym, masturbate in her room when she thinks they're not home, and have them confront her about it later? I dunno, just something that popped into my head
Two baddies (Choi) one Porsche
Pairing: San x reader x seungcheol
Modern non-idol au, roomates au, smut
Wc:~3.5k
Warnings: threesome mmf, voyeurism, masturbation after spying on them working out, getting caught, oral (m and f receiving), creampie, multiple orgasms, polyamorous relationship, embarassment
A/N: i loooooove this! I love the plot and i loved writing it !
You pushed open the front door of the apartment with a tired sigh, the strap of your work bag sliding down your shoulder. It was barely past 5 PM, much earlier than your usual 7 or 8 o’clock return, but the meeting had been canceled last minute and you weren’t about to complain about a rare free evening. The apartment was quiet at first glance, the living room lights dimmed, but a low, rhythmic bass pulsed from somewhere deeper inside. Then you heard it: the unmistakable metallic clang of weights, followed by a deep grunt of effort.
Your heart skipped. San and Seungcheol were supposed to be at the gym downtown tonight. That’s what they’d texted in the group chat this morning. "Heading out for legs and back, don’t wait up." Yet the sounds were clearly coming from the spare room you three had converted into a home gym six months ago.
Curiosity tugged at you stronger than exhaustion. You kicked off your heels by the door, leaving them in a small heap and padded silently down the hallway in your stockings. The gym door was ajar, just a few inches, enough for a slice of warm light and the scent of sweat to escape. You shouldn’t peek. You knew you shouldn’t. But the pull was magnetic.
You stopped just outside, pressing your back to the wall and tilted your head to look through the gap.
The sight hit you like a physical force. San hung from the pull-up bar, back facing you, muscles rippling under golden skin as he lifted his entire body with controlled power. His black workout shorts rode low on his hips, revealing the deep dimples at the base of his spine and the sculpted curve of his ass. Every rep made his lats flare wide, traps and deltoids bunching into sharp definition. Sweat traced glistening paths down his spine, catching the light. When he lowered himself, you could see the way his biceps and forearms corded, veins prominent from the pump.
A few feet away, Seungcheol lay on the bench press, unracking the bar with a low exhale. His chest and shoulders were massive, stretching the limits of his already tight skin. The gray tank top he wore was soaked through, clinging to every ridge of his abs as he pressed the heavy weight up. His thighs, thick and powerful in black compression shorts, planted firmly on the floor for stability. Each press came with a deep, guttural sound that vibrated straight through your core.
They were beautiful. Lethally so.
You’d lived with them for over a year now, three roommates who somehow made cohabitation feel effortless. San, with his playful energy and mischievous smiles, always teasing you about your coffee addiction. Seungcheol, the steady, protective type, who made sure the bills were paid on time and cooked protein-heavy dinners that somehow always included your favorites. You’d crushed on them individually in secret, then together in guilty fantasies you never dared voice. But seeing them like this: raw, primal, bodies honed by hours of discipline, ignited something fierce and immediate.
Heat bloomed low in your belly. Your thighs pressed together instinctively as you watched San drop from the bar and shake out his arms, chest heaving. He turned slightly, giving you a profile view of his abs contracting with each breath. Seungcheol sat up on the bench, wiping his face with the hem of his tank before peeling it off entirely, revealing miles of smooth, sweat-slicked muscle.
You bit your lip hard. Your nipples tightened against the lace of your bra and a slick warmth gathered between your legs. This was dangerous. You needed to back away, go to your room, pretend you’d seen nothing. But your feet stayed rooted, eyes devouring every detail: the way San’s hand casually adjusted himself in his shorts, the flex of Seungcheol’s biceps as he reached for his water bottle, the low conversation they shared about increasing weights next set.
San laughed at something Seungcheol said, the sound rich and carefree and it sent another pulse of arousal through you. You imagined those hands on your skin, those voices murmuring your name in darker tones.
A soft, involuntary sound escaped your throat. You froze. Neither man looked toward the door. The music, something heavy with bass, probably covered it. Still, panic and need warred inside you. You backed away slowly, heart hammering and slipped into your bedroom at the end of the hall. The door clicked shut behind you. You locked it with trembling fingers.
The room felt too warm. You leaned against the door for a moment, eyes closed, trying to steady your breathing. It didn’t work. The images were burned behind your eyelids: San’s back, Seungcheol’s chest, the sheen of sweat, the raw power. Your hand drifted down before you could stop it, pressing over your skirt against the ache between your thighs.
"Fuck" you whispered.
You kicked off your stockings and skirt, leaving them pooled on the floor. Your blouse followed, then your bra. Clad only in damp panties, you climbed onto your bed and lay back against the pillows. The apartment’s sounds were muffled here, but you could still faintly hear the music and occasional clank. They were still working out. They wouldn’t be done for a while. You were safe.
Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your panties. You were soaked already, fingers gliding easily over your swollen clit. A sharp gasp left you as you circled it slowly at first, teasing. In your mind, it wasn’t your hand.
It was San’s.
You pictured him fresh from the pull-up bar, kneeling between your spread thighs, sweat still dripping from his hair onto your stomach as his skilled fingers worked you open. "Been thinking about this, haven’t you?" his voice would rumble, dark and teasing like when he joked around the kitchen island. Two thick fingers would push inside you while his thumb pressed perfect circles on your clit.
Your own fingers mimicked the fantasy, dipping lower to slide one, then two inside your aching pussy. You moaned softly, hips rolling up to meet your hand.
Seungcheol appeared in the daydream next, standing behind San, watching with that intense gaze of his. He’d grip San’s shoulder, then reach for you, large palm covering your breast, pinching your nipple just hard enough to make you cry out. "So pretty when you’re desperate" he’d murmur, voice low and commanding, the same tone he used when organizing their workout schedules or settling apartment disputes.
You added a third finger, stretching yourself, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. Your other hand moved to your chest, rolling a stiff nipple between thumb and forefinger. Pleasure coiled tighter in your core. You imagined them both shirtless still, bodies pressed close, taking turns tasting you. San’s tongue replacing your fingers: eager, almost playful, licking broad stripes before sucking your clit between his lips. Seungcheol kissing you deeply, swallowing your moans while his hand guided San’s head.
"Oh god…" The words slipped out louder than intended. You turned your face into the pillow to muffle the next moan as you pumped your fingers faster, curling them against that sensitive spot inside.
The fantasy shifted. Now Seungcheol was between your legs, his massive shoulders holding your thighs apart while San knelt beside you, feeding his cock past your lips. You’d seen the outline of them both through their shorts enough times to imagine accurately: thick, heavy, San slightly longer with a slight upward curve, Seungcheol girthy enough to make your jaw ache. You sucked greedily in the daydream, hollowing your cheeks while Seungcheol fucked you with deep, powerful strokes that matched his bench press rhythm.
Your hips bucked off the bed. The coil wound impossibly tight. Sweat beaded on your own skin now, mirroring theirs. You rubbed your clit frantically with the heel of your hand while your fingers thrust deep.
"Come for us" imaginary San whispered against your ear.
That did it.
The orgasm slammed into you hard. Your walls clenched rhythmically around your fingers, thighs trembling violently. A broken cry tore from your throat, muffled by the pillow as wave after wave crashed over you. You kept rubbing through it, drawing it out until it bordered on too much, vision whiting out for a few blissful seconds.
You lay there afterward, chest heaving, fingers still buried inside your pulsing heat. A lazy, satisfied smile curved your lips. The guilt was there, faint but present: you’d just gotten off hard to your roommates, but the relief outweighed it. They’d never know. They were still in the gym, probably finishing up their sets, completely oblivious.
Or so you thought.
Unbeknownst to you, the music had stopped a minute earlier. The gym door had been left wider than you realized when you first peeked. And the large mirror on the opposite wall had given both men a perfect, unobstructed view of you hurrying down the hall, flushed and distracted, right after they’d spotted your reflection watching them.
They hadn’t followed immediately. They’d finished their workout in charged silence, exchanging heavy looks but saying little. The air between them crackled with new possibility.
In your room, you finally withdrew your hand, and reached for your phone to check the time. Still early. Plenty of time to shower and act normal.
The living room lights were dimmed to a warm amber glow when you finally emerged from your room, freshly showered and dressed in an oversized hoodie and soft shorts. Your hair was still slightly damp and you’d tried to compose yourself: neutral expression, casual demeanor, as if you hadn’t spent the better part of an hour replaying the image of your shirtless roommates while fingering yourself to completion. The apartment smelled faintly of the stir-fry Seungcheol had apparently thrown together while you were hiding. Music played low from the television: some R&B playlist they both liked.
San and Seungcheol were already on the sectional couch. San lounged in the corner, legs spread comfortably in gray sweatpants and a black tank top that did little to hide the definition of his shoulders. Seungcheol sat more upright on the other end, wearing a loose white tee and black shorts, one arm draped along the back of the couch. They both looked relaxed. Too relaxed.
You hesitated in the doorway. Something in the air felt charged, heavier than usual.
"Hey" you said, aiming for normalcy as you padded toward the kitchen island. "Smells good. You guys ate already?"
Seungcheol’s deep voice answered first. "Saved you a plate. It’s in the microwave." His tone was calm, almost too even. "Come sit with us first."
Your stomach flipped. You glanced at San. He was watching you with those sharp, cat-like eyes, the corner of his mouth curved in a small, knowing smile. Not his usual playful one. This one carried heat.
You grabbed a water bottle instead of the food and slowly walked over, perching on the middle cushion between them. The couch felt smaller than usual. Their body heat radiated toward you: San’s leg brushing yours, Seungcheol’s arm still stretched behind your shoulders.
For a minute, the three of you watched the muted music video on screen. The silence stretched.
Then Seungcheol spoke. "We saw you watching us earlier."
Your heart slammed against your ribs. The water bottle nearly slipped from your fingers. You turned your head toward him, eyes wide. "What?"
San shifted closer on your other side, his knee pressing firmly against yours now. "In the gym. Door was open. You stood there for a while." His voice was low, almost a purr. "Could see how you were looking at us."
Heat flooded your face instantly. Embarrassment burned down your neck and across your chest. You opened your mouth to deny it, but the words died when Seungcheol continued. "And then we saw you go to your room." He leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming. "Heard you too. The walls aren’t that thick, baby."
Baby. The pet name landed like a spark on dry tinder. You wanted the couch to swallow you whole. Your mind raced through excuses, maybe they were mistaken, maybe it was something else, but the evidence was damning. You’d been loud. You’d been desperate.
"I… I didn’t know you were home" you whispered, voice cracking. "You said you were going to the gym downtown. I came back early an..."
San’s hand landed gently on your thigh, just above your knee. Warm. Steady. "We changed plans. Decided to use the home gym instead." His thumb stroked a slow circle on your skin. "Didn’t expect to catch you staring like that. Like you wanted to eat us alive."
You squeezed your eyes shut, mortified. "God, this is so embarrassing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...I’ll just…"
Seungcheol’s fingers brushed the back of your neck, sliding into your damp hair. He turned your face toward him. His gaze was dark, intense, but not angry. Hungry. "Don’t apologize. We’re not mad."
San’s hand slid higher up your thigh, slipping under the hem of your shorts just an inch. "We’ve been wanting you for months, you know. Both of us. Tried to keep it respectful since we’re roommates, but fuck… hearing you moan like that?" He exhaled sharply. "Nearly lost it right there in the gym."
Your breath hitched. This couldn’t be real. You’d fantasized about this exact scenario earlier today and now it was unfolding in the living room. "You… both of you?"
Seungcheol nodded, his thumb tracing your jaw. "Both of us. We’ve talked about it. A lot." He leaned in until his lips were inches from yours. "Question is… do you want this? Want us?"
The air felt electric. Your pulse thundered in your ears. Every rational thought screamed that this could complicate the roommate dynamic beyond repair. But your body, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm, still aching for more, overruled everything.
"Yes" you breathed. "I want you. Both of you."
The words barely left your lips before Seungcheol closed the distance. His kiss was firm, commanding, lips warm and sure as they moved against yours. One large hand cupped your cheek while the other stayed tangled in your hair. He tasted like the mint from his post-workout drink and when his tongue swept into your mouth you moaned softly, melting into him.
San didn’t stay idle. His mouth found the side of your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin while his hand boldly slid higher, fingers brushing the edge of your panties. "So fucking pretty" he murmured against your pulse point. "Been thinking about this for so long."
Seungcheol pulled back just enough to let you catch your breath, then San turned your face toward him and claimed your mouth in a deeper, more playful kiss. His tongue teased yours, coaxing you into a rhythm that made your toes curl. While he kissed you, Seungcheol’s hands roamed, sliding under your hoodie, palms broad and warm against your bare waist, thumbs stroking the undersides of your breasts.
You whimpered into San’s mouth when Seungcheol pinched one nipple lightly.
"Bedroom?" San asked against your lips, voice husky.
"Too far" Seungcheol answered. "Couch is fine tonight."
They moved with practiced coordination, as if they’d imagined this together many times. Your hoodie came off first, tossed aside. San peeled your shorts and panties down your legs in one smooth motion. Suddenly you were naked between them, skin flushed and breathing ragged. They drank in the sight of you, San’s eyes dark with lust, Seungcheol’s jaw clenched with restraint.
"Beautiful" Seungcheol murmured. He guided you to lie back against the cushions, spreading your thighs. San settled between them first, pressing open-mouthed kisses up your inner thigh. When his tongue dragged slowly through your folds, you cried out, back arching.
"Already so wet" San groaned, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. He licked you with enthusiasm: broad, flat strokes followed by focused flicks on your clit, then dipping inside you. Two fingers joined soon after, curling perfectly while he sucked your clit between his lips.
Seungcheol knelt beside your head, stroking your hair. He pulled his shirt off, revealing the powerful chest you’d watched earlier. "Open for me, baby." You turned your head eagerly, taking his thick cock into your mouth as he freed it from his shorts. He was heavy on your tongue, stretching your lips. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him deeper while San devoured your pussy.
The dual sensations were overwhelming. Pleasure built fast: San’s talented mouth and fingers driving you toward the edge while Seungcheol fucked your mouth in shallow, controlled thrusts, praising you in that low, steady voice.
"That’s it… taking us so well. Look at you, our pretty roommate."
You came hard the first time with San’s fingers buried deep and his tongue relentless on your clit. Your moan vibrated around Seungcheol’s cock, making him groan and thrust a little deeper.
They switched after that. Seungcheol took his turn between your legs, his shoulders holding your thighs wide as he ate you with more intensity: long, deep licks and powerful suction that had you shaking. San knelt by your head, feeding you his cock. He was longer, curved and he tangled his fingers in your hair, moaning your name as you sucked him eagerly.
"Fuck, your mouth feels even better than I imagined" San panted.
You lost track of how many times they brought you to the edge. They were patient, thorough, worshipping every inch of you with hands and mouths until you were a trembling, oversensitive mess, begging incoherently.
"Please… need you inside me" you finally gasped when Seungcheol pulled back from your clit, lips shiny with your arousal.
They didn’t make you wait long.
San sat on the couch and pulled you onto his lap, facing away from him. You sank down onto his cock slowly, moaning loudly at the stretch. He was thick enough to make your eyes water in the best way. Once fully seated, he wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed your shoulder. "Good girl. Feel so perfect."
Seungcheol stood in front of you, stroking himself as he watched you ride San for a minute. Then he stepped closer, guiding his cock back into your mouth. You were completely filled: San thrusting up into your pussy while Seungcheol fucked your throat in sync. Their hands roamed everywhere: San’s fingers on your clit, Seungcheol’s on your breasts, both of them groaning praises and filthy words that made your head spin.
The pace quickened. San’s hips snapped up harder, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. Seungcheol’s hand tightened gently in your hair. The sounds in the living room were obscene: skin slapping skin, wet slurping, your muffled moans, their deep grunts.
You came again like that, clamped around San’s cock while Seungcheol was buried in your mouth. The orgasm tore through you violently, vision blurring, body shaking between them.
San followed soon after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a broken moan of your name. Seungcheol pulled out of your mouth and stroked himself fast, painting your chest and breasts with hot streaks of cum moments later.
For a long minute, the only sounds were heavy breathing and the low music still playing from the TV.
They took care of you immediately. San lifted you gently off his lap and laid you down on the couch while Seungcheol disappeared to the bathroom, returning with warm, damp towels. They cleaned you thoroughly: soft touches, gentle kisses on your thighs, your stomach, your forehead. San fetched you a fresh hoodie (his own, smelling like him) while Seungcheol brought water and a small plate of the stir-fry.
You ended up curled between them again, this time under a soft blanket. San’s arm was around your waist, Seungcheol’s fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh.
"So…" you started, voice hoarse but content. "Roommates with benefits?"
Seungcheol chuckled, deep and warm. "More than that. We’ve wanted this for a long time. Not just sex."
San nuzzled into your neck. "We’re yours. You’re ours. We’ll figure out the details tomorrow. Tonight, just stay here with us."
You smiled, exhaustion and satisfaction settling deep in your bones. As their warmth surrounded you and the TV flickered softly, you let yourself relax completely between the two men who had just ruined you for anyone else. The new dynamic as roommates was definitely, blissfully, changed for good.
Bonus: me when i read that request with that crossover sent from heaven
Summary: Drunk you has no filter and your husband has always been a weak, weak man when it comes to you. He just didn’t expect your family planning conversation to awaken the caveman part of his brain or a raging breeding kink in both of you.
Warnings: smut!MDNI, established relationship, trying to conceive, pregnancy, soft dom!cheol, domestic fluff, humor, healthy communication, breeding kink awakening, enthusiastic consent, multiple + creative locations and one very smug husband who knocked you up in paradise, married life, baby fever, hormone-induced chaos, obsessed husband!Cheol x obsessed wife!reader, as usual I might be missing something.
W.C: 18.1k
Sometimes being married to Choi Seungcheol felt like a fever dream as you often wondered how you managed to bag a man that ticked every box. He had his moments, his little beige flags as you liked to call them, but you knew that man loved you which is why you’re seeking him out as soon as you stumble through your front door. You had an itch only your husband could scratch and if you were right, he would still be holed up in the home office.
Seungcheol had been reading reports in his home office when he heard the front door slam. A quick look at his watch alerts him to the time, 1:47 AM.
His eyes narrowed. Why didn’t you call him to come pick you up? He gets out of his chair when he hears the unmistakable sound of heels being kicked off carelessly and soft humming.
“My husband!” your voice singsongs from the down the hall. “Where are youuu?”
He barely has time to make it to the hallway before you stumble into the room seconds later, eyes glazed and clutching your purse like it’s plotting against you.
“Babyyyy,” you gasp, “There you are.”
His brows draw together. “You’re drunk.”
You blink at him, smile growing. “Nuh-uh, just a tiny bit tipsy.” You measure with your fingers before breaking into a fit of giggles. Seungcheol can count on one hand how many times he’s seen you drunk—it’s still one hand—as you can hold your liquor very well.
You walk—well, sway—across the room and launch yourself at him. He stumbles half a step back, catching you as your arms wrap tightly around his waist, face burying into his chest.
“You smell expensive and…sexy,” you mumble.
“What happened?” he asks, voice low.
“Work has been shit,” you whisper. “Needed a—” you hiccup, “—a break.”
He exhales slowly before his hand finds its way to your back. His grip tightens as he studies your lightly smudged eyeliner and flushed cheeks. The scent of your favorite wine lingers on your breath but beneath it lies your usual perfume, brown sugar, coconut, vanilla.
“You’re a mess,” he murmurs, though there’s no bite in his tone.
You giggle against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. “You married this mess.”
A beat of silence passes before his lips twitch despite himself. “What am going to do with you, huh?”
The weight of you against him is familiar, grounding even, despite the alcohol-fueled abandon in your movements. Seungcheol’s hand moves in slow, deliberate circles against your back, a habit he’s developed over the years; one that always seems to settle you.
“Do with me?” you repeat, pulling back just enough to look up at him through your lashes. Your eyes are glassy but focused entirely on him, pupils blown wide. “I have some ideas.”
He catches the shift in your tone immediately, the way your fingers stop their aimless fidgeting and instead trace deliberate paths along his chest. His jaw tightens.
“You’re drunk,” he repeats, firmer this time, even as his treacherous body responds to your proximity.
“In loveeeeee” you respond as you attempt to sing lyrics from Drunk in Love.
Seungcheol’s resolve wavers as you butcher the Beyoncé song, swaying in his arms with unselfconscious joy. Despite everything—the late hour, the worry that had knotted in his chest when he heard the door slam, the very valid concern about your current state—he feels his lips curve into a reluctant smile.
“You’re ridiculous,” he says, but his hands have already moved to steady you, one sliding to your hip while the other cups the back of your head.
“Ridiculously in love with you,” you counter, poking his chest for emphasis. The motion throws off your already questionable balance, and you stumble forward again.
He catches you easily, muscle memory from years of being your safety net. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Ooh, bed,” you waggle your eyebrows in a way that would be seductive if you weren’t also hiccupping. “See? You do have ideas.”
“To sleep,” he clarifies, already guiding you toward the bedroom with his arm firmly around your waist. “We’re going to bed to sleep. You’re going to wake up tomorrow wondering why you thought drinking on a work night was a good idea.”
“Tomorrow me’s problem,” you declare, then immediately contradict yourself by clinging tighter to him. “Don’t you dare leave me alone tonight, Choi Seungcheol.”
Something in your voice—beneath the alcohol and the playfulness—sounds small. Vulnerable.
His expression softens. “Never,” he promises quietly. “Now come on, let’s get you changed.”
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You stop and ask randomly as he sits you on the bathroom counter and tries to remove your makeup.
Seungcheol blinks. This was getting more surreal by the second. You were sitting before him, arms hanging off his shoulders with your head tilted with genuine curiosity and you wanted to know if he’d love you…as a worm? He’s quiet for a moment. Then, his hands curve around your waist.
“A worm?” he repeats, deadpan. “Seriously?”
“Yahhhh, you wouldn’t?” You pout.
Seungcheol sighs, the kind of deep, put-upon sigh that somehow still sounds fond. He reaches for the micellar water and a cotton pad, tilting your chin up with two fingers so he can start wiping away your makeup.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, ignoring your question as he gently swipes at your eyeliner.
“You’re avoiding the question!” you accuse, though you do hold still,mostly. “That means you wouldn’t love me. You’d just…leave me in the dirt somewhere. Alone. A poor, lonely worm—”
“I would build you a terrarium,” he interrupts, deadpan, moving to your other eye. “With the best soil money can buy. Organic, the expensive kind.”
You gasp, eyes flying open and nearly getting makeup remover in them. He gently presses them closed again with his thumb.
“I said hold still.”
“You’d really build me a terrarium?” Your voice has gone soft, touched, as if he’s just promised you the moon.
“Mhm.” He’s focused on removing your mascara now, touch careful and practiced. “With a heated lamp. Perfect pH balance in the soil. I’d probably hire someone to monitor your…worm health.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m answering your question.” His lips twitch as he tosses the used cotton pad aside and reaches for another. “You’d be the most spoiled worm in existence. I’d make sure of it.”
You’re quiet for a moment and when he glances at your face, you’re smiling at him with such open adoration it makes something in his chest squeeze tight.
“I love you,” you whisper.
His hand pauses mid-swipe. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering.
“I love you too,” he murmurs against your skin. “Even if you ask me stupid questions at two in the morning.”
“Not stupid,” you mumble but you’re already melting into him again, arms tightening around his shoulders. “Important worm logistics.”
“Right. Very important.” He pulls back just enough to finish cleaning your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “Now let’s get you into pajamas before you ask me what I’d do if you were a dolphin.”
“Ooh, would you—”
“No.”
You cup his cheeks in your hands squishing them together, looking at him with those eyes before you kiss him. “Please, Cheollie? Want you?”
“Not tonight, princess.” It’s utterly amazing, the way you switch from asking him unhinged shit to asking him to fuck you. It should give him whiplash but it’s not the first time it’s happened.
“‘m not drunk…” you pout. “Can’t a girl just want her hot husband?”
Seungcheol’s jaw flexes under your palms, his eyes darkening despite his best efforts to maintain composure. He gently pulls your hands away from his face but doesn’t let go, instead intertwining his fingers with yours.
“You can,” he says, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “And you will, tomorrow. When you’re sober and won’t regret it.”
“I would never regret you,” you protest, leaning forward until your forehead rests against his. “Not possible. Scientifically impossible.”
“Scientifically impossible,” he repeats and there’s amusement threading through the restraint in his tone. “Is that so?”
“Mhm.” You nod seriously, the motion making you slightly dizzy. “Did research. Very thorough.”
His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand; that same grounding gesture, keeping himself anchored as much as you. “Your research involved how much wine exactly?”
“Irrelevant data,” you whisper, then press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “The conclusion is still valid.”
He inhales sharply and for a moment you think you’ve won. His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip but then he’s pulling back, putting necessary distance between you even as everything in his expression says he doesn’t want to.
“I’m not doing this while you’re drunk,” he says firmly. “I don’t care how much you pout or how many times you tell me you’re fine. This is non-negotiable.”
You study him for a long moment, his set jaw, his dark eyes that are clearly affected despite his iron will, the way his hand trembles just slightly against yours.
“You really won’t?” you ask, quieter now.
“I really won’t.” His expression softens. “Ask me tomorrow. When you can look me in the eye without the room spinning. When you’ll actually remember every detail.” His voice drops to something almost possessive. “Because when I do touch you, I want you to remember all of it.”
The promise in his words sends heat pooling low in your stomach despite your alcohol-hazed state. You bite your lip and his eyes track the movement with dangerous focus before he deliberately looks away.
“Evil man,” you mutter. “Making me wait.”
“Responsible husband,” he corrects, then slides you off the counter and scoops you up bridal style in one smooth motion. “Now come on. Pajamas, water, bed, in that order.”
“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “But I’m picking the pajamas.”
“As long as you actually put them on instead of trying to seduce me again.”
“No promises.”
He huffs what might be a laugh as he carries you toward the bedroom. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Y’know everyone thinks I married you for your status and money.” You say switching the subject again as he starts unbuttoning your shirt.
“No, you didn’t. You had no idea who my family was when we met so I know it’s not that.”
“I married you for that fat ass.” you reply, hands drifting down and grabbing his ass. “don’t need your money.” You grin at the look on his face.
“God, I forgot how handsy you get with alcohol in your system.”
“Horny too but I guess I don’t do it for you cause…what kinda hisb—” you hiccup “husband doesn’t like his wife t-throwing herself at him? Is it Jeonghan? Is Hannie prettier than me?”
Seungcheol freezes mid-button, his eyes snapping to yours with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.
“Did you just—” He stops, takes a breath, then continues with strained patience. “Did you seriously just ask me if I want Jeonghan?”
“Well, you don’t want me,” you say, bottom lip trembling in a way that would be more effective if you weren’t also still squeezing his ass. “He’s got nice hair,” you say defensively, words slurring slightly. “And that whole…pretty boy thing going on. Maybe you like that better than—”
“Jesus Christ woman,” Seungcheol mutters, catching your wandering hands and firmly moving them to your sides. “Okay, listen to me very carefully.”
He cups your face with both hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“First of all, Jeonghan is my best friend and I love him like a brother, which means the thought of anything else makes me want to bleach my brain.” His thumbs stroke your cheeks as he continues, voice firm but gentle. “Second, I always want you. Every single day. Sometimes so much it’s inconvenient, like in the middle of board meetings when you text me something cute.”
“Really?” you sniffle.
“Really.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “The reason I’m not touching you right now isn’t because I don’t want to. It’s because I respect you too much to take advantage when you’re drunk. Do you understand the difference?”
You’re quiet for a moment, processing. Then, “So, you do think I’m prettier than Hannie?”
A laugh bursts out of him, unexpected and genuine. “You’re completely ridiculous, you know that?”
“But am I prettier?”
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he says and the sincerity in his voice cuts through your alcohol-fogged brain. “Drunk, sober, first thing in the morning, all dressed up, doesn’t matter. It’s always you. Only you.”
Your eyes well up. “Cheollie…”
“Oh no.” He recognizes the signs immediately. “No crying. We’re not doing drunk crying tonight.”
“But you’re so nice to me,” you warble, tears already spilling over. “And I love you so much and you built me a theoretical worm terrarium, and you think I’m pretty—”
“I think we need to get you in pajamas right now,” he says, already reaching for the shirt buttons again with renewed determination, “before this spiral gets worse.”
“’m not spiraling,” you protest, even as another tear rolls down your cheek. “Just got a lot of feelings about my hot, respectful, worm-loving husband.”
“Worm-loving,” he repeats under his breath. “What is my life?”
“Your life is amazing,” you inform him, helpfully (unhelpfully) trying to unbutton your own shirt and just making the process more difficult. “You have me. And my ass. Which is also amazing.”
“I’m aware,” he says dryly, gently batting your hands away so he can actually finish unbuttoning. “I married it, remember?”
You gasp, delighted. “You do remember! See, we’re perfect for each other. You married my ass, I married your ass—”
“That’s not how marriage works.”
“—it’s like…ass-tronomy. No, wait. Ass-trology? We’re ass-trologically compatible.”
Seungcheol pauses, shirt halfway off your shoulders, and just looks at you. “Did you just—you can’t just put ‘ass’ in front of words and expect them to make sense.”
“Ass-olutely can,” you say with complete conviction.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly praying for strength. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
“You love it,” you singsong, finally cooperating enough to let him pull your shirt off. “You love meee and my drunk ass puns.”
“I love you despite your drunk ass puns,” he corrects, reaching for one of his old t-shirts from the drawer. “Arms up.”
You obey, lifting your arms like a toddler as he slides the shirt over your head. It’s enormous on you, falling nearly to your knees and smells like his cologne and laundry detergent. You immediately burrow into it with a happy sigh.
“Now pants,” he says, reaching for your waistband.
“Ooh, taking my pants off. Scandalous.”
“We’re literally married.”
“Still scandalous.” You boop his nose as he efficiently unbuttons your pants. “You’re being very professional about this. Very doctor-y. Do you do this for all your patients?”
“You’re my only patient and you’re testing my patience,” he mutters, helping you step out of your pants. “Other leg. Good.”
“Such a good caretaker,” you coo, patting his head as he kneels in front of you. “Gonna leave you five stars on MangoPlate. ‘Husband refused to have sex with drunk wife. Very responsible. Would recommend.’”
He looks up at you with an expression of pure suffering. “Please never write that review.”
“‘Also has a great ass,’” you continue thoughtfully. “‘Ass-ceptional, even.’”
“I’m begging you to stop.”
“‘Ass-tounding restraint—’”
He stands abruptly and just picks you up, cutting off your commentary as you squeal in surprise. “Okay. That’s enough. Water and bed. Now.”
“You can’t silence me!” you declare, even as you wrap your arms around his neck. “The people deserve to know about your ass!”
“The people know plenty,” he says, carrying you toward the bed with the long-suffering patience of a saint. “Now drink this.”
He somehow manages to grab the water bottle from the nightstand one-handed and present it to you. You take it obediently, suddenly realizing how thirsty you are.
“Good girl,” he murmurs and even in your drunk state, you don’t miss the way his voice dips on those words.
You lower the water bottle, eyes narrowing. “You can’t just say things like that and then refuse to—”
“Drink,” he interrupts firmly, tipping the bottle back up toward your lips.
You drink, plotting your revenge but the cool water actually does help clear some of the fog. When you’ve had enough, he sets the bottle aside and carefully deposits you onto your side of the bed.
“Stay,” he commands, pointing at you like you’re a mischievous puppy.
“Woof,” you respond because apparently the filter between your brain and mouth has completely dissolved. He huffs what might be a laugh and disappears into the bathroom. You hear water running and then he’s back with a damp washcloth, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Come here,” he says softly, and when you scoot closer, he gently wipes your face; getting the spots he missed earlier, cooling your flushed cheeks. It’s tender and intimate in a way that makes your chest ache.
“Cheol?” you whisper.
“Mm?”
“’m really glad I married you. Not just for your ass.”
His lips twitch. “Good to know.”
“For your heart too. And your face. And the way you take care of me even when I’m being ridiculous. Oh, and that dick, can’t forget about that.”
“Woman, I swear to—”
“Just lemme keep it warm, please?” Your hand moves to rest low on his stomach. There you go trying to get him to fuck you, again.
“Baby, no. We both know you won’t stop there.”
You open your mouth to protest—to make very compelling arguments about your self-control and how you would totally just keep things innocent—but he cuts you off by pressing his thumb gently against your lips.
“Don’t,” he warns, though there’s affection in his eyes. “Don’t make promises drunk-you can’t keep. I know you.”
You deflate slightly because, fine, he’s right. Sober-you has minimal self-control around him. Drunk-you has absolutely none which is exactly why you keep asking.
“Just wanna feel you inside, promise I’ll behave.”
Seungcheol’s composure cracks visibly, his breath hitches, his grip on the washcloth tightening as his eyes darken with want. For a moment, you think you’ve finally broken through his resolve.
Then he closes his eyes, jaw working and when he opens them again his expression is pained but firm.
“You’re killing me,” he says roughly. “You know that?”
“Good,” you mumble, though you’re already yawning. “Suffer with me.” You say pressing your lips to his.
“I shouldn’t have to deal with my ovulation alone.” And suddenly the wheels are turning in Seungcheol’s head. He goes completely still against your lips, his brain clearly short-circuiting as he processes what you just said.
“Your…what?” He pulls back to look at you, eyes wide.
“Ovulation,” you repeat matter-of-factly, like you’re discussing the weather. “Why d’you think I’m so horny? It’s science, Cheollie. Biology. Nature.” You wave your hand dramatically. “My body wants a baby and it’s making me crazy and you’re—you’re just sitting here looking all hot and responsible and—”
“Okay,” he interrupts, voice strangled. “Okay, we’re not, you can’t just drop that information on me while you’re drunk and expect me to—”
“To what?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious despite the alcohol. “Finally give your wife what she wants?”
His eyes flutter closed and he takes several deep breaths, clearly fighting an internal battle. When he opens them again, there’s a new tension in his expression; want, restraint, and something darker all tangled together.
“That’s not fair,” he says roughly. “You can’t use the ovulation card. That’s playing dirty.”
“Everything’s fair in love and baby-making,” you counter, then giggle at your own modification of the phrase.
“We are not having this conversation right now,” he says firmly, even as his hand unconsciously tightens on your hip. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. When you’re sober, when we can have an actual discussion about—about family planning and—”
“Already know I want your babies,” you interrupt, cupping his face. “Known that for years. Since like…our third date probably.”
“Third date,” he repeats faintly.
“Mhm. You were wearing that gray sweater and you laughed at my joke and I just thought—” you sigh dreamily, “—‘yeah, I want tiny humans with his laugh and dimples.’”
Something shifts in his expression; it goes soft and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart squeeze even through the alcohol haze.
“You’re not playing fair at all,” he whispers.
“Don’t wanna play fair,” you whisper back. “Want you. Want your baby. Want—” another yawn interrupts you, “—want you to stop being so responsible and just…”
But exhaustion is finally catching up with you, the alcohol and emotional rollercoaster of the evening taking their toll. Your eyes are getting heavier despite your best efforts.
Seungcheol notices immediately, his expression gentling. “There we go,” he murmurs, carefully maneuvering you under the covers. “Finally.”
“’m not tired,” you protest weakly, even as you burrow into the pillow.
“Sure you’re not.” He slides in next to you and immediately you roll toward him, seeking his warmth.
“Cheol?” you mumble against his chest.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Tomorrow…we can talk about it? The baby thing?”
His arm tightens around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Tomorrow,” he promises. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow.”
“And you’ll actually consider it? Not just…say we’ll talk and then avoid it?”
There’s a pause, and then, “I’ve been considering it for months,” he admits quietly. “I just wanted to wait for the right time. When we were both ready.”
You manage to pull back just enough to look at him, suddenly feeling more alert. “Months?”
He smiles, a little embarrassed. “Why do you think I cleared out the guest room last month? I’ve been planning…thinking about turning it into a nursery. Eventually.”
“You—” your eyes well up again, “—you sneaky, wonderful man.”
“Don’t cry,” he says, but he’s smiling as he wipes away the tears with his thumb. “Save it for tomorrow when you can properly yell at me for not telling you sooner.”
“Gonna yell and cry,” you inform him. “And then jump your bones.”
“Looking forward to it,” he says dryly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel terrible in the morning.”
“Worth it,” you mumble, already drifting. “Got you to admit you want babies…”
“I want your babies,” he corrects softly. “There’s a difference.”
But you’re already asleep, a small smile on your face, wrapped securely in your husband’s arms. Seungcheol lies awake a little longer, looking down at you; his drunk, ridiculous, beautiful wife who just ambushed him with baby talk and ass puns in the same conversation.
“What am I going to do with you?” he whispers, echoing his earlier question.
But this time, he’s smiling as he says it. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow they’ll talk—really talk—about the future. About expanding their family. About all the things he’s been too cautious to bring up, worried about timing and readiness and a thousand other factors.
But tonight, you’re here, safe and warm and his, talking about wanting his babies since the third date.
Yeah. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.
He presses one more kiss to your forehead before settling in, keeping you close. His ovulating, drunk, perfect disaster of a wife. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
The next morning, you wake up to three things; a pounding headache that feels like a marching band has taken up residence in your skull, blinding sunlight streaming through curtains you thought you closed and the smell of coffee and something sweet wafting from the kitchen.
You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Your mouth tastes like something died in it and when you try to sit up, the room spins just enough to make you regret every life choice that led to this moment.
“Oh god,” you mutter, flopping back down.
Fragments of last night start filtering back through the haze. Coming home late. Seungcheol’s concerned face. The bathroom counter. Worm terrarium? You definitely said something about worms. And then—
Your eyes fly open.
“Oh no.”
The baby conversation. The ovulation announcement. Your very detailed commentary about your husband’s ass. The—you bury your face in your hands—the begging.
“Kill me now,” you whisper to the empty room.
“Can’t do that, I’m afraid.”
You nearly jump out of your skin. Seungcheol is leaning against the doorframe, holding a mug of coffee and wearing an expression that can only be described as deeply amused.
He’s already somewhat dressed for the day in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, hair slightly damp from a shower, looking infuriatingly well-rested and attractive. Meanwhile, you’re pretty sure you look like a gremlin who lost a fight with a bottle of wine.
“How long have you been standing there?” you croak.
“Long enough to hear you bargaining with God.” He pushes off the doorframe and walks over, setting the coffee on the nightstand. “How’s the head?”
“Like I deserve it,” you admit, gratefully reaching for the mug. “How much did I—” you pause, coffee halfway to your lips, “—how bad was it?”
His smile grows. “On a scale of one to ten?”
“Cheol.”
“You asked if I’d love you as a worm,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You accused me of wanting Jeonghan. You made approximately ten puns involving the word ‘ass.’ And—” his expression shifts to something more heated, “—you made some very compelling arguments about baby-making.”
You choke on your coffee. “Oh my god.”
“Also, apparently you decided you married me for my ‘fat ass’ and not my money or status, which is good to know.”
“I hate everything,” you moan, setting the coffee down so you can bury your face in your hands again. “I’m never drinking again. I’m becoming a nun. I’m moving to a remote island where I can’t embarrass myself—”
“Hey.” His hand wraps around your wrist, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His expression is soft now, affectionate. “You were cute.”
“I was a disaster.”
“A cute disaster.” He coils a loose curl around his finger. “You always are when you drink. It’s part of your charm.”
“There’s nothing charming about drunk me telling you I want to—” you can’t even finish the sentence, heat flooding your face.
“Keep me warm?” he supplies helpfully. “Just want it inside you, you’d behave, you promised?”
“Seungcheol.”
He’s grinning now, clearly enjoying your mortification. “Or was it the part where you said your ovulation shouldn’t be a solo activity?”
You grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it. He laughs, catching it easily and tossing it aside before catching both your wrists in his hands.
“I’m just saying,” he continues, eyes dancing with mischief, “you were very…articulate about your needs.”
“I’m going back to sleep,” you announce, trying to pull away. “Wake me in ten years when I’ve died of embarrassment.”
“Can’t do that either.” He releases one wrist but keeps hold of the other, his thumb tracing circles on your pulse point. “We have things to discuss. Remember?”
Your heart skips. The amusement in his expression hasn’t faded, but there’s something else there now; something serious and warm and a little nervous.
“The…baby thing?” you venture quietly.
“The baby thing,” he confirms. “But first—” he reaches over to the nightstand and retrieves two pills and a glass of water you hadn’t noticed, “—pain meds. Then breakfast. Then we talk.”
“Cheol, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or—”
“You didn’t.” He’s firm about that, waiting until you take the medication before continuing. “You surprised me, yeah. But uncomfortable? No.” He pauses. “Turned on while trying desperately to maintain my morals? Absolutely, but not uncomfortable.”
Despite everything, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. “I really tried to break you, huh?”
“You almost succeeded,” he admits. “The ovulation thing was a low blow.”
“It’s true though,” you say, then immediately want to take it back because…
“I know.” His voice drops, eyes darkening. “I checked the calendar while you were sleeping. You’re right in the middle of your fertile window.”
The air between you shifts, charges. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in bed, wearing only his t-shirt and he’s looking at you like,
“Breakfast first,” he says firmly, standing up. “You need food and hydration. Then we’ll talk. Really talk. About timing, readiness and what we both want.”
“And if we decide we want the same thing?” you ask, unable to help yourself.
He leans down, bracing one hand on the mattress beside you, bringing his face close to yours. “Then I clear my schedule for the rest of the day,” he murmurs. “And give you exactly what you were begging for last night.”
Your breath catches.
“But sober,” he adds, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before straightening. “And enthusiastically consenting to every single detail.”
“That’s—” you have to clear your throat, “—very responsible of you.”
“Someone has to be.” He heads toward the door, then pauses. “Oh, and baby? For the record?” He looks back with a devastating smile. “I’ve been ready for months. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”
Then he’s gone, leaving you sitting in bed, headache temporarily forgotten, heart racing with possibilities. From the kitchen, you hear him call, “French toast or pancakes?”
“French toast!” you call back, already scrambling out of bed.
Suddenly, you’re feeling much better about facing this day and the conversation that could change everything.
You pad into the kitchen after finishing your morning routine. He’s plating the last of breakfast before sitting down and as you go to take your place beside him, he pulls you onto his lap.
“Cheol?”
“You asked me to keep it warm last night,” he whispers. “Think you can do that while we sit and have breakfast, love? Bet I’d be able to slide right in.”
You freeze, every nerve ending suddenly awake and hyper-aware. Your headache? Gone. The lingering nausea? Vanished. There’s only Seungcheol beneath you, solid and warm, his breath hot against your ear.
“I…what?” Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.
His hands settle on your hips, fingers slipping just under the hem of his t-shirt you’re still wearing. “You heard me.” His voice is low, rough in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. “You wanted this last night. Said you’d behave. That you just wanted to feel full.”
“I was drunk,” you manage, even as your body is already responding, already leaning back against his chest.
“And now you’re sober.” His lips brush the shell of your ear. “So, I’m asking properly. Do you want this? Want to sit here, keeping me warm while we eat breakfast and talk about our future?”
Your breath hitches. This is…it’s obscene. It’s intimate in a way that makes your head spin and you want it so badly you can barely think straight.
“What about the talking?” you whisper. “The responsible conversation?”
“We can still talk.” One hand slides up your spine, settling between your shoulder blades. “I can be very articulate, even when I’m buried inside you. Question is, can you?”
It’s a challenge. One you’ve never backed down from.
You turn your head just enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark, intense but there’s a question there too. Real consent. Making sure this is what you actually want and not just lingering drunk decisions.
“Yes,” you breathe. “I want this.”
His grip tightens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You shift in his lap, feeling him already half-hard beneath you. “Want you. Always want you.”
He makes a low sound in his throat. “Lift up a little, baby.”
You obey, bracing your hands on his thighs as he shifts beneath you. You hear the rustle of fabric, feel him pushing his sweatpants down just enough, and then,
“No underwear?” His voice is strained as his fingers trace up your bare thighs, discovering you came to the kitchen in just his shirt and nothing else.
“Seemed inefficient,” you manage, gasping when his fingers brush where you need him most.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and you feel him stroke himself once, twice. “You’re already so wet.”
“Told you,” you say breathlessly. “Ovulation. Biology. Can’t help—oh—”
He’s guiding himself to your entrance, letting you feel the blunt pressure of him. “Slow,” he murmurs. “Take your time. We’ve got all morning.”
You lower yourself gradually, inch by torturous inch, feeling the stretch and burn and perfect fullness of him. His hands are steady on your hips, helping you and his breathing is harsh against your neck.
“That’s it,” he encourages roughly. “Just like that, baby. So good for me.”
When you’re fully seated, both of you still for a moment. You’re trembling slightly, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it; sitting in his lap in your bright kitchen, completely joined, the morning sun streaming through the windows.
“Okay?” he asks, voice strained.
“So okay,” you breathe. “So…Cheol, you feel—”
“I know.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I know, baby. Now—” he reaches around you for the plates, sliding them closer, “—breakfast.”
You laugh, slightly delirious. “You can’t be serious.”
“Completely serious.” He picks up a fork, cutting a piece of French toast. “Open.”
This is insane. You’re sitting on your husband’s lap in the kitchen, full of him, while he feeds you breakfast like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You open your mouth and he slides the fork in. The French toast is perfect, crispy outside, soft inside, with just the right amount of cinnamon and syrup. You chew slowly, hyper-aware of every small movement, how even that makes you shift slightly on him.
His breath catches. “Don’t,” he warns.
“Don’t what?” You shift deliberately, just a little and feel him twitch inside you. “I’m just eating breakfast.”
“You’re playing with fire,” he growls but he’s already cutting another piece. “Now, let’s talk about this baby thing.”
You nearly choke on nothing. “Now? You want to have this conversation now?”
“Why not?” His free hand settles possessively on your lower belly, thumb stroking just above where you’re joined. “Seems like the perfect time. Can’t run away. Can’t deflect. You’ve got my undivided attention.”
His voice is teasing but there’s an edge of seriousness underneath. He really does want to talk about this. Like this. Your utterly insane, wonderful husband.
“Okay,” you manage, reaching for your coffee with shaking hands. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
“So,” Seungcheol says, his voice remarkably steady despite the situation, “you said last night you’ve wanted this since our third date.”
You take a sip of coffee, trying to focus on the conversation and not the fact that you can feel every minute shift of his body. “I—yeah. I mean, not immediately, obviously but I knew. Knew that I wanted a future with you. Kids. All of it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” His hand is still on your belly, thumb tracing idle patterns that are absolutely not helping your concentration.
“I don’t know. Timing? We were building our careers, and I didn’t want to pressure you, and—” you gasp softly as he shifts slightly beneath you, “—are you doing that on purpose?”
“No,” he says but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Just getting comfortable. Keep talking.”
“You’re evil.”
“You’re stalling.” He offers you another bite of French toast. “Come on. I want to hear this.” You accept the bite, chewing while trying to organize your thoughts, which is nearly impossible when you’re so acutely aware of him inside you, stretching you, filling you so completely.
“I was scared,” you finally admit. “That maybe you didn’t want the same things. That I’d bring it up and you’d feel trapped or obligated and then months kept passing and it felt like the moment never came up naturally and—” you laugh shakily, “—I guess drunk me decided to just rip the bandaid off.”
“Drunk you has terrible timing but good instincts.” His lips brush your shoulder. “I’ve been wanting to have this conversation for months too.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He sets down the fork, both hands coming to rest on your hips now. “I meant what I said earlier. About clearing out the guest room. I’ve been thinking about it constantly…what it would be like. You, pregnant. A baby. Our baby.”
Your heart stutters. “Cheol…”
“I think about you with a bump,” he continues, voice going rougher. “About feeling them kick. About watching you become a mother.” His hips shift up slightly, making you gasp. “About putting a baby in you.”
“That’s—oh god—that’s not fair,” you whimper, fingers digging into his thighs.
“What’s not fair?”
“Saying things like that when I can’t move, can’t—”
“Who says you can’t move?” His grip tightens on your hips. “I said sit still during breakfast. We’re done eating now.”
Your breath catches. “Are we?”
“Mhmm.” One hand slides up to cup your breast through the thin t-shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple. “I think it’s time for dessert. Don’t you?”
“Seungcheol—”
“Tell me what you want,” he demands, voice dropping to that commanding tone that never fails to undo you. “Use your words, baby. Sober words.”
You’re trembling now, desperate. “Want you. Want this. Want—” you break off as his other hand slides between your legs, finding where you’re joined.
“Want what?” he presses. “Say it.”
“Want you to fuck me,” you gasp out. “Want you to put a baby in me. Want…please, Cheollie, please—”
“There she is,” he murmurs approvingly. Then his grip shifts, and he’s lifting you slightly before pulling you back down, finally, finally giving you the friction you’ve been craving.
You cry out, head falling back against his shoulder as he sets a devastating rhythm. The breakfast dishes rattle on the table with each thrust and you distantly think you should care about the mess you’re probably making but then he angles his hips just right and all thoughts scatter.
“That’s it,” he growls against your neck. “Take it. Take all of me.”
“Yes, god, yes—”
His hand on your breast squeezes while the other works between your legs and the combination is overwhelming. You’re already close, wound too tight from sitting still for so long, from the filthy intimacy of it all.
“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Gonna give you exactly what you want. What we both want. You want that, baby? Want me to get you pregnant?”
“Yes,” you sob and you’re not even sure if it’s the hormones or the moment or the fact that this is your husband, your partner, your person and you’re finally talking about this, finally doing this…
“Come for me first,” he demands. “Let me feel it. Show me how much you want this.”
His fingers press harder and that’s all it takes. You shatter, clenching around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you in waves.
“Fuck, baby—” his rhythm falters, becomes erratic and then he’s following you over, groaning against your neck as he pulses inside you, holding you tight against him. For a long moment, neither of you move. You’re both breathing hard, trembling, still joined together as aftershocks roll through you.
“So,” Seungcheol finally says, voice rough and satisfied, “I think that’s a yes? We’re doing this?”
You laugh breathlessly, turning your head to kiss him. “Yeah, we’re doing this.”
“Good.” He nuzzles into your neck. “Because I meant every word. I want this. Want you. Want our family.”
“Even though I ambushed you while drunk?”
“Especially because you ambushed me while drunk.” You can feel his smile against your skin. “Shows you trust me. Even when you’re not in control.”
You shift slightly and he groans. “Don’t move yet. Just…let me hold you like this for a minute.”
So, you do, sitting in your dining room in the morning sunlight, still connected, still close, talking softly about the future you’re going to build together.
About nursery colors and baby names and how you’ll tell your families and whether you want to know the gender or be surprised. About all the beautiful, terrifying, wonderful possibilities ahead and when he finally, reluctantly slips out of you, he immediately scoops you up and carries you back to the bedroom.
“Again?” you ask, surprised but definitely not opposed.
“We’re optimizing our chances,” he says seriously but his eyes are dancing. “It’s just good planning.”
“You’re a fein.”
“You’re ovulating,” he counters, laying you gently on the bed. “And I have months of baby-making fantasies to work through. So,” he crawls over you, settling between your thighs, “we’re going to be here a while.”
“What about our schedules?” you tease. “Don’t you have meetings? I have work.”
“Cancelled everything,” he says, leaning down to kiss you slowly, deeply. “Told them I have important business with my wife.”
“Very important business,” you agree, gasping as he enters you again.
“The most important,” he murmurs against your lips. He flips you on your hands and knees first, arched just the way he wants you.
“Stay just like that,” Seungcheol commands, his hands spreading across your lower back, pressing down slightly to deepen the arch. “Perfect. So, fucking perfect.”
You’re trembling already, forehead pressed against the sheets, completely exposed to him. You feel vulnerable like this, open, but the way he’s looking at you; you can practically feel the heat of his gaze dragging over every inch of exposed skin.
“Cheol—” you start but the word cuts off into a moan as he runs his hands up your sides, thumbs tracing your spine.
“Shhh,” he soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s positioning you, adjusting your hips exactly where he wants them. “Just feel.”
One hand wraps around your hip while the other slides between your legs, finding you still wet, still sensitive from before. You jerk at the contact and his grip tightens, holding you steady.
“Still so ready for me,” he muses, almost conversational, like he’s not currently destroying your composure with just his fingers. “Even after I just filled you up. You really do want this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasp into the sheets. “God, yes, please…”
“Please what?” He’s teasing now, the head of his cock brushing against you but not entering, just barely there, making you crazy.
“Please fuck me,” you whimper, trying to push back against him, but his hand on your hip keeps you in place. “Please, I need—”
“Need what, baby? Use your words.”
“Need you inside me,” you practically sob. “Need you to…to get me pregnant, need you to—oh fuck—”
He slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself completely, and the angle is devastating. You can feel him so deep like this, stretching you, filling every inch.
“This what you need?” His voice is strained now, control slipping. Both hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and you hope they do, want to see the marks tomorrow, proof of this.
“Yes, yes, don’t stop—”
“Not stopping,” he growls, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. “Not until you’re dripping with me. Not until I know it took.” The pace he sets is brutal, desperate, his hips snapping against yours with a force that has you crying out with each thrust. One hand leaves your hip to fist in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding you.
“Gonna look so good pregnant,” he pants. “Gonna love watching your belly grow. Knowing I did that. That you’re carrying my baby.”
“Cheol—” you’re incoherent now, can only hold on as he takes you apart.
“Say it,” he demands. “Tell me what you want.”
“Want your baby,” you gasp out. “Want you to…to come inside me, want—god—want everyone to know I’m yours.”
His rhythm stutters at that, becomes somehow even more intense. “Mine,” he agrees roughly. “Always mine. My wife. Mother of my children. Mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice, the certainty, sends you spiraling. Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, whiting out your vision and you feel yourself clench around him rhythmically.
“Fuck—baby—” he groans and then he’s there too, pressing as deep as he can go, holding you against him as he fills you again. This time when he pulls out, he immediately maneuvers you onto your back, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under your hips before you can protest.
“Elevate,” he explains breathlessly and you can’t help but laugh.
“You really did research.”
“Told you.” He collapses partially on top of you with his head resting on your chest. “Months of thinking about this. I’m prepared.”
Your fingers find his hair, feeling satisfied and tender and so completely loved. “How long do I have to stay like this?”
“Twenty minutes at least.” His hand finds your belly again, splaying possessively across it. “Maybe thirty to be safe.”
“And what are we doing for the next twenty to thirty minutes?”
His eyes darken again and you feel him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Well,” he says thoughtfully, “I can think of a few ways to pass the time. After all—” he rolls you on your side carefully, mindful of the pillow, settling behind you and lifting your leg up and over his hip, “—we should really make sure we’re being thorough.”
“Thorough,” you repeat breathlessly.
“Very thorough,” he agrees, kissing down your neck. “It’s important to be thorough about these things.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“You’re irresistible.” He nips at your collarbone. “And ovulating. And my wife. Who I’m trying to get pregnant. So yes—” he enters you again, slow and deep, making you both groan, “—insatiable sounds about right.”
And as he begins to move again, slow and intimate and perfect, you think that maybe drunk you had the right idea after all.
Sometimes the best conversations happen in the most unexpected ways.
Seungcheol folds you with both legs to your chest and you know your body is going to complain about it later.
“Wait, Cheol—” you gasp as he pushes your knees toward your chest, folding you in half.
“Trust me,” he murmurs, his hands hooking under your knees, spreading you open as he presses them down. “This angle—fuck, baby, you have no idea—”
And then he’s sliding back in, and oh—he’s right. The angle is incredible. Overwhelming. He’s somehow even deeper like this, hitting spots that make stars explode behind your eyelids.
“Oh my god—” you can barely breathe, pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy.
“That’s it,” he groans, watching where you’re joined with dark, hungry eyes. “Take it. Take all of me.”
Your flexibility has never been your strong suit and you can already feel the strain in your hips, your thighs protesting the position but the pleasure overrides everything else; the way he’s grinding against you with each thrust, the delicious pressure, the intimacy of being folded completely under him.
“You’re so deep,” you whimper, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his forearms. “I can’t…it’s too much—”
“Not too much,” he counters, but there’s a question in his eyes even as he maintains the brutal pace. “Color?”
“Green,” you gasp immediately. “So green, don’t stop, please don’t—ah—”
His thumb finds your clit, circling with perfect pressure, and you nearly scream. Everything is heightened like this, every nerve ending on fire, every thrust punching the air from your lungs.
“Gonna keep you just like this,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temple. “Gonna fill you up so deep it has to take. You want that?”
“Yes—yes—Cheol, I’m—”
“I know, baby. I can feel it.” His movements become more purposeful, grinding deep rather than thrusting, the friction against your clit constant and maddening. “Come for me. Squeeze my cock. Show me how much you want my baby.”
The combination of his words, his thumb, the relentless pressure against that spot deep inside, it’s too much. You shatter with a cry that’s probably too loud for the morning, clenching around him so hard you see white.
“Fuck, just like that—” Seungcheol’s rhythm falters, his hips jerking erratically as he follows you over the edge for the fourth time, groaning your name like a prayer as he empties himself inside you.
He stays buried deep for a long moment, both of you panting, trembling. Then carefully—so carefully—he releases your legs, helping you straighten them out with gentle hands.
“Ow,” you whimper immediately as your hips protest, muscles cramping.
“Sorry, sorry—” he’s already massaging your thighs, pressing kisses to your knees. “I got carried away.”
“Worth it,” you manage, even as you wince. “But I’m definitely going to feel that tomorrow.”
“I’ll give you a massage later,” he promises, still working the tension from your muscles. “A proper one. With oil and everything.”
“You better.” You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss. “I’m going to be walking funny for days.”
“Good,” he says against your lips, unrepentant. “Let everyone wonder why.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You love it.” He rolls to the side, immediately pulling you with him, tucking you against his chest. His hand finds your belly again; it’s apparently his new favorite spot. “Think it worked?”
“Cheol, we can’t possibly know that yet—”
“But do you think it worked?” he insists, almost childlike in his eagerness.
You soften, covering his hand with yours. “I don’t know, maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“And if not?”
“Then we try again,” you say, smiling. “And again. As many times as it takes.”
His answering grin is devastating. “I love this plan. Best plan we’ve ever had.”
“Of course you love it,” you tease. “You’re getting sex on demand.”
“I’m getting to start a family with the love of my life,” he corrects, suddenly serious. “The sex is just a bonus. A really, really good bonus, but still.”
Your throat tightens with emotion. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead. “Now, twenty more minutes with your hips elevated, and then I’m running you a bath.”
“And then?”
“And then lunch. Hydration. Maybe a nap.” His smile turns wicked. “And then round whatever we’re on.”
“Again?!”
“Baby,” he says solemnly, “we’re not leaving this bed until tomorrow. I told you, I’m being thorough.”
You should protest. Should remind him you both have lives, responsibilities, that you can’t spend an entire day having sex no matter how appealing that sounds but then his hand starts tracing patterns on your belly again and he’s looking at you with such love and want and hope that all protests die in your throat.
“Thorough,” you agree weakly. “Right, very important.”
“The most important,” he confirms and as he settles beside you, already planning the rest of your day—which apparently consists entirely of various positions and strategic pillow placement—you think that maybe, just maybe, drunk you deserves some credit.
After all, she got the conversation started, even if her methods were…unconventional. Your husband certainly isn’t complaining and neither—despite your aching hips and the knowledge that you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow—are you.
The shower was supposed to be innocent, just washing off, getting clean, maybe some gentle aftercare. That lasted approximately three minutes before Seungcheol’s hands started wandering from “helpful” to “decidedly unhelpful.”
“Choi Seungcheol,” you warned but it came out breathless as his fingers traced your hip. “We’re supposed to be cleaning up.”
“We are cleaning up,” he murmured against your neck, pressing you forward until your palms hit the cool tile. “Very thoroughly.”
“That’s not—oh—”
His hand slid between your thighs from behind, finding you still sensitive, still wet with more than just water. “Still ready for me,” he observed, voice dropping an octave. “Even after all that.”
“It’s the hormones,” you managed, even as you arched back into his touch. “I told you, ovulation makes me—fuck—”
“Makes you what?” He was already lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. “Insatiable? Desperate? Willing to let me fuck you against the shower wall?”
“All of the above,” you gasped as he pushed in, the slide easy despite how much you’d already taken him today.
This time was different, harder, more primal. The tile was cold against your breasts, your cheek, contrasting with the hot water and his body pressed against your back. His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly, keeping you in place as he took you apart.
“This is what you do to me,” he growled in your ear. “Walking around, talking about my baby, being so fucking perfect—”
“Cheol, baby please—”
“Please what?”
“Please don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, I need—”
“I know what you need.” His other hand found your clit, and you nearly sobbed. “Need me to breed you. Need me to pump you so full—”
You came with a sharp cry, clenching around him, and he followed immediately after, groaning against your shoulder as he held you pinned to the wall.
The water was starting to run cold by the time you both caught your breath.
You genuinely thought he’d be tired after the shower. Thought maybe you’d eat, cuddle, take that nap he’d mentioned.
You made it halfway through your sandwich.
“Come here,” Seungcheol said suddenly, pushing his chair back.
“I’m eating—”
“You can finish later.” There was something almost feral in his eyes as he stalked around the table toward you. “Right now, I need you bent over this table.”
“Choi Seungcheol—” but you were already standing, already letting him turn you around, already bracing your hands on the polished wood as he flipped up the oversized t-shirt you’d thrown on.
“No panties again,” he noted with approval. “It’s like you want me to fuck you at every opportunity.”
“Maybe I do,” you shot back, then gasped as he entered you in one smooth thrust.
The angle was perfect, the table the ideal height and he took full advantage of it. His fingers dug into your hips as he set a punishing rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin obscenely loud in your quiet dining room.
“Look at you,” he panted, gathering your hair in one fist. “Taking it so well. So eager for it. Bet you’d let me fuck you anywhere right now, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, god, anywhere—”
“Kitchen counter? Bedroom floor? Against the windows where the neighbors might see?”
The thought shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but combined with his relentless pace, it pushes you over the edge. You came with a strangled moan, and he wasn’t far behind, but he didn’t give you time to recover. Just pulled out, ignored your whimper, and guided you to the couch.
“Hands on the back,” he instructed. “Ass up.”
You were shaking as you obeyed, gripping the back of the couch as he positioned himself behind you again. This angle was even deeper, and you could feel him in your belly with each thrust.
“Too much,” you whimpered, but you didn’t use your safeword, didn’t actually want him to stop.
“Not too much,” he countered, one hand sliding up your spine. “You can take it. You can take everything I give you.” And you did, you took it until you were crying with pleasure, until your legs gave out, until he had to hold you up as he finished inside you for the—you’d lost count at this point.
When he finally pulled out, your legs couldn’t support you. You collapsed onto the plush living room carpet, and he followed you down, immediately positioning you on your hands and knees.
“One more,” he said, voice rough. “Just one more, baby, and then we’ll rest.”
“Can’t—” you protested weakly, but your body was already responding, already arching for him.
“You can.” He slid in easily, and the stretch was almost too much on your oversensitized flesh. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so perfectly. Gonna make such a good mother.”
The praise broke something in you. You dropped to your elbows, pressing your face into the carpet as he took you with long, deep strokes. There was something almost desperate about it now, like he couldn’t get deep enough, close enough, like he was trying to merge you into one person.
“Love you,” he panted. “Love you so fucking much. Gonna give you everything. Everything you want. Everything you deserve.”
You were too far gone to respond with words, could only moan and take it and feel yourself building toward yet another impossible orgasm.
When it hit, it was almost painful in its intensity. You felt him swell inside you, felt the warmth as he came again, and then everything went soft and hazy.
You came back to yourself slowly, aware of gentle hands cleaning you with a warm cloth, of being lifted and carried, of soft sheets against your skin.
“Did I pass out?” you mumbled.
“Just for a minute.” Seungcheol sounded worried now, the feral intensity finally broken. “I’m sorry, I got carried away—”
“Don’t apologize.” You caught his hand, pressing it to your cheek. “That was…I didn’t know you had that in you.”
He laughed shakily. “Neither did I. I just—when you said you wanted a baby, something in my brain just…short-circuited.”
“Clearly.” You shifted, wincing at the soreness. “I’m going to be feeling this for a week.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised immediately. “Bath, massage, whatever you need. I’m sorry—”
“Stop apologizing.” You pulled him down beside you. “I liked it. Loved it, actually. I just…didn’t expect the conversation about trying for a baby to turn my usually controlled husband into…that.”
“Into what?”
“Into someone who fucks me in every room of the house,” you say bluntly. “Who can’t go an hour without being inside me. Who looks at me like he wants to devour me.”
He flushed. “The ovulation thing wasn’t helping. Knowing you’re fertile right now, that any of these times could be the one—” he broke off, shaking his head. “It did something to me.”
“I noticed.” You traced his jaw. “For the record? I’m not complaining. I’m just surprised and very, very sore.”
“Nap now,” he decided. “Then massage. Then dinner. And then—”
“If you say ‘and then round whatever number we’re on,’ I’m divorcing you.”
He grinned, unrepentant. “I was going to say ‘and then we’ll see how you feel.’”
“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”
“But if you’re feeling up to it…” His hand slid to your belly again. “We should probably maximize our chances.”
You stared at him. “You’re actually insatiable.”
“Only with you.” He kissed your forehead. “Only ever with you.”
And despite the soreness, despite the exhaustion, despite the fact that you’d had more sex in one day than most couples have in a month, you found yourself smiling because this was your husband. Your partner. The father of your future children and if his method of “trying for a baby” involved fucking you in every room of the house until you couldn’t walk straight?
Well.
You’d had worse problems.
“Fine,” you conceded. “But after a nap and a massage, you’re carrying me everywhere for the next week.”
“Deal,” he agreed immediately, already pulling you closer.
Nothing came from that day of marathon sex but with how feral your husband had gotten that day you knew something had awakened in him that would be hard to reign in which is how you found yourself in your current position, bent over the balcony of your bedroom at the Airbnb that had been booked for his work trip to Hawaii which he insisted you come on. Something about a second honeymoon.
You should have known something was up when Seungcheol insisted you come on his work trip.
“It’s Hawaii,” he’d said, showing you the booking confirmation with an innocence that should have been your first warning. “We’ve never been. Plus, my meetings are only in the mornings. We’d have the afternoons and evenings together.”
“A second honeymoon,” he’d called it with that devastating smile.
What he’d failed to mention was that the “trying for a baby” conversation had apparently permanently rewired something in his brain.
You’d learned this over the past few weeks. The man who used to be controlled, measured, professional in every aspect of his life had developed a hair-trigger when it came to you. A lingering glance, your hand on his thigh at dinner, the way you bit your lip while concentrating—any of it could result in him finding the nearest private surface and bending you over it.
The office after hours? Check.
The car in the parking garage? Check.
The fitting room at the boutique where you’d been shopping for maternity clothes (optimistically)? Very much check.
But this—this was a new level, even for him.
“Cheol,” you hissed, gripping the balcony railing as he pressed against your back, his hands already pushing up your sundress. “We’re outside. Someone could see—”
“The nearest villa is hundreds of feet away,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “No one can see unless they’re in a helicopter.”
“That’s not the point—”
“The point,” he interrupted, one hand sliding between your thighs to find you already wet—because of course you were—your body had learned to anticipate him now, “is that you’ve been walking around all day in this dress. This tiny, barely-there dress. Bending over to pick up seashells. Stretching in the sun. Driving me insane.”
“We were on the beach,” you protested weakly, even as you arched back into him. “What was I supposed to wear?”
“Nothing.” His fingers hooked into your panties, pulling them aside. “Preferably nothing.”
You were about to respond when he pushed inside you in one smooth thrust, and all coherent thought fled. Your fingers tightened on the railing as he set a deep, rolling rhythm that had you biting your lip to keep quiet.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, one hand gripping your hip while the other slid up to cup your breast through the fabric. “Take it. Take all of me.”
The view from the balcony was stunning; turquoise water stretching to the horizon, white sand beaches, palm trees swaying in the breeze. The sun was setting, painting everything gold and pink. It should be romantic.
It was romantic. Just also obscene.
“God, you feel so good,” Seungcheol groaned, picking up his pace. “So perfect. Made for me. Made to take my cock. Made to carry my baby.”
There it was, the thing that set him off every time. The baby talk. Ever since that day, since you’d opened that door, he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was like the idea of getting you pregnant had become an obsession.
“Cheol—” you gasped, trying to keep your voice down even as pleasure built in your core. “Someone might hear—”
“Let them hear.” His hand slid from your breast to your throat, tilting your head back. “Let them hear how good I make you feel. How well you take me. How desperate you are for my baby.”
“You’re insane,” you managed, but it came out more like a moan.
“You made me this way.” His lips brushed your ear. “Walking around, talking about wanting my babies, being so fucking perfect—you broke something in me, baby. Can’t think straight anymore. Can’t function unless I’m inside you.”
His hand left your throat to slide down your body, finding your clit with practiced ease. The dual sensation—him inside you, his fingers working you expertly—was too much.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as you started to tremble. “Come for me. Come on my cock while I fill you up. Maybe this time it’ll take. Maybe in nine months you’ll be here with my baby in your belly.”
The image he painted—you pregnant, round with his child—combined with his relentless pace pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry you couldn’t quite muffle, clenching around him and felt him follow seconds later with a groan. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, the sound of waves crashing below mixing with your racing heartbeats.
“We need to talk about this,” you finally said, even as you melted back against his chest.
“About what?” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, still not pulling out.
“About this—” you gestured vaguely, “—thing that’s happened to you. This breeding kink you’ve developed.”
You felt him smile against your skin. “Is it a kink if we’re actively trying for a baby?”
“Cheol, we’ve had sex multiple times everyday in the last week. Everyday.”
“You’re counting?”
“Hard not to when I can barely walk straight.” You turned your head to look at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the sex. The sex is incredible but you’ve been…intense. Ever since that conversation.”
His expression shifted, becoming more serious. He finally pulled out—you whimpered at the loss—and turned you around to face him, hands gentle on your waist.
“I know,” he admitted. “I’ve been…I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like something clicked that day, and I can’t turn it off. Every time I look at you, I think about getting you pregnant. About you carrying our baby. About our family. And it just—” he broke off, looking almost embarrassed. “It does something to me. Makes me crazy.”
“I’ve noticed,” you said dryly.
“Is it too much?” There was genuine concern in his eyes now. “Am I being too much? Because if you need me to dial it back—”
“No,” you interrupted quickly. “I mean, yes, it’s a lot but it’s also…kind of hot? Knowing you want me that badly. That you’re that desperate to start our family.”
His eyes darkened. “You have no idea how badly I want you. How much I want this.”
“I’m getting a pretty clear picture,” you teased, feeling him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Case in point.”
He huffed a laugh. “Can you blame me? You’re standing here, freshly fucked, my cum dripping down your thighs, the sunset making you glow and you’re surprised I want you again?”
“We literally just finished—”
“And I’m already thinking about round two.” His hands slid down to cup your ass. “And three. And four. We have all night, baby. No work tomorrow. No interruptions. Just you and me and this view and a very comfortable bed inside.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.” He kissed you, deep and slow. “Now, shower, dinner and then I’m taking you apart in that massive bed. Sound good?”
It sounded perfect, actually. Even if your husband had apparently turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation. Especially because your husband had turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation.
“One condition,” you said as he started leading you inside.
“Anything.”
“When we get home, we’re making a doctor’s appointment. To make sure we’re doing everything right. That I’m healthy. All of it.”
His expression softened. “Of course. Whatever you need. I’ll set it up as soon as we’re back.”
“And maybe—” you bit your lip, “—maybe we dial it back just a little? Don’t get me wrong, I love the enthusiasm, but I’d like to still be able to walk when we get home.”
He grinned. “No promises but I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
As he pulled you inside to the shower, his hands already wandering again, you thought about how much had changed in just a few weeks. Your controlled, measured husband had been replaced by someone who couldn’t keep his hands off you. Who fucked you on balconies and whispered filthy promises about getting you pregnant. Who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
The test from last week had been negative. You’d both been disappointed but not surprised, these things took time but watching Seungcheol now, the way he touched you with reverence even as his eyes promised wickedness, you knew something had fundamentally shifted between you.
This wasn’t just about making a baby anymore. It was about the intensity of wanting something together. About the intimacy of trying. About how the goal had somehow made everything—every touch, every kiss, every time he was inside you—feel weighted with meaning and possibility.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, soaping your shoulders.
“About how that drunk conversation might have been the best terrible decision I ever made.”
He laughed. “Oh, it was definitely terrible. But yeah,” he pulled you close, “also the best.”
“Even though I asked if you’d love me as a worm?”
“Especially because you asked if I’d love you as a worm.” He kissed your forehead. “Now come on. We have dinner reservations in an hour and I plan on having you at least twice before then.”
“Twice?! Cheol, we just—”
But he was already lifting you, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically, and honestly? You weren’t complaining, not even a little bit.
Your insatiable, baby-crazy, utterly perfect husband. You wouldn’t change a thing.
You didn’t make it to dinner.
Well, not the reservation anyway. By the time Seungcheol had finished with you in the shower and then carried you to the bed still dripping wet, you were both too boneless and satisfied to even consider getting dressed and going out. Instead, he’d ordered take out—an absurd amount of food—and you’d eaten on the balcony wrapped in plush robes, watching the stars come out over the ocean.
“This is nice,” you murmured, stealing a bite of his dessert. “Romantic. Almost makes me forget you’ve turned into a caveman.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Caveman?”
“Mhm.” You grinned. “Me want baby. Me fuck wife constantly. Me carry wife everywhere because wife can’t walk—”
He silenced you with a kiss, tasting like chocolate and coconut. “I don’t hear you complaining when I’m making you come.”
“That’s because my brain stops working when you’re making me come.”
“Mission accomplished then.” His hand found yours on the table, fingers interlacing. “But seriously, are we okay? This isn’t too much?”
You squeezed his hand. “We’re more than okay. I promise. Yes, you’ve been insatiable. Yes, I’m going to need a week to recover when we get home. But Cheol,” you met his eyes, “I love seeing you like this. Passionate. Uninhibited. It’s like you’ve finally let yourself want something without overthinking it.”
“I want you,” he said simply. “I want our family and yeah, maybe I’ve gone a little crazy about it, but…” he shrugged, unapologetic, “I’m not sorry.”
“Good.” You stood, letting your robe slip off your shoulders. “Because I’m not done with you yet either.”
His eyes went dark, tracking the fall of fabric. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You moved to straddle his lap, the balmy night air warm on your skin. “We have four more days in paradise. Might as well make the most of them.”
“Four more days,” he repeated, hands spanning your waist. “Think we can set a record?”
“For what? Most times having sex in a single vacation?”
“I was thinking most creative locations, but that works too.” His thumbs traced circles on your hipbones. “There’s the beach at night. The private pool. That hammock near the—”
“You’ve been planning this.”
“Maybe.” He pulled you down for a kiss. “Can you blame me? My beautiful wife, a tropical paradise, and no responsibilities for four whole days? I’m going to worship you in every way possible.”
And he did.
You woke to his mouth between your thighs, the sunrise painting the room in shades of gold and pink. He brought you to orgasm twice before you were even fully awake and then pulled you into the shower where he took you against the tiles while water cascaded over you both.
Breakfast was served on the balcony, and you made it through most of your meal before he was pulling you onto his lap, pushing your sundress up, filling you while you clutched his shoulders and tried to keep quiet.
“Love you like this,” he murmured against your neck as you rode him slowly. “Sun-kissed, desperate and so fucking wet for me.”
“Always wet for you,” you gasped. “Can’t help it.”
“Good.” His hands guided your hips, helping you find the perfect angle. “Never want you any other way.”
Later, he kept his promise about the hammock. You’d been reading peacefully in the shade when he appeared with that look in his eyes and suddenly your book was forgotten as he stripped you down and arranged you across the swaying fabric.
“Cheol, this is going to tip—”
“I’ve got you,” he promised and he did, holding the hammock steady as he knelt between your legs and proved that his mouth was just as talented as the rest of him. By the time he finally entered you, you were already trembling, oversensitive, and the gentle sway of the hammock with each thrust was unlike anything you’d experienced.
“This is insane,” you laughed breathlessly.
“This is perfect,” he corrected and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his universe—made your chest tight with emotion.
His morning meeting ran long and you’d gone down to the beach alone, content to swim and sunbathe and give your body a much-needed break. You should have known better. You were waist-deep in the crystal-clear water when you felt arms wrap around you from behind.
“Meeting over?” you asked, leaning back against his chest.
“Cancelled the rest.” His lips found that spot behind your ear that made you shiver. “Told them it was a family emergency.”
“Cheol! You can’t just—”
“Can’t just what? Choose my wife over a conference call about quarterly projections?” His hand slid down your stomach, disappearing beneath the water. “Pretty sure I can since y’know, I’m the boss.”
“Someone could see—”
“No one’s around.” And he was right—the beach was completely empty, the nearest people just tiny dots in the distance. “And you’re wearing this bikini. This tiny, barely-there bikini. What did you expect?”
“I expected to swim peacefully—oh—”
His fingers had found their target, working you expertly while his other arm banded around your waist, holding you against him.
“Can you be quiet?” he murmured. “Or are you going to let the whole beach know how good I make you feel?”
You bit your lip, trying desperately to stay silent as he worked you closer to the edge. The water lapped around you, warm and gentle and the contrast between the peaceful setting and what he was doing to you was almost too much.
“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Come for me, baby. Right here in the ocean where anyone could see how desperate you are for me.”
You came with a strangled gasp, your legs giving out and only his arm around your waist kept you upright.
“Good girl,” he praised, turning you around. “Now, think you can stay quiet while I fuck you?”
You couldn’t, as it turned out but the beach stayed empty, and Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind your breathless cries as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he entered you in the warm, shallow water.
The private pool became his new favorite place. You’d lost count of how many times he’d taken you there; bent over the edge, pressed against the infinity wall overlooking the ocean, on the submerged lounger, against the smooth rocks of the artificial waterfall.
“We’re never leaving,” he declared as the sun set on your last full day. “I’m cancelling our flights. We live here now.”
“We have jobs,” you reminded him, though you were currently in his lap in the pool, still joined, neither of you in any hurry to move.
“We’ll work remotely. I’ll buy this villa. We’ll raise our kids here.”
“Kids, plural?”
“At least three.” His hands slid over your belly, possessive and tender. “Maybe four.”
“Let’s start with one,” you laughed. “See how we do.”
“We’ll do perfectly.” He kissed you slowly. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”
“And you’re going to be an amazing father.” You cupped his face. “Even if you are a sex-crazed maniac right now.”
“Only for you,” he promised. “Only ever for you.”
You woke early, bodies tangled together, the sound of waves your only alarm. Seungcheol was already awake, watching you with that soft expression that still made your heart skip.
“Morning,” you murmured.
“Morning.” He brushed hair from your face. “Last day.”
“Don’t remind me.” You snuggled closer. “I’m not ready to go back to reality.”
“Me neither.” His hand found your belly again,it was becoming a habit. “But we’ll take this with us. This feeling. This certainty.”
“The certainty that you can’t keep your hands off me?”
“The certainty that we’re ready for this. For our family. For our future.” He shifted, rolling you beneath him. “And yeah, also the certainty that I’ll never get enough of you.”
The morning light filtered through the curtains as he made love to you slowly, tenderly, so different from the frantic desperation of the past few days. This was soft and sweet and full of promise.
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “So much. More than I can say.”
“I love you too,” you breathed. “Even when you’re being insane.”
“Especially when I’m being insane,” he corrected with a grin and as you lay together afterward, wrapped in each other and the morning warmth, you thought about the past few weeks. The conversation that started it all. The shift in your relationship. The intensity and passion and sheer want of it all.
You still didn’t know if you were pregnant yet. Wouldn’t know for another week at least but somehow, it didn’t matter as much as you thought it would. Because you had this. Had him. Had the absolute certainty that whatever happened, you were in it together. Even if your husband had apparently developed a permanent breeding kink in the process. You could think of worse problems to have.
“Round two?” Seungcheol murmured hopefully against your neck.
You laughed. “We have to pack. And check out. And catch a flight.”
“So that’s a yes to a quickie before all that?”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
And because he was right—because you did love it, loved him, loved this new chapter you were writing together—you pulled him down for a kiss.
“Make it quick,” you warned. “We actually do need to pack.”
His answering grin was wicked. “Oh baby, I haven’t done anything quick with you since university.”
He was right about that too. You missed your flight but honestly?
Totally worth it.
The next few months go by in blur of your everyday life and the fact that you and your husband behaved like two virgins in a whorehouse at every given opportunity. He had somewhat simmered down, a work project keeping him busy and away from you for the past month.
You knew he was stressed so tonight you had planned to treat him, leaving work early to set up everything and it was well worth it when he comes through the door of your home calling out for you. He asks what smells so good before he stops when he takes in the way you’re dressed, in that cherry red dress he loves, and his mind starts wandering to important dates.
“Did I forget something?”
You turn from the stove, wooden spoon in hand and can’t help but smile at the panic already creeping into his expression. Seungcheol stands frozen in the doorway, briefcase still in hand, tie loosened, eyes frantically scanning you for clues.
“Did I forget—” he starts again, more urgently this time. “Is it our anniversary? Your birthday? Some other important—”
“Relax,” you interrupt, setting down the spoon and crossing to him. “You didn’t forget anything.”
“Then why are you wearing that dress?” His eyes drag over you, taking in the cherry red fabric that hugs every curve, the neckline that shows just enough to be distracting. “You only wear that dress for special occasions.”
“Maybe I just wanted to look nice for my husband,” you say innocently, reaching up to loosen his tie the rest of the way. “Is that a crime?”
His hands find your waist automatically, pulling you closer. “You’re up to something.”
“Maybe.” You stretch up to kiss him softly. “Or maybe I just missed you. You’ve been working so much lately.”
Something in his expression shifts, guilt mixing with exhaustion. “I know. This project has been insane. I’m sorry, baby. I’ve barely been home and when I am, I’m usually passed out or distracted—”
“Which is exactly why I wanted to do something nice tonight.” You smooth your hands over his chest. “So,no work talk. No stress. Just dinner, wine, and your wife who’s been very lonely without you.”
His eyes darken at that. “Lonely?”
“Mhmm.” You let your fingers trail down his abdomen. “Very lonely. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve touched me?”
“Twenty-two days,” he says immediately and you blink in surprise.
“You’ve been counting?”
“Of course I’ve been counting.” His grip tightens on your waist. “You think I haven’t noticed? That I haven’t been dying every night, coming home to you already asleep, leaving before you wake up? I’ve been going insane.”
“Have you?” You press closer, feeling him already starting to respond. “Because you seemed pretty absorbed in your work.”
“The only reason I’ve been able to focus on work is because I’ve been channeling all my sexual frustration into spreadsheets and project timelines.” His forehead drops to yours. “I’ve missed you so much. Missed this. Missed touching you.”
“Well,” you slide your hands up to his shoulders, “dinner’s going to take another twenty minutes. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”
“Twenty minutes?” He’s already backing you toward the counter. “I can work with twenty minutes.”
“Cheol,” you laugh as he lifts you onto the granite, “we eat here.”
“We’ve done worse shit here.” He’s already pushing your dress up your thighs, and his eyes go even darker when he discovers what you’re not wearing. “No underwear. You really were planning this.”
“Maybe I was planning to torture you through dinner,” you tease. “Make you wait. Make you suffer.”
“Fuck that.” He drops to his knees, pulling you to the edge of the counter. “I’ve suffered enough. Now I’m collecting.”
Your protest dies as his mouth finds you and suddenly the simmering pots on the stove are the last thing on your mind.
Dinner is slightly overcooked by the time you both make it to the table—flushed, disheveled, and thoroughly satisfied. Seungcheol keeps apologizing for ruining your perfect meal but you just laugh and pour more wine.
“It’s fine,” you assure him, serving the pasta that’s only a little too soft. “This was kind of the plan anyway.”
“To seduce me before dinner?”
“To remind you that I still exist.” You raise your glass. “That we exist. Outside of work and stress and trying to conceive and everything else.”
His expression softens. “I know we exist. I always know that.”
“But you’ve been distant,” you say gently. “And I get it, this project has been huge, and you’re under a lot of pressure but Cheol…” you reach across the table for his hand, “I’ve missed my husband. Not just the sex, though yes, definitely that but you. Talking to you. Laughing with you. Just being with you.”
He squeezes your hand, looking guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—I thought I was handling it okay, but I guess I’ve been shutting you out.”
“A little bit,” you admit. “And I know it’s not intentional. You get focused on work and everything else fades but we can’t let that happen, especially not now when we’re trying to start a family.”
“You’re right.” He stands, moving his chair closer to yours so he can pull you against his side. “I’m sorry. Really. The project wraps up next week, and then I’m all yours. No more late nights. No more missing dinner. No more—”
“No more twenty-two day dry spells?” you supply with a grin.
“Especially no more dry spells.” His hand slides up your thigh. “In fact, I think I need to make up for lost time.”
“We haven’t even finished dinner.”
“We can reheat it.” He’s already pulling you into his lap. “Right now, I need to apologize properly to my wife for neglecting her.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
His smile turns wicked. “I have some ideas.”
You’re curled up on the couch together, plates pushed aside, wine glasses empty, and you’re finally feeling like you have your husband back.
“So,” Seungcheol says, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your bare shoulder; your dress didn’t survive the transition from dining room to living room, “I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Hmm?” You’re pleasantly drowsy, content in a way you haven’t been in weeks.
“About the baby thing.”
That gets your attention. You sit up a little, looking at him. “What about it?”
He’s quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve been trying for almost three months now. And I know that’s not that long in the grand scheme of things, but…I don’t know. I guess I thought it would happen faster.”
Your chest tightens. You’ve been thinking the same thing but haven’t wanted to say it out loud. “Yeah. Me too.”
“And I was thinking—maybe we should make that doctor’s appointment. Like you said. Just to make sure everything’s okay. That we’re doing everything right.”
“Okay,” you agree softly. “Yeah, we can do that.”
“I’m not worried,” he adds quickly. “I mean, I am a little worried, but mostly I just want to be proactive. Make sure we’re giving ourselves the best chance.”
You cup his face, making him look at you. “Hey. Three months is nothing. The doctor will probably tell us to keep trying and come back in a year if nothing happens.”
“I know, but—” he breaks off, frustrated. “I just want this so badly. Want to give you this and every time another month goes by and the test is negative, I feel like I’m failing somehow.”
“You’re not failing,” you say firmly. “This isn’t something we can control. It happens when it happens.”
“I know that in my head. But in my heart,” his hand finds your belly, “I’m impatient.”
“I’ve noticed,” you tease gently. “The whole ‘acting like virgins in a whorehouse’ thing kind of gave it away.”
He huffs a laugh. “Was I that bad?”
“You were that eager,” you correct. “Which was actually pretty hot. Still is, when you’re not drowning in spreadsheets.”
“No more spreadsheets,” he promises. “Project’s almost done, and then I’m taking some time off. We’ll go somewhere. Relax. Maybe not having so much stress will help.”
“Maybe.” You kiss him softly. “But either way, we’re in this together, okay? Whether it happens next month or next year, we’ll figure it out.”
“Together,” he agrees, pulling you closer.
You settle back against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, and try to ignore the small kernel of worry that’s been growing with each negative test.
Three months isn’t that long but it feels longer when you want something so badly. When every month brings hope and then disappointment. When you see the look on your husband’s face each time that single line appears instead of two.
“Hey,” Seungcheol murmurs, as if reading your thoughts. “No spiraling. We’re okay.”
“We’re okay,” you repeat.
And you are, you will be. Even if it takes longer than expected. Even if the road is harder than you hoped. You have him, and he has you, and that’s what matters.
Everything else will come in time, you just have to keep believing that.
Seungcheol had accompanied you to your usual checkup with your doctor and you’re currently waiting for your results to come back. When she enters with your files there’s a look on her face you can’t really read.
“Is there something wrong?” Seungcheol asks, his hand squeezing yours tighter.
“Well, that depends Mr. Choi,” she says before turning to you. “This happens quite often and I know it can be a shock, but I hope you both will make the decision that suits you best.”
The suspense is killing you and before you can ask what she means she says “Mrs. Choi, did you know that you’re three months pregnant?”
“Que?”
You must be hearing things. You took tests, hell you had a period two weeks ago. The room tilts slightly, and you’re glad you’re already sitting down.
“I’m—what?” Your voice comes out strangled, disbelieving. “That’s not—I can’t be. I’ve been having my period.”
Dr. Kim’s expression softens with understanding. “What you experienced was likely implantation bleeding and spotting, which can be mistaken for a light period. It’s more common than you’d think. Based on your blood work and the ultrasound we just did, you’re measuring at about twelve weeks.”
“Twelve weeks,” you repeat numbly. Your mind is racing, trying to do the math. Twelve weeks ago was…
“Hawaii,” Seungcheol breathes beside you, and when you look at him, his face has gone pale. “That was twelve weeks ago.”
Dr. Kim pulls up something on her computer screen, turning it so you can see and there it is. A tiny blob on the screen, barely distinguishable, but with a flickering white spot in the center.
“That’s the heartbeat,” Dr. Kim says gently, pointing. “Strong and healthy.”
Your own heart seems to stop entirely.
“But—” you’re struggling to process this, “—I’ve taken at least four pregnancy tests in the past two months. They were all negative.”
“How early were you testing?”
“I don’t know—a few days before my period? And then after what I thought was my period…”
“That’s likely why. Some women don’t produce enough HCG hormone early on for home tests to detect. It’s rare, but it happens.” Dr. Kim’s smile is warm, reassuring. “But your levels now are exactly where they should be for twelve weeks. You’re pregnant, Mrs. Choi. Congratulations.”
The word hangs in the air between you and Seungcheol.
Pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’ve been pregnant for three months and didn’t know.
“I—” your voice cracks, “—I’ve been drinking coffee. And I had wine at dinner last week. And I, oh god, I’ve been taking ibuprofen for my headaches—”
“Hey, hey,” Dr. Kim interrupts gently. “Let’s take a breath. Small amounts of caffeine are fine. One glass of wine before you knew won’t hurt anything. And occasional ibuprofen, while not ideal, isn’t going to cause problems at this stage. Your baby looks perfectly healthy.”
Your baby.
“I can’t—” you turn to Seungcheol, and the expression on his face nearly breaks you. He looks stunned, overwhelmed, and like he might cry at any moment. “Cheol—”
“We’re having a baby,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “We’re actually…holy shit, we’re having a baby.” And then he is crying, tears streaming down his face as he pulls you into a tight embrace.
“You said there was a decision to make?” Seungcheol asks suddenly, pulling back and looking at Dr. Kim with concern. “Is something wrong? You said—”
“Oh, no—I’m sorry, I worded that poorly.” Dr. Kim looks apologetic. “I just meant that unexpected pregnancies can be a shock, and I wanted to make sure you knew you had options. But if this is welcome news—”
“It’s welcome,” you say immediately, even as your hands are shaking. “Very welcome. We’ve been trying. We just—we didn’t know it had already worked.”
“Well then—truly, congratulations.” Dr. Kim starts printing out information. “I’m going to refer you to an OB for your ongoing care. You’ll want to schedule your first official prenatal appointment within the next week or two. I’m printing out the ultrasound photo for you, and some information about what to expect in your first trimester—though you’re already almost through it.”
Almost through the first trimester. You’re almost through the first trimester and you had no idea.
“Can you—” your voice is shaky, “—can you print two copies of the ultrasound? Please?”
“Of course.” Dr. Kim smiles knowingly. “Most parents want several.”
Parents. You’re going to be parents. The rest of the appointment passes in a blur. Dr. Kim goes over nutrition, what to expect, warning signs to watch for, answering questions that Seungcheol asks because you seem to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences.
By the time you make it back to the car, you’re both silent, clutching the ultrasound photos like lifelines. Seungcheol doesn’t start the car. Just sits there, staring at the grainy black and white image in his hands.
“We made this,” he finally says, voice thick. “In Hawaii. In that villa with the ocean view. We made our baby.”
“All those times,” you whisper, then laugh slightly hysterically. “All those months we kept trying, and it had already happened. We were already pregnant during—oh my god, we were pregnant when you bent me over the dining room table last month—”
“And in the shower last week,” he adds, then starts laughing too, slightly wild. “And on the counter. And—Jesus, we’ve been having incredibly athletic sex while pregnant.”
“Dr. Kim said it’s fine—”
“I know, I just—” he runs a hand through his hair, “—I can’t believe we didn’t know. How did we not know?”
“I don’t know.” You’re staring at your own copy of the ultrasound, at that tiny blob that’s apparently your baby. Your baby who’s been growing inside you for weeks while you had no idea. “I feel like I should have known. Like my body should have told me somehow.”
“Hey.” Seungcheol reaches over, taking your hand. “This is okay, right? This is—we wanted this.”
“We wanted this,” you confirm, squeezing back. “I’m just…I’m in shock. Are you in shock?”
“Completely.” He brings your hand to his lips. “But also, baby, we’re having a baby. We’re actually having a baby.”
The reality of it starts to sink in, and suddenly you’re crying too. Happy tears, overwhelmed tears, scared tears, all mixed together.
“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, and it feels more real each time you say it. “In—oh god, when? When am I due?”
Seungcheol scrambles for the paperwork Dr. Kim gave you. “It says…June. June tenth. Holy shit, that’s only six months away.”
“Six months.” You press a hand to your stomach, which still looks completely normal. “There’s a baby in there. Right now. With a heartbeat.”
“The fastest heartbeat in the world,” Seungcheol says, smiling through his tears. “Did you hear how fast it was going? Like they’re already excited to meet us.”
“They.” The pronoun makes it more real somehow. “We’re going to have a tiny human. Who depends on us for everything. Who we’re responsible for.”
“Are you freaking out?” he asks gently.
“Little bit. You?”
“Completely.” But he’s smiling, radiant, more happy than you’ve ever seen him. “But also,I’ve never been more excited about anything in my life.” You lean over the center console to kiss him, tasting salt from both your tears and his.
“We’re going to be parents,” you whisper against his lips.
“Best parents ever,” he promises. “This kid is going to be so loved.”
“So spoiled.”
“That too.” He pulls back just enough to cup your face. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. For giving me this. For—” his voice breaks, “—for making me a father.”
“Cheol—” now you’re really crying, “—you did half the work.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one growing them. Carrying them. Creating an entire human being inside you.” His hand moves to your stomach, reverent. “You’re incredible.”
“Ask me again in four months when I’m huge and miserable and demanding pickles at 3 AM.”
“Still incredible.” He kisses you again. “Now, we need to celebrate. And tell people. And—oh god, my mom is going to lose her mind. Your mom is going to cry. Jeonghan is going to make fun of me for crying earlier—”
“We don’t have to tell anyone right away,” you interrupt. “I’m only twelve weeks. A lot can still—” you can’t finish the sentence, but he understands.
“You’re right. We’ll wait. Just, maybe a little longer? Until we’re into the second trimester?”
“Which is only a few more weeks now,” you realize. “We’re already almost there.”
“We’re already almost there,” he repeats wonderingly. Then, more firmly, “Okay, new plan. We go home. We process this. We maybe have a minor freak out and then we start planning.”
“Planning what?”
“Everything.” His smile is infectious. “Nursery. Names. Parenting books. Baby-proofing. Everything we need to do in the next six months to get ready for this tiny human who’s apparently already been along for the ride.”
You look down at the ultrasound again, at that flickering heartbeat frozen in time. Your baby. Made in paradise, growing in secret, already loved beyond measure.
“Let’s go home,” you say softly.
Seungcheol finally starts the car, but before he pulls out, he looks at you one more time.
“I love you,” he says. “You and our little blob.”
“I love you too.” You press your hand over his on your stomach. “All three of us.” And as he drives home, both of you stealing glances at the ultrasound photos, you think about how everything has changed in the span of one appointment.
All those months of trying.
All that hoping and waiting and disappointment and it had already worked.
Your baby had been there all along, growing quietly, waiting to surprise you. Just like everything else with Seungcheol—unexpected, intense, and absolutely perfect.
Even if you had been doing very athletic things while pregnant without knowing it.
You’d probably need to apologize to your baby for that eventually but for now, you just hold the ultrasound close and let yourself feel it.
Pure, overwhelming joy.
You’re going to be a mom and Seungcheol is going to be a dad. In six months, your family of two is going to become three.
Best surprise ever.
You both still haven’t told anyone and it’s been two months since you found out. Your body hasn’t changed much but your need for your husband has which has made Seungcheol work from home twice now and this morning is no different when he wakes up with your mouth on him.
Seungcheol wakes slowly, consciousness returning in gradual waves. There’s warmth, wetness, and a familiar pressure that has him groaning before he’s even fully awake.
“Fuck, baby—” His hand instinctively goes to your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. You’re under the covers, between his legs and the sight when he lifts the duvet nearly finishes him right there—your eyes meeting his as you take him deeper.
“What are you—oh god—what time is it?”
You pull off with an obscene pop, your hand replacing your mouth as you stroke him slowly. “About six thirty. You have a meeting at nine.”
“Then why are you—” his words cut off as you lick a stripe up his length, “—trying to kill me?”
“Because,” you pause to take him in your mouth again, working him in that way that makes his brain short-circuit, before pulling back, “ I need you…again.”
“Again?” His laugh is strained. “Baby, love we went three rounds last night. How are you—”
“Pregnant,” you finish, crawling up his body. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else and when you straddle him, he can feel how wet you already are. “I’m pregnant and my hormones are insane and I can’t stop thinking about you inside me.”
“Not complaining,” he manages, hands gripping your hips as you position yourself above him. “Just concerned about your poor—Jesus—”
You sink down on him in one smooth motion and his concern evaporates. You’re so wet, so ready, that he slides in effortlessly despite no preparation.
“Fuck, you feel good,” you moan, starting to move. “So good. Why do you always feel so good?”
Seungcheol can’t answer because his brain has officially stopped working. You’re riding him in the early morning light, his t-shirt riding up to reveal the slight swell of your stomach, barely visible but there. Evidence of your baby growing inside you.
His baby. The thought still makes him feral.
“That’s it,” he encourages, helping you find your rhythm. “Take what you need. Use me.”
And you do, you ride him with an urgency that’s become familiar over the past two months. Dr. Kim had warned you that increased libido was common in the second trimester, but this was beyond anything either of you expected. Not that Seungcheol is complaining.
“Cheol,” you’re already close, he can tell by the way you’re clenching around him, “touch me, please.”
His thumb finds your clit, circling with practiced pressure and you come apart with a cry that could wake the neighbors. He follows seconds later, pulling you down onto him as he empties inside you. You collapse on his chest, both of you breathing hard.
“I’m calling in sick,” he announces.
“You can’t. You have that important meeting—”
“Then you’re coming to the home office with me,” he decides, rolling you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Because if the past two months have taught me anything, it’s that you’re going to need me again in approximately—” he checks his watch, “—two hours and I’d rather be here than trying to take a ‘lunch break’ or hoping my camera stays off.”
You laugh, remembering last week when he’d had to abruptly mute himself because you’d walked into his office wearing nothing but a smile.
“That was your fault for working from home in grey sweatpants,” you point out.
“Everything is apparently my fault now.” But he’s smiling as he says it, pressing kisses down your neck. “You needed water at 3 AM? My fault for getting you pregnant. Your jeans don’t fit? My fault. You cried at that commercial with the puppy? Definitely my fault.”
“It was a very sad commercial,” you defend, even as you’re arching into his kisses. “And yes, this is literally all your fault. You and your—” you gesture vaguely at him, “—your everything.”
“My everything?” He’s laughing now, working his way down your body.
“Your face. Your body. Your—Cheol, what are you doing?”
“Well—” he settles between your thighs, “—if I’m working from home anyway, might as well make sure you’re thoroughly satisfied before my first meeting.”
“You just…we literally just—”
“And you’re going to need me again soon anyway,” he points out reasonably. “Might as well get ahead of it.” His mouth finds you and your protests dissolve into moans.
Seungcheol is forty-five minutes into his video call when you appear in the doorway of his office. He sees you in his peripheral vision and tries to focus on the presentation his colleague is giving but you’re wearing that look. That needy, desperate, “I need you right now” look.
He mutes himself and mouths, After this meeting.
You pout. Actually pout. Then you do something that nearly makes him fall out of his chair; you pull up your dress to show him your stomach, running your hand over the small bump. It’s not fair. It’s biological warfare. You know exactly what seeing you like that does to him.
He unmutes. “Actually, I need to step away for a moment. Personal emergency. Give me ten minutes?”
His colleagues agree—they know he’s been working from home more lately—and he kills his camera and mic before you’ve even crossed the room.
“Ten minutes,” he warns as you climb into his lap. “That’s all we have.”
“Then you better make it count,” you challenge, already undoing his belt.
He does.
“We need to tell people,” Seungcheol says over lunch. You’re both in the kitchen, you’re eating pickles and bacon cream cheese spread—a combination that horrifies him but apparently makes perfect sense to your pregnant brain—and he’s trying not to watch in fascinated disgust.
“I know,” you agree around a mouthful of your horrible creation. “We said we’d wait until after the first trimester, and we’re at—what? Fifteen weeks now?”
“Sixteen tomorrow,” he corrects. He’s been tracking it religiously, has an app on his phone that tells him how big the baby is each week. Currently, the size of an avocado.
“Sixteen weeks,” you repeat. “And I’m starting to show. Like, actually show. I can’t hide it in loose clothes forever.”
“You look beautiful,” he says immediately.
“I look pregnant.”
“Beautiful and pregnant.” He comes around the island to wrap his arms around you from behind, his hands spanning your small bump. “Best combination ever.”
You lean back into him. “Your mom is going to cry.”
“My mom is going to plan the entire baby’s life before they’re even born,” he corrects. “Your mom is going to cry.”
“Both our moms are going to lose their minds,” you decide. “And then they’re going to become best friends over baby shopping.”
“Jeonghan is going to make fun of me.”
“Hannie’s going to be the uncle who teaches our kid bad habits.”
Seungcheol groans. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe we don’t tell anyone. Just let them figure it out when you go into labor.”
“Cheol.”
“Fine.” He kisses your temple. “This weekend? We’ll have both families over. Tell them together?”
“Together,” you agree. Then, after a pause, “Are you scared?”
“Terrified,” he admits. “But also, this is real now. We’re really doing this. In four and a half months, we’re going to have a baby. Our baby and I want to share that with people. Want everyone to know how happy I am.”
You turn in his arms, looking up at him. “Even though I keep attacking you at inappropriate times?”
“Especially because you keep attacking me at inappropriate times.” He grins. “Though maybe we should warn the doctor at your next appointment. Make sure this is…you know. Normal.”
“I already asked,” you admit, blushing. “Last appointment while you were filling out paperwork. She said it’s completely normal and actually healthy.”
“Healthy,” he repeats, smirking. “So really, we’re just being responsible parents-to-be.”
“Exactly, very responsible.”
“Speaking of responsible—” his hands slide down to cup your ass, “—I think I have another meeting in an hour. Which means we have time—”
“On the counter?” you ask hopefully.
“Wherever you want,” he promises, already lifting you.
The pickles and cream cheese are forgotten as he makes good on his promise and later—much later—when he’s finally back at his computer for his afternoon meetings, you curl up on the couch in his office with a blanket and one of your pregnancy books.
This has become your routine over the past two months. Him working, you nearby and periodic breaks for the insatiable need that’s apparently a hallmark of your second trimester. It’s chaotic and wonderful and occasionally makes him miss important conference calls but he wouldn’t change a thing.
This is his life now. His pregnant wife who can’t keep her hands off him. His baby growing bigger every day. His future taking shape in ways he couldn’t have imagined a year ago. All because of one drunk conversation about worms and ovulation and wanting his babies.
Best conversation ever. Even if it did result in him having to work from home regularly because his wife has turned into an insatiable pregnant goddess. He glances over at you, at the small bump visible even under the blanket and feels that now-familiar surge of overwhelming love.
Four and a half months until they meet their baby but first, telling their families this weekend and surviving whatever chaos that brings.
⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆ — Summary: Seungcheol is just a big sulky baby who needs your attention at all times.
⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆ — Content/Trigger warning: Jealous / possessive behaviour, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, p in v sex (unprotected), creampie, overstimulation, multiple orgasms. [Let me know if I miss out any]
⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆— 18+ work! MDNI! Ageless/blank blogs will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog.
The elevator ride up to your apartment was suspiciously quiet. Seungcheol stood beside you with his arms crossed over his broad chest, jaw tight, staring straight ahead at the glowing numbers like they had personally offended him. You glanced at him, biting back a smile.
He’d been like this for the last half hour—ever since you’d said goodbye to everyone at the get-together. The usual warm, chatty Seungcheol had been replaced by this pouty giant who refused to look at you.
“Cheol,” you said softly as the doors opened on your floor. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” The word came out clipped, almost a grunt.
You unlocked the door, and he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the couch with more force than necessary. Then he flopped down, legs spread, arms still crossed, staring at the blank TV like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
You leaned against the doorway, watching him. God, he was cute like this. The big, strong leader of SEVENTEEN reduced to sulking because he didn’t get enough attention. Your heart did a little flip.
“You’re sulking,” you teased gently, walking over to stand in front of him.
He finally glanced up at you, eyes narrowed. “I’m not sulking.”
“You are. You’ve got that little crease between your brows and everything.” You reached out and poked the spot lightly. He swatted your hand away, but there was no real heat in it.
“You talked to Bang Chan the entire night,” he muttered, looking away again. “Like… non-stop. Laughing, leaning in, all that. I was right there, you know.”
You tried not to grin, but it was impossible. This six-foot-something man, who commanded stages and led twelve other chaotic boys, was jealous because you spent time with a mutual friend.
“Cheollie…” You climbed onto the couch and straddled his lap without warning. His hands automatically went to your waist, even as he tried to maintain his grumpy expression. “Chan and I were catching up. We haven’t seen him in months. You know he’s just a friend.”
Seungcheol huffed, tilting his head back against the couch. “Didn’t look like ‘just a friend’ when you were showing him that video on your phone, heads practically touching.”
You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks. His pout was devastatingly adorable up close—full lips pushed out, eyes avoiding yours even as his fingers tightened on your hips.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose.
“I’m not jealous,” he grumbled, but his ears were turning pink. “I just… missed you. We barely got to talk all night.”
Your chest warmed. You shifted closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your forehead to his. “I’m sorry, baby. I got carried away catching up. But I’m here now. All yours.”
He stayed quiet for a second, then let out a long sigh, his body finally relaxing under you. His arms slid fully around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“You’re mine,” he mumbled against your shoulder, nuzzling in like a big puppy. “Should’ve been next to me the whole time.”
You laughed softly and carded your fingers through his hair. “Next time I’ll stay glued to your side, okay? No more leaving my big strong boyfriend alone to fend off boredom.”
He made a small, contented sound and tilted his head up, silently asking for a kiss. You gave it to him—slow and sweet, pouring in all the affection he’d missed. Seungcheol melted instantly, one hand sliding up your back, the other squeezing your waist like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance.
When you pulled back, his eyes were softer, the sulk completely gone.
“Better?” you asked, brushing his hair off his forehead.
He nodded, a shy little smile finally breaking through. “Yeah. But you owe me extra cuddles tonight. And maybe breakfast in bed tomorrow.”
You grinned, kissing him again. “Deal. Anything for my cute, sulky boyfriend.”
“I wasn’t sulking,” he protested weakly, but he was already pulling you down, tucking you against his chest.
You let him. After all, making it up to Seungcheol was one of your favorite things to do.
𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊
The living room lights were dimmed low, the city humming faintly beyond the windows. Seungcheol was still sprawled on the couch beneath you, his sulky mood long gone, replaced by that warm, hazy look in his eyes after several deep kisses. Your fingers traced lazy circles on his chest as you straddled him.
“Let me make it up to you properly,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear. “I want to take care of you tonight.”
His breath hitched. “Baby…”
You slid down his body with purpose, kissing every inch of his chest and abs before settling between his thick thighs. Seungcheol’s cock was already heavy and leaking when you freed it, veins pulsing under your fingers as you stroked him slowly.
“Fuck, look at you,” you purred, licking a long stripe from base to tip. “So hard and desperate already. All because you got a little jealous?”
Seungcheol groaned, fingers gently threading into your hair. “Yes—shit. I hate seeing you give anyone else that much attention. This cock is yours, baby. Only gets this hard for you.”
You took him into your mouth without warning, sinking down until he hit the back of your throat. You swallowed around him, eyes watering as you held him there, then pulled back with a wet gasp, strings of spit connecting your lips to his throbbing cock.
You started slow, swirling your tongue around the tip, tasting the salt of his skin as you sucked lightly. Seungcheol’s hips twitched, but he stayed still, letting you set the pace. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, working your hand around the base where your mouth couldn’t reach.
“Goddamn,” he hissed, hips twitching. “That throat is sinful. Choke on it again—let me feel how deep you can take me.”
You moaned around his length and obeyed, bobbing your head faster, sucking harder. Filthy, wet sounds filled the room as you worked him—hollowing your cheeks, twisting your hand around the base, and massaging his balls. Every time you took him to the hilt, Seungcheol cursed loudly.
“You’re so fucking good at this,” Seungcheol groaned, head tipping back against the couch. “Taking my cock like you were made for it. Look at me, baby.”
You lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him while your lips stretched around his thick shaft. The sight made him curse, hips bucking shallowly into your mouth. You hummed encouragingly, stroking him faster with your hand while your tongue flicked over the head on every pass.
You bobbed your head faster, relaxing your throat to take more of his impressive length. Spit slicked his cock, dripping down to his balls as you worked him with steady, filthy rhythm—sucking hard on the upstroke, then swirling your tongue along the sensitive underside.
“That’s it, baby. Suck my cock like a good little slut. Fuck—your mouth is better than any pussy. I’m gonna cum down your throat if you keep doing that.”
You pulled off just long enough to gasp, “Then do it. Fill my mouth, Cheol. I want to taste every drop.”
He lost it. With a guttural moan, he held your head steady and came hard, thick ropes of cum shooting straight down your throat. You moaned louder in response and swallowed every drop, milking him through it until his body shuddered and he gently tugged you off, oversensitive.
You wiped the corner of your mouth with a satisfied smile and crawled back up. Seungcheol pulled you into his chest immediately, arms wrapping around you tightly as he caught his breath. His heart hammered under your cheek while he stroked your back, pressing soft kisses to your hair.
“God… that was mind-blowing,” he murmured, voice hoarse and blissed out. “You spoil me too much.”
You nuzzled into his neck, cuddling closer. “You deserve it. My big, cute, jealous boyfriend.”
He chuckled weakly, still floating in the afterglow, body limp and warm beneath you. You stayed like that for long minutes—skin to skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip—until you felt him twitch against your thigh again. His cock was hardening once more, insistent and ready.
“Already?” you teased, grinding lightly against him.
Seungcheol groaned, hands gripping your ass. “Can’t help it when you’re on top of me like this.”
You sat up, stripping off your clothes until you were completely bare. His eyes darkened with hunger as you positioned yourself over him, guiding his cock to your entrance. You were soaked from pleasuring him, and he slid in easily as you sank down slowly, taking every inch. He stretch you perfectly, filling you so deep you moaned loudly.
“Fuck… you feel so tight,” he hissed, hands flying to your hips, gripping enough to leave marks. “So perfect around me.
“Ride me, baby. Use this cock. It’s all yours.”
You braced your hands on his chest and started bouncing, taking him fast and deep. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed as you rolled your hips, grinding your clit against him on every downstroke.
“You’re so fucking big,” you gasped. “Splitting me open every time. I love how you fill me up, Cheol.”
His eyes were glued to where you were connected, watching his cock disappear inside you. “Look at that greedy pussy swallowing me. So wet and tight—made for my cock. Faster, baby. Fuck me like you mean it.”
You rode him harder, thighs burning, pleasure building fast. Seungcheol met every bounce with powerful thrusts from below, hitting that perfect spot inside you relentlessly.
“That’s it, baby,” Seungcheol growled, thrusting up to meet you. “Ride me harder. Use my cock.”
You leaned forward, changing the angle so he hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. “You’re so deep like this… filling me up so good, Cheol. I love how big you are.”
His grip tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as he helped guide your movements. Sweat slicked your bodies. You rode him relentlessly, grinding down on every downstroke, chasing your own pleasure while pushing him toward another peak.
“You gonna cum on my cock?” he panted, eyes locked on where you were joined. “Let me feel you, sweetheart.”
“I’m gonna cum—” you cried out.
“Cum on my cock baby” he demanded, voice rough. “Let me feel you squeeze me.”
Your orgasm hit hard, walls pulsing around him. Seungcheol groaned loudly and followed right after, burying himself deep as he pumped you full of cum. Thick, hot spurts painted your insides while he held you down on him, hips stuttering up until he was spent..
You stayed seated on him for a few moments, both of you panting. Eventually you lifted yourself off slowly, his cock slipping out of you. As you moved, you felt his cum start to drip from your pussy—thick white streaks sliding down your thighs.
Seungcheol’s eyes locked onto the sight and something feral flashed across his face.
“Fuck,” he growled, voice suddenly dangerous. “Look at that… my cum leaking out of your pretty hole.”
Before you could respond, he surged up, flipping you onto your back on the couch in one powerful motion. He pushed your legs wide open and slammed back inside you in a single brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
You cried out at the sudden fullness, still sensitive from your orgasm.
“Mine,” he snarled, hips snapping forward hard and fast. “This pussy is fucking mine. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else makes you drip like this.”
He fucked you with raw, possessive need—deep, punishing strokes that made your back arch off the couch. The wet, filthy sound of his cock driving through his own cum filled the room. Every thrust pushed more of his cum out around his shaft, making a mess between your bodies.
“Cheol—oh my god,” you moaned, nails digging into his back.
“You feel that?” he panted, forehead pressed to yours, eyes wild. “Feel how deep I am? I’m gonna fill you up again. Pump you so full you’ll be dripping my cum for days. No one else gets to have this. Only me.”
His pace was relentless, hips slamming against yours, the couch creaking under you. He reached between you and rubbed your swollen clit in tight circles, pushing you toward another peak.
“Cum for me again, baby. Want to feel this pussy milk my cock while I breed you.”
The combination of his filthy words, deep thrusts, and skilled fingers sent you spiralling. You came hard, screaming his name as your walls clenched around him. Seungcheol followed with a broken groan, burying himself as deep as possible and flooding you with a second load of cum.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you trembling and covered in sweat. His cock stayed buried inside you as he caught his breath, pressing soft kisses on your lips now that the intense wave had passed.
“Fuck… I lose control with you,” he whispered against your lips, voice hoarse. “Can’t help it. You’re too perfect.”
You smiled, running your fingers through his damp hair, body still buzzing. “I love when you do.”
𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊
The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the bedroom. You stirred first, nestled against Seungcheol’s broad chest, his arm draped heavily around your waist even in sleep. His breathing was deep and even, but the moment you shifted, he tightened his hold and let out a sleepy grumble.
“Five more minutes,” he mumbled, voice husky from the night before.
You smiled and tilted your head up, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You said that an hour ago, Cheol.”
One eye cracked open, then the other. A slow, lazy smirk spread across his face as memories clearly flooded back. “Morning, troublemaker.”
“Troublemaker?” You propped yourself up on one elbow, tracing a finger down his chest. “I believe I was the one making things up to a certain sulky boyfriend last night.”
He groaned, but it was playful, pulling you fully on top of him so you were straddling his waist. “I wasn’t sulky. I was… strategically quiet.”
You laughed, brushing his messy bed hair out of his eyes. “Strategically quiet? You mean pouting like a big baby because I talked to Chris for twenty minutes.”
Seungcheol’s ears flushed pink, but his hands slid down to squeeze your ass possessively. “Twenty minutes too long. You’re mine. Should’ve been sitting on my lap the whole time.”
“Oh my god, you’re still jealous.” You grinned and leaned down to nip at his bottom lip. “It’s cute. Really cute. Especially when it ends with me on my knees for you… and then riding you until we both saw stars.”
His eyes darkened instantly, hands roaming up your bare back. “Keep talking like that and we’re not getting out of this bed today.”
You rocked your hips teasingly against him, feeling him start to harden beneath you. “Is that a threat or a promise, Mr. Jealous?”
“Both.” He flipped you suddenly, pinning you beneath his warm, solid body. You squealed with laughter as he attacked your neck with kisses and playful bites. “You owe me breakfast in bed, remember? For all that emotional damage.”
“Emotional damage?” You dissolved into giggles, squirming under him. “You big dramatic baby. Fine—I’ll make you pancakes. But only if you admit you were sulking.”
Seungcheol lifted his head, pretending to think about it while his fingers tickled your sides lightly. “Counter-offer: I admit I was a little jealous, and you make pancakes… naked.”
You raised an eyebrow, still laughing. “Bold request after last night. You sure you’ll even let me leave the bed to cook?”
He kissed you deeply, slow and sweet, before pulling back with a mischievous glint. “I’ll help. I’ll be your personal chef assistant. And if you bend over to get something from the fridge, I can’t be held responsible for what happens next.”
You shoved his shoulder playfully, both of you grinning like idiots. “Deal. But if you get distracted and burn the pancakes, I’m telling the members you sulked like a kicked puppy over a mutual friend.”
Seungcheol gasped in mock offense. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me, sulky boy.”
He rolled off you with a dramatic sigh, but immediately pulled you up with him, wrapping you in his arms from behind as you both headed toward the kitchen. His chin rested on your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to your neck the entire way.
“Love you,” he murmured against your skin, voice soft despite the playful energy. “Even when you torture me by existing near other people.”
You leaned back into him, heart full. “Love you too. Now come on, sulky baby. Let’s make breakfast before we get distracted again.”
synopsis: You need a study break? Mingyu will give you one.
requested: a Mingyu Scenario where he and the reader are in the dorm in bed, and she gets incredibly horny and they have sex, but have to keep quiet so the others won't notice
warnings: mdni, 18+, boyfriend! Mingyu, roommate! Seungcheol, roommate! Vernon, roommate! Jihoon, reader stress bakes, fingering, semi-public, descriptions of prone bone, teasing, Mingyu wasn't born yesterday, unprotected, dirty talk, taunting??, mouth covering, gotta be quiet, etc.
wc: 2.5k+
[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]
It’s getting warmer. The winter months are shedding their cold air, and the sun stays in the sky longer, warming up Mingyu’s room with a soft heat that makes you want to do nothing.
And that’s what you were currently doing.
You’re sprawled out on Mingyu’s bed, one sock-covered foot hanging off the edge while your other leg hooks over his as you watch the ceiling fan spin round and round, slowly.
You were tempted to doom scroll on your phone, an earned treat after hours of scrutinizing your laptop filled with all of your notes you highlighted for your upcoming exam. If you went any longer, though, your chapter would be entirely highlighted pink, and your eyes would be rolled to the back of your head permanently.
So, to prevent that, you decided to take a break. You left your laptop open on Mingyu’s desk and pouted the entire way to your boyfriend, who let you use his room for a quiet study place as moral support.
Mingyu had been lying on his back, holding a book in one hand as his other hand rested behind his head, the image of relaxation, and he was absolutely ridiculous.
And by absolutely ridiculous, you meant mouth-watering handsome.
Mingyu was tall and broad, with muscles that were created by all the sports he played growing up as a kid and dedicated hours in the gym as an adult. He was a big boy, tall enough that his feet hung over the edge of the full mattress he lay on, and big enough to have you daydream about him in class when you were bored out of your mind.
He was also the second sweetest person you’ve ever met. (Dokyeom would always beat him in the first-place spot, but you'd never admit that to your boyfriend.)
And that’s why it was more than easy to roll into bed with him. Your boyfriend didn’t even flinch as you took up the rest of the space in his small bed; if anything, he welcomed it. You huffed and dramatically puffed while flopping half your body over his, and he just flipped to the next page of his book, happy to lie next to you.
It was very sweet, wholesome even, the type of mood that fell upon both of you. It would usually end up with you taking a nap, squishing your boyfriend between you and the wall, but your brain wouldn’t shut up enough to do that.
Your eyes flickered from the sunlight streaming through the blinds to the ceiling fan circling the air in the room. You avoided your laptop sitting on the desk and instead focused on listening as your ears perked up when you heard Mingyu’s roommates through the thin walls.
Mingyu has three roommates: Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Vernon. They had been his roommates since the beginning of the year and practically best friends five minutes after meeting. They were always going to the mess hall, pulling all-nighters, and all but one was a daily gym rat, much like your boyfriend. He honestly hit the roommate lottery compared to others, and you weren’t surprised that they all became close friends in response.
You could find at least one roommate always hanging out with another in their free time, and when you came over to Mingyu’s to study, you weren’t surprised that Vernon and Seungcheol were in the living room, intensely watching the latest football game. They had barely given you a wave when you gave them a greeting, while Mingyu followed inside after you, and it was Vernon who kept his eyes glued to the TV like a zombie when he begged you to make him snacks later when you would ultimately quit studying.
The boys knew you well by now, and they knew you'd hit your limit on studying soon enough. (They would take anything you stressed baked in their kitchen and were betting on it, actually.) But before you could agree, Mingyu was already steering you in the direction of his room, tossing over his shoulder a quick, “No. She has a test soon; she needs to focus.”
You sigh and slide your sock-covered foot down Mingyu’s shin as you think back on the cookies you could be baking right now. You would eat them with Vernon and contemplate the best-case scenario of how you could imprint all the information in the world in your brain without staring at a blue screen.
Was there a reason for any of this? What were you but a small ant on a giant rock that spins through the galaxy?
Okay, maybe you were going too deep- but that confirmed you planned not to open your laptop for the rest of the evening. Clearly, your brain was mush, but you needed something that would distract your boyfriend from giving you his famous pleading round eyes to try to convince you to keep studying. He truly was your biggest cheerleader, but your brain would surely melt if you continued to think any more than you already did today.
And that’s when you have an idea.
You move slowly, not looking at Mingyu as you slide your hand across his torso, feeling his soft stomach over his shirt until you reach the end of it. Your fingers slip down and skate across his warm skin, feeling his breath hitch as you toy with the top of his sweatpants.
You listen to the way his throat clears, his body tensing partially as he shifts under you. “What’re you doing?” He's not mean or rude, just curious with the way he speaks to you, because now you’re mapping out the elastic of the waistband of his sweatpants, and it makes Mingyu hold back a shiver.
“M’touching you.”
Duh.
Your fingertips wiggle at his boxer shorts, and you can see his cock twitch at the idea of your hand moving more south, but you don’t. You stay at the elastic band, playing with his boxer shorts like his roommates weren't twenty feet away, barely separated by a thin wall.
“Do you want me to stop?” You ask and have to bite your lip from smiling at how fast he shakes his head.
“No! I- fuck,” his cock is getting harder, and your fingers are now trapped between the elastic band of his boxers and his pelvis. Your fingernails scratch lightly, a horizontal line that makes him suck in air through clenched teeth before he groans quietly, “Please.”
You aren’t sure if this plea for mercy is because he wants you to stop or continue, but the desperation laced in his tone sends a flutter low in your stomach, and your smile is growing as you teasingly ask him. “Please, what? What do you want?”
The book is forgotten the moment Mingyu rolls to his side and forces you to do the same. Your eyes flicker to his bedroom door, it's open, and you can hear Seungcheol grumbling to Vernon on the game playing on the television, but all that disappears when Mingyu’s warm hand slides over your upper thigh.
He hooks your leg back over his, his chest pressing into your back as he huffs against your ear. “Your roommates-“ you mumble, and Mingyu places a warm kiss on the nape of your neck. At the same time, his hand slides down your sweatpants, finding your panties already wet for him.
“Gotta be quiet then,” he murmurs, and your eyes close as he finds your clit over your damp panties. His lips brush the shell of your ear as he circles the little nub, his hips flush against your ass, reminding you he’s hard and wanting just like you are wet and ready. “Be good for me, Baby. Let me feel you-“
He kisses your neck slowly, just like how his fingers rub your clit, building you up in little time that it makes you grit your teeth, your hips rolling back against him. With each jolt of pleasure, he creates a little whimper that is pulled from you like you can't help yourself. Your head tilts back onto his shoulder, your mouth parting as the familiar knot in your stomach twists.
When he slides your panties to the side to sink two fingers into your wet heat, his other arm wraps around you, pulling you back until you’re half draped over his chest. He spreads your legs with his, his palm covering your mouth as his other hand works between your legs in earnest. It makes your eyes roll, your groan muffled as he stuffs you with his thick fingers.
“Need you to cum, need you nice n’ wet f’me.” He whispers the words in your ear as he curls his fingers deep inside you. His fingertips graze your gummy walls until he strokes the soft, spongy spot inside you that makes you thrash. Then you feel him grin against your ear, focusing on it like his roommates couldn't walk by any minute. “That’s it, let me feel how good it feels when I play with you.”
When you cum, his hand still covers your mouth, and your eyes roll back as your internal walls pulse around his digits. He keeps pumping them, in and out, over and over again until you’re shivering, and the squelch of your pretty pussy can be heard over the pounding of your heartbeat rushing in your ears.
You barely recover from your first orgasm before you’re finding yourself on your stomach. Your head is at the foot of the bed, angled to look at the open door as Mingyu pulls your sweatpants and panties down to your knees. His body drapes over yours, caging you between him and the mattress as he cups your chin, pulling your head up as his warm chest covers your back entirely. You can feel the fat head of his cock drag along your wet slit as your eyes begin to gloss over.
“You did so well for me." His legs straddle yours, and he’s so big you feel yourself clench in anticipation, a molten warmth beginning to form in your lower stomach again as he guides his cock to your sopping entrance. “You can give me one more, right? But you gotta keep quiet- you don’t want them to hear you, right? Don’t want them to know how well you take me, right?”
Mingyu isn’t dumb, and you are unable to see the way his teeth flash in the smile he displays. His eyes flicker from the open door to your laptop and then back down at you. You're so cute, wanting a little break, needing your brain to turn off for a little while.
But no worries, he's got you. His pupils dilate as he feeds you the first few inches of his cock, watching the way your pretty pussy stretches to take him in.
Your moan is drowned out by his hand covering your mouth again, and the fact that the TV cheered loudly. Huh, we must have scored. But you can't dwell on that, not when Mingyu's bullying his cock deeper into your drooling cunt, his words low and soft in your ear. "That’s it, open up for me.“
He makes you feel every inch of his cock, slowly. He makes you feel how the veins that run down his shaft drag through your velvety walls and makes your toes curl in response, a whine pushed from the back of your throat as he keeps your pretty mouth covered by his palm. His other hand clutches the edge of the bed right beside your head, his knees bracketing yours, keeping your legs closed and your pussy snug around his cock.
Both of your eyes roll when he bottoms out. His hips are pressed against your soft ass, and every time your walls flutter around him, his cock twitches deep inside. "You're fucking perfect."
You barely register what Mingyu is saying before he's moving his hips back, watching the way your pussy clings to his cock, trying to keep him from leaving. Another muffled whimper comes from you as your arousal seeps and coats Mingyu's dick with a creamy mess, and then Mingyu pushes back in. He stuffs you full, it feels like you can feel him in your stomach, and it's like he knows your eyes threaten to close because he's pulling your head back up with a soft grunt.
"Don't close your eyes, you gotta make sure no one walks by- or do you want them to hear you?" The question doesn't get answered when his hand moves from your mouth to your throat, holding you in place as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. The mushroom tip of his cock smacks into your soft cervix with a mean accuracy, jumbling all of your thoughts and making it hard to speak. But Mingyu already knows; he can feel it with the way you squeeze around him, soaking him with another wave of your slick. "Yeah, I think you want them to see. See how good you are for me, how well you take my cock."
Your pussy throbs wantonly while your teeth bite your bottom lip to hold in any screams of agreement. He feels so good, you know you're going to cum soon, and Mingyu knows it too. He angles his hips, and the next time he pushes forward, the tip of his cock is rubbing your G-spot until you're forgetting how to breathe. You gasp, and Mingyu groans under his breath, keeping the same pace that makes you squeeze him tighter and tighter.
"Mingyu-" You can barely slur out his name, stars bursting down your spine and down to the tips of your toes as you try to warn him. Your stomach tenses, your vision whitens, and Mingyu's grip on your throat tightens just enough to make your jaw slacken.
You cum with a silent scream. Your eyes rolling back as your drooling cunt gushes hot and wet all over Mingyu's cock. And the feeling of it makes Mingyu suck in a shaky breath, feeling you tremble underneath him, your walls sucking him deeper, trying to milk his cock as he fucks you through it.
He praises you the entire time, mumbling about how good you are for him. How well you did. How your pretty pussy is meant for him. And by the time you come down from your high, your body feels like jello - you can only give him little noises in agreement as he chases after his release with low groans in your ear.
And it's only a few minutes after Mingyu slipped from you, moving to his side as you blink up at him with glossy eyes, that Vernon and Seungcheol are cheering from the living room, reminding you that you weren't entirely alone. Mingyu instinctively covers you with his body when Vernon calls out your name in excitement, but thankfully, he doesn't appear in the door. Instead, he just yells from the living room, "Are you done studying yet? Can you take a break? I want cookies!"
