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.

From the top of the staircase, you see him dressed in oversized charcoal at the bottom, kicking his sneakers off his feet while throwing his phone, wallet and keys on the entryway table. Skipping down the stairs, you forgo greeting him, whispering, “Be quiet, he just went down.” 

“He’s eight,” Wooyoung whispers back, “you still tuck him in?” 

“He begs me to,” your brows knit together, “he doesn’t beg you?” 

“No,” his lips spread in a grin, “he’s a big boy at my house.” 

You scoff, “Shut up, he’ll always be my baby.” Leading him into the living room, you keep your voice low, louder than a whisper, “We have to be quiet.” 

“You have to be quiet,” he corrects you, tone teasing, smirking as you lay back on the couch. The TV is on but muted, the lamp in the corner coating the living area in dusky orange even if the sun had gone to sleep hours ago. 

“I am quiet,” you pout as he crawls over you, wasting no time, crouching between your parted legs, a hand falling to the back of the couch for purchase as he pecks a short kiss to your lips. 

“Don’t tease tonight,” you grab hold of his hoodie, pulling him close enough for your lips to touch, “I don’t have it in me to fight for it.” 

He smiles, kissing you again, parting your lips with his own, hands moving to the armrest to keep him steady as he lowers his hips into you. You gasp into his mouth at the friction, your tiny shorts doing nothing to shield you from his weight. 

“Then don’t fight,” he moves to kiss your jaw, your head tilts to let him in, his breath is hot against your skin, “lay there and behave for once.” 

Your hands find his neck, his cheeks, pulling him back up to kiss you deeper, head lifting off the pillow, calves hooking over the back of his thighs. He makes a grumbled noise, tongue licking into your mouth like he was searching for something, one hand falling from the armrest to tug at the hem of your hoodie, pushing it upward. 

“Off.” 

One word, a singular order, you sink further down the couch after pulling it off your body in a rush, throwing the pillow beneath your head to the floor, giving him space to plant his elbows above your shoulders. 

“Don’t wait,” you murmur into his mouth, “I can take it.” 

He hums, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before he answers, “You don’t know how to take it.”

“Then I’ll fucking learn,” your feet tug at his sweatpants, spine bending toward him, “get inside me.”

“Antsy,” he sits back on his knees, pushing his sweatpants and his briefs down in one quick motion. “Like I haven’t been fucking you right or something.”

“You haven’t been here in a week,” you argue, pushing your shorts down to your ankles, kicking them on the floor, “you haven’t been fucking me at all.”

“I had our kid for four of those days,” he pulls your thighs over his, sliding his cock through your folds, “I didn’t see you at my door after he went to bed. On his own, might I add.”

You loose a shaky breath as his tip collides with your clit, hips bucking up towards him, “Shit, I was busy, Wooyoung. What about those three days then?”

He pauses, glancing up at you, “You serious?”

“Yes?” You blink, “What were you doing? You had Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”

He laughs, lining himself up, holding his breath as he pushes inside. Your lips part in a silent scream, head tilting backwards to dig into the couch cushions, hands clawing at your own thighs for something. He stills once he’s fully seated, chest heaving, veiny forearms reaching for your ankles. 

“So fuckin’ tight,” he grinds out, voice tight with restrain, pushing your knees up to your chest. “Careful what you say, wifey. Might think you want me for real.”

“Regretting,” you squeak, eyes screwed shut tight, “s’big.”

He’d laugh again if your pussy didn’t look so pretty trying to keep him in. Walls fluttering around the base of him, your clit pulsed, begging for attention already, he started a slow, deep grind of his hips, making sure he filled you up all the way with each one. 

“So wet for me, mommy. Didn’t even have to touch you,” he keeps his palms splayed on your thighs, bearing his weight as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the arch of your foot that dangles in the air. 

You whimper, face scrunching in pleasure, core clenching around him, he kisses up to your ankle, grazing his teeth against your skin, your hands shoot for his wrists, his forearms, just to hold them. Forcing words out, you say, “Been waiting for this, for you.”

“A whole week,” he picks up the pace, voice leaning into condescending, “must have been so hard.”

Your breath catches, eyes rolling back, a soft moan tumbling off your tongue, “Fuck, ‘t was. It was.”

“Quiet,” he reminds you, “or I’ll stop.”

“You won’t stop,” you mutter, fingers tightening over his wrists, a challenge. 

At that he stills, sitting back on his calves, leaving just the tip inside. “I won’t what?”

Jaw clenching, your hips follow him, he lays his palms over bone to keep you still. You stay like that for a moment, a game of chicken, eyes locked on his that stare at you expectantly. Obedience, silence, submission, he loves you bratty, he’s a brat himself, but when it comes to fucking you open on your couch just past nine at night, he expects you to listen. 

“Fine,” you shift against the cushions, “fine, you win.”

He pulls you onto his cock by your hips without a word and you have to slap a hand over your mouth to force yourself silent. The angle, the ease in which he mounted you onto him, your eyes slammed shut, gasping out a broken sound into your palm, he fills you up perfectly, carving into you like you were built to take him and him only, it’s war to not cry out in pleasure.

“Fuck,” under his breath, low, he tells you how good you feel in one blurted word. You roll your hips against him, meeting his thrusts, curved cock dragging along the front of your walls with each grind. 

“More,” you plead, grabbing for him, “kiss me.”

He crawls over you, elbows beside your ears again, pressing his lips to yours with a softness reserved for you. His hips slow, your ankles crossing over his back, pushing his hoodie up with your heels just to feel more of his skin against you. 

“Yes,” you whisper, breathing the same air, bodies moving together now, “just like that, daddy.”

His forehead meets yours, a quiet noise of pleasure rumbling from his chest, “‘m not gonna last.”

You kiss him again, tongue slotting between his lips, hands tugging at his roots, body moving in the shape of his, the only thing you can hear is your breath singing in harmony and the slick sound of your bodies conjoining. 

Six weeks of Wooyoung breaking you down on your couch, your kitchen counter, your living room floor, once against the wall just outside of your hallway bathroom. You don’t know what it is, you haven’t spoken any more of what it means, what comes next, the only thing you know is that you can’t stop. 

“Want me to fill you up? Fuck you full?”

You’re nodding, tongue catching on his lips, delirious with pleasure, your body ached for him. Burned for him. Only him. Always him– till death do you part.

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper, voice pitched and whiny. 

His hips stutter, he tucks his head into your neck to muffle his groan, fingers tightening in your hair that’s sprawled out around your head like a blanket. Losing his rhythm, his slow deep strokes turning shallow, quick– chasing a high he found so easily with you. 

Your toes curl over his back, chin tipping up when you feel the warmth spread, the heaviness, the feeling was indescribable. Claimed, owned, like he was marking his territory, it made your stomach swirl with affection, enough to pick his head up by his hair and kiss him again. 

Your hips rock, he whimpers. “T-too much, jagi, no.”

So warm, you glide against him, too slippery for there to be any resistance. The sound you make is small but it says everything you can’t, that you need more, you aren’t done. 

“D’you wanna sit on my face?" You hold his flushed cheeks instead, doe eyes staring up into his dilated pupils, begging. He shakes his head, “Can’t fuck you again, can’t.”

“Pussy,” you smack your teeth, “are you serious?”

“I’ll make you cum in under three,” he feeds you a peck of his lips, “promise.”

“Mommy?”

Both of your heads turn toward the staircase, the small voice that couldn’t see you from the platform at the top. It takes all of a millisecond for you to push Wooyoung away from you and jump off the couch.

“Coming!” You call, grabbing your shorts from the floor. Pulling them up your thighs, clenching hard to keep Wooyoung inside, you hiss at your ex, “Don’t fucking leave, you owe me.”

“Yes, mommy,” he nods, grin amused and lazy, “duty calls.”

You run up the stairs to find your brown-haired boy standing at the top, one of his fists rubbing at his eye, his favorite Frozen pajamas already pulled up and twisted at each and every hem. Before you have a chance to speak, he asks, “Who’s here?”

“No one,” you speak quietly, softly, turning him around by his shoulders, guiding him back into his bedroom. “Come on, baby, bed time.”

Five minutes of staring at the ceiling feels like a fucking lifetime until his tiny breaths turn slower, deeper. Creeping out of his bedroom once more, closing his door even softer than you did the first time, you nearly sprint down the steps to find Wooyoung still half-clothed.

“Now what if I brought him down here?” You stand before the couch, hands on your hips. 

“Why the hell would you do that?” He quips, leaning forward to grab you by the hips, pulling you back down to him. “He’s asleep?”

“Out like a light,” you throw your arms over his shoulders, taking your spot in his lap. “You promised me something.”

“Is that all I’m good for?” His brows raise and the question takes you by surprise.

Wiping the smirk off your lips, your arms lower a little, disarmed. “Sex?”

“Yeah,” he sits up a little, shifting where you sat on his lap. “We’ve been sneaking around for over a month, I haven’t pressed the date thing because you’ve never been one to break your promises and–”

“You were serious?” You push your brows up to your hairline, cutting him off. To make it clear, you repeat, “You seriously want to take me on a date.”

His head cocks to the side, “You didn’t think I was serious? Of course I want to take you out.”

“We’re divorced,” you argue, leaning back, adding space between you.

“I’m aware,” he says, as if he really means no shit. “You’re on my lap right now, I’m still dripping out of you, are you planning on fucking me after the sun goes down for the rest of our lives?”

“Not for the rest of our lives,” you shake your head a little, brows knitted together, confused.

“Oh, then until you’re over it?” He blows amusement through his nose. “We made a tiny human who’s upstairs right now and I’m suddenly disposable?”

“That’s not what I meant,” you rub your palms over your face, sucking in a deep breath. “I just thought this was, like, an agreement. I didn’t think either of us wanted anything more, I’m sorry if I misread the situation.”

“We’d have a chance to talk about it if you didn’t kick me out as soon as you came.”

“Wooyoung,” you gasp sharply, offended, “I do not do that.”

His brows raise, forgoing a verbal response. You think back on the past six weeks, remembering each and every night you’ve shoved him out of your front door as soon as he pulled his pants up, the memories flash through your mind like a medley. Your lips flatten, cheeks heating, guilt and shame forming in the pit of your belly. 

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, just above a whisper. 

“You really don’t want anything more?” 

He sounds wounded and your heart cracks beneath your ribs. His brows are upturned, mismatched eyes rounded out, pink lips still swollen from earlier almost pouting. You swallow, taking a second to be honest with yourself and your feelings… This works. The last six weeks have worked so effortlessly, so easily, you’ve been spending your days bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, so fulfilled you haven’t even considered what comes next. If anything comes next. 

“I haven’t been this happy in awhile,” you reply honestly, “I think I don’t want to fuck anything up, our sex life wasn’t this consistent when we were still married, it’s nice.”

His fingers squeeze your hips, pulling you closer to him, a small smile forming on his full lips. “All I want to do is take you out one time, jagi. We don’t have to put any pressure on it, let’s just go out for dinner, have a few drinks and talk. It’s been a long time since we’ve just talked.”

It puts a smile on your face, too. You run a hand through his hair, locks of coal soft between your fingers, “Okay, let’s go this weekend.”

His face lights up, “Really?”

You snort, “Yes, really. I’ll get a babysitter for Saturday and–”

“I’ll bring him to Yunho’s,” his hands slide up to your waist, under the hem of your tank, leaning forward until his chest brushes against you. “He hasn’t seen Aden in awhile, maybe they can have a sleepover.”

Your hands find the base of his neck, pulling him flush to you, “A sleepover?”

Wooyoung’s lips find yours, a small kiss, his hands traveling upward, cupping your breasts beneath your tank, “Maybe we can have a sleepover of our own.”

You gasp into his touch, brows furrowing in pleasure, “Please.”

“You can have me all night,” he reaches for the hem of your tank, pulling it swiftly over your head before his hands go right back to toying with your chest, pressing his thumbs over your nipples as he says, “We can fuck in our big, comfortable bed, all night if you want to. Just like old times.”

You moan softly, quietly, head going fuzzy like he’d cast a spell on you, “Let’s go up there now.”

He keeps his eyes on yours as he leans forward, tongue poking out to circle over your nipple before his lips wrap around it, sucking harshly. You suck in a sharp gasp, face twisting in pleasure, hips grinding into him beneath you, “Fuck, Wooyoung.”

“Saturday,” his voice is low, gravelly, it sends a shiver up your spine. “Tonight you get to ride my face.”

You can’t argue. Not when he brushes his nose over your spit-soaked nipple, giving you a perfect view of the curve of cartilage, already imagining bucking your hips against it. 

Immediately you’re climbing off of his lap, pointing to the rug beneath your feet, “On the floor.”

“Whatever you want, mommy.”

“Damn.”

It’s loud enough for the neighbors to hear. On your porch, fist over his lips, his brows are scrunched like he can’t believe his eyes, he looks you up and down three times before he whistles. 

You snort, rolling your eyes, pulling your front door closed behind you. “Shut up, Wooyoung.”

He steps backwards, down one of your cement stairs, watching as you bend over slightly to lock your front door. Voice amused, he continues, “All dressed up for lil’ ole me? The dreaded ex?”

You turn around with a smile, “I’m keeping my word.”

His hand goes over his heart, frowning, “That hurt.”

“Shut up,” you shake your head, fighting your amusement as you move to step down, following him, he keeps his feet planted where he stands, an unmovable force.

Then he cracks a grin. “What, you’re not even gonna kiss me hello?”

You cross your arms over the front of your dress, sleek and red and hugging every inch of your body you want to be hugged. You got it on sale, an outfit you’ve been saving for the right occasion, you can’t believe tonight, of all nights, is the night you took it off the hanger. 

You can’t believe you pulled it out for Wooyoung. 

“Good things come to those who wait,” you sing, “if you’re on your best behavior maybe you’ll get a kiss goodnight.”

He groans, head tipping backward, eyes squeezing shut, “You’re gonna make me hard.”

“I hate you,” you laugh, pushing on his chest, making him tumble backward a step. You follow him down the staircase, towards his still-running SUV in your driveway, “Where are we going?”

He said to dress nice, two days ago in a short text-exchange that started off with you asking if he forgot to drop off Kyungmin’s backpack, which you found in the corner of your living room approximately nine seconds later. Two texts back and forth before he reminded you of your date tonight, that he’d already made the plans with Yunho and Aurora, Kyungmin would stay over at their house tonight to have a sleepover with their son, Aden.

Yunho was Wooyoung’s friend from college, living only fifteen minutes from where you lived on the outskirts of the city, suburbia with a good school district, which is where Kyungmin had met their son, Aden, the second of four. You wondered how they did it, you had your hands tied with only one. 

“It’s a surprise,” he walks to the passenger side, opening the door for you. 

“Wow,” you raise your brows, “such a gentleman. Who even are you anymore?”

He holds an arm out for you to grab as you climb in, “I’m just a husband taking his sexy ass wife out to dinner, that’s all.”

“Ex-husband,” you correct, “ex-wife.” 

He leans against the door with a smile, “Whatever you say.” 

He looks good. Dress pants on his legs, tailored, all his dress pants are. A button-up, rolled up on his veiny forearms, showcasing his tattoo, the top two buttons undone. Dressed in all black so his golden skin gleams in each pocket where it shows, fuck he knows how to dress himself and God it pisses you off. His hair is styled, down, tucked behind his ears, it frames his face effortlessly, beautifully, part of you wants to ask if you can make a pit-stop in the backseat.

It’s a thirty minute drive, filled with the same soft rock playing from his speakers, he talks over it the whole time. From Kyungmin to work to his apartment, which he nags at you that you still haven’t seen the inside of, the conversation is as easy as it always is. Bickering, of course, but you’ve been bickering since you were twenty-two. Fifteen years of partnership, of friendship, of learning each other down to particles and atoms, awkward silence has never existed between you. 

A fancy restaurant, one that just opened in the city, dim lighting and red velvet and black leather, you couldn’t tell if you were supposed to eat dinner or each other. Side-eyeing Wooyoung as the hostess brought you to your table, the moment she left you quirked a brow, “Is this foreplay?”

He grabs the drink menu, “It can be if you want it to be.”

So shameless it makes your lips part. “Are we in a restaurant or a sex club?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a restaurant,” he doesn’t look up over the menu, “but we could make it a sex club if you want to make it a sex club.” You snort, reaching over to steal the drink menu from his hands. He scoffs, “No way you’re reading that as if you aren’t gonna nurse one margarita until it’s tequila-water.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, “maybe I’m in the mood for something different.”

You quickly scan the specials, the list of bottles they carry, different brands of wine they have. Pursing your lips, you quickly realize you’re not in the mood for something different. 

Shoving the menu back into his hands, you mumble, “Fine.”

He laughs, a high, amused giggle, “You’re so predictable.”

“You just know me,” you huff, “not predictable.”

When the waiter comes by, Wooyoung not only orders his beer, but he orders your margarita, too. Casamigos, salt on the rim, you don’t correct him because you’re as predictable as they come. Your cheeks heat up anyway, you might be predictable but he remembers and it sends a streak of heat up your spine. Whatever. 

You’re reading the menu, or trying to with your bottom lip caught between your teeth, seeing words but not ingesting any of them. Maybe you should just let him order your meal for you, too.

“What’s bothering you?” He asks, and you glance upward like he’s ripped you out of a trance.

You purse your lips, shaking your head a little, defensive. “Nothing.”

“I’ve known you for over a decade,” his lips curl at the corner, “I’ve lived with you, I’ve loved you, you’re the mother of my son. Is it so crazy that I know you? One year spent apart out of fifteen is nothing.”

You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears, you forgot he knows you down to your thoughts, too. A small sigh escapes you, “Do you wanna start now? Before there’s even any food on the table?”

He leans forward, smile mischievous, “Hey, there’s bread.”

You push air out of your nose, amused as you sit back in the upholstered chair. “It’s just stupid. We’ve only been divorced for a year, and look at us. We’re in a sex club that has a kitchen.”

His lips thin before he answers. “Did you really think we’d stay separated?"

“Yes?” Your head tilts with the question. “Did you not?”

“No,” he answers honestly, “I’ve been working on myself a lot this past year. All the time spent away from you, Kyungie, it’s given me space that I never wanted. Space I’ve filled with things to better myself, for him, for you.”

“What, did you get a promotion or something?” You quirk a brow, “Work stuff?”

He smacks his teeth, “I went to therapy.”

“You went to therapy?” Your brows meet your hairline, “Like, the couch and everything?”

“No, she made me sit on the floor,” he muses. “She actually has a brown, leather chair. She helped me figure a lot of my shit out, that way when it was time for me to propose the idea of us seeing each other again, it’d be different. I’d be different.”

“Woo, I had no idea,” your heart picks up speed in your chest. “I didn’t even know that you were this… bothered about us separating, to be honest.” 

His face scrunches up in disbelief, “That’s bullshit.”

“I’m serious!” You argue, “The divorce process was so smooth, I guess over time I got it in my head that it was smooth because it was mutual.”

“It was never, not even for a second, mutual.”

“You made it easy,” you shrug, picking up your margarita, taking a sip. “You never told me the details, I only knew what I found out from your mother. She never mentioned therapy.”

“You knew what I wanted you to know,” he sets his menu down in front of him. “It’s not like we were exactly on speaking terms, you didn’t give me the opportunity to fix anything while we were still together, either.”

Your stomach churns. “I gave you a lot of chances, Wooyoung.”

“Not enough,” he argues, not sternly, earnestly. He picks up his beer. “You gave up on me.”

“I gave up on being a single mother in my own marriage,” your voice is low, quiet. Your throat feels tight. 

The waiter comes, Wooyoung orders for the both of you, something you would’ve chosen for yourself. Your thoughts are too loud for you to pay it any mind. 

“I’ll have to live with the fact that I made you feel that way until the day I die,” his face is solemn, his words so honest your heart feels like stone in your chest. “But I thought I was doing the right thing, setting us up for our future, setting our son up for his future. For a long time I couldn’t understand why that wasn’t enough for you.”

“But you understand now?”

He nods, “Strangely enough, you making that deal with me at the conference, about having San speak, it might’ve been the final piece that put everything together. I feel like I can see it clearly now, and it feels so fucking stupid looking back.”

“Yeah?” Your lips curve at the corners, “Did your therapist enjoy my ultimatum?”

“I think she thinks we’re childish,” he laughs a little, “she doesn’t say that, but I can kinda feel it. Like we’re still kids playing at being adults.”

“We are,” your smile widens, “but now I keep wipes and snacks in my purse instead of lipgloss and condoms that we never used.”

“Don’t talk mommy to me right now,” his face scrunches together like you pressed your foot against his crotch. “We’re still in public.”

You stare at him over the salt on the rim of your glass, taking a sip of your margarita before you mumble, “I don’t think anyone here would be bothered.”

“I want to try again,” he wipes the smile off his face, voice a little louder, stronger. “Just to lay everything on the table, I’ve been wanting to try again and if a hookup at a work conference is the start of it unfolding, then so be it.”

You take a second before responding. “Do you really feel like I gave up on you?”

“Yes,” there’s no room for uncertainty, the agreement is crystal clear. “But I know I pushed you to that point, and I know in the end it was my fault. I should have been around more to help you. Just to have been there.”

Your bottom lip quivers, he catches it as soon as the first twitch tugs at your mouth.

“No, no crying,” he reaches his hand across the table, searching for yours. You tangle your fingers with his, his palm warm, fingers encasing your hand within his own perfectly like you were made for each other. “If you’re open to trying again, to giving me another chance, it’ll be different this time. I’m different, but I still love you, I still want to be beside you.”

You wipe at your eyes before tears fall past your waterline, “I love you too, but I did my makeup for this.”

“And it looks beautiful,” his lips curve, “but it’s just gonna get ruined later, anyway.”

“Why would it–” You meet his eye, the mischievous glint. “Oh, fuck you.”

“Hopefully I’m lucky and you will fuck me.”

“Is sex all you think about?” You laugh, then tease him, “Is that all I’m good for?”

He glares across the table, “Too soon.”

“You’re the one who said we were gonna roll around in my bed all night.”

“Once upon a time, it was our bed,” he releases your fingers to point at you, “and I know it’s lonely in that big ass bed without me.”

“Who’s to say I’m lonely?” You taunt, “Maybe there’s been plenty of men warming my bed since we separated.”

“You,” he says it like it’s obvious, “at the conference you said there was no one else, so unless you lied, you’ve spent over a year alone, in that bed, playing with yourself and wishing it was me.”

You think everyone in the restaurant could hear the gasp that erupted from your chest. Wooyoung’s head tips back in laughter and you curse under your breath, whisper-shouting, “We’re in public, Jung Wooyoung.”

“The mom-voice makes it funnier,” he’s still laughing, a hand over his mouth, “scolding me like I’m five. Fuck, do you remember when Kyungmin drew all over the wall in the living room? With fucking Sharpies?”

You groan, digging your head into your palms, elbows propped up on the table. “Still to this day I fucking hate the feeling of Magic Erasers.”

“You sounded just like that,” he takes a deep breath to control his laughter, then puts on his best you-voice to mock you. “Jung Kyungmin, we color in coloring books, not on the walls.” 

The memory makes you smile, even laugh a bit under your breath, “It’s only funny now because I got the Sharpie off the wall.”

“It was funny then, too, trust me.” 

The food comes hot and perfect, neither of you speak for the first few bites, until Wooyoung catches you staring at his plate, at his food. Mid-bite he pauses, popping a brow, “Want to try?”

You smile, and he smiles back, reaching over, fork in hand. The sound that leaves you is almost fitting for the restaurant you’re in. “I like yours,” you mumble, putting on your best doe-eyed look, making him snort. 

“I’d be mad, but I’m too nostalgic,” he hums, satisfied with a smile on his cheeks he reaches over to grab your plate, switching it with his own. “Can I pretend I ordered mine for the sole intent of giving it to you?”

“No,” you hum happily, “it’s better that you gave yours to me. More romantic that way.”

He shakes his head, “First day back and you’re already spoiled.”

“Technically I still haven’t agreed,” you shrug, eyes on your food, about to take another bite before you realized Wooyoung had paused entirely. Looking over the table, you giggle at his deadpanned face, brows flat, lips flat, his entire face flat. 

“Not funny.” He tightens his lips again. “Are you agreeing? Do you want to give me another chance?”

“Is this an immediate answer kind of thing?” You ask, food still halfway to your mouth, “Or can I get back to you on it?”

He purses his lips like he’s deciding the answer for himself before he gives you one. Eventually, when your bite is swallowed, he answers. “I guess you can think about it.”

“You guess?” Facing your plate, your eyes flicker across the table. 

“Do you understand how long I’ve been waiting?” He doesn’t sound aggressive or forceful, or like he’s urging you towards an answer. “I had you for fifteen years and I just spent over an entire year without you.”

“You say that like I didn’t spend a year without you, too,” you argue, “you aren’t alone in that feeling, Wooyoung.”

“I just want my life back,” his voice settles into something just above a whisper, too raw for the crowded restaurant. “I want you, I want Kyungminnie, I want to come home.”

You swear you can see an entire year of pain in his eyes. Chocolate that’s usually melted, milky sweet, a delicacy, is deepened into something dark; hardened with time spent apart, changed with a life lesson that needed to be felt in order to be learned. He’s the same but he’s different, you can feel it, you know it. 

All you can do is pray he doesn’t disappoint you again.

He keeps his hand on your thigh the entire drive home.

Quiet for once, the calm before the storm, you use the silence to think about your time spent apart, how it affected you. He was right, alone in your king-sized bed, but more than that you’ve learned so much about yourself in the year spent away from him. Kids fresh out of college, thrown into the workforce, pregnant before your first paycheck, court-signed documents without a big party to follow, your adult life has been spent entirely by his side. 

You’ve learned strength. You’ve learned to trust yourself. You’ve come to fall in love with yourself, by yourself, the you that wasn’t half-Jung. Despite the tears, the nights drowning in self-doubt, of not knowing what the next day would look like, you did it. 

And now he’s back, and he promised that he changed. 

You don’t know whether or not to trust the tiny voice in the back of your mind, you don’t know if it’s nerves or a gut-feeling. But when you turn your head to the side, to the man you’ve spent fifteen years loving, adoring, his chiseled jaw and his curved nose and the veiny, tattooed forearm that’s attached to the steering wheel, it’s easy to admit that you want him to come home, too. 

You missed him. You miss him, and he’s beside you. 

You miss him making the bed in the morning, having coffee on the pot downstairs, already prepped for you. You miss him shoveling the driveway in the winter, mowing the lawn in the summer. You miss him taking out the trash. You miss him fixing a toy when Kyungmin breaks it. You miss him doing your fucking taxes. You miss him doing the dishes after you cooked dinner, you miss him stealing the dishes out of your hands when he cooked dinner.

You miss the mundane things. 

You miss the way he kisses you goodmorning, when he gets home from work, before bed, randomly, mid-day on a Saturday. You miss him making Kyungmin laugh. You miss the way his skin feels on yours, the way he finishes your thought before you’ve finished it, the way he makes it so easy to believe that it’s possible to love another human so much. 

You miss him present most of all.

“If I agree,” you speak into the silence, his fingers add the slightest pressure onto your thigh. “You swear you’ll be around?”

“Yes.” The word is final. “I’ve made the changes already. You’re my priority.”

You don’t answer, you let the words sink in. It’ll take time, learning to believe him, learning to trust his words again, but something settles in your chest, in your gut, something calm. It reminds you that you can still be yourself, you can still be strong, you can still trust yourself, you can still be in love with yourself– but he’s here to love you, to trust you, to lean on you for strength, too. There’s something about it that’s comforting, that’s right.

The house is dark when you walk through your front door. You forgot to leave the lights on, the lamp in the corner of the living room, the one above the kitchen sink. So scatterbrained about being out with Wooyoung, about your kid sleeping at someone else’s house, you huff a curse as soon as the darkness welcomes you home. 

While you turn the lamp on, without a word he’s in the kitchen, turning on the other above the sink. 

And for some reason that’s enough. 

Maybe it’s how he looks, doused in twilight, standing in the kitchen he designed. Shadows finding home in the structure of his face, the tattoo on his forearm, the veins that swirled around it, blending into the vines, rippling each thorn of the rose. Maybe it was just the fact that after all this time, seeing him here, in your kitchen that you left exactly how it was the day you kicked him out, reminded you just how deeply you love him. That even though you’ve spent a year apart and you’ve learned to love so much about yourself, the part of you that you love most, is the half of you that’s him. 

You hope he feels it as you kiss him, standing in the space between the two counters, the long, skinny walkway between the sink and the island. Your arms around his shoulders, his find your waist, sliding down to your hips, then behind you, taking two fistfuls of your ass. 

You squeak into the kiss and he turns you, scooping under your thighs to lift you, placing your ass on the kitchen counter. You don’t break the kiss, feet hooking around his back, fingers curling into his roots, tongue sliding between his lips like you were the one coming home. 

He hikes your dress up, warm palms searing the skin beneath fabric, slipping under the hem just to rest there like he couldn’t deny himself feeling you any longer. You’re panting into his mouth, sizzling under his touch, you whisper, “I need you.”

He pulls away, putting an inch between your faces, “Here?”

“I don’t care where,” your hands find his cheeks, holding him close, “I need you, Jung Wooyoung.”

His eyes flicker over your features like he’s reading your thoughts and it takes him all of a second for his fingers to dart to the hem of your dress. You lift yourself so it pools around your hips, reaching forward for his button-up, getting only three unbuttoned while his fingers work the button and zipper of his pants. Both of you panting, heartbeats uneven, your feet stretch to reach the opposite counter, palms planted on the one you sat on, shifting yourself to the edge as Wooyoung frees himself from his briefs.

Your tongue pokes out to wet your lips, tasting remnants of your lipstick and his saliva on your tongue. The lack of a rebuttal from him, of snarky, taunting comments– this was different than him filling you silently on your living room couch. One hand moves your thin, lace thong to the side as the other grips his length, prodding at your entrance, making you gasp. 

He fills you quickly, slipping inside with barely any resistance, the two of you moaning out in relief and pleasure. He grumbles out a curse, reaching the hilt, hands finding your hips, fingers bruising into your skin.

“Jagi,” he whispers. “Wanna give you a baby.”

Your eyes meet his and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world. Like nothing else matters except you and him, like the outside world melted away, like you haven’t built and ruined a life between you. Like it was fifteen years ago and you’d just opened the first page of your love story. 

“Do it, then,” you whisper back, eyes glossy, throat tight. “Give me one.”

“Can I?” He asks, face stone, as if you couldn’t feel his cock twitch inside you. He wasn’t asking permission, he was questioning the possibility.

Counting in your head, you wait a moment to reply, “Yes. Slim, but yes.”

He grins ear to ear, that same shit-eating grin he wears when he gets what he wants whether he fights for it or not. Then he moves, a shallow, promising thrust, grinding into the deepest spot inside you, making you hiss out a curse. 

“Have to fill you,” his eyes find your meeting, watching himself as he barely thrusts, keeping himself buried. “Nice n’ deep. Make sure it takes.”

Your head dips backward, arching into him, skin catching on the glossiness of the counter you’d wiped down before you left the house. “Please.”

He grunts, fingers searing your skin, picking up his pace. “Fuck, need to see you pregnant. Belly full of my fuckin’ kid.”

“Wooyoung,” your voice is breathy, shaky, full of arousal as you moan his name, it makes him grunt out a curse, hips slapping against yours, reverberating through the room, bouncing off the stainless steel appliances. 

His hands on your hips use the strength of his arms to lift you, pulling you off the counter with too much fucking ease. He slips out of you before your feet hit the floor, but he’s back inside you as soon as your back presses against the cool wood of the kitchen floor, freshly mopped this morning, knowing he’d be here tonight. 

His lips are on yours, your legs hooked over his back, panties thrown somewhere you didn’t care to see. His shirt is open, still over his shoulders, trapping you between the open panels like it was shading you from something, anything that wasn’t him. 

His hair feels silken between your fingers as you tug at his roots, keeping him as close as possible, never close enough. Murmuring words into each other’s lips, the sound of his skin hitting yours muted it, like the two of you were stuck in a time-warp, a lovesick bubble you entered fifteen years ago. 

Pressure builds with each thrust, your moans growing in pitch, and Wooyoung keeps his eyes on yours, his bottom lip touching yours, assessing, watching, feeling, waiting for you to crest your peak without any stimulation to your clit. His eyes flare when your breathing catches, keeping his rhythm unfaltering, his angle locked, muttering yes, yes as you approach the high only he can give you. 

He groans when he feels the pressure blow, as you clench around him, the heels of your feet digging into his back, he catches your lips between his own to feel everything, all of it, all of you. 

The silence says everything. You’re stuck in euphoria as his cock drags over that same spot inside you, his head dropped down to your shoulder, your nails clawing at his back as he takes you for everything you’re worth. Every drop of pleasure, every emotion, you handed everything over to him, put it in his palms, let him cradle it– had you ever even taken it back for yourself?

“Gonna give you a baby,” he mutters into your skin, voice jagged like the edge of a blade, a man slicing a promise into your skin. “Gonna give you a girl this time. Pretty like her mama.”

“Yes,” it’s a whimper, a plea. “I love you, please– I love you.”

He grunts, heavy and rough, hips smacking yours with fervor, picking up his pace, weighting his thrusts. He picks up his head, palms finding your cheeks, holding your scrunched up face between them before he presses his mouth to yours, and you can taste the I love you too on his tongue.

Into his mouth, weak, soft, you utter, “I missed you.”

And why the admittance brought tears to your eyes, you aren’t sure. But they fell to his thumbs and he seemed to understand even if you didn’t, kissing you deeper, tongue slotting into your mouth as if he was soothing your scars. 

He finished inside you with a low grunt that vibrated through you and into the hardwood beneath, cock hilted, buried so deep you weren’t sure where you ended and he began. You wanted to stay there, full of him, in the bubble you’d fucking missed being in, but his phone ringing on top of the counter had you both moving before you could breathe. 

“Yunho,” is all he said before he pressed the phone up to his ear, still panting, brows furrowed. You stood up, dress falling over your hips, thighs wet and legs jelly, you leaned an arm over the counter for stability, silent enough to hear Yunho on the line.

Yeah, he threw up… Asking for you… Rory took his temp, he has a fever… He’s on the couch now… Okay, see you soon…

Wooyoung hung up with a sigh, “Rain check for rolling around in our bed?”

You cracked a smile, “What’s your schedule looking like on Monday?”

Wooyoung snorts as he tucks himself into his slacks, fingers working his buttons, “I’ll drive.”

Aurora had the door open before you’d made it up the steps of their front porch. “Sorry for cutting the date night short.” 

Her sad smile was full of apology, she had one arm on the door as she held it open for the two of you. Pajama pants on her legs, slippers on her feet, her oversized tee that said Nasara University had one shoulder cut off. Hair tied in a bun on top of her head, bare-faced, so effortlessly gorgeous you felt self-conscious even if you were still in your red dress.

“Thanks for taking care of him, Ro,” Wooyoung replies. “Yunho said he’s on the couch?”

Ro. A nickname you haven’t heard before. Storing the info for later, you followed Wooyoung inside, taking note that their house was full of everything warm and cozy. Toys littered the floor, picture frames on the walls, nothing was tidy or put together. Not dirty, but… Lived in. Like six people lived here and not one of them was hiding the fact. The TV on and playing an old cartoon from when you were all kids, three out of Yunho and Aurora’s four sat on the living room floor just before Kyungmin who was curled up on the couch, blanket covering his body. 

You stayed back while Wooyoung crossed the room, saying hi to the kiddos before scooping Kyungmin up in his arms. Aurora spoke while you watched him, “Yunho’s upstairs with the baby, she woke up when the kids started screaming about throw up.”

“Sorry,” you scratched the back of your head, cheeks flaring heat. You hoped you didn’t smell like sex. You also hoped she wasn’t thinking about the fact that you and Wooyoung are divorced and together right now. 

But she just waved her hand, “Please, don’t be. She’s a terrible sleeper anyways, and all four of them were playing dress up in June’s room. She was bound to wake up sooner or later.”

“Dress up?” You cracked a smile. 

“June has the time of her life dressing up her siblings,” she smiled with you, “and I think Aden enjoys it more than she does. They call it Fashion Runway, and Kyungmin was the star tonight, just so you know. June and Aden said he’s their new muse.”

You snort, not a lick of surprise on your face, “I need to see this.”

“You guys should come over more,” she offers, looking at Wooyoung as he returns with your gray-faced son’s head on his shoulder. “We should do the things the cool families do, hangout while the kids hangout, conjoined vacations and shit. We live so close and we never do anything.”

You look at Wooyoung who nods like he was brushing her off. “Yeah, sure. Don’t you wanna wait til’ Sunnie gets a little older?”

Her brows furrow, “No?”

“Sunnie’s a cute name,” you turn to her. “I didn’t know that was her name. How old is she?”

“Her first birthday is next month, I invited you guys, he didn’t tell you?” Her brows furrow further as you shake your head. Her eyes thin as she glances at Wooyoung, “Sunnie’s short for Woosun. Named after her godfather who apparently doesn’t want to come to her first birthday party.”

You will your face into staying neutral, like you knew Wooyoung was Aurora’s daughter’s godfather. “Woosun’s a gorgeous name.”

“Yunho came up with it,” her smile is proud, and if she could see yours, the one you’re hiding behind your stone features, you think she might be terrified of you. Your eyes find Wooyoung’s and he looks as gray as Kyungmin, face dropped, fear rippling in his chocolate brown eyes. 

“Thanks again for taking care of him, Aurora.” You barely hear her response as she gives you a side-hug. She smells clean, like grapefruit and vanilla, a hint of baby formula like she’d just finished feeding Woosun. Woosun. 

You don’t speak until after Wooyoung buckles in Kyungmin, your son still somehow knocked out in the backseat, head lolled to the side. Wooyoung tugged on the seatbelt twice, making sure it was locked, keeping him in place. You see the glitter on him then, on his eyelids, his cheeks, his hair, he’s in clothes that aren’t is. God, did he throw up on his own clothes? You didn’t even notice, nor did you ask for his clothes back. You’d have Wooyoung text her tomorrow.

Seated in the driver’s, he flips the engine, eerily quiet. Waiting for you. So you start. 

“I thought Yunho was your friend from college.”

He takes a steadying breath before he speaks, “He was, is. But I’ve always been friendlier with Ro.”

“Ro,” you repeat, lips scrunching together. Your head shakes slowly, “Define friendlier.”

“Baby, we went to college together–”

“Don’t baby me,” you snap, keeping your voice quiet to not wake up your son, “you just tried to give me a daughter and then I find out you’re the godfather of someone else’s?”

“I was going to–”

“You were going to tell me nothing,” you snap again, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. “You used to fuck her, then? In college? Is that why we’ve never hung out with them?”

“It was more than that,” his voice is defensive, curt. Your lips snap shut, eyes widening a fraction. “We were together for a while, but it was… complicated. Everything about that time was complicated.”

“She named her fucking kid after you,” your voice is quiet but not any less venomous. “You know everything about me. Everything. And after fifteen years, I’d expect to know everything about you. Why keep it a secret?”

He keeps his eyes on the road, even if they blaze with emotion; fear, guilt, shame, remorse. “I don’t know if I can even explain it, she’s– she’s special. Different from a girlfriend or a hookup, we went through a lot of tough shit together.”

Eyes widening further, throat tightening, you can taste the salt lining your eyes. Your voice comes out hoarse, “She’s so special that you couldn’t tell your wife about her?”

“There’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t make you feel like this. She’s married, happily, with four kids. If you knew our history you wouldn’t want me around her.”

“And that’s more important? Being around her? Than me knowing the truth?”

“No,” he shakes his head tight. “No, it’s not. I spent a lot of time at their house while we were separated, and the three of us got really close again–”

“So that’s why she said we should all hangout,” you laugh a little, it’s dry, lacking amusement. “She wants to know what the wicked ex-wife that divorced you is like.”

“No,” he counters, voice raising, exasperated. “I never said anything bad about you, fuck. After the conference I talked to them, and she needs a girlfriend. I basically pimped you out to her, to be her friend.”

“Pimped me out to a girl you used to date. Fuck. Go through tough shit with.”

“We weren’t close during our marriage,” he argues, eyes flickering up to check on the still-sleeping Kyungmin through the rear-view mirror. “I sought them out after you divorced me, I needed a friend, and I knew Kyungmin and Aden were in the same class, I– they helped me.”

“Your ex-girlfriend and her husband helped you. Did they invite you into their bed? Help take your mind off your sad, divorced heart?”

“I’m not going to talk until you stop seeing red. Calm down and then speak to me like an adult.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you stare out the window, and let the tears fall. 

Kyungmin lay on the couch, asleep again after another round of emptying the contents of his stomach into the same stained bowl you use for popcorn on movie nights. You and Wooyoung sat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, staring at him. So small, his face looks so peaceful, in a deep, hopefully dreamless sleep. He changed your lives eight years ago. Forced you into an adulthood you weren’t prepared for, the greatest blessing you didn’t ask for. A gift. 

“Think he has the flu?” Wooyoung asks after too long of staring at the boy you created in silence. His hands stretched behind him, legs in front of him, body sagged with exhaustion. It’s been a long day.

“Maybe a stomach bug,” you reply through a sigh, sitting with your arms curled around your knees. “Time will tell. If his fever’s still up tomorrow, I’ll take him to the doctor.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I’m his father, I want to.”

You swear, it’s grumbled, irritated. You can still feel the stickiness between your thighs, almost like it’s taunting you now. Telling you good job, you get to have another baby with a liar!

 “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Wooyoung’s voice is grave. “Aurora is harmless. I don’t love her, I’m not into her, there’s nothing left between us but friendship.”

“You’re missing the point, Wooyoung. It’s not about her, it’s about the fact that you kept it from me for fifteen years.”

“It wasn’t relevant for fifteen years. But it’s relevant now, and I’m telling you.”

“Because you were put in a situation where you had to tell me,” your head snaps to the side, glaring at him. “You should have told me when we had the whole exes conversation over a decade ago, or maybe when you found out Aden was in the same class as Kyung, or when she named her daughter after you, or when she made you the fucking godfather. You had a million-and-one chances to tell me.”

Wooyoung sighs, “It was a wound I didn’t want to reopen back then, but I should have. I’m sorry.”

“It feels wrong,” you look back at Kyungmin, a frown on your lips. “Knowing you had a relationship with these people deep enough for them to name their child after you, and I don’t know any of it. It makes me feel like I don’t know you, like there’s a side of you that you’ve kept from me all these years.”

“Do you want to know the full story?” He glances sideways, and the look you give him is an obvious yes. He sighs, “Fuck. Alright.” 

And you sit there, for an entire hour as he reveals a side of himself that you’ve never gotten a glimpse of. Partying, threesomes, Aurora, men– so many men, and even though that part didn’t take you by surprise, it did make you wonder. The tough shit was about her, Yunho surprisingly, her father, her own personal issues that Wooyoung had adopted like his own and helped her through. Living with his cousin, switching his major, supporting his mother, all the fucked up people who went to his university that married each other. You wondered how well they turned out. 

“Her and Yunho, made for each other. Their kids were a blessing, and they started younger than we did. Then kept fucking going.”

It made you laugh a little, and as the sound hit his ears, he finally cracked a small smile. Glancing at you, he muttered, “I did love her, I loved everything about her. But our relationship, me in her life, it was for a purpose, y’know? And when it was fulfilled, after I’d done what I was… destined to do or whatever, her life got a lot better. She got better. Everything got better, actually.”

“You were all too young for all of that shit.” It’s all you could say. All you could muster up seeing Wooyoung’s life twenty years ago pass through his eyes, listening to him describe it like it happened yesterday. 

“I know,” he heaved a sigh, laying back on his elbows. “But then I met you and I thought it was my turn to be happy. To feel like I had it all figured out.”

“Then I got pregnant.”

He laughed, a rich, light sound. “Then you got pregnant.” He sat in silence for a moment, glancing at your son on the couch, before he bit his lip in contemplation. “I have something else to tell you. Since we’re being honest.”

Your heart dropped, skin feeling icy-hot. Nervously glancing at him, your voice comes out shaky as you ask, “What?”

“We’re still married.” 

You blinked. “No we’re not.”

“Yes we are.”

Fingers meeting the floor on either side of you, you shook your head, warning, “Wooyoung.”

“That’s why the divorce process was so easy,” he isn’t looking at you, his eyes stay on Kyungmin, unblinking. “Because I never filed for it.”

“I filed for it,” you counter.

“With my lawyer,” his eyes meet yours. “Who I paid generously not to file.”

“What? I–”

The walls felt like they were closing in. He continued, “I thought it was hasty. That you would regret it, or that you didn’t mean it, or that I’d fix it, I don’t know. I couldn’t stomach the idea of us not being together, so I faked it.”

“You pay me child-support, Wooyoung.”

“I know,” he shrugs, lips thin. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t think we’d stay apart forever.”

You stare at him for a moment, a thunderstorm brewing beneath your skin. “Get out.”

His head snaps to the side, eyes wide, “What?”

“Get out,” you repeat, firmer. “Get the fuck out.”

“Wait– Let me explain, I–”

“Jung Wooyoung get the fuck out of my house.”

“I love you,” he argues, voice strained, turning his entire body to face you as you start standing up. “With my entire heart and soul. I can’t live without you any longer, without him, please talk to me– please talk this out, please–”

“I’m filing first thing tomorrow morning,” you bite, voice so fucking harsh and venemous you can’t believe it came from your lips. “With a different lawyer, my own fucking lawyer. You better hope and pray that I’m not fucking pregnant.”

Seungcheol’s half asleep by the time you collapse into bed, and you don’t care if you woke him or not. He had the easy put down tonight, he’s been in bed for a solid half hour already. You had to wrangle an overstimulated, grouchy, overtired, 2.5 year old into bed, which was the least fun thing you’ve done all week.

Cheol glances up at you, giving you a pout with his eyes. “Not easy tonight?”

“He tried to smack me three times and tried to escape the bedroom four times,” you sigh, tired just thinking about the 45 minute debacle that was bedtime. “Cried about being tired. Cried about wanting to go sleep with his sisters. Cried about wanting to sleep with us. Cried about crying.”

“Well, my putdown was a cake walk tonight,” he grins and you resist the urge to kick him. “She was tired from gymnastics, went right to bed after her book,” he wrangled your five year old every night. Usually she was the tough one, refusing bedtime and instead spending her time asking philosophical questions. Thankfully your eight year old put herself to sleep now, calm and quiet after reading a little bit of a chapter book to herself. But she had been a bear in her own right, once upon a time.

“You’d think he would have been tired after ninja class,” you sigh, washing your face and tucking yourself into bed. Cheol is half asleep again, curled around his pillow as reality tv plays in the background.

“He’ll be back to normal tomorrow,” he promises, reaching a hand out to curl his fingers against your arm. The two of you lay like that for a while, your first bit of silence since your day started at 6 that morning. It’s calm, Cheol’s nearly asleep, you’re mindlessly scrolling on your phone, until you shift slightly. Having three kids has been tough on your body, your hips and back specifically, so you move to the side to take the pressure off. The change has you pulling your arm out of Cheol’s grasp, using that arm to prop yourself up.

The angle change has your body on one side, the motion settling your breast into his hand. He doesn’t react and neither do you, 12 years of being together makes things like this less enticing than they were before. It doesn’t even phase you, your post-partum and post-breastfeeding tits were nothing to brag about.

But Cheol can’t help himself. You’re his wife, he married you for a reason. It didn’t matter to him what your body looked like, he loved you. He loved you before kids, pregnant, after three babies. He was attracted to you before and after all those things. So when your soft breast made your way into his hand, he couldn’t help himself.

First, it’s one gentle pass over the nipple with his thumb. You’d stopped breastfeeding a few months prior, your nipples were starting to get sensitive again and he knows it. He feels the little bud harden under his thumb, can feel the way you shift slightly, and he smiles to himself. He’s got you, you’ll be under him in a few minutes, just the way he likes.

He sweeps his thumb again, trying to be nonchalant about it, trying to make it seem like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. But he can’t help himself, on the next pass he pulls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, cock jumping at the hitch in your breath. He does it again, the rest of his body still as he caresses you.

“Hey babe?” You ask and he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Mhmm?” He hums, not looking at you, instead taking another gentle pull of your nipple.

“What are you doing?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Watching a tv show,” he feigns innocence, pulling just a little harder, half hard between his legs when he hears your gasp. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to watch something on my phone,” and his hand slips under your shirt as you’re talking.

“Trying?” He asks, catching your nipple between his index and middle finger, pinching and pulling and making you throb. “What’s stopping you from watching?” His committal to acting innocent is memorable, if not a little annoying.

“I think-“ another low gasp as he pulls again, “you know what’s stopping me.”

“I have no idea.”

“Cheol,” you whine, but not in the way he likes to hear. He stops immediately, sitting up to look at you.

“What the matter, baby?”

“Just not feeling it today, that’s all,” but it’s a lie. Your nipple is hard against his hand, you’re giving him those sexy little gasps when he twists just right, if he pressed a hand between your legs he’s sure you’d be wet.

“What’s actually the matter? Cause I can tell you’re lying to me,” the upside (or downside) of being with someone for over a decade is that you can tell when they’re lying. You can tell when something bothering them.

“I’m not feeling it today,” you tell him as he crawls up to you, his thick thighs spreading your legs, his eyes catching yours. You don’t move to stop him, no hand on his chest, no attempt to close your legs.

“Hmmm, not feeling what? Me? Or something else?” God, he really does know you, like the back of his hand.

“Cheol,” you whine again, but like you’re annoyed at being pressed. His hands get your shirt off, leaving you in a pair of underwear, a soft blue pair that he knows is one of your favorites. You don’t prevent him from taking your clothes off, so he knows your problem isn’t that you aren’t in the mood, it’s something else.

“Tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart,” he prompts, bending to wrap his lips around your nipple, loving the way you jerk and whimper underneath him.

“Cheol,” but this time it’s the way he likes to hear, punctuated with a gasp, followed by a moan.

“C’mon baby, tell me why you don’t want me to fuck your brains out,” his hand comes up to grab at your other breast, pulling and twisting the nipple between his fingers. 


“It’s-“ another gasp, “not that I don’t want you to,” you tell him and he shifts to kiss you, dipping his tongue in your mouth until he registers your words. He sits back on his heels, studying you, giving you the space to elaborate. When your hands come to cover your body, your stomach and your breasts, he softens. “I don’t feel,” you huff, blowing out a puff of air as you try to gather your words. “I don’t feel very attractive today,” you finally say, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve had three kids, Cheol, nothing sits the way it’s supposed to anymore.”

Your breasts, once perky and full, were not anymore. Breastfeeding three kids for two years each flattened your breasts, making them comparable to pancakes. Your stomach and ass were littered with stretch marks, the skin not bouncing back the way it used to in the past, not matter how many workouts you did. There was a layer of fat everywhere, one you couldn’t get rid of without surgical help.

Some days you felt fine about your postpartum body, it carried three beautiful children. It birthed three amazing children. It nursed three strong children. It carried your 2.5 year old everywhere, it comforted your 5 year old when she’d had a bad day. It protected your 8 year old when the little boy down the street (one of Hoshi’s boys, you loved them but they were shits) picked on her at the bus stop.

Your body did amazing things every day, but some days, like today, you didn’t love it. Maybe because you were overstimulated from bedtime, maybe because you were tired from your long day, maybe because it was just one of those days. But no matter the reason, you didn’t want your husband, whom you loved deeply but didn’t look as much changed by the arrival of children, to look at your body critically today.

“Sweetheart,” his voice is soft and it makes a lump form in your throat, but he doesn’t stop you when you to grab a blanket and cover yourself. “Your body is so hot-,” he starts to say but you interrupt him.

“My body is not hot, Cheol, don’t lie to me,” you tried to put some snap in your tone but your emotions don’t allow you. You sound stripped and raw.

“Let me show you how hot I think you are,” he breathes, grinding his hard-on against your leg.

“You’re hard because you want to fuck, you aren’t hard because you saw me naked,” you say, rolling your eyes at him. But god, you could not be more wrong. He started getting hard because your breast ended up in his hand, your nipple ended up between his fingers. He got fully hard when he pulled of your shirt, looking at the body underneath that he knows so well. That he’s watched changed over the years, that’s carried three of his perfect children, that’s fed three of his perfect children. How could he not find you to be the hottest woman on earth??

“No baby, I got hard thinking of you,” he promises, “you always make me hard,” his tone is near pleading as he continues rutting against your thigh. “I think you are so hot, let me show you how hot I think you are.”

“Cheol,” you say and he breathes your name in response. Yeah, you want to fuck, you want your husband to pin you down and take you out of your head. But that nasty little voice is whispering in your ear, telling you how ugly you are, how undesirable you are. Thankfully, Cheol knows what to do when you get like this, knows how to pull you out of your own negative thoughts.

“I’ll keep grinding against your thigh, thinking about your body if I have to,” he promises, eyes closed as he imagines it. “I’d rather come inside your pussy though, looking at your body,” and you can’t help the giggle that crosses your lips.

“Cheol,” you whisper his name, prompting him to open his eyes, a pout crossing his features.

“Yeah, baby?” His motions still haven’t stopped, he’s still grinding against your thigh but he slows as he focuses on you. He works his sweats down, freeing himself to rut against your bare leg.

“You really think I’m hot?” Your voice is annoyingly small as you ask the question but he lights up.

“I think you’re so fucking hot, I want you every minute of every day,” he promises, “there’s never a time I don’t want you. You are the hottest woman I’ve ever seen, even hotter after you had my fucking kids,” he’s rambling, filter turned off as he tells you what he thinks about you. “Makes me wanna ship the kids off to my parents for a weekend, strip you down, worship every inch of your body until you forget what you don’t like about it.”

His words do the trick, even on your worst days, he knows how to remind you that he wants you. His thrusts are still slow, teasing himself as he lets you work through your emotions. The upside of being with someone for more than a decade is that they know you, they know how your brain operates. You love this man. Love how he makes you feel, emotionally and physically.

Slowly, you slide the blanket off your body and he snaps to attention, drinking in every inch of skin you show him. “Fuck. I want you. Can I have you?” Your throat feels tight, you can’t speak but you nod and he’s on you in a second. His tongue is in your mouth, breathing hot and heavy as he folds you in half. One hand anchors under your knee, pressing your leg backwards. The other wraps around himself, dragging his hard cock through your pussy. He coats himself in you, smirking when he notices how wet you were. “Get this wet from me playing with those perfect nipples?” He asks but you can’t answer as he grabs one, pulling and twisting the sensitive little bud between his fingers.

He’s slow as he pushes in, you’ve been having regular sex for over a decade but Cheol is big and the stretch never fails to take your breath away. You almost don’t hear him when he starts speaking to you, “what would you say to one more?”

“What?” Your brain is mush, his words not making sense as his thumb presses down on your clit. He circles the little bud as he speaks, not letting your brain catch up.

“One more. We did always want four,” he says, groaning at the feel of you wrapped around him. He feeds you inch by agonizing inch and it takes a second for his words to click.

“What?” You ask again, but this time you heard him, you just don’t know why he’s choosing right now to talk about it.

“Let me fuck a baby into you,” he gasps, bottoming out. “Wanna see you pregnant again,” he says, pressing down into your space to kiss you.

“You want to talk about this now?” You grunt, whimpering when he pulls out. His sharp thrust forward punches a moan from your lungs and you toss your head back.

Cheol takes advantage of it, trailing his lips along your neck, “let me fuck a baby into you,” he asks again, sucking a mark into your collarbone.

“We don’t even know if I’m ovulating,” you explain, pussy clenching on him as he thrusts into you. “I still haven’t gotten my period back.” Breastfeeding always made your period disappear, it took months for it to come back when you stopped. Neither of you knew your cycle right now, neither of you cared.

“Pussy’s so wet, smell so fucking good, you’re ovulating,” he says, so sure of himself, tongue tasting every inch of skin it can reach. “Let me fuck another baby into you”, he begs again, his voice taking on a desperate edge as he presses both your legs back, knees nearly touching the bed. He loves this position, the power it gives him, the way it makes you go pliant under him. The angle allowes him to drive into you, hipbone grinding against your clit with every push forward.

“Cheol,” you whimper as he bends to kiss you again, his cock knocking up against something in your core that makes you clench around him. “You want four?”

“Always wanted four,” he says as a way of explanation, thrusting hard. “After the first,” you both gasp, fighting off orgasms as you talk. “I knew I wanted to see you pregnant with my kids all the time. You’re so fucking sexy pregnant. I’d keep you knocked up all the time if I could,” he grunts, grinding himself into you. His pace is slowing down, he doesn’t want to come too soon.

This is what you wanted, your strong husband pinning you down, telling you how sexy he finds you. “Love watching your belly grow,” he says, his thrusts slow and intentional. “Love seeing your tits get big all over again,” he says, one hand moving to roam all over your body, grabbing at whatever he can reach. It’s clear in the way he touches you that he finds you attractive and it goes straight to your head.

“Tell me more,” you ask of him, your hands finding his arms.

“Your pussy gets so wet when you’re pregnant,” he comments and it surprises you, you didn’t know that. “Like you want me to fuck you all the time,” he says, his fingers plucking at your nipples as he thrusts into you. “I hope this pregnancy is like the first, you couldn’t get enough of me.”

And he’s right, the first time you were pregnant, you needed to fuck almost every day. The second pregnancy you didn’t want him to look at you, let alone touch you. The third pregnancy was a nice middle ground, you wanted him but not anymore than usual. But that first pregnancy? Cheol joked that you rubbed him raw.

The two of you are trying not to come, but after a particularly strong thrust from Cheol that times perfectly with a swipe across your clit, you can’t hold back anymore. Your body locks up, your whine caught in your throat, clenching around him sharply, in a way that makes him grunt. “Fuck. Gonna fill you up. Get you pregnant,” he says and god, you want him to.

“Let’s have another baby,” you say to him, nails digging into his shoulders where you hold on.

He groans your name, low and sinful, before he presses in deep, coming inside you. His body slumps over yours, his breath hot against your neck, as he continues to thrust shallowly into you. “I’m still hard,” he tells you, pressing kisses against your neck. “Wanna fill you up again, make sure it takes,” and you whimper underneath him.

“Wanna be pregnant Cheol, wanna have another,” and it’s exactly what he needs to hear. His thrusts pick up again, his body pulling off you slightly. He’s got one hand fisted in the pillow next to your head, one hand pressing your legs back and open for him to rock into you. He’s sensitive, you can tell with the way his upper lip curls with each thrust, he won’t last long and neither will you.

“Can’t wait to feel your tits all heavy in my hands. Your nipples get so sensitive when you’re pregnant,” he’s in a mood tonight. He gets like this sometimes, telling you every dirty thought he has. “Love when you ride me when you’re pregnant too, you’re so sexy. I have to think about Miss Chan across the street so I don’t come too soon,” he laughs and so you do. Miss Chan is your 75 year old neighbor who loves when your oldest comes over and helps her cook.

“She was a looker in her day,” you remind him but he doesn’t care.

“She’s not you. You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” his thrusts slow again and he holds eye contact. “Pregnant, breastfeeding, running the kids to activites, all the time. I love you so much,” he tells you and tears spring to your eyes. “I love everything about you, your body, your mind, the way you mother our kids, the way you feel wrapped around my cock.”

“Even when my tits are flat like pancakes?” He snorts as his thrusts pick up again.

“If it bothers you that bad, I’ll buy you new tits,” he says, lip curling again. Leave it to Cheol to offer to buy new tits. The idea does sound appealing though, pretty new tits, all perky. But the thought slips away as your orgasm builds again, Seungcheol’s strokes hitting you just right. He’s close too, if his grunts and pants were anything to go by.

“Come with me,” he asks you, thumb finding your clit. It doesn’t take long, too sensitive from the first orgasm, too worked up from your conversation. The two of you tip over the edge together, the whisper of each other’s name on your lips as you collapse.

Your bodies lie connected for several minutes, your breathing evening out. “You really want another kid?” You finally ask him, nudging him to his side. You can’t lay with your legs spread like that for long, it makes your hips ache.

“I really want another,” he says, pressing your knees to your chest. “Keep me in there,” and you flush.

“Where did all this come from?”

“It’s about time,” he says, shrugging as he presses kisses down your arm. “We have one about every three years. They’ll be 9, 6, and 3 by the time a new baby arrives. Besides, you know how much the girls love to dote on a new baby,”

“Hmm,” you muse, wondering how your son will react to not being the baby anymore. “Been thinking about this a minute?”

“Since you stopped breastfeeding little man,” he admits. “I wasn’t sure how you felt about another baby. I know we always talked about four but then we had three,” he presses against your side, nuzzling you with an arm across the backs of your thighs, keeping them pinned to your chest.

“Good thing I’ve been thinking about it too. Our table doesn’t feel full yet,” you tell him, leaning into him as much as you can.

“Our table?”

“I heard someone talk one time about knowing when you’re done having kids. They said they knew when they imagined being old, they knew how many kids they imagined at their dinner table. For holidays and gatherings, birthday parties and things. I always imagined 4 at our table. We only have 3 right now, our table isn’t full yet,” Cheol nods when you finish.

“This one will fill our table,” he says, letting your knees drop to place a hand over your stomach, imagining a soft swell there. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

It’s no surprise to either of you eight weeks later when that little stick shows a small plus sign.

“you look so good,” you breathe. you thought mingi’s grin couldn’t get any bigger, but his head rolls on the back of the couch, his tongue licking over his teeth like he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. you fixate on his face, his white teeth and soft, pillowed lips. he’s so predatory when you look at those dark, slender eyes - they’re looking right back at you through the lenses of some fake glasses that he doesn’t need but knows makes him look good. waiting, you think, because he wants more. you shiver. “fuck, mingi, you- you know you look hot.”

“damn straight,” he chuckles, revelling in it, and his hands move to your hips, fingers and rings forming bruises on your flesh. you’re settled on top of him, your own palms situated on too-broad shoulders to keep yourself steady - he knows you need more than that, so his grip is firm where it lands. “grind a little on your pretty boy, baby, rub that cunt on me.”

you gasp at his words, filthy and blunt like they always are, but your hips start moving without complaint. mingi lets out a deep sigh, plump lips parting, and when his head falls back forward to watch you move, the glasses he’s wearing slip down his tall nose. two of your fingers come to push them back up, and on their way back down to his henley shirt - pulled tight across a muscled chest - he catches them in his mouth, nipping at your fingertips gently. 

“oh- oh,” you whimper, hips stuttering, and he glances up at you through thick lashes and fake glasses, mischief in his eyes, too happy that you’re this fucked up over the sight of him. “y-you’re so pretty, min, fuck!”

your other hand goes to the back of his hair, freshly dyed a dark blue and soft between your fingers when you grab hard; it’s his turn to make a noise, something gravelly and deep that rings from your digits straight through your body, down to your pussy.

the skirt you’re wearing isn’t doing much - mingi’s hands have already been bunched in the fabric and he only pushes it further up now, at your waist like a belt, and your lace panties are the only thing separating your core from his jeans. your hand finally drops from his face, falling at his chest, over that damn henley - he’s hard to the touch, muscled, strong.

“so- you’re so big, so-”

“‘s gettin’ that pussy wet, right?” he’s still fucking smiling, letting those sculpted thighs fall further apart to push up against you. you feel it - his cock, so fat and hard through his jeans because he’s getting off on this, the fact you can’t fucking help yourself around him. “that’s right. keep looking at me, make yourself feel good.”

as if you could look away. he’s so handsome, cheeks starting to flush from you moving on top of him; your eyes dart around to glasses, blue hair, broad shoulders, cheeky smile, pretty eyes - fuck, you can’t focus. your hips start to grind faster, seeking more, heavy little breaths spilling from your mouth in desperation until your patience snaps. 

“p-please, need more, i- i want you to-” you whine on one thrust, when the seam of his jeans brushes against your clit just right, and mingi seems to take pity on you. he coos, smooths down your hair with his hand and pushes you onto your back on the couch. 

like this, looming over you, it’s even worse. those stupid fake glasses slip down his nose again and he uses your cheek to nudge them back up when he kisses you hard, all tongue and teeth. 

his hand comes to the back of your head to keep you steady, cold rings kissing your scalp, and he licks over your own teeth and into your mouth like he’s claiming you. he pulls back, squishes your cheeks between his thumb and finger to keep your mouth open and spits right onto your tongue. the volume of the moan you let out makes his chest vibrate with a laugh.

he moves his attention down to your legs, leaning on his knees like an unleashed beast now that he knows what’s waiting for him, pushing one up to fall over the side of the sofa and the other over the back cushions. he’s spreading you eagle so that he can see the mess he’s made, you realise, still relishing in how fucking much you like him - you love him so bad you’d remind him every hour if it’s what he wanted. 

“fingers first, hm?” he murmurs, gentle but voice so deep your thighs shake where they’re apart. he stares at your panties, at the black lace you know are slick with your arousal just from looking at him, from moving on him so desperately, and the sight has him rubbing the heel of his hand against the bulge in his pants. 

two fingers hook into your panties, just barely pushing them to the side over the meat of your cunt. your folds are soaked, transparent wet slick smeared all the way up to your pubic hair and mingi groans like he’s seen the best meal of his life. 

your head spins too bad with it all to realise that he’s changed his mind until his blue head of hair ducks down and tongues over your hole. as you try to squirm and tighten your thighs around his head, two hands come down firmly to keep you spread for him, and he sucks the arousal out of your hole as it gushes. that sharp, pretty nose bumps against your clit when he pushes his tongue inside, concentrating, and your back arches up away from the couch.

“m-mingi, mingi, mingi-“

he pulls off with a wet noise, running his fat tongue through your folds a few more times. the saliva bubbles up over your clit and he sucks it right off, eyes peering up at you through his glasses and your noises all string together now, a long, nonsensical warble. 

“i’ll be quick,” his voice is hoarse, and he means it - two fingers dip into your hole at once, prodding and pressing inside until your walls give around them, gummy and malleable. you’re so wet from your own mess and his spit that he can force a third one in pretty quickly, but it doesn’t stop it being a lot so soon, your eyes crossing and fingers digging into blue hair. “g’na fuck you now, ‘m just stretching you out. don’t cum.”

you shake your head, crying out when his fingers thrust deeper. it feels impossible when he curls them up a few times, overstimulating you too fast, but it’s just his usual impatience. he wants to get you to stretch a little bit more, and he spits on your hole another time and rubs it in on an outwards thrust for good measure. 

you realise you were going to cum when he pulls away completely, eyes fluttering shut with an anguished noise, but by the time your eyes open again he’s on top of you, looking anything but apologetic, jeans gone and boxers pushed around his knees. his cock leaks as he scrambles onto you, desperate, and you can’t help but smile dazedly, reaching down to rub a thumb over his cockhead.

“fuck me now?” you slur, and he rubs his nose against you.

“mmhm. i love you,” he says, and your heart sings. “i love you so much, and i love that you love me. i’m going to fuck you into the couch now.”

“you’re gonna fuck me into the couch now,” you repeat dumbly, and he chuckles, shaking his head. his fingers come to your cheek, a gentle little love tap that makes your eyes cross, and then he’s positioning his cock at your sodden hole. 

“don’t stop looking at me,” he reminds you, pushing your leg up so your thigh is against your chest. you nod in response, unsure how far he’s going to push you, how much he’s going to bend you for this but you’re going to let him regardless, and he knows that. one hand comes to the pillows beneath you, right next to your head, and you’re forced to look at him, so close you can see the beauty spots on his face, his cheekbones and his jaw, where it drops slightly to let out a gasp at the feeling of your folds. “good, that’s it, sweet girl. look so pretty when you’re easy for me.”

“a-always easy,” you whine, and he hums, giving you the first inch or two. he’s always a stretch, wide mushroom head forcing your pussy to open even after his thick fingers have stretched you out; you make another noise, loud and strangled. “fu-uck, it’s- ah, it’s so-”

“‘s not deep enough, is it?” he coos, like he knows exactly what you want. you were going to say it’s so big, it’s so much, it’s too much even, but he’s got his mind set on something. “mm, i know what you want, baby, let me fuck you right.”

you let out a squeal when he pushes both of your legs back. you know he knows what you were really going to say, but he manhandles you with a face of determination until your knees are resting on his shoulders, over his shirt, bared fully open with half of a fat cock inside of you. 

he drives deeper then, planting his knees on the scratchy fabric of the couch and forcing his cock in down to his balls. the movement forces a gush of slick from your pussy, embarrassing and messy, but mingi groans in delight - he doesn’t let you protest, starting to fuck into you at a slow pace, deep and cruel.

your face screws up in another squeal, head spinning, embarrassed but it’s so deep inside that you think you might die if he stops. you’re not sure he isn’t in your stomach, and his weight pressing on you is intensifying the pleasure, contorting you tight and ensuring he fucks into that spot. it’s starting to affect him too, you can see - his chest flushes a deep pink beneath that damn shirt, sweat begins to bead at his forehead and his hands are frantic where they move. 

eyes fluttering shut, you let out a nonsensical babble, tight and squirming beneath him. mingi’s fingers wrapping around your neck tight make you snap back to reality, eyes shooting comically wide; he’s still fucking you deep but he looks meaner now, something different in his eyes, narrowing and perceiving you.

he huffs, “i told you to fuckin’ look, didn’t i? wanted me so bad, you got me.” 

your feet kick at his back when he presses flat against you, releasing your neck and kissing it sloppy, rutting against what must be your cervix now. the familiar pleasure-pain shoots through you. he likes to do it like this, when he’s feeling particularly mingi - he likes to overwhelm you, make you think nothing but him, remind you that he fucking owns you, that you can’t get this anywhere else and get cuddles afterwards. you’re made for each other.

“s-so mean,” you wail, but mingi shakes his head, snaking his hand between your bodies to rub his knuckles against your clit. it’s barely anything, so slippery and wrecked down there that he just slides around a little, but with the pistoning of his hips it’s enough to make you whine in appreciation. 

“you like it,” he admonishes, “wanted it like this-” his hands come down, spreading your asscheeks where he bullies into you. he’s practically lifting you off the couch, and something about it makes his dick glide in just a little nicer, wetter, and it makes him gasp too. “o-oh, fuck, i love you so much, love you. pretty, so pretty-”

“‘m gonna fuckin’ cum, shitshitshit,” you babble, and he curses, fingers digging into your ass harder. he slips a digit over your asshole, just rubbing over the taint and it’s all it takes - you cum around him messily, cunt spraying liquid over his cock. 

mingi just about manages to fuck you through it. he whines himself, hips stuttering but picking back up with a wince, a staggered little breath falling from his mouth. when he starts to fuck you again you squirt a few more desperate attempts over him and he shakes his head rapidly, pulling out with a tight grip around the base of his length.

“o-on the floor,” he grunts, eyes clenching shut, “fuck, get on the floor, now. eyes on me, tongue out.”

you do as he says, perching on your knees on the hardwood still in the daze of your orgasm, pussy feeling the loss so greatly you might cry. you wonder if he’ll keep going after this, but you’re quickly distracted by him when one hand comes to your head and keeps you still with it. you remember what he said and you look at him, sticking your tongue out dumbly, moaning when his other hand starts to strip his shaft impatiently. 

“gonna cum on your face,” he mumbles, eyes narrowing at you. his chest heaves with it, palm polishing his cockhead on an upwards stroke and forcing his balls to bounce on his downwards. they’re full, heavy and they slap against his thigh when he squirms and thrusts forward; when you cup them in one hand he lets out an ah, ah, ah, and you know what’s coming. 

fingers tighten in your hair and you manage to shut your eyes just before - a few stripes of hot, warm cum paint your face, and mingi grunts so deeply you feel your gut clenching all over again. once he’s finished, he rubs his cockhead against your cheek, smearing the release like he’s marking his territory.

“mm, don’t open your eyes yet,” he’s breathless, and you hear him fiddling with the pocket of his jeans until he finds what he’s looking for. a few more noises, and then you hear it, clear as day - multiple camera shutter sounds, and a pleased little sigh. “gonna make that my fuckin’ wallpaper. fuck, c’mere.”

you’re not expecting him to, but he grips the back of your head and licks his cum of your face himself, feeding it to you with his tongue. it’s all so dirty it has you scrabbling at his thighs, clambering onto his lap like an impatient dog as you chase his mouth and his lips and him. 

more, more, more, you think - you can’t get enough, and mingi’s hands wrap in your skirt again, tugging it fully over your ass this time. 

“i love you,” he murmurs, and you smile, like you’re not starting to grind your cunt on him again. “fuck, i love you, you’re so fucking pretty. god, you know how hot you are, don’t you?”

you giggle against his lips, finally pulling away, pressing a peck against his nose. he’s getting hard again, cock never fully softened, thumbing his half-solid, slick shaft against your thigh to get your attention. 

you had no premonition of the hurricane that was about to tear through your life, lounging comfortably on your best friend's couch, chatting idly about nothing while a movie played on the living room television, ignored.

you both do this often, relaxing in each other's company at her home, she seemed to always have the house to herself, and the quiet was nice in contrast to the bustling, loud of the apartment that you shared with roommates.

she was telling about a seminar she had been working on for class when you heard the jingle of keys and the sound of the front door opening. you turn to look at her in question, and she rolls her eyes.

"my dad," she deadpans, and when you turned to look at the man who had just walked in, you felt your entire body stiffen.

"you're home early." your friend sighs, and you watch the neatly combed head of hair pop out from behind the wall, clad in a dark brown suit, daintily framed glasses sitting on the bridge of a pretty nose. sharp cheekbones, and bitten lips that part when he speaks.

he turns to face his daughter, but his eyes stop, and snag on you. curled up on his couch, your legs tucked under your body and your eyes wide and curious, subconsciously chewing on your inner cheek, your fingers nervously pulling at a string that flays from the cushion.

his eyebrows raise, and his lips spread into a wide smile.

"ladies." he acknowledges politely, his eyes never leaving yours. he catches the way your shoulder twitches when he speaks, and it intrigues him in a dangerous way.

"didn't know you were having friends over, honey." he drawls lowly, and then he's turning to shed his blazer and finally gives you a moment free from his burning gaze.

you find yourself letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"i didn't know i needed to tell you," she replies, a playful yet annoyed tone in her voice.

"you don't." he replies matter-of-factly, turning and locking his eyes on you once again. "but at least introduce your dad, yeah? haven't i taught you manners?"

he reaches out a hand for you to shake. "hongjoong. pleasure to meet you, sweetheart. i raised that brat over there." he smiles wider and his little canines poke over his bottom lip. you swallow the dry patch in your throat and force your hand to unstick from your side to take his.

his hand swallows yours, rough skin, warm flesh. it makes your neck tingle. you blink dumbly when his hand squeezes yours, before he's leaning down, landing a chaste kiss on the top of your knuckles.

your friend scoffs next to you, and hes pulling away before you could think of anything to say in response.

"dad, please. its the 20th century, you've gotta start acting like it."

hongjoong laughs softly, adjusting his glasses as they've begun to slip down his face. "it's the respectful gesture for when a gentleman greets a lady. maybe you should read a book, dearest."

your friend snorts and pokes your side, rousing you from your stupor. "oh please, (name) is the farthest thing from a lady, and you are certainly no gentleman dad."

he laughs again, pure whipped honey in your stomach, and he cranes his head to the side, his eyes swimming over your face, his expression painted with blatant captivation.

"is that so?" he murmurs under his breath, and something inside you flicks alight.

so when he's got you backed into a corner in the far left wing of his home mere days later, he's made you promise to keep that pretty voice of yours down so he can prove to you just how much of a "gentleman" he can be.

he kisses you stupid, his warm mouth molded with yours, his tongue curling and mapping out the length of your teeth. his hands slip around the back of your head, craning your neck upward so he can help himself to the maw of your mouth, greedily kissing you like he was starving.

your back pressed to the hallway wall, his thigh slotted between your thighs, pressing up against your clothed cunt just enough to have you teetering on that mouthwatering promise of bliss.

he pulls from your mouth with a slick pop, trailing his kisses along your jaw with wet 'mwahs' that make your stomach coil. his fingers scrape against the nape of your neck like he is trying to slither your spine out from your body.

“hi pretty girl.” he moans between kisses, slipping one hand from your neck and finding a home at your hips, pressing your body down to help your grind against his thigh. you gasp when your clit catches the rough denim of his pants, and he shushes you, hovering his lips over your mouth, his low breaths brushing against the soft skin.

his eyelids lowered beneath his fogged-up glasses, the darkness of the hallway making him all the more alluring.

“i can’t fuck you the way i want right now, but i think if i go one more day without having you, i’ll start tearing up my own house.”

the desperation in his voice makes you whimper. he pulls his body off of you, turning you around so your front is pressed hard against the cold wall. he pressed against your back, his hand curling around and gripping the front of your throat, his blunt nails digging into the thin skin.

his other hand slips under the waistband of your pants, slipping them down just far enough to pool at your knees. next you hear him fiddle with his belt, the metal clacking loudly in the empty hallway. your face is smushed against the wall, his hold on your throat making you dizzy. he litters wet kisses along the back of your shoulders, along the side of your neck, and then, when you feel him slip the crotch of your panties to the side, all coherent thoughts fly out the window.

you moan wantonly, and he clicks his tongue. keeping his hand on your throat, his index finger slides up and slips into your mouth, pressing down against your tongue.

hongjoong feels your drool start to drip down his fingers, and it makes his cock twitch as he pulls it out from his pants, immediately slotting it between your soaked thighs and coating himself in the wetness that drips from your cunt.

he cranes your head back, just enough so he can see your expression, your head lolled back over his shoulder. not an inch of space between your melded bodies, his breath hot against your neck as your stomach coils every time the fat tip of him slips over your clit.

“not a sound, baby,” he whispers against your skin, and you choke back a groan when his tip breaks into you, followed by the slow, agonizing drag of each inch he slides into your pussy.

his breath shivers against your cheek, a low purr slipping past his lips when he feels you clench around him so tight he can’t move.

“dammit, baby. pussy’s too tight, can’t move.”

“b-big…” you slur around his finger, and he laughs so low it sends a fresh gush of arousal between your legs.

“i know pretty, sorry. didn’t have time to loosen you up.” he pushes into you a little more, and you can feel every vein slide against your warm walls. his groans come broken from his throat, and the hand on your neck only squeezes tighter each inch he manages to slip into you.

“almost there, relax beautiful.” he coaxes, kissing the shell of your ear, before finally feeling his hips press flush against your ass, buried as deep inside of you as he could go.

“ff-fuck…” he moans under his breath, the scent of his fading cologne making your brain fuzzy. “your pussy sounds so messy, it’s going to echo down the hall, baby.”

to prove himself right, he slides his hips back, the deep stroke of his cock hitting all the right spots makes lights flash behind your eyes, and the sticky sound of your cunt makes you tighten around him even more.

he eases into a torturous rhythm, thrusting nice and slow and deep, pulling back as languidly as he could manage so you could feel every inch of his dick inside of you, pushing back inside with a low groan next to your ear to make you wetter for him, grinding his hips against your ass so his tip rolled against that sweet spot in your tummy.

he knew what he was doing, and fuck was it making you utterly stupid. your drool dripped down his wrist the harder he pressed his finger against your tongue, his own pleasure-ridden breaths and groans filled your head with sick fantasies and thoughts of him. you wanted to see him, you wanted to touch him.

but he was in control at the moment, holding your body to his like your flesh belonged to him, keeping your voice down while he pounded your cunt deep against his hallway wall. his free hand slips around the front of your body, his rough fingertip tips gently ghosting over your puffy clit, and you choke around his fingers as the pleasure rocks your bones.

“oh she likes that. responsive little one, aren’t you?” he teases by your ear, and he starts to fuck you with rougher, deeper strokes, every thick inch of his cock gliding against your walls with little to no resistance, and you start to feel like you might start melting into the wall.

“mm, h-hongjo- ah!” speaking was useless, his cock dissolving your brain inside your skull, the finger in your mouth making your words garbled.

“don’t try to talk.” he bites out, licking up the back of your neck with a whispery coo. “mm-mm, pretty little thing like you doesn’t need to talk. nooo… she doesn’t. she just needs to feel, yeah?”

to emphasize, he pulls his cock out of you just until the tip threatens to slip out if you, before grinding back into you with one deep, heavy thrust. your groan comes out low and shivery, and hongjoong grins mean and toothy at the way your body falls apart around him like you needed him to breathe.

“feel me doll, every inch of me. show me how badly you want me to ruin you.”

he eases back into that bullying, deliberate pace, working your cunt out like he was trying to mold his shape into you. you heard the sound of his glasses falling off his face and clattering to the floor in his bliss-stricken haze.

hongjoong’s moans shatter into something uncontrolled, obsessed with your willingness to bend for him. deep down, he wished he never met you, because he just knew that this could not be good for either of you. but god, he couldn’t push the fantasy out of his head, the one that told him you would look so pretty when you cum.

“focus, sweetheart. focus.” he instructs, pinching your clit between his fingertips as he rolls his hips into you, his lower stomach flowing smoothly like a practiced dance.

“need to feel this sweet little cunt cum for me. be nice baby, please? focus on cumming for daddy. okay? concentrate.”

your entire world flipped upside down, and then you shattered. like he’d dropped you on pavement, your entire body shakes and twitches, his thick cock dragging you through your orgasm with every rock of his hips.

“oh god, there she goes. that’s it, baby. good job. goooood job…” he kisses up the side of your neck, finally detaching his hand from your throat and cupping over your mouth to muffle your noises as your cries started to get louder as he continued to fuck you through the throes of your overstimulation. “doing so good for me…”

he doesn’t stop, because of course, he hasn’t cum yet. and hongjoong is a selfish man. plus, he wouldn’t mind forcing a couple more pretty little orgasms out of you; he’s sure you wouldn’t mind either.

if he hasn’t scared you off by time he’s done with you tonight, he’d be more than happy to shed that so-called self-appointed “gentleman” title once he can fuck you properly.

and if this wasn’t proper? god forbid you found out what is.

You should have bet the money. Hoodie on his upper half, baggy jeans on his lower and tucked into the boots on his feet, Wooyoung has Kyungmin tucked into his chest, one arm around his back, the other cradling the back of his head. He stops twirling, smile staying as he catches your eye at the top of the steps, taking a second before softly placing Kyungmin back on the floor. 

“You’re late,” your voice comes out clipped, one hand still wrapped around the handle of your suitcase. 

He runs a hand through his long, black hair, “There was traffic.”

“I have a flight to catch,” you bite back.

His head tilts, smile deepening to a smirk, “And who’s driving you to the airport?”

“An asshole,” you mumble under your breath, hiking your bags higher over your shoulders, free hand reaching for the railing to keep you balanced before you start for the stairs. 

“Here,” he springs into action, taking it two stairs at a time, taking your luggage from your hand before you can get a word out. “I got it.”

“I had it,” you argue, looking down at him, he just smiles.

“I know very well how capable you are, wifey.”

You smack your teeth, huffing down the rest of the stairs, “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”

“Come on,” he sings, “it’s funny. Wanna open the trunk for me, Kyungminnie?”

“Yes!” Your eight year old shouts, hauling ass out of your front door and sprinting down the lawn to your driveway. Looking at Wooyoung again, it dawns on you like it always does how much the two look alike, especially as your son gets older. 

“You’re seriously not going?” You ask Wooyoung as you close your front door behind you, locking it with the silver key on your split ring. 

He calls over his shoulder as he rolls your suitcase down your driveway, “Unless they call me in, no.”

A conference for your job, two states over. You and Wooyoung have always been employed in the same line of work, opposing companies, but essentially the same job. It’s how you met in the first place, fifteen years ago, when you were both fresh out of college and ready to enter the workforce. The conference was held annually, usually you and Wooyoung would travel together, before you divorced him. 

You hum, storing the information. You whole-heartedly think he was asked to go already, especially since all of your coworkers have already told you the higher-ups in his company were attending, the higher-ups included his name on the list. He must not be going to spare you, and in a way, you’re grateful for it. 

Opening the backseat of his SUV, you throw your carry-on inside, brow quirking at the sight of his bare backseat. “Where’s Kyungie’s booster seat?” You ask over the seats to Wooyoung who’s throwing your suitcase in the trunk. 

“Let me press the button!” Kyungmin shouts, and Wooyoung gruffs a strangled noise as he picks your son up by his waist, lifting him high enough so he can press the button to close the trunk. 

“He’s big as shit, he doesn’t need one anymore,” Wooyoung says casually after putting him back on the ground.

“Bullshit.” Kyungmin is tall as shit for his age. “He’s only eight!”

Wooyoung opens the door on the other side of the backseat, leaning over Kyungmin after he crawls inside to click his seatbelt into place. “Have you read up on it?”

Not recently. 

“He can sit all the way back, bend his knees over the edge, the lap belt is across his hips, the shoulder belt is on his shoulder,” he eyes you from the other side of the car, hand on the car door. “He’s fine.”

“Why didn’t you tell me daddy lets you ride without a booster seat?” You ask Kyungmin, ignoring how Wooyoung clearly did his research. 

Kyungmin smiles and it’s the exact fucking replica of Wooyoung’s sly grin, “You would be mad and then I can’t be big anymore.”

You sigh, tucking your carry-on in once more before closing the car door. Climbing into the passenger seat, your voice is laced with irritation, “There are some things you should discuss with me, y’know.”

“You research everything,” Wooyoung pushes the button beside the steering wheel and the engine roars to life, “my bad for assuming you’d research car safety, too.”

Cheeks hot, you cross your arms, settling into the comfortable seat of his SUV. He had you there. 

It’s a thirty minute drive to the airport, spent listening to soft rock through the speakers, Kyungmin humming along in the backseat to songs you had no idea he knew. So much changes in a year, your son growing like a weed, building a different relationship with his father you weren’t there to supervise. You didn’t need to, you knew that, their time together was theirs, but it’s been a minute since the three of you were together for an extended period of time, outside of pick-ups and drop-offs. 

Pulling up outside the airport, while Wooyoung unpacks your luggage and your carry-on, you’re halfway into the backseat saying your goodbyes to your son. Tears prickling your lashes, it’s always hard to leave him, even if the conference was only for the weekend. 

You close the door and meet Wooyoung on the other side of the SUV, wiping the tears from your eyes, “Call me if anything happens.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” he takes the carry-on from his own shoulder and slips it onto yours with care. “Text me when you land, I’ll call you after he showers so you can say goodnight.”

“Thanks again for driving me,” you give him a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sorry, my dad was busy–”

Wooyoung cuts you off by shaking his head, his smile warm, “Go have a drink before your flight, sleep on the plane. Don’t apologize for something I was happy to do.”

“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his eye, “Thanks, Woo.”

“Have fun for me, wifey. Tell Mingi and Seonghwa I say hello.”

Rolling your eyes, you snort as you turn on your heel, “Tell them yourself!”

You always forget how big this conference is until you’re here again. 

Mingi and Seonghwa on either side of you like pillars, you enter the foyer space, the hotel decked out in red and gold detailing, fancy. Men in suits, women in pantsuits, everyone looked about the same, in different fonts. All here for networking until the schedule begins, splitting off into the theater rooms for speakers, boardrooms for workshops, or sneaking off to the hotel bar to ease the chip of performance off their shoulders. 

“Wooyoung’s really not coming?” Mingi asks, gray two-piece suit clinging to his body, buff and broad but slim. 

Seonghwa, Mingi’s smaller, shorter half, adds, “I thought he was guest speaking this year.”

Your brows raise, news to you. Mingi shakes his head, blonde hair gelled back not moving an inch, “I heard he gave it to Choi San.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” you argue, approaching closer to the check-in table. “That would give San the upper hand, he wouldn’t let him have it even if it killed him.”

Greeting the red-haired woman at the table, you tell her the three of your names, and she hands you all lanyards with a tri-fold paper schedule. You thank her, and as you split off towards the theater room, Seonghwa continues, “What if he gave it to San because you’re here? Maybe he just wanted to have Kyungmin for the weekend.”

Black hair, short and cropped, faded along his temples, his deep onyx suit makes his skin appear even more golden than usual. He stands out, beautiful and chiseled, like he should be on a runway instead of in an office. You scoff, “He has Kyungie every other weekend, Hwa. This job is like his second baby, his first baby, he wouldn’t just let San have what’s rightfully his.”

Mingi chuckles, stealing your attention, shoulders shaking with each laugh. Rings on his fingers, tie dark and patterned with streaks of silver, Mingi adds his own style into strict, corporate fashion, you have to respect him for it. You can’t be bothered, half of your closet is from a department store. 

“I seriously think he’s not here because you’re here,” Mingi shrugs, “just my opinion, though.”

“I’m here every year!” You argue, “We’re divorced, not archnemeses.” 

Seonghwa shrugs, “I agree with Mingi.”

“He said hi to you guys, by the way,” you look between the two, taking three open seats at the edge of a row in the middle of the audience, “when he dropped me off at the airport.”

“Wow, he dropped you off,” Mingi feigns surprise, brows pushed up, “intimate.”

You smack your teeth, “Don’t be stupid.”

The crowd gets quiet, the projected screens on either side of the stage lighting up, you cross a leg over your knee and settle into your seat, waiting for the speaker to walk onstage. You should have called Wooyoung this morning, you think, you wonder what Kyungmin’s doing today, if he misses you. 

Reaching into your purse with the intention of texting him, checking the pocket you always keep your phone in, you realize it isn't there. Furrowing your brows, panic in your blood, you pull your purse onto your lap, sorting through it, pushing past the old ziploc bags of snacks, lip balm, hand sanitizer, wipes, tissues, a small bottle of sunscreen. No phone. Eyes blowing wide, you whisper to Mingi, “I don’t have my phone. What if Wooyoung calls me?”

Seonghwa nudges your side, eyes on the stage, “I don’t think he’ll call.”

Looking at Seonghwa confused, you hear his voice blow through the room. Speaking into the mic, voice smooth and velvety yet strict and powerful, your jaw drops to the fucking floor. Wooyoung is onstage, long hair pinned back, in the dark gray business-casual outfit he used to keep in the back of your closet instead of a suit. 

“Where the fuck is my kid if he’s here?” You’re rigid with terror, ass at the edge of your seat like you were ready to get up and walk onstage, fists squeezing the absolute shit out of the straps of your purse. “He’s supposed to be at home, with my kid.”

Mingi’s hand lands on your flexed bicep, “Kyung’s probably with Woo’s parents, right? He probably got called here last minute, breathe. He wouldn’t leave him stranded or home alone.”

The reminder etches a semblance of relief in your stone bones, but you don’t let yourself feel it. Why didn’t he tell you? You talked to him just last night before he put Kyungmin to bed, he spoke nothing of hopping on a flight and overnighting himself here. 

You could kill him. You hear nothing of his speech, not a single word, too consumed by rage and confusion to even hear the topic. You sat with a rigid spine and bouncing knees for the entire hour, jaw clenched, fists tucked into your purse to hide how they didn’t uncurl once. The moment it was over you were up on your feet, barreling through the side of the theater room up to the side of the stage, face bent down in anger. 

He sees you before you see him. 

“Where the fuck is your phone?” He asks, pulling you by your arm behind one of the screens, standing facing one another, parallel to the back wall of the room. 

“Why the fuck are you here?” You whisper-yell, “Where is my son?”

“Our son is with my parents,” he whisper-yells back, “which you would know if you picked up your goddamn phone, I’ve been calling you since last night.”

Your brows furrow, head shaking in utter confusion, “I-I I left it in the room, maybe it’s dead? I–”

“What, did you get laid as soon as I got off the phone last night?” He looks dead serious, “Too important to answer my call about getting put on a red-eye here in the middle of the night?”

You’re replaying the events of last night in your head, did you not plug in your phone after you ended the call? You ate your room service, watched a movie, you wish you would have gotten laid, but a hotel room means you’re free to be alone with your right hand, watching– Oh. 

Your cheeks flush, “No, Wooyoung, it must have died, I didn’t even think this morning, I was rushing here after the alarm clock went off.”

“You didn’t think to call me?” 

“No!” You shake your head, voice a little louder now, “I didn’t. I think you’re more than capable of taking care of our son without me breathing down your fucking neck, Wooyoung.”

He straightens, face calming, a brow popping in question. “Really?”

“Yes,” you heave a breath, running a hand through your hair, “Jesus Christ. Kyungie’s with your mom?”

Wooyoung nods, “I dropped him off around midnight, I told her we’ll pick him up when we get back, she wants us to stay for dinner. Parked my car at the airport, I got a seat on your flight back.”

Your top lip lifts, “She wants us to stay for dinner?”

“Definitely gonna convince you to take me back,” Wooyoung’s lips flatten in a line. 

You fake a cough into your first, “I think I’m coming down with something.”

He rolls his eyes, “I already told her no, don’t worry. Do you want to call her from my phone?”

“No,” you shake your head, “he’s probably having the time of his life. I’ll leave them alone.”

“Are we all free from the shackles of your velcro- parenting?” He grins, eyebrows wiggling. 

“Fuck off,” you grumble, “I’m going back to my seat. Nice presentation, by the way.”

“Thanks, wifey,” you can hear humor in his voice, the sly grin on his lips. You shoot him the middle finger behind your back before you’re in front of any eyes. 

The rest of the conference is boring. Networking is the only fun part of it, but only when the person you’re talking to hates their job as much as you do. Other than that, it’s small talk of shareholding and statistics, each word off your lips makes you thirsty for liquor. 

“Ah, Wooyoungie’s wifey.”

Eyes pointed, you turn your head to find the perpetrator who approaches your back, you were now seated at the bar to avoid this exact thing happening. Choi San, senior executive of his company, a ray of fucking sunshine if he isn’t talking about the direction of your company or trying to fully recruit you for your skills. 

You force a smile on your cheeks, “Not Wooyoung’s wife anymore, you know this.”

“Is that why you’re drinking alone at the bar?” He raises his brows, coming up beside you, forgoing the bar stool to stand with his elbows planted on marble. 

Your brows slant inward, more annoyed than anything, “Come on, San.”

He chuckles, head dipping low between his shoulders, his dimples visible even engulfed in shadow. He picks his head up, voice teasing, “Are we on a first-name basis now?”

“Mr. Choi,” you correct yourself, voice playful, a grin clawing onto your own cheeks. “Apologies, sir.”

“I like that better,” he eyes your drink, a margarita half watered-down, “now can I ask why you’re drinking alone at the bar?”

“Boredom,” you say through a breath, “nothing better to do than drink tequila. Maybe then I can convince myself I enjoy talking numbers when I’m not being paid to do it.”

His lips purse, smile evident even with the scrunch, “Usually you’re on top of this event.” Humming, he pulls the barstool under him, sitting facing you with his knees spread. “Not interested this year?”

“I miss my kid,” you sigh, cheek landing in your closed fist. 

He frowns, “Most single mothers would be enjoying a weekend of freedom.”

“Then I guess I’m not most mothers,” you bring your drink to your lips, eyeing him with low lids over the rim. You can feel it radiating off him, the attraction, the want. You make a show of batting your lashes.

A rivalry he and Wooyoung have, ever since San started at the company, a constant petty, childish fight of who will come out on top. Who makes more money, who’s more successful, Wooyoung has used your marriage and your son for years in spiteful arguments, something Wooyoung has but San does not. You don’t know if he’ll ever marry or have kids, you don’t know if he has any interest in it at all. 

“Are you flirting with me, Mrs. Jung?” San cracks a smirk, it makes a shiver run down your spine. You’re most certainly not, but maybe the tequila and utter boredom has pulled something frisky in your tone, especially sitting beside a man like him. You don’t answer, placing your glass back down on the bar carefully, and San’s smirk grows. “Dangerous, I can see why Wooyoungie tied you down.”

You pop a brow, “Yeah? Please, do tell.”

There’s no harm in not denying it. Or allowing him to continue, at the very least. You haven’t gotten laid in awhile, haven’t been flirted with, haven’t felt desired in too long. You don’t really care about attention from him, of all people, but it’s kind of nice, in a way– even if you know very well how off-limits Choi San is, and that you won’t let it go any farther. 

San’s voice is hushed, eyes low, drinking up your figure like he’d been waiting for this day to come, “You’re intelligent, successful, you don’t let your kindness make you vulnerable.”

You can’t help the giddiness that begins to form, “So you’re the type that likes brains and not beauty?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know I’d fuck you brainless,” he chuckles a little, settling into the barstool, pulling his suit jacket tighter. “You’ve known that for a long, long time.”

And you’ve ignored it for even longer. It still makes your feet shift on the barstool, deepening the ache in your gut you didn’t have before he sat down, he’s never been so bold before. Over the years, in your marriage, you always blamed his flirty tone, wandering eyes on his and Wooyoung’s rivalry. Which is probably exactly what this is, something to hold over Woo’s head, or at least he’d plan to if you went through with it. Which you won’t, but it’s fun to hear what could be if the circumstances were different. 

“I have,” you nod, picking up your glass again, “is that what you want, Mr. Choi?”

“I’d make you forget Wooyoung exists,” he leans in, voice low, eyes piercing, “I’d fuck you better than he ever did.”

You hum, swirling the watered-down drink in your glass, “Good to know.”

His lips pursed, eyes dancing with thought before he says, “We’re staying in the same hotel, meet me at the bar tonight if you want it, too.”

You give him nothing but a short, small nod before bringing your drink up to your lips again. You watch him as he walks away, his tailored suit painted onto his ass, his thighs, he exuded money. Poise. He’s never gone as far as this, never been so blunt, never fed you a real option. But you suppose he never could, you’ve been married every time he’s talked to you, up until now. 

You laugh a little to yourself before throwing the rest of your drink back. 

Exhausted was an understatement for how you felt after the first day of the conference. Tomorrow would be filled with more guest speakers, more workshops, your body dragged as you hitched a ride with Mingi back to the hotel. Your phone was right where you left it, plugged into the charger, but your charger wasn’t plugged into the fucking wall. 

Undressing yourself, you called Wooyoung’s mom upon your screen lighting up again, having a quick chat with her before she put Kyungmin on the phone. After he ditched you for ice cream, Wooyoung’s mom was back on the phone, asking you how the conference is, then diving into how crazy it is that they put Wooyoung on a red-eye, how important and successful he is, how you’re so lucky to have him. 

“I know mom, thanks, I know,” you mumble between every sentence, face twitching in annoyance, your back pressed to the perfectly made bed, body sprawled out with exhaustion. It’s like she doesn’t even care that you aren’t together anymore.

“You two are coming to dinner on Sunday, yes?” She asks, and you kick your feet out, face scrunching together in a silent whine. “I already bought food at the grocery store today.”

After a silent, agonizing sigh, you answer, “Yup, we’ll be there.”

How could you say no after Woo dropped your son off in the middle of the night?

Her voice raises ten octaves in excitement, “Oh, thank god, we miss you, sweetie. I’m so excited to see you!”

“Can’t wait to see you, too,” your lips fold into a tight, flat smile. “Tell Kyung I said goodnight.”

“I will, we’ll call you in the morning,” you can hear her nod, her voice shaky from sheer joy, “sleep well, sweetheart.”

“You too,” you hang up the phone, then groan, long and low, a sigh following it. Fuck. The most pure-hearted woman, you think you broke her heart worse than Wooyoung’s when you divorced him. Fuck. You can’t believe you agreed to dinner. It’s the least you could do. 

You need a fucking drink. The hotel room only has airplane bottles of wine, all white, nothing red, even in the overpriced fridge selection. Sighing, you drag yourself into the bathroom, taking a quick shower before throwing on comfortable clothes and heading to the elevators at the end of the hall. 

The bar was empty save for one, probably the only person on the entire earth who you didn’t care if they saw you with wet hair and baggy sweats on. “I just got off the phone with your mom,” you say, pulling out the barstool beside him. 

He picks his head up, still dressed in business-casual, “Yeah? I called her when I left the conference, Kyungmin’s having fun.”

“I told her we’d stay for dinner on Sunday,” you reluctantly admit, flagging down the bartender. 

“Put it on my tab,” Wooyoung adds after you gave him your drink order, making you scowl. 

“I can pay for my own drinks,” you mutter. 

Wooyoung smiles, “Consider it my pre-paid thanks for dinner on Sunday, wifey. It'll make her whole year.”

“I’m only coming because she’s watching Kyungie,” you shoot daggers at him, ignoring the nickname, “even exchange. No need for you to pay my tab.”

Wooyoung groans, leaning back in the chair, “Can you go one day without arguing with me?”

Shaking your head, you simply respond, “No, that’s why I divorced you.”

Wooyoung stares at you for a second before snorting, “Ouch.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, both to Wooyoung and the bartender as he places your drink on top of a cocktail napkin. “You didn’t even go up yet? You’re still dressed.”

“Needed to think,” he shrugs, fingers playing with the label on his beer bottle. “They want me to speak again tomorrow, someone didn’t show.”

“Oh, shit,” your face scrunches up as you take a sip, “you gotta make up a new presentation tonight?”

He nods, lips bent, staring at his beer bottle. You lean onto the bar, “Why don’t you let San present?”

He looks up at you, eyes pointed, “Fuck no.”

“Why not?” You make a face like that was the only clear, viable option. “He has one ready to go, does he not?”

“I was asked to present,” his voice grows harsher, “me. Not him.”

“I know, but–”

“You know what, let me ask you something.” He sits up straighter in his stool, eyebrows bent above a look so sharp it could kill. “Are you sleeping with him? Is that why you didn’t answer me last night?”

You blink at him, thrice, “What–?”

“I saw you at the bar today,” he continues, voice utterly venomous, “then he said something to me, insinuating that you fuck. Or fucked. Or are fucking.”

“Do you think that low of me?” Your laugh is out of sheer disbelief. “That I’d fuck him, of all people? He flirts with me, and I don’t exactly stop him, but–”

His laugh mirrors yours, “Exactly. That’s exactly why he said that shit to me.”

“Why should I stop him?” You argue back, “It’s nice to hear that someone fucking wants me, my life is nothing but work and Kyungmin. Even when we were still married my life was nothing but work and Kyungmin, you had no interest in–”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” his voice is steady but bruising, “I’m not starting this argument with you again.”

“What, did you forget why I divorced you or something?” Your hands fly, eyes wide and piercing, “That I was sick of being married to a fucking machine?” 

Wooyoung turns to face the bar again, shaking his head, “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m unbelievable,” your laugh has no warmth in it, “you just started being a father and I’m unbelievable.”

“I just started being a father?” He turns his head again, eyes wider than yours now, baffled. “Did you hit your fucking head or something?”

“We split up over a year ago,” your voice is nothing short of theatrical, “drop the fake-surprise, Wooyoung. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before.”

“And it’s all the same bullshit you’ve been spewing for years,” he takes a long sip of his beer, “maybe you should fuck San, he might be a better fit for you, you’re both liars.”

Slowly nodding, you sink into your seat, voice taunting, “He did say he’d make me forget you ever existed. That he’d fuck me better than you ever did. Should I find out? He’s coming down here tonight to get me, to bring me back up to his room…”

Wooyoung’s grip tightens around his beer bottle, eyes laser-focused onto the bar like the swirls in marble was the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. You grin. 

“…He seems big, real strong, too. Bet he’d throw me around the room, maybe even get me pregnant again. Kyungmin would like a sibling, don’t you think?”

“What are you doing?” He finally looks at you again, voice ragged, angry and blunt. 

You shrug, “Since you think me and Sannie would be so great together, I’m exploring options.”

As if it were a movie, something straight out of fucking Netflix, Choi San walks through the deep oak double-doors, still in his tailored suit, a cocky smirk spreading when he sees you. It widens, dimples showing when he spots Wooyoung beside you. 

Wooyoung lets out a nasty chuckle, “You’re not kidding.”

“Why would I joke about it?” You lift a brow, “I told you, it was nice to feel wanted.”

“You wanna give Kyungmin a sibling?” He’s looking at you again, and his mismatched eyes are asking more than one question. Heat curls low, it’s been a long, long time since he’s looked at you that way, since he’s said anything more than a passive joke. 

You swallow, words caught in your throat. 

“Answer me, jagi,” he leans in closer, voice still laced with anger, but it’s morphed into something deeper, rooted in jealousy, in possession. He hasn’t called you that since before you brought up separating, it makes your lips part, eyebrows folding in just enough to crease at the center. “If you’re gonna give him a sibling, it’ll be with his father.” 

Licking your lips, seeing nothing but truth and determination in his eyes, you find yourself nodding, whispering a short, “Okay.”

“Charge it to my room, 1117,” he tells the bartender, slamming a bill on the marble before grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you right past San without as much as a glance. You don’t even look at him, you don’t need to, clearly you’ve lost your fucking mind following Wooyoung to the elevators. 

The moment the doors open he’s pushing you inside roughly, caging you in against the wall, forehead pressed to yours. “You wanna get fucked?” 

You arch into him, whispering, “Yeah.”

“You want me to fuck you full? Get you pregnant again?”

“Fuck,” you whimper, fingers finding his jacket, “yes.”

You tug him closer by his jacket, tilting your head up to find his lips with your own. Your head is fuzzy, body charged with electricity from your argument, being in a goddamn elevator with him pressed to you, your leg lifts to clamp over his back, tugging him impossibly closer. 

Nostalgic isn’t the word, it’s like muscle memory, how your lips messily tangle, tongues slotting into each other’s mouths how you’ve always done, two people who know each other better than anyone else. He groans, hips rutting into yours, making you moan into his mouth, hands flying up to his hair, tugging at his roots. 

“You don’t want San,” he mutters into your mouth, breath heavy, voice rough. “You want me.”

“Shut up,” you mumble back, chasing his lips, he doesn’t let you have them. 

“Say it,” he urges, fingers digging into your sides, pushing you harder against the wall. “Say you want me.”

“I want to be fucked,” your voice is clipped, annoyed, “do it, before I go back to the bar.”

His chuckle isn’t amused nor entertained, it’s harsh and unforgiving and makes a chill down up your fucking spine. The elevator dings and he pulls away from you, turning around, leaving the elevator as if he’s completely unaffected. You follow after him, on his heel as he makes for his room, he doesn’t say anything as he places his card up against the sensor, pushing the door open when it rings green.

“Oh, you’re coming in?” He asks, face unreadable. 

You pause with one foot through the doorway, “Does it look like I’m coming in?”

He lets go of the door as you walk inside his room, light walls, bare, it mirrors yours. He takes off his jacket, hanging it in the closet, “Thought you were gonna go get fucked by San, you want him to throw you around, don’t you?”

You whine, “Wooyoung.”

He pulls his shirt over his head, exposing his bronzy skin, his sculpted abdomen, his hipbones that poke out from above his waistband. You’re salivating taking in the sight of him, it’s been so long since you’ve seen him, touched him. 

He starts unbuttoning his slacks, staring at you like he’s bored, “You want me or him?”

You don’t know why you’re putting up a fight. You agreed to this already, your lips still feel swollen, your fingertips are buzzing with need– but admission is letting him win, and you can’t let him win. 

“I want,” you mumble as he pulls his zipper down, purposely flexing his body, staring at you through lowered brows. Your breath grows shallow, licking your lips as he pushes them down his thighs, “I want–”

“What?” He tilts his head, voice taunting as he kicks them off his feet, taking a step toward you. His length is prominent through his briefs, a wet spot clear on onyx nylon, “Tell me, jagi.”

“I want,” your fingertips tug at the hem of the zip-up on your upper half, eyes locked into how his veiny hand curls over his length, voice small from how deep into the daze you’ve sank already, “you.”

Approaching you, his height engulfing you, making you feel small, your head tilts upward to see him. His smirk grows, two fingers landing on your zipper, “You want who?”

He slides it down before you answer, jacket falling off your shoulders, revealing the black, lacy bralette you wore underneath. It’s comfortable, and you wore it for that sole reason, despite how it looks, but his jaw ticks when he sees it, chocolate eyes going deep, melted, burnt. 

You watch as his fingers find the center, tugging on the elastic band, letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp, a small sound, looking back up at him with glassy eyes, “Stop toying with me and do something.”

“I’m not touching you until you do as I say.” Fingers sinking into the waistband of your sweats, he bends to tug them down your hips, leaving you nearly bare, slowly standing up straight again, his nose so close to your skin he nearly touches you. “Tell me who you want to fuck you.”

“You, you fucking prick,” your back arches as he reaches his full height again, “I want you to fuck me.”

An amused smirk spreads across his cheeks before he feigns a pout, “That was mean, mommy.” Taking his hands to your shoulders, his fingertips trail down your sides, dancing against your skin, his touch, that word, his tone making you shiver. “Be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you.”

“Why are you teasing me?” You huff, each touch feeling like zaps of electricity, it’s clear he wants to take his time, wants to get you worked up. You want him to fuck you, to ruin you, to put a baby in you, you don’t want him nice. “Fuck me already, Wooyoung.” 

“We have time,” his hand hinds your hair, scratching into your scalp before running his fingers through it, cupping your cheek afterward. “No kid, no interruptions, just us. When’s the last time we had that?”

“Way before we split up,” you melt into his palm, soft against your skin, comforting. Home. Your voice comes out airy, almost a whisper, “Fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Guilt– already sneaking up your spine, he catches it before it has the chance to spread. “Why not?” His hand that was on your cheek slides down to your jaw, smiling down at you viciously before his grip tightens, “You want a baby, don’t you? Wanted to get fucked so badly you planned to fuck my coworker.”

You whimper as he moves you backward, eyes wide, skin sizzling. He pushes you down onto the bed with nothing but his palm on your face, “You wanted this, and you know there’s no one else who fucks you like I do. Say it.”

“No one else,” you whisper, back already arching as he crawls on top of you, “just you, Woo, no one else fucks me like you do.”

He sucks in a breath, almost a hiss, brows furrowing as his fingers hook into your panties, knees pressed to the mattress on either side of your legs. “You want my mouth? Or my cock? When’s the last time this pussy was stretched out, huh?”

“Mouth,” you lift your hips easy for him as he tugs your black panties down your thighs, “long time.”

“Long time?” He smirks, back to taunting, “Was the last person me?”

“Fuck you,” you grumble out, “do something.”

He sits up straighter and you can feel the cool air of the room on your already-wet core, knees pinning together. “Hiding from me now?” His voice makes you want to rip your fucking hair out. “When I’m the only person who can make this pussy cum? Be nice to me, mommy.”

“Stop calling me that,” your fingers tighten in the comforter below you, “it’s fucked up.”

“I used to call you that all the time,” his brows furrow, “you remember what you used to call me?”

You shake your head, whining, “Stop playing games, Wooyoung.”

“Just give in,” he smacks the side of your thigh, “I’m here, right in front of you, waiting for you to hump my nose like a bitch in heat like you always fuckin’ do. Just say the words, jagi.”

His words, the sting makes you moan, thighs tightening just to get some friction. Resistance is a band pulled taut, you finally feel something vital in you crack, the band snapping, your lips move before you can think about the defeated words leaving them. “Yes, the last person was you, daddy. Need your mouth, your cock, need you to do something– fuck me, please.”

His smile is feline, “There she is.”

Two hands on your knees spread you wide, he dives down to press his tongue flat to your core, eyes flying back into his head when he tastes you. You moan at the same time, your fingers flying down to tangle in his slick roots as he starts lapping at your folds, drinking up every drop you’ve accumulated. 

“So sweet,” he moans into you, “missed this pussy.”

Your breath is leaving you in short, shallow puffs, but a cocky, hazy smirk forms on your lips despite the pleasure, “Who’s pussy?”

“Mommy’s,” he says with a smile, eyeing you from between your legs, so shameless it makes you giggle, cut off by a sharp, strangled moan when his nose runs over your clit. “Forget I know you? Like the back of my hand?”

“Been a long time,” you lift yourself up on one elbow, your other hand in his hair, feet hooked over his back as you grind your hips up against his mouth, his nose. “Fuck, feels good.”

His eyes flutter closed, letting your hips grind against him, tongue pushed out pointed, catching on your entrance with each grind of your hips. Your clit ghosts his nose and you gasp, you’re sensitive, you haven’t gotten head in years, you think. “Sh– it,” you stutter, “so good, Woo, ohmygod.”

He groans into you, arms wrapping around your thighs, fingers digging into your hips. Keeping you in rhythm, not letting you falter, he fucks your hips onto his face with perfect pace, each movement strategic, practiced like he did this regularly. It has you weak, toes curling, head dipping back, hips moving recklessly, quicker with each drag over his hot, wet mouth. 

He’s loving it, face knitted up in bliss, his hips rutting into the mattress like he needed the relief. The noises you make are loud, lewd, a hymn of pleasure only he could give you, in harmony with the squelching sounds of his mouth against your core, so dirty and nasty it edges you further, brings the pit in your stomach forward like his mouth was a toy.

“Close,” you gasp and his fingers tighten on your hips, head nodding faster, in tune with your rocking hips. Your breath catches as his nose flicks over your clit, the same pace, same pressure, same rhythm, you stutter babbles as the pressure in your gut builds, sounds growing in pitch, muddling closer together, “Fuck, daddy, I’m g’na fucking cum.”

He moans into you like he knew the vibration of his voice would push you over the edge and it fucking does, the sound that leaves you is strained, loud, vulnerably shrill. Joints locking up, face scrunching, head tucked into your chest, you spasm beneath his hold and he rocks you through it, keeping you steady, his rhythm never once faltering as your pleasure hits his peak, rushing through you like a tidal wave, the strongest orgasm you’ve had in a long time. 

He slows down with your shaking limbs that lose their speed, breath finally returning to you, heavy and desperate and relieving all at once. “Holy shit,” you breathe through the words, fingers loosening in his hair, tucking your arm beneath you, leaning on both elbows to look down at him. “Intense.”

His smirk returns tenfold, “Of course it was, I made you cum.” 

You flatten out on the bed, a soft giggle escaping you as you roll your eyes, “Cocky.”

He presses one more soft kiss to your clit that makes you gasp, body jerking, “For good reason, did you hear yourself?”

You smack your lips, voice amused, “I have half a mind to leave now, asshole. Thanks for the big O, baby daddy, I’ll go back to my room now.”

He crawls on top of you, pulling your thighs down, flush to his own, leaning down so your foreheads are mere centimeters apart, “Baby daddy? Ex-husband is a better title than baby daddy.”

You tilt your chin up, smiling, “How about sperm donor?”

He presses his lips to yours, rough, soul-sucking, you arch into him, hips bucking up to gain friction again. He smiles into your lips, “So mean for someone who just came on her ex-husband’s face like a dirty fuckin’ slut.”

Something small, pitched and shaky leaves you from the tip of your throat, you throw your arms around his shoulders, pressing your lips to his again like you needed him. Tucking him into you, his hips dig against yours, his bare chest pressed flat, elbows landing on either side of your head. You kiss for a while, sloppy and messy and nostalgic, swapping spit like it was candy, tongues gliding into each other’s mouths like you were making up for lost time. 

His hand slips between your bodies, two fingers adding pressure onto your clit, he groans at the wetness, the heat that bleeds into him. “So wet, she missed me, huh?”

“S-shit, inside,” you gasp, grinding your hips against his fingers, “please.”

He presses his lips to yours, kissing you once, twice before pulling away, keeping your chins touching, both of your lips parted and touching as he slips two fingers inside, moaning into each other’s mouths. 

He curls them immediately, making you cry out, hands finding his hair again, fingertips clawing into his scalp. He hisses, “So tight, fuck, how am I gonna fit, huh?”

“You’ll– shi– ah, y-you’ll fit,” sensitivity looms, body twitching underneath him, clenching around his fingers that sink so deliciously deep. You kiss him again, grinding against his fingers that scissor you open, “You’ll make it fit.”

He smiles against you, fingers making quick work of your leaking core, “Missed this pussy, can’t believe you haven’t given it up to anyone else.”

“No time,” you whisper and he crooks his fingers angrily, making you squeal out a cry, “fuck!”

“Try again,” he slows, bottom lip ghosting yours, “get it right this time, or I’ll stop.”

“It’s yours,” you whimper, “I’m yours, fuck, I’m yours.”

He’s chuckling as he kisses you again, smiling into your mouth as his fingers massage the front of your walls, calculated and angled, like he was trained to make only your body sing. He stops only to tug his briefs down his legs and the chill that engulfs you is conscious, it reminds you who’s on top of you, who’s pulling these noises from the deepest part of your gut. 

Tattoos on display, minus the one at the tip of his spine, skin littered with droplets of mocha, spots you’ve kissed enough times to be burned into your memory. Body lean, strong, angular and unforgiving, all you can do is stare at his beauty, let it calm you, excite you, resurrect you from the loneliness you’ve endured. 

His cock springs up between his hipbones, leaking, red, it begged for you even if Wooyoung didn’t, you wonder if this is how he’s felt this whole time. “Missed you,” it slips out of your mouth, two involuntary words pulled straight from the back of your mind, an area gone untouched for over a year.

“Yeah?” He crawls back on top of you, “Missed me or fucking me?”

“Both,” your hands come up to cradle his cheeks, hooking your ankles over his back, “come over more.”

He laughs as he rests a hand on the back of your thigh, unhooking your legs as he pushes it backward, lining himself up with your entrance, “You haven’t invited me over since I moved out.”

“It’s not like you’ve asked to come over either.” 

You gasp as he starts pushing inside, hands falling, back arching as he sinks into you inch by inch. His cock is heavy, the stretch is tight, it renders you silent, face scrunched up, a streak of searing heat with each new inch. 

“Take it,” he sounds rough himself, voice edged with restraint. “Open up, jagi. This pussy’s mine, it wants me, it’s made f’me.” 

Your fingers find his forearm, other hand clawing into the sheets as a broken cry leaves your lips, “Fuck.”

When he sheathes himself fully he leans down, planting a kiss to your slacked jaw, a soft press of his lips that makes you twitch, breath shaky. He plans another one on your lips, voice low, “I haven’t asked to come over because I know you don’t want me there.”

“I want you there.”

“You divorced me.”

“Then let’s get married again,” your whine is loud, core clenching, grinding your hips against his cock. 

He laughs again before pulling out, a slow drag of his veiny cock against your walls, mushroom tip dragging against the spot against your inner walls, “You’re cockdrunk.”

He slams in all the way and your body locks up so hard you can’t breathe, his smile is condescending, pushing himself up until his back is straight, grip iron on your calf as he holds it over your chest. His abdomen flexes with each roll of his hips, fucking into you so deep you can feel it in your throat, you hold his gaze, eyes watering, brows furrowed, lips pried open. 

“Look at you,” he cooes, “like the day I fuckin’ met you, so hungry for it. So desperate for my cock you wanna marry me again.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, bending your other knee just to feel him deeper, “just fuck me.”

“I am fucking you,” he argues, exuding something vile, “and you’re acting like you can’t get enough, it’s pathetic.”

You moan, back arching, holding your other leg back by tucking your hand under your knee, “I can’t.”

“I know, jagi,” he nods, eyes sliding down to where you meet, watching his own cock split you open, how your folds pulse around him, clit twitching. “No one fucks you like I do, right?”

You shake your head, body burning at the sound of him bullying into you, so wet and loud it’s obscene. Your voice comes out raw, shaky, “No one else, just you, daddy– shit, just you.”

He grunts, reaching for your other leg, bending down to throw them over his shoulders, hands planted down on the mattress on either side of your head. “You want me to fuck you full? Give you another baby?”

You reach for him, pulling him down to kiss you, all teeth and broken noises, “Y–es, daddy, please.”

The noise of wet skin slapping skin dances with your cries of pleasure in the air, Wooyoung’s muddled grunts mixing into the symphony, your hips raised to meet his thrusts and his cock dragging against that spot inside you that has you seeing stars, you wail. It’s too good, it’s overwhelming, you’ve never felt like this before, so consumed by pleasure and passion you don’t notice the tears spilling down your cheeks. 

“Cryin’ for me?” He leans down to lick the tear that runs down your cheek, his tongue heavy, warm. He kisses you after, sloppy and slow, so unlike the brutal pace of his cock. “Gonna take care of you, mommy. Gonna give you another baby.”

You’re clenching around him nonstop, the pleasure sharp, his words making it so much worse. He frees one leg from his shoulder to tuck his hand between your legs again, pressing his fingers to your clit, “Cum around my cock, jagi. Let me feel it, wanna feel you cum.”

Your hips are bucking with no rhythm, an animalistic, pathetic need to obey him, you need him to reward you, to fill you up. His fingers work in precise circles, tight and harsh, it doesn’t take long for the pressure to build with his cock moving in the same flow. You go silent, breath caught, and he smiles.

“Gonna cum on daddy’s cock? Gonna give it to me?”

All you can do is nod, fingers curling into his hair, all you can do is lay there and fucking take it. 

“Cum for me, mommy, c’mon.”

It pushes you over, pressure blowing just as intense as the first time, he fucks you through it, moaning, head turning to sink his teeth into your calf. You seize beneath him, nerve endings fried, mind-blowing pleasure the only thing you can feel, you don’t know what sounds are leaving you, what you’re saying, it’s all too much. He chokes on another moan, cock pulsing inside you, hips stuttering, you watch with glassy eyes as he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, tilting his head to watch himself fuck into you. 

“Please,” a small, broken word, it’s the only word you can manage, body still locked tight. 

“Did so good,” he shakes his head, “fuck– gonna fill you up so full.”

“Look at me,” you whisper and he picks his head up, face contorted in pleasure, hips bucking. “Look at me while you fill me up, please.”

It makes his face twist, hips stuttering, a loud, extended moan pushing from the base of his gut before his hips move out of rhythm, fucking into you like you’re a toy, relentlessly chasing his own high. 

“Gonna,” he stutters, you nod with each word, “gonna fill you up.”

“Uh-huh, please.”

His hips finally still, body falling forward, down to his elbows as he gives you the last few thrusts, deep enough for his release to hit its mark, to do as he promised. Warmth spreads through you, heavy, full, it racks a shiver through you, swallowing down a moan.

He tucks his face into your neck, breath heavy, he plants a soft kiss against your sweaty skin. With nothing to hold him back, he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you answer, too earnest for what just transpired, arms wrapping around his back, nails trailing against his soft skin. “We haven’t said that in a long time.”

Face still buried, his words are muffled against your skin, “I think I’ll always love you.”

“So will I,” you say it like it’s obvious, voice heavy with exhaustion, “we have a kid together, Wooyoung.”

His cock twitches inside you, soft and spent, you can feel him smile. “Maybe two.”

“I’m not ovulating,” your hands come up to his hair, pulling his face away from your neck to look at you, “chances are low. You really want another one?”

“I thought you did, too,” his brows furrow, “what did we just say all that shit for?”

You shrug, “It was hot.”

He snorts, lowering his head to press his lips to yours, softer than the rest, slower. Filled with all the time you’ve gone untouched, spent separated, each one tearing down the tall, thick wall of resentment between you, brick by brick. 

“Does this mean anything, then?” He finally pulls away to ask, and you’re becoming uncomfortably aware of him still inside you. 

“Depends,” you whisper, shifting beneath him. Cocking your head, you ask, “Are you still a selfish, narcissistic asshole that only cares about his job?”

He shakes his head, mumbling, “No.”

“Okay,” you lift your chin, “prove it, then. Let San speak tomorrow.”

He snarls, “What the fuck does this have to do with San?”

You smack your teeth, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of his pretty face, “It’s a step forward. Do it and I’ll let you take me out on a date.”

He sits back on his calves, careful in his movements, he slips out of you slowly, intentionally. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your overly sensitive clit and it makes you gasp, hips twitching once. You smile through the stimulation, the feeling is nostalgic, something he used to do every time you had sex. You look up at him through heavy lids as he runs his hands up and down your thighs like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

He finally huffs, “Okay, but I have to make a few calls and get it cleared first.” Leaning down to press a kiss to the side of your knee, he asks, “Do you wanna stay here tonight?”

“Can we shower and order room service and watch a movie?” The question comes quick, as if you knew he’d ask, you lift yourself up on your elbows as he starts crawling off the bed. 

“Duh,” he grins, “c’mon, shower time and then we’ll call Kyungminnie.”

You gasp, a smile breaking out across your cheeks, “My baby.”

“Our baby,” he corrects, grabbing you by the ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed, “Up.”

NERVOUSNESS CREEPS UP AS CHAN PUSHES OPEN THE FRONT DOOR. The chill from outside clings to his coat, but the warmth of the apartment buffets him as he steps in and shuts the door. He shakes the snow off his boots, careful not to get it anywhere but the entryway rug or you'll kill him. His heart is pounding as he glances at the clock above the mantle, knowing he's running late again.

The Christmas party at Joshua's starts in less than an hour, and Chan knows how upset you get when plans run behind schedule. Committing to social obligations and getting out of the house with you is always a carefully planned event - even down to the hour. So when he sees that he's going to make the three of you late again, he's already prepping an apology.

Seungcheol is probably already dressed, which is the good news. If Chan knows the two of you well enough, Seungcheol is probably sitting with that lazy, patient smile of his as you run around the room to put on your final touches while fuming about being behind schedule.

"Guys?" Chan calls, shrugging off his coat. The living room is dim and quiet as he hurries toward the bedroom where he heres a muffled in here, Channie - your voice. His stomach flips at the nickname.

Nudging the door open, Chan opens his mouth to immediately begin apologizing, but the words die on his tongue. The room is dim but bathed in candlelight, the flames flickering on every surface you and Seungcheol - probably you - managed to cover.

The bed is made up fresh with the pillows fluffed and the sheets neatly tucked, which would make Chan think was odd if he wasn't distracted by the sight waiting for him dead center of the mattress.

You're dress in a red silk slip, perched right in the middle of the bed with your knees folded under you and your hands on your lap. Chan's heart starts slamming, eyes tracing the way the hem rides up your thighs and dips low on your chest. Behind you, Seungcheol is leaning against the headboard, one hand tucked behind his head, the other on his lap, fingers tapping. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled to expose his forearms.

Chan swallows hard, feeling like a prey animal. You're both wearing matching smiles - which can only mean trouble - and your eyes are sparkling. He realizes neither of you are dressed for a party - no heels for you, no suit jacket for Seungcheol. Chan's confusion deepens, his bag slipping from his shoulder wear he drops it near the door.

"Uhh," He chokes a little. "Aren't we supposed to be leaving soon?" He rubs the back of his neck. It's overly hot suddenly, and he can't help the way his eyes snag on you. On Seungcheol. On you again. "Joshua's party? I got held up for that meeting across town. I can change quick…?"

It comes out as a question because he's unsure if he's supposed to change. He'd expected you both to be ready to go and eager to try and make up for time, but he had not anticipated this.

Seungcheol laughs. "Sit down, Channie."

"What about Joshua's party?"

"It's tomorrow." You pat the mattress. "Come sit."

Chan hesitates, glancing between you. You pout a little and he caves immediately. There are very few things he can deny you. He's never been able to, even before his office crushed turned into genuine love.

He crosses the room, sinking onto the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight. His back is to Seungcheol but he angles himself so that he's got you both in his peripheral. You grin, walking on your knees toward him, your hands going to his shoulders. He immediately relaxes, your touch warm and inviting as you lean around him to press a kiss to his cheek.

"What's going on?" Chan murmurs, voice catching as your fingers kneed the muscles in his shoulders.

Seungcheol exchanges a look with you. "It's been a year, you know?"

"A year?"

Chan blinks and goes through his Rolodex of dates. You and Seungcheol have been dating since spring years ago, and he's only been dating the two of you since February. Your promotion had come only four months ago, and Seungcheol closed that deal in January-

"Since the office Christmas party," Seungcheol supplies, voice gentle. He cocks his head, smiling. "Since we got to give you our gift in my office."

Heat floods Chan's face as the memories come crashing back - the taste of champagne on your lips, Seungcheol's guiding timbre as Chan tasted you for the first time, the way Chan had unraveled you right there on the couch.

He swallows. "I guess I didn't realize."

"That's okay," you murmur, cupping his face to turn it toward you. "We wanted to celebrate. Joshua agreed to tell you his party was tonight. It's not. It's tomorrow."

Seungcheol doesn't move. Chan fights a shiver under Seungcheol's gaze, the older man's mouth kicking up in a smirk as you lean forward to press a kiss behind Chan's ear. He does shiver then, the heat of your hands drifting down his arms and the smell of your sandalwood and vanilla perfume making his thoughts hazy.

"You've been working so hard lately," Seungcheol murmurs. "We wanted to celebrate though."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm." Seungcheol stands. Chan looks up at him as he towers over the bed for a moment, looking down at Chan with so much adoration it forces him to avert his eyes, face aflame. Seungcheol is still an intensity he hasn't adjusted to. "Let us take care of you, yeah?"

"Okay."

"Good boy."

The praise sends a tingle down Chan's spine. He only has a second to register Seungcheol is moving before Seungcheol is on his knees, hands reaching for the buttons on Chan's shirt. You help Seungcheol, sweeping your hands under the fabric to sweep it down Chan's arms.

His thoughts turn to static as you pepper his throat with light kisses before joining Seungcheol on the floor, slipping off the bed easily. He looks down at you both and realizes he's fucked. Completely, wholeheartedly fucked. The look you both give him tells him a single thing - you both want to eat him alive.

Seungcheol works the buttons on Chan's jeans open while your hands go to his thighs, kneading. He realizes he's barely breathing, shaking under your dual attention. He lifts his hips hen you ask, letting you pull his pants down, boxers following in one fluid motion.

Chan is painfully fucking hard. He has been since he stepped in the room. To make matters worse, you make a greedy sound at the back of your throat as you look up at him through your lashes, a grin on your face.

"So pretty," you whisper. You reach for him, fingers brushing up his shaft. Chan let's out a pitiful moan at the contact, hips twitching. "So fucking pretty, Chan."

Seungcheol hums in agreement, leaning in to press a kiss to Chan's inner thigh. Chan gasps, hands fisting the sheets as you mirror the action on his other side, your lips soft and warm.

"Relax, baby," Seungcheol says. "We've got you."

Seungcheol's warm hand replaces yours, stroking from the base of Chan's cock all the way to the sticky tip. Chan bucks into the touch, a whine escaping his throat. You grin and lean forward, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up the underside of his shaft, meeting Seungcheol's hand.

Chan is done for. You and Seungcheol working in tandem is both heaven and hell. Seungcheol takes the head of Chan's cock into his mouth, sucking gently as his tongue swirls around the tip. Chan moans, head falling back, eyes fluttering as pleasure spikes through him. He feels your tongue scrape down his cock, teasing and wet and warm, the dual sensations making him nearly come right there.

"Fuck," Chan rasps.

He threads a hand into Seungcheol's hair, his other hand reaching to intertwine your fingers with his. He squeezes you as you kiss and lick at him, trading off with Seungcheol seamlessly. Seungcheol pulls off with a wet pop and a line of spit only to be replace with your mouth stretching around Chan's length, swallowing him down.

Seungcheol watches, eyes dark, lips wet. "That's it, baby. Take him deep. Look how wrecked he is already."

You listen, taking him in deeper, cheeks hollowing while Seungcheol's hand slides lower, cupping Chan gently. He whimpers, hips twitching, but Seungcheol's free hand presses him down, keeping him under control.

Pulling back, you look up at Chan, a string of saliva connecting your lips to Chan's cock. Seungcheol dives in immediately, tongue lapping at the mess, before taking Chan deep again. Chan's stomach knots and he lets out a broken sound, collapsing to the mattress, breathing erratic as the two of you share him like that, mouths alternating, sometimes kissing each other around him, sometimes fighting for control.

"Please," he begs, fingers squeezing yours. "Close."

Seungcheol pulls of him, lips glassy and red. "Not yet."

In moment, Seungcheol is on his feet, pulling you with him. The two of you help move Chan to the center of the bed. He can feel his heartbeat through the mattress, the room spinning in candlelight as Seungcheol grabs a pillow and props it under Chan's head.

Chan reaches for you on instinct, but Seungcheol catches his hands, pinning them gently above Chan's head for a moment.

"You want a taste?" Chan nods eagerly, a whine stuck in his throat. It was why he was reaching for you. Seungcheol grins and turns to you. "Let him taste you, baby. While I get him ready."

Chan nods eagerly. "Please."

You shuffle forward and Chan groans. Of course you're wearing nothing under the scrap of red silk. Of course you're already wet and wanting, thighs bracketing his head. He doesn't wait for you, hands gripping your thighs to pull you toward his mouth until he meets your core. He groans into you, tongue delving in immediately.

The sounds you make are addicting. Chan loves them, chasing them as he laps at your pussy, slow and messy and hungry. He knows how you like it now, his tongue circling your clit lazily before sucking at you greedily. It makes your thighs twitch, his name leaving your mouth in breathy, honeyed whispers.

Seungcheol settles behind you somewhere, the bed dipping under his weight. Chan whimpers into your cunt when he feels Seungcheol part his legs wider, fingers slicked with warm lube tracing his entrance teasingly.

"Relax for me, baby," Seungcheol coos, pressing. Chan whines but does, focusing on the way you melt into his mouth, the way your fingers thread through his hair.

Chan tenses only for a second as Seungcheol presses in a finger, sinking in knuckle by knuckle. Above him, you grin down, chasing the flick of Chan's tongue on your clit while Seungcheol pumps his fingers, pressing into a spot that makes Chan see stars.

"Good boy," Seungcheol praises, free hand stroking Chan's thighs. "Sounds like you're doing so good."

"He is," you promise. "It feels so good, Cheol."

Chan whines, the vibrations buzzing through you, making your thighs quake. His tongue dips inside you, then back to your clit, sucking softly. Seungcheol watches, timing his thrusts to match Chan's rhythm, curling his fingers each time Chan licks upward.

You come first, unexpectedly, grinding down hard as waves crash over you. Chan drinks you greedily, lapping until you're shivering, oversensitive. You lift off him carefully, collapsing beside him, pressing kisses to his slick mouth.

He kisses you back eagerly - he loves kissing you. The way he feels your fingers cradle his jaw, the way your tongue sweeps against his, the way he makes you shy, letting him control the kiss despite not being in control of Seungcheol wrecking him.

When Seungcheol presses another finger in, you shut Chan up with a kiss. Your hands are all over him, fingers tracing down his arms, his chest. He feels like he's about to meet god when your nails scrape the hard planes of his waist, Seungcheol laughing as Chan seizes up and almost comes from the dual assault.

"Can you take more?" Seungcheol asks.

Chan is already nodding before Seungcheol finishes the question. "Yes, please."

"Alright."

Seungcheol pulls his fingers out. Chan immediately hates the feeling of being empty, but it's replaced with feral hunger for you as you lay back on the bed, giddy and breathless as Seungcheol pats Chan's legs.

"Fuck her for me," he murmurs. "Nice and slow."

"Say less," Chan rasps.

Daze, Chan rolls over on top of you, pinning you to the bed. His thoughts are a sticky, staticky mess, but when you look up at him with stars in his eyes, he realizes he's so painfully in love he could die right now and be happy.

He would prefer not to die right now, though. Not with Seungcheol tapping Chan playfully on the ass to tell him to get a move on before he starts getting undressed. Not with the way you hook a leg around Chan's waist, the silk shift lifting.

You pull him down for a kiss as Chan presses the tip of his cock to your entrance, both of you moaning. He sinks in slowly - just the way you like it - feeling the way you squeeze down on him immediately, just as effected as him as he is you.

When he bottoms out, he pauses. You shiver beneath him, leaning your head up to kiss him everywhere you can - his neck, his throat, his chest, his arms. He lowers himself onto his elbows, catching your mouth with his to steal a kiss.

"Feels so good," you pant when he breaks for air, hips pressed to yours. "Please give me more."

Chan does. He rolls his hips slowly, marveling in the way your face scrunches up, your eyes creasing as you tip your head back into the bed, throat exposed. He scrapes his teeth down your neck, loving the way you melt for him, as he fucks you.

The weight of Seungcheol shifts the bed again and as Chan fucks you slow and deep, he looks over his shoulder to see Seungcheol on his knees behind him, fisting his cock, lube slicking his grip.

Seungcheol is a marvel. Chan thought so the first day he joined the company. Had you asked him that day if he ever imagined his hotter than normal boss and his drop dead beautiful girlfriend - Chan's coworker - would ever have him like this, he'd have called a therapist to tell them he was delusional.

Now, he can't imagine being anywhere else but here.

Here, where you and Seungcheol have fit him in like the perfect puzzle piece into your life. Here where the two of you love him more than he ever imagined being loved before. Here where Seungcheol looks at Chan with shining eyes, giving him a kiss that feels far too gentle for the way Seungcheol nudges Chan open.

Chan gasps, sucking in a sharp breath as he pauses fucking you, so Seungcheol can slide home inch by inch. The dual assault of you squeezing down on his cock and Seungcheol stretching him wide makes Chan see white, the room a scatter of candlelight and stars.

Once fully seated, it's Seungcheol who sets the pace, rolling his hips slowly into Chan, forcing him to drive his hips back and forth. It's overwhelming and Chan gives up, letting Seungcheol control the flow, Seungcheol's chest pressing to his back as Chan presses into you.

Chan kisses you again, raw and messy as you let out the broken little sounds he loves. You stare up at them both with glassy eyes, mouth parted, heart hammering like a hummingbird's wings beneath Chan.

Seungcheol's hand comes around to pull at your silk shift, your chest spilling out. Chan doesn't have to be told but he feels Seungcheol hand on the back of his head anyway, pressing him to your chest as he catches a nipple with his mouth, tongue flicking.

You make a high pitched sound and Chan grins, biting you a little. Seungcheol laughs, taking it as a sign to fuck Chan properly.

"Hear that?" Seungcheol rasps. "Fuck her just like that."

You whimper, nails digging into Chan's shoulders as he moves, guided by Seungcheol's rhythm. Chan's face is flushed, eyes locked on you beneath him.

"Love you," he whispers wrecked. It spills out of him. "Both of you - fuck - I - fuck-"

Seungcheol speeds up slightly, angling to hit that spot deep inside of Chan with each thrust. Chan cries out, pace faltering, but Seungcheol keeps him steady, fucking him through it. You clench around Chan, pulling another moan from him as you tremble, the sign of your orgasm coming on.

"Make her come," Seungcheol warns.

Chan nods, licking up your neck as a hand slips between you. Your legs squeeze around him tight when his fingers find your clit, circling in the mess you've made in time with Seungcheol's thrusts.

You come with a broken sound, squeezing Chan so tight he can't help but spill immediately after you, both of you whining as you ride out your high together. You and Seungcheol are ruthless though, Seungcheol starting to fuck into Chan with wild, sloppy thrusts while you squeeze down on him.

"Oh god," Chan squeaks, the overstimulation slamming into him. He can barely speak, going catatonic while he's pinned between the two of you, your mouth everywhere on his face, Seungcheol's lips pressing to Chan's shoulders. "I'm-fuck!"

Tears prick the corners of his eyes he slams into another orgasm. He wasn't even sure he could do that, but it makes his stomach squeeze tight, his limbs locking as he comes again between you and Seungcheol, your hands all over him, murmuring how much you both love him.

Seungcheol comes somewhere in between, hips slowing until he stops, chest heaving against Chan's back. For a moment, the three of you stay like that, Chan drifting in a sea of stars between the two of you. He smells your sandalwood and vanilla, drunk on it as he drifts.

Eventually, Seungcheol pulls out first. Chan makes a sound but manages to lift himself on shaky arms, removing himself from you and collapsing next to you. You tangle together, limbs entwined, breaths mingling as Seungcheol presses kisses to Chan's back.

"Happy… um. It's not an anniversary so."

"Happy giving season," Seungcheol laughs, throat raw. "Again."

You contemplate going out to the living room and sitting down. Your hips ache, your legs throb. The buzzing in your ears feels all encompassing. Fatigue is weighing you down like sandbags attached to your limbs. Even your eyelids are heavy. You would love nothing more than to sleep for…… well, forever. Days. Months. Maybe never wake up again.

You’re so tired.

You stiffen when you hear the front door open, blinking to banish the sleep from your eyes. You turn around just in time to see Joshua stick his head through the laundry room door. He realises what you are doing immediately, because you always do this, and he steps in with a disapproving tut.

“What did I say last time?” He huffs, walking in and eyeing the bundle of sheets and clothes in the basket, waiting to enter the next cycle in the machine, after the first load is done. You don’t reply to him, mostly because you’ve had this conversation with him so many times and it’s the one thing you can’t budge on. There’s no way you’re letting your roommate wash all your sheets and towels after a heat. Those things are filthy, remnants of slick and sweat on them. You know for a fact that it smells too strong, too dense, for anyone but you to stand. That’s why you wear scent suppressors everywhere you go.

Just another reason to hate being a prime omega.

You remember when you presented. You had barely turned fourteen years old. Your parents, siblings, extended family, everyone was shocked. People hardly presented before sixteen. Yours was way too early. Your parents were so concerned that they took you to a specialist immediately. And that’s when you got the news.

“She’s special.” The doctor looked almost elated. “A prime omega. Very rare. I know of only a few thousand around the world. Congratulations.”

And maybe it was because he congratulated your parents that they received it as good news. It took only some research to find out that prime omegas were above all else in terms of secondary gender hierarchy since the dawn of time, second only to apex alphas. The perfect specimens, the true representation of what the essence of an omega should be. Endlessly nurturing, empathetic, kind, and of course, the biological advantage of being very desirable. Prime omegas had repopulated great stretches of land throughout history, kept packs intact and running even during the worst of times. But around three or four centuries ago, they started dying off. There was no explanation why, but no one was presenting as a prime omega anymore, and before you knew it, they became rare, prized individuals instead of the driving force in their communities.

It all sounded incredible on paper, having a prime omega in the family. Your parents boasted about it, treated you like glass for those first couple of weeks. You were too young to really understand how to feel about it, to grapple with the implications of your rare secondary gender. You went with your parents’ joy, deciding that maybe it was a good thing.

But it all became clear to you very quickly, when you received a few pointed gifts from neighbors and acquaintances who you knew had alpha sons. It was a tragedy, truly, to realise at such a young age that your value was being reduced to what your secondary gender was, to what you could give to alphas. You watched it happen in real time. People became sweeter, in that artificial way that cherry cough syrup feels on your tongue. Your alpha teachers at school looked at you weird, like you were a lab specimen to ogle at. Very creepily, you had noticed a few of them even trying to subtly sniff you. It was a horrific experience.

You developed an aversion to alphas because of that. The thought of them wanting you only for your biology was revolting to you. You longed to be just another omega for them, but it seemed that as soon as someone knew you smelled different, all gloves were off. You became a commodity instead of a person.

In your everyday life, it became extremely difficult to deal with the problems of your secondary gender. While everyone around you went into heat or rut on a quarterly basis, once every three months, yours was unpredictable and far more frequent. Your first heat, at only age sixteen, left you near debilitated. It was agonising, no matter how many painkillers your mother forced down your throat, no matter how many times she wiped your teary, sweaty face. The fantasy built in your head, in your parents’ heads, of your presentation being a good thing for the family, were quickly dashed.

You were a burden, in every sense of the word.

In the months leading up to your high school graduation, you knew your parents and siblings grew to be resentful of you. They never said it, but it was evident. Your mother would constantly huff and puff about doing your laundry, to the point that you just started handling it yourself while she did your siblings’. Your scent, by its very nature, was very strongly omega. Of course, you had no way of telling, because you couldn’t smell yourself, but your mother made no secret of it, using any opportunity to tell you that you stank. Your father had gone far and wide to make connections and get you industrial grade scent blocking patches, the ones you use to this day, that make your scent go from incredibly potent to acceptable levels for an omega.

You hide behind those scent patches to this day.

Joshua’s hands on your arms break you from your thoughts. He nudges you gently, guiding you out of the door of the laundry room and to your bedroom. He is silent as he lays you down on the bed, the one you had put fresh sheets on just a little while ago. You don’t protest. Your mind is still muted, and you feel lost in an endless tide of emotions and memories. Post-heat is tough for you, your body still wound up, your omega screaming at you that nothing is enough, that you need more.

You don’t know how much more you can give to your omega. You don’t have anything left in you.

You lay there a long time, listening to the humming and beeping of the washer as Joshua quickly goes through your laundry. You want to beg him to let it go, that you will do your own laundry when you feel a little less like death. Your mother’s taunts of your unbearable scent are fresh in your head even today. Somehow, immediately after a heat, you remember every single thing in painful detail. But Joshua won’t hear it, you know this. He is hell bent on taking care of you.

“I told you, it’s not that bad to me.” He would always say. “Maybe I’m a beta. That’s why.”

You know for a fact that’s not true. You’ve had beta friends before. They all complained that your scent is too strong. Too omega. But not Joshua. Never Joshua. He never once complained. He has lived with you for a good year now. He has never once made you feel any different from a regular old omega.

Joshua was your first friend in university. You had moved cities after high school, armed with your scent blockers and desperate for a fresh start. He was in your first ever orientation class, and he never really left your side after that. Joshua was endlessly warm, so friendly and bright that you couldn’t help gravitating to him. Despite your nightmarish experience in high school, you were determined to make it different now, to get away from the things that haunt you. So you never told him your actual status. He could, of course, smell the omega on you, but your scent patches, carefully hidden under turtlenecks, scarves and your own hair, made you a regular omega, not a freaky prime specimen. You were normal, and you were determined to blend in.

Joshua already knew people on campus, a mix of juniors, sophomores, seniors. He was very popular, and had a large circle of friends. He introduced you to all of them immediately. You were wary of them, especially the alphas, but they didn’t seem to notice your predicament either. God bless your scent blockers. Before you knew it, you were part of their little friend group, swept up by college life and feeling, for the first time, that things might turn out okay.

So what if you had to lie about your unexpected absences? You had an excuse. Your mother was chronically ill and you had to visit her often, taking days off at a time, enough to let you deal with your painful heats and come back. Your father had put his name down on a lease for an apartment, paying half the rent while you worked to pay the rest. You had space, you had privacy to deal with your issues. You even explained away the scent blocking patches that Seungkwan noticed on your neck. They all seemed to buy it, and for a few glorious months, everything was wonderful.

They were all very close knit, some even in relationships with each other, which put you somewhat at ease about the alphas, like Seungkwan, who was mated to Hansol, his alpha. Then there was Jun, who was actively courting Minghao when you met them. They operated almost like a pack, though they weren’t explicitly in one. Seungcheol, an alpha, was good at wrangling with the more rowdy alphas in your group, like Soonyoung and Seokmin. Similar to a pack leader. It was a wonderful dynamic, and they all accepted you with open arms as a regular omega. You had friends, a makeshift pack, people who cared, people who didn’t immediately write you off as an outcast. Things were looking up.

Then, Soonyoung found out.

It was a regular afternoon. Mundane. You were working your evening shift at the store where you had a job as a cashier. You were even feeling a little sleepy. Then, you spotted the alpha in line, holding a few helpings of instant ramen. You smiled when he stepped up to the counter.

“Hi, Soonie.” You checked his items. “How’d your rut go? Feeling okay?”

He looked well, albeit a bit tired. Heats and ruts tend to do that. Of course, yours is entirely different, leaving you near paralysed by the end, taking days before you can even stand up. But it’s not as bad for normal people.

He just nodded in return with a quick uptick of his lips, but his eyes were intense as they trained on you. He watched you silently as you rang him up, very uncharacteristic for someone like him. You quirked an eyebrow up at him.

“Everything okay?” You hesitated, feeling like something was off with him. He just leaned in, watching you closely. You stared back, confused, and then he spoke the words that made your blood run ice cold.

“You’re different, aren’t you? You’re not a regular omega.”

You had stiffened immediately, watching him. There was no one in line behind him, it was a slow day. So he just stood there, sharp eyes darting between your own as if he was trying to piece you together. You didn’t like it. His eyes were too knowing, too scrutinising.

You didn’t say anything. You felt trapped.

He sighed and stepped away, grabbing the bag where you put his groceries in. He gave you a small smile, saying a few last words before leaving you where you stood.

“Call me when you’re free, okay?”

And that’s how you told him.

Turns out, he found your scarf mixed up in his things a little while before he went into rut. His alpha told him something was off about your scent, and his heightened scenes during rut only confirmed it. He didn’t know you were a prime omega, that word wasn’t really part of his vocabulary, but he knew it was something. So you just came clean.

There was relief in being truthful, but there was also anxiety. You told Soonyoung it was okay to tell everyone, because you would rather they all know or no one knows at all. So you waited, and you accepted that soon enough, they would all distance themselves from you.

Joshua showed up at your door with Seungcheol that very evening.

It took a lot of talking, a lot of tears, confessions and apologies. Joshua was hurt that you would hide something like that from them, but Seungcheol was quick to say he understood.

“Too many alphas in the pack.” He joked. “It was a good idea to not tell them immediately. They know you now, as a person and not as a prime omega. So things won’t be different.”

You nodded, feeling a little more relieved that he wasn’t being harsh with you. That he didn’t hate you for who you are.

“But I am concerned.” He continued. “I can’t imagine it’s easy for you, managing all this alone.”

You just smiled. “It’s fine. I’ve been doing it for years. I have a little bit of a routine.”

He hummed, deep in thought, unconvinced that it was all actually fine. It’s not, truthfully. You hate your heats. They leave you aching for so long, a shell of who you are, your omega, a demanding beast that keeps roaring, never satisfied. Always greedy.

You don’t know how long you can go before you completely collapse.

Over the next few weeks after that, you did notice the group acting differently, but not in the way you imagined. Instead of ostracising you, they became more considerate. Seungkwan would rub his wrist over yours when you felt anxious, and omega pheromones did help you relax. Wonwoo and Mingyu kept an eye out for any alpha who looked at you too long. Jihoon, ever the health freak, would plan meals for you that he and Joshua would then cook and freeze. Simple, ready to eat stuff that would help keep you nourished during your heats. There were always a few packets in your freezer, for any unexpected heat you might get. Seungcheol was particular about you not being alone during a time that was so dangerous for your body, and that’s when Joshua volunteered to move in.

You weren’t used to kindness or consideration, and you were given so much of it in such a short time.

Hence came to be your current routine. When your heat hits, Joshua leaves for a few days after making sure you have a good nest and plenty of meals on hand. As always, you take lots of painkillers and a tried-and-true dosage of sleeping pills that did nothing to make you sleep, but left you drowsy enough to not be able to move. In your condition, you can’t trust yourself to have the ability to leave the house. Your mother isn’t around to hold you back from seeking an alpha anymore, so medicines help instead. You struggle through a few days, usually a week, shaking and crying in numbed pain, before you’re left worn out as it wanes. For many, many cycles, Joshua has insisted he will take care of the mess afterwards, but you just can’t bring yourself to let him handle your problems. Including laundry.

Rejoining everyone after a heat is the best time, in your opinion. They all get incredibly doting, like they do with every omega in the group after a heat, taking care to feed you and nurse you back to health. In your post-heat haze, filled with self loathing, you tell yourself you don’t deserve their kindness, but then Chan runs a soothing hand over your back, his neutral beta scent like a comforting blanket, and you tell yourself it’s okay to be a little selfish sometimes.

And then there’s Jeonghan.

Jeonghan is Seungcheol’s best friend. An alpha, a quiet one, but a strong presence nonetheless. You first met him when you were introduced to the rest of the group, a flurry of introductions, but he immediately stuck out. To you, he feels like a focal point for the group. Everyone naturally gravitates towards him, seeking out his word and his opinion on everything. And you do the same as well. Jeonghan has this pull to him that is almost irresistible. He is endlessly attentive too. You feel his eyes on you many times, watching, learning, so when he speaks, it feels like he speaks to your soul.

He always buys you strawberry milk because he knows it’s your favorite. He lines up Hell’s Kitchen or Extreme Cheapskates on the television because he knows watching trash TV calms you down after a bad day. He noticed that you liked his grey wool scarf so much that he just wore it everywhere, eventually giving it to you halfway through a hangout because you always complain about being cold. Somehow, a few of your scent patches end up in his wallet, ready in case of emergency.

It’s only natural, even if you curse yourself for it, that your heart skips whenever Jeonghan looks at you a bit too long. Your omega keens when you feel his hand on the small of your back, or when he leans close enough that his soft, silky hair brushes over your cheek. His scent is strong, leather and vanilla, even when he wears those cute patches with little bunnies drawn on them. He doesn’t wear them on his neck, strangely. Only his wrists. He says it’s more for showing purposes, because he likes how they look. Your own are just a boring brown color. He puts stickers on the ones he keeps in his wallet, an action so endearing you have to hide your grin when you first see them.

“If you’re going to wear them all the time, you might as well make them pretty.” He quips.

You try to scold yourself. In no way would it be okay to fall for Jeonghan. You’re a mess. You can barely manage to get by most days. Dragging an alpha into your problems would be cruel, especially not Jeonghan, who has endless potential and hordes of omegas who would give their left arm and leg to even get half his attention. Being with you would ruin him. Your routine is unpredictable on good days, and absolute hell on the worst. You cannot even imagine what your uninhibited, unblocked scent would feel like to him. Dense and sickly, you know. Too much. Because you’ve always been too much.

So you stay silent. And you bask in whatever scraps you have of him, happy to float in his orbit. Content to just know someone like him. To get even a whiff of his scent, just enough to relax your nerves when everything becomes a little too difficult.

It takes you over two days to get back on your feet after your most recent brush with biology. You sleep through most of it, so exhausted that you can’t even open your eyes. Somewhere in between, you have a vague memory of Joshua trying to wake you up and coax food into you, but you just burst into tears, telling him to leave you alone. When you finally come to, you don’t remember any of it. All you are left with is your very concerned beta friend who is unusually quiet, boiling some tea for you as you sit on the kitchen island, watching him.

“This isn’t normal.” He mumbles. You huff out a laugh.

“Nothing about me is normal, Shua.” You try to keep your tone light and humorous. But you just sound resigned. He shakes his head, eyes trained on the kettle, his back to you.

“No. I mean for you. This isn’t even normal for you.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

He turns around, and you realise this is more than a little bit of concern. Joshua looks almost at the edge of panic. It catches you off guard.

“Your heats are more frequent now than they were a few months ago.” He mumbles, something in his tone a little urgent. “They were around once a month, but this last one came just two weeks after the one before.”

You blink. “I didn’t notice.”

He sighs. “That’s the other thing. You’ve been…. really out of it. More than usual. And you sleep for way longer afterwards. You’re completely exhausted, Y/N. This isn’t okay.”

You fidget, fiddling with your hands. Joshua is confirming what the little accusatory voice in your head has been saying for a while now. That things are getting progressively worse. That you are starving your omega. There has been a feeling of impending doom looming over you, a threat that keeps becoming more and more real.

“Have you-” Joshua pauses, hesitates. “Have you thought of taking an Alpha? Someone who can help with your heat?”

You go rigid, immediately shaking your head. “No.”

Joshua tries to barrel on. “I’m just saying-”

“No, Shua. I can’t. My heats are….. bad. I can’t trust an alpha with them.”

“But I could talk to Seungcheol. I’m sure there’s someone who-”

You stand up abruptly, gripping the marble counter when it immediately sends a wave of dizziness through your head. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

You leave the kitchen. He doesn’t mention it again.

That evening, both of you head to Seungkwan and Hansol’s place off campus for your weekly hangout and dinner. Their house has a pretty big terrace that Mingyu uses to make barbecue for everyone, so it’s the designated place for all of you to gather. Joshua is still a bit on edge, and he’s not really speaking to you, so you stay quiet as well. You don’t have the energy to entertain whatever radical idea he is suggesting. The thought of being with an alpha during your heat makes you nauseous. Especially because of how you’ve been treated by alphas all throughout high school. Like you’re some piece of meat. You can’t imagine being in your heat, so vulnerable and open, only to be used for someone else’s desires.

You can’t do that to yourself.

Most of the friend group is already there, lounging around, watching a game on the TV or helping set up the dining table. Mingyu is on the terrace with Seungcheol, sorting through the humongous portions of meat for the occasion. They’re all big eaters, so you go through a lot of food every time you have dinner together. Joshua beelines to the sliding glass door leading outside, and you trudge to the living room instead, the walk here already tiring you out. Everyone looks up and greets you loudly as you enter, making you smile.

Jeonghan is lounging lazily on the couch, eyes trained on the screen. He’s dressed in his typical oversized shirt and pants, long hair loose and curling around his neck. When he sees you, his lips stretch in a warm smile and he pats the cushion next to him. You flop down with a long sigh, happy to be off your feet. Soonyoung and Seungkwan are already bickering about something from the other couch. You watch them with amusement for a bit until you feel something brush over your shoulder.

“Okay?” Jeonghan’s voice is soft. He knows your heat just ended. Your heart twists at his consideration. You nod.

It’s a lie. You’re not okay.

He keeps rubbing your shoulder, soft and slow patterns that make you drift off in your mind. You think about what Joshua said, and for the briefest moment of lowered inhibition, you think of what it would be like if that alpha was Jeonghan. He’s the first alpha you’ve ever felt drawn to. While most alphas made you feel jumpy and uneasy, Jeonghan felt….. safe. Like if worse came to worst, he could protect you. You know he’s a strong alpha, he has a presence to him that’s equally ominous and overpowering. And yet, he’s endlessly considerate and kind. Maybe, of all the alphas in the world, Jeonghan would get it.

Maybe. You can let yourself dream.

Unbeknownst to you, Joshua steps onto the terrace in an absolutely foul mood. Seungcheol’s nose twitches and he looks up from where he’s prepping the grill. Something is definitely not okay. He exchanges a furtive look with Mingyu before turning back to the beta.

“What’s up with you?” He asks.

Joshua huffs and fiddles with one of the packets they have laid out, looking like he’s lost deep in thought. Seungcheol gives it a minute, letting his friend come to him instead of forcing it out. Mingyu stays silent.

“She didn’t agree to your suggestion.”

Comprehension dawns on Seungcheol. He huffs out a little laugh.

“Well, I didn’t have high hopes anyway.”

Joshua shakes his head. Mingyu gestures for the packet he is fiddling with, and Joshua hands it over. “It could’ve been so good for her. I don't understand why she won’t even consider it.”

Seungcheol hums, carefully laying down the first steak. It sizzles as it hits the grill. “You can’t expect her to make a decision like that when she doesn’t even have all the facts.”

Joshua gives him a dry look. “I said from the start that we should tell her.”

The alpha nods. “I know. But Jeonghan refused. He says if she wants to come to him, it has to be because he’s him, not because he’s an apex.”

Joshua rolls his eyes and starts prepping the vegetables, anything to distract himself from his frustration. “So they’re both just going to dance around each other forever.”

Seungcheol shrugs, feeling sweat build up in his hairline. “We can’t understand them, Shua. A prime omega and an apex alpha. They’re different, so they go about things differently. She’s scared he won’t want her because of what she is. He’s scared she will want him only because of what he is.”

Joshua is silent for a brief moment. When he speaks again, he sounds defeated. “And they’ll both suffer until they figure it out. If they figure it out.”

Seungcheol looks at the beta sadly, nodding. “It’s not our place. All we can do is give them a little nudge.”

Joshua turns to look inside the apartment, eyeing the pair sitting on the couch. You’re giggling at something Jeonghan has said, the first genuine happiness he has seen out of you in over a week. His heart hurts for you, because he knows you’re slowly dying on the inside. He just hopes that the alpha you’re looking at so reverently will see that you need him, and that he needs you too.

…………………………………..

Jeonghan knew even before he presented that he was different.

He doesn’t know what clued him into the fact. No one else noticed anything. But there was something in him, that he later learned was intuition, that told him he stood apart from the rest of them. He didn’t like that fact a lot, standing out means drawing attention to yourself. And Jeonghan liked remaining in the shadows a lot more, doing his own thing however he pleased without too many people in his ear.

It didn’t exactly come as a shock when he presented as an apex alpha. Yes, they were rare, but it was that damn voice in him that told him this reality a long time ago. He was different, and he hated it from the get go.

Jeonghan didn’t feel like some ideal specimen, even if he was meant to be one. Everyone ogled him wherever he went, especially the omegas. He still remembers when a girl in his Advanced Physics class went into heat the day he sat next to her. A horrifying experience, and the thing that made him start wearing scent blocking patches. All the boys in his class thought it was so cool, as if he was some badass for his mere presence being enough to trigger a heat. But he just felt uncomfortable, and he vowed to push as far away from this stereotype of alpha as he possibly could.

So he grew his hair long, he wore baggy clothes that hid his lean, cut figure. He wore patches on his wrists near constantly, the place he realised he smelled the strongest. He became docile and quiet, preferring to stay in the background rather than make himself known. Of course, anyone who knew him for long enough could tell there was something about him, a pull, a presence, but he changed himself enough that people wouldn’t jump to ‘apex alpha’.

Seungcheol knew. Immediately.

Seungcheol is not an apex alpha himself, but he is a strong and intuitive one nevertheless. He figured it out without Jeonghan saying a single word, but he never treated Jeonghan any differently. Neither did the rest of the friend group. To them, he was just Jeonghan, who was a great listener and gave great advice, all of which was because of his brain and not because of biology. Jeonghan felt like he belonged, and the distrust in him settled the longer he spent in company with his friends.

When he met you for the first time, it’s like alarm bells started going off in his head.

He smelled you immediately. He’s sure the others did as well, but to them, it was just the scent of omega. Not him, though. He knew instantly that something was different about you. It wasn’t strong, probably because of the ugly brown patches you had slapped all over your neck that you thought you were hiding with that turtleneck you put on (You weren’t. He knew they were there the second he laid eyes on you). But your scent was sweet, in a way omegas rarely are to him. He remembers being shocked by how quickly he began salivating, that he had to swallow against the tight knot in his throat when you stepped closer to him. When you shook his hand with a smile, Jeonghan had to hold himself back from running his patched up wrist over yours.

It’s funny. Jeonghan has never fought instinct before. But every time he saw you, he had to hold himself back in some capacity.

It took him just ten minutes of dedicated internet sleuthing to figure out what you were. A prime omega. His antithesis, the person on the other side of the mirror he has been holding up his whole life. But it was more than that, and one look at the smile that didn’t really reach your eyes told him all he needed to know.

You’re broken, way beyond anything you can hope to fix. He sees the pattern, the endless, agonising heats, the days of fog descending over your head afterwards. Jeonghan got lucky, his ruts were the same as everyone else, quarterly, though they were very intense, much more than any alpha he has known. But your struggle is on a whole other plane. Jeonghan’s alpha, this strong apex inside him, howls. He fights the urge to go over to you, to rip those annoying, miserable patches off your neck and lick over you. Give you his scent. Your omega yearns for him, and Jeonghan suspects even you don’t know this.

So he pushes. He talks to Seungcheol, to Joshua, who then brings up the idea of an alpha to you.

The second you step into Seungkwan and Hansol’s place for barbecue night, he sees the sour look on Joshua’s face. It didn’t go well, he assumes. Joshua walks to the terrace without even saying hi, but you dawdle your way to where he sits. Jeonghan’s heart squeezes as his eyes catch the dark circles under yours. Your patches are in place, as always, but not aligned properly and some wrinkled. When you sit next to him, he sniffs. Yes, you smell stronger today. His alpha growls again, and he bites his tongue to hold himself back. You’re already spacing out, so he reaches his arm around your shoulder as gently as he can to not startle you.

“Okay?” He asks. He sees you blink a few times to regain focus, nodding at him. He wants to scoff.

You’re a good liar. But you don’t know that he is an even better one.

He runs his hand over your shoulder because he can’t help himself. It’s just a little bit of indulgence, he can allow himself this much. He watches your eyelids flutter, your face nearly melting. You’re spacing out again, cute. He leans closer.

“You can sleep a bit until dinner is ready, angel.” He hums. You shake your head at his suggestion.

“I want to spend time with you guys. It’s been a while.” You confess. Jeonghan wants to coo at you, but he holds himself back, settling on just giving your shoulder a little squeeze and resting his arm fully over them. You sink into him, and Jeonghan has to will himself to be calm. It’s scraps, he knows this. His alpha wants more, he can take more. But he won’t do that to you. It has to come from you. You have to come to him.

So he waits. He talks to you, makes little jokes that clear your head as time goes by, and when dinner comes, he keeps an eye on your plate, makes sure you eat well, and offers to drive you and Joshua back at the end of the night. You thank him with that dazzling smile of yours, and it takes everything in Jeonghan to not kiss you senseless. Instead he watches you walk up to your building, waving at him one last time before you and Joshua are gone.

He will wait. You're meant to be with him. You just don’t trust your biology yet.

……………………………

Winter melts into spring in March, warming the air a little and bringing a pleasant feeling with it. Classes are in full swing, and you lose yourself in an unending cycle of studying, heats, recovering from heats, catching up on studying, rinse and repeat. It seems that ever since Joshua verbalised their changing nature, the heats have worsened. It has progressed from the pain, the cramps and the crying, to this deep seated rift inside you. You feel so empty through all of it, so alone, that it leaves you more emotionally shaken than physically. Somehow, you hate this shift even more than the actual pain. Because bodily pain is tangible. You can use warm compresses, or hot teas, or medicines to fix that.

You don’t know what to do about this yearning inside you.

You don’t notice you’re slipping, but your friends do. Soonyoung makes it a point to text you things like ‘see you in class in an hour!’ because he knows how spacey and forgetful you've been. When you go through your bag, you often find little treats in there; a chocolate bar, a roll of biscuits, chewable sweets, a packet of those watermelon jellies you really like. You don’t know who puts them there, but you suspect Jun or Wonwoo. The fridge is constantly stocked with electrolytes even when you forget to pick them up, and someone is always at home even if Joshua isn’t. Seungkwan watches movies with you, or Jihoon coaxes you into studying sessions. Chan makes sure his notes are extra clean and legible so you can catch up on work you miss out on. Once or twice, Mingyu wanted to go on a run with you, which you immediately shot down. You can barely move on most days. You’re sure you are in no condition to run.

But it’s Jeonghan’s behavior that surprises you the most.

For most mornings of the week, he shows up at your apartment, saying he just felt like walking together to campus since he’s heading that way for his own classes anyway. What you don’t notice is the stare he levels every single alpha with when their noses twitch in your vicinity, his inherent status as an apex making them flinch and back down. He doesn’t like flaunting what he is like this, but this is about you and your safety, so he will. He’s there when you get out of classes too, accompanying you to the library or back to your place. Sometimes, if it’s not him, someone else is, like Seungcheol or Seokmin, but most of the time, it’s him.

Classes rage on. You get more tired as the days blur.

You miss your alarm one day, scrambling to get ready when Joshua shakes you awake. Jeonghan waits in the living room as you pull yourself together, and you finally join him, pushing your books into your bag.

“I’m ready, I’m ready!” You gasp, smoothing your hair down as much as you can. It’s all you can do in less than five minutes since you woke up. Jeonghan stills, eyeing you closely, and you see the corner on his lip tick up in an amused smirk.

“Hold on.” He steps closer. You blink up at him, confused. He reaches his hand towards your neck slowly, giving you room to move away, finally tugging at the corner of your scent patch and peeling it off.

Your heart skips. Your blood chills.

Mere milliseconds later, he smooths it on again, face focused as he gently presses it down on the junction of your neck and shoulder to make it stick, in a slightly different position than it was before.

“Your scent glands weren’t covered properly, angel.” He mumbles, stepping away and giving you that sweet smile of his. A strand of hair falls over his face, catching in his eyelashes when he blinks. You stare at him, dumbfounded. He took your scent blocker off. He smelled you. No one has smelled your true, unfiltered scent in years. And Jeonghan didn’t even flinch. His nose didn’t scrunch up like your mother’s would. He didn’t plug it exaggeratedly like your brothers did all the time. He didn’t react at all, just fixed it and carried on.

Did you not repulse him? How is he so calm?

You are broken from your racing thoughts when he quickly grips your wrist and tugs you to the door, claiming you have to hurry because he wants to stop for coffee on the way. You’re uncharacteristically quiet as you make your way to campus. But Jeonghan’s smile is there, quiet and knowing. He doesn’t push, doesn’t talk about it. But he’s there with all his silent reassurance. The yearning, dying omega inside you whines. When was the last time you felt the touch of an alpha like that? The answer is never.

You can barely focus on the lecture for that day, your heart beating faster than usual throughout, staring blankly at the board and not absorbing a single word. As soon as the professor dismisses you, you’re hurrying out of the hall, your strange anxiety easing when you see Jeonghan outside already, waiting for you like he always does. His tall figure stands out among everyone else. He gives you a little smile.

The knot in your chest loosens at the sight of him.

You decide to go to the library until your next class, which is about two hours later. You could go back home, but Jeonghan suggests you use this time to catch up on missing lectures, which is a good idea. You settle into a desk tucked in the very corner of the room, Jeonghan next to you, poring over his own laptop. You watch his hands move over the keys, eyes dropping to his wrists. Today, he’s chosen to wear light blue patches with little white clouds on them, two on each wrist. They match the blue of his shirt, which you think is very cute. They’re not the industrial grade stuff you use, they’re just store brand, generic ones.

“Hannie?”

“Hm?”

“Why do you use patches?”

His smiles, but his eyes remain glued to the screen. “I told you. I like the way they look.”

You snort, not believing him. He chuckles at the sound.

“My scent is pretty strong.” He says. “It’s easier to put these on than deal with people’s stares every day.”

You’re surprised. You always knew Jeonghan had a strong presence, but you didn’t know he struggled with something like that. You watch the side of his face.

“Mine is strong too.” You confess. Jeonghan hums, fingers clacking on the keyboard.

“I know, doll.” His voice is like velvet. You shift a little. Contemplate. Then, you take a deep breath, making up your mind.

“You took my patch off earlier.” You can hear your own voice shake. “You didn’t….. why didn’t you react?”

This makes him finally pause, turning to look at you. “What do you mean?”

You hesitate again, but Jeonghan’s attention is now fully yours. You soldier on.

“Everyone always told me my scent is pretty unbearable.” You stare over his shoulder, unable to meet his eye. “Everyone would…. kind of flinch away.”

There’s a small pause. Jeonghan speaks again. “I’m not everyone.”

You finally focus on his eyes, endlessly gentle, earthy brown. “You’re not?”

He shakes his head. “I’m different. Like you.”

You stare at him. All is silent in the library. Nothing shifts. It’s like the air around you is holding its breath.

“I don’t understand.” You whisper.

Jeonghan leans in just so. He enters your space, closer to your ear. His cheek brushes yours. Something hot zips down your spine. Your heart kicks painfully at your ribs. You don’t dare move a muscle.

“All those people lied to you.” He breathes. You feel it on the shell of your ear. “You smell wonderful to me, angel. Sweet. A little like honey.”

He moves away before you can process. You watch him turn back to the laptop. The clicking of the keyboard breaks the silence in your space. Your brain is whirring a mile a minute. You turn to the notes Chan lent you. Not reading a single word. Just staring.

Jeonghan doesn’t act any differently for the rest of the day. You finish up studying, taking your last class of the day before he offers to treat you to lunch. Like any other mundane routine. As if he hasn’t shattered your entire world. You eat together with idle gossip. Nothing changes outwardly, but your mind rages with storms. You don’t know what to do with Jeonghan’s confession. Your first instinct is to deny it, but Jeonghan has never lied to you. You trust him with every part of you. He wouldn’t lie about this, even as a joke. Everything from his tone to the look in his eyes was sincere.

For the first time since that night Joshua suggested finding an alpha for you, you dream about that alpha being Jeonghan. It seems real now, tangible. You don’t find the idea of letting Jeonghan in frightening, because truthfully, Jeonghan has been taking care of you for a while now. You wonder what it would feel like to just melt into him, to finally stop struggling with the omega in you, to trust him with every part of yourself without worrying that he will back away like everyone else did.

Your next heat hits in two weeks, and it’s your worst one yet.

Unfortunately, your omega knows what it wants now. It wants Jeonghan, and it whines for him. You sob through the first day, none of your normal medicines doing anything to numb you. You’re sweaty, every muscle in your body rigid and screaming, your mind muddled. You don’t even remember what time of day it is when you reach for your phone, clicking on his contact with shaking fingers and listening to the dialtone ring.

“Y/N?”

His voice makes a sharp tendril of pain shoot through your stomach.

“Alpha!” You wail. “Need- need you. Please.”

You’re sobbing too badly to hear shuffling in the background. Jeonghan sits up and turns on his bedside lamp. He stares at the clock on his phone screen before putting it back to his ear. 02.13am.

“Angel, are you alone?” He knows you are, but he needs to make sure. You only sob on the other end, and Jeonghan grits his teeth. This is bad. He knows for a fact that you’re usually docile through your heat because of the drugs you take. He pulls up Joshua’s contact, putting you on hold so he can call the beta. You’re so out of it that you don’t even notice. Joshua picks up after a few rings, sounding groggy with sleep.

“Shua, get your ass back home.” Jeonghan grits out. Something in his tone must register, he’s almost growling, something he hates doing, but hearing you sound so distressed has left him shaken. Joshua immediately hangs up, and Jeonghan gets back on call with you.

“You’re still with me?” He asks, trying to keep his tone as soothing as possible despite the fact that he’s worried sick. He hears you sniffle.

“A-are you coming?” His heart breaks at the hope in your voice. His hand fists his sheets.

“I can’t, baby. Not like this.”

When you weep, it almost feels like Jeonghan’s soul is shattering. His alpha howls, claws at him, and for the first time in his life, Jeonghan wants to give in to the apex inside him.

“Omega, listen to me.” He knows the tone he is using. He hates to play on your instincts like this, but he needs you to survive this without him somehow. You quiet down instantly at the deep timbre in his voice, so he keeps going.

“Joshua is on his way. He will take care of you, get you more meds and food. You’ll get through this, and then we can talk about it, okay?”

You sniffle. When you talk, your voice is thready and frail. “But alpha….”

“Baby,” Jeonghan coos again. When you whine, he feels the base of his stomach stir. “You’ll be a good girl for me?”

That does something. “Yes. Yes, alpha.”

Jeonghan sighs with some form of relief finally. He stays on the phone with you, gives you endless reassurances until he hears Joshua in the background. When you’re distracted by the beta, he hangs up. He stares at the wall for a long time, running everything that just happened in his head.

Jeonghan is rarely shaken by everything, but this shakes him. He knows for a fact that he can’t stay away from you after this. You’re his, and he’s tired of slowplaying it.

It takes a week for your heat to wane. It’s agonising, but Joshua helps as much as he can, getting you through it without calling Jeonghan again. He feeds you, even runs you a bath. Towards the end of it, you break down, feeling guilty for subjecting him to this. He immediately reprimands you, telling you he doesn’t mind and he wants to help you in any way that he can. But you’re embarrassed. You had worked so hard to make sure he didn’t see you like this, yet he did. Pair that with the fact that you called Jeonghan and poured your heart out to him, you feel like this heat has changed everything permanently.

You don’t even know if you can look Jeonghan in the eye again.

He texts you on Sunday night, saying he will be at your place first thing in the morning so you can head to campus together as usual. You don’t reply. Frankly, you don’t want to speak to him. You’re mortified at the fact that you called him while in heat, essentially begging him to fuck you. It’s deeply shameful, and you hate yourself for it. You stare at Jeonghan’s text, contemplating. When Joshua plops down on the couch next to you with dinner, you turn to him.

“Can you text Jeonghan that I’m not feeling well, so I can’t go to class tomorrow?”

Joshua gives you a tired look. “You can’t avoid him forever, you know?”

Of course you know. But you’re not ready yet. Just the thought of it brings you to the brink of humiliating tears. You plead with Joshua. He sighs and nods, doing as you say.

Jeonghan, of course, doesn’t listen.

You wake up the next day with a start. You didn’t set an alarm, since you had no intention of going to class. The sun is shining through the windows, indicating that you’re well into the morning. The smell of eggs is wafting into your room, and confusion riddles your body. Joshua had classes this morning, so he shouldn’t be home right now.

You’re shocked when you walk out of the room and are met with the sight of Jeonghan’s back, clad in a huge black hoodie that he’s swimming in, and grey sweats. Half his hair is pulled up in a ponytail, the other half down, brushing his neck. He doesn’t turn around, back shifting as he scrambles the eggs in a pan. Sizzling sounds fill the kitchen.

“Morning.” His voice sounds cheerful and light. He pulls the pan off the heat, dumping the eggs on a plate. He turns around to place it on the kitchen island. “Sit.”

You hesitate. “What are you-”

“Sit, omega.”

Your voice dies in your throat. You pull a stool out. He sets a fork down and you promptly start eating while he makes another batch for himself. Everything is silent.

Finally, Jeonghan joins you on the counter and sits across from you, focused on shoveling his breakfast into his mouth. You don’t say a word either, feeling exhaustion tug at your limbs. You’re tired of this, whatever this is.

“I presented when I was sixteen, just like everyone else.” Jeonghan speaks up, still focused on his plate. Your movements slow as you listen to him.

“But I still knew something about me was different. I knew it not just because everyone told me, but because something inside me was convinced I wasn’t like everyone else. And I hated it.”

“Everything I did in life, I deliberately went against my nature. I talked differently, carried myself differently, I wanted to be just like every other alpha.”

His eyes tick up suddenly, and you’re taken aback by the genuine firmness in his features. “Then I met you, and I saw how every other alpha behaved around you, how they looked at your patches weird, and I realised I never wanted to be like any of them. Me being an apex alpha meant I could take care of you in a way none of these other fuckers can.”

Apex alpha.

So that’s what he meant, when he said he was different like you. That’s why your scent didn’t bother him even when he took your patch off, and why he said he actually liked your unfiltered essence. You have heard of apex alphas all your life, but only in passing, everyone claiming an apex would be a prime omega’s perfect match. You understand now, why you’ve always felt a pull around Jeonghan even though all other alphas scared you. You were convinced it was because of him being this incredible, kind and understanding person. And it was. But the revelation of his biology eases your guilt at wanting him so much. Suddenly, it makes sense that your omega yearns for him so badly.

“Where’d you go, beautiful?” His voice breaks you from your thoughts. He’s watching you with that soft smile on his face, and it hits you acutely that he always looks at you like this. Like you’re precious. Instead of that sour, disdainful look you’ve been leveled with your whole life. You don’t know what to say to him. But you feel like crying. And maybe he can tell.

“I want to love you the way you deserve to be loved, angel.” He says, stare steadfastly on you. “If you’ll let me. If you’ll have me.”

You can feel your face crumple. For the first time in years, you feel like an invisible burden is being lifted from your shoulders. Slowly, and with the weight of all the pain you’ve endured, you nod.

Jeonghan’s smile brings a sense of finality with it. His hand is soft but sure when it curls around yours.

…………………………………..

“You two are the actual definition of a power couple.”

“It’s like the perfect match. It’s so perfect that no one would believe it.”

“I don’t even think there are enough apex alphas or prime omegas in the world to actually pair them up.”

“Dude, you’re going to give birth to super babies or some shit.”

“Soonyoung!” You scold your friend for that last comment while Jeonghan just lets out a throaty laugh. You can feel the vibration on your back where his front is pressed against you. He squeezes you a little, placating you. But you still feel flustered, your face flaming at your friends’ quips about your very new relationship with Jeonghan. It wasn’t even a proper relationship. He’s courting you, the bracelet on your wrist he gave you this morning an indication of the fact that you are now his. You were surprised when he pulled it out after you finished breakfast.

“You were that sure I would say yes?” You had asked, incredulous. He had only smiled, and his confidence made your heartbeat speed up.

There is no point hiding it from your friend group, but you kind of regret telling them about it immediately. Soonyoung and Seungkwan have been particularly insufferable, and everyone else is egging them on. It’s embarrassing, but Jeonghan is thoroughly enjoying himself, even agreeing with some of their outlandish remarks. He keeps you pressed tightly against him, his cheek brushing the side of your head, and you bask in his warmth. Across from where you stand, Joshua has a relieved smile on his face.

You return it, feeling giddy.

Mingyu is quick to announce that dinner is ready, and everyone splits up around the house with their plates after filling them up to their liking. You stand over the kitchen counter and eye the many dishes he and Seokmin have prepared, wondering what you want to eat. Everyone is already seated in the living room. Your stomach is a little queasy, so you don’t have an appetite.

You feel a hand brush your side, making you jump a little. Jeonghan chuckles.

“Just me.” His voice hits your ear. You feel the back of your neck heat up.

“Sorry. I’m not used to it yet.”

He hums and gives you a reassuring squeeze. You feel his cheek on your shoulder.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

You shrug. “All the excitement of today, I guess. I feel a little restless.”

He rubs over your side, quiet for a brief moment. You eye the dishes and contemplate not eating at all.

“I could help with the restlessness.”

You turn your head to look at the alpha curiously. “How do you mean?”

Jeonghan’s eyes dart between yours for a few seconds. “Do you trust me?”

You nod immediately. “Of course.”

His hand reaches up and he runs his thumb over the brown patch on your neck. You still, not moving a muscle, but also not stopping him. Carefully, he tugs on the corner of it before slowly peeling it off. You grit your teeth, feeling exposed. Behind you, you can hear talking and laughter in the next room. No one seems to have noticed that you and Jeonghan aren’t there.

You feel his breath right over your scent gland as he brushes your hair off your neck. It makes you gasp, something sizzling under your skin. Jeonghan’s hand runs comfortingly over your waist. Then, he leans down and gives you a chaste kiss. Your knees feel weak. Your vision swims just a little.

His tongue is tentative as he licks over you, but just that slightest touch immediately alters the scent, both of yours mixing together in this delicious amalgam that tickles your nose pleasantly. Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, and it encourages him to flatten his tongue more firmly over your neck. You feel your muscles go pliant, and he uses his other hand to steady you as you lean your weight on him.

It feels like forever, though you’re sure it’s only a few minutes before Jeonghan pulls away. He doesn’t replace the scent patch, instead crumpling it and shoving it into his pocket. You blink through your haze. You would question him if your tongue wasn’t already rubber. He lays a soft kiss on your temple.

“You don’t need it. You smell like me now.”

It’s true. You do. Even you can tell. You let Jeonghan pile your plate with food and lead you back to the living room, pulling you into his lap so both of you can eat off the same plate. It’s intimate, and normally you would be more conscious around your friends, but his scent has left you strangely buzzing and docile, and you let him gently feed you, zoning in and out of conversation as you bask in your alpha’s presence. For the first time in seemingly forever, your omega is silent, revealing in this strange but welcome feeling.

Your friends hide their smiles under bites of food. Jeonghan squeezes you tightly. You let yourself drift off.

…………………………..

There’s not really room to take things slow in a relationship when you’re a prime omega. Especially not when your omega latches on to the fact that you have an alpha now, who is more than willing to take care of you come your next heat. For a while, your cycle has been fucked up and getting worse. So it seems like as soon as you’re used to Jeonghan’s intimate presence, your omega decides it needs more and pushes your body into a heat.

Jeonghan realises it is happening before you do, nose twitching as he registers the slight damp quality in your scent. Something in him shifts with unease, a strange feeling of anticipation. You’re none the wiser, eyes glued to the movie playing on the screen. It’s date night, and Jeonghan had brought the food while you set up the movie. Said food was now devoured, empty plates on the coffee table before you. There’s still a good chunk of the movie left, and you’re fully engrossed in it. Jeonghan was too, until he noticed how warm you are where your side is pressed against him. You’re usually on the warmer side, but this time it’s enough to make him notice. He eyes the side of your face discreetly, immediately seeing the very faint line of sweat building on your temples and the back of your neck. He watches you huff and pull your hair up, shaking it a bit because of the sweat. You're irritated.

He reaches an arm around you and brushes his thumb gently over your scent gland. You’re very used to this by now, and he feels you relax into him immediately. His scent calms you down, a fact that he’s very proud of, and loves teasingly exploiting from time to time.

It doesn’t last though. You fidget after a few minutes, eyebrows pulling together in a furrow. The muscles in your thighs are stiffening, and there’s a certain discomfort in your stomach. You wonder if it was the food, but quickly dismiss the thought when you feel that familiar twinge in your lower stomach, one that you can recognise instantly because of how often you are plagued by it.

Oh my god.

You sit up, feeling apprehension claw at you as you realise what is happening. The movie is all but forgotten, and you’re hyperaware of the fact that Jeonghan is right there. In fact, that’s making you feel even worse. Where it would normally take hours for your discomfort to swell and morph into a full heat, Jeonghan’s scent in the air seems to egg it on. You do some mental calculations quickly, dread filling you when you realise it has been a mere three weeks since your last one. And you remember how rough that was. Just the thought of going through another one like that makes you want to weep.

You feel a hand on your lower back, the exact area that’s starting to ache a little. Jeonghan applies pressure, and it brings temporary ease with it.

“I can help. But only if you want me to.”

You turn your head to look at your alpha. His face is open and blank. He isn’t being judgmental at all, but you feel mortification anyway. You hate that you’re like this. You hate that you can’t form a solid, comfortable relationship with Jeonghan without this being such a big factor. You still remember the horrifying ordeal of the last heat where you cried to him over the phone.

“Hey.” Maybe he senses your trepidation, because he leans forward, winding his arm around your waist and laying a chaste kiss on your forehead. His very proximity feels like balm on your irritated skin. He looks you dead in the eyes as he speaks.

“I want to help you, angel. But only if you’re ready. I don’t want you to go into heat to make this decision. Your head is clear right now, so you can tell me what you want. It’s all up to you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, contemplating. You don’t know what to say, how to voice your fears. Your heats are intense, and absolutely unbearable for you or anyone in the vicinity. Why would Jeonghan want to be anywhere near you at a time like that?

When you voice your concern, he only laughs, but not unkindly.

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it.” He gives you a wink. “I’m different, you know?”

His confidence is a little reassuring, but you still hesitate. Jeonghan sighs and leans forward, bumping his forehead lightly to yours.

“My sweet girl, you have no idea how badly I want you.”

Your breath catches. His scent invades you, the reassuring mix of leather and vanilla in your nose. So you make up your mind and nod. You are choosing to trust him with every part of you, even the part you can’t bear to look at yourself.

Jeonghan carries you to your room even though you insist that you are fine right now. He helps make a nest, lamenting a little that there aren't more of his clothes at your place that he can fit into your nest.

“It’s okay, you can get your fill straight from the source.” He jokes, tilting his head back and tapping his neck. You giggle.

His attempts to lighten the mood work. He sheds his hoodie until he is left with just a thin shirt and pants, climbing into the nest with you. You’ve never had anyone inside, but it feels so right to have Jeonghan here. He wraps you up tightly in his arms by spooning you, laying little kisses on your face and neck, whatever patch of skin he can find, until you feel like he has squeezed the discomfort out of you. He calls Joshua and tells him to fuck off for a few days, to which your roommates only jokingly sighs and agrees. You tell him you feel bad about keeping Joshua away from his own home for a week at a time, and he gives you this sleazy smirk that sends a tingle of something pleasant down your spine.

“Oh darling, it won’t last a week this time. I’ll make sure of it.”

You swallow tightly, pressing your thighs together. He notices, because Jeonghan notices everything, and you feel his large hand splay over your bare thigh, fingertips toying with the hem of your shorts.

“Think it’ll be good for you if I make you cum right now.” His lips brush the shell of your ear from behind. You arch your back into him. You’re getting wet at an alarming rate, like your omega is just raring to give in to the alpha curled around you. His hand travels up, presses into the cotton of your shorts right at the crotch. You twitch at the feeling, eyes closing. You’re breathing heavily, and you know your heat is right around the corner. It seems Jeonghan’s plan is to nip it in the bud before it even hits full force.

His hand slides under the waistband of your shorts, sliding through your slit. You feel him groan into your ear.

“So wet already. Has my little omega been waiting for this?”

You can feel, in real time, your brain turn to mush as Jeonghan’s fingers rub over your cunt and find your clit. He toys with it between two fingers, and you whine, hips jerking. He squeezes, enough to jolt you, making you gasp.

“You’ll answer me when I ask you a question, got it?”

Your omega preens. Your eyes roll up. “Yes, alpha.”

“Good girl.”

You wonder if it’s the apex in him that’s making him rough and territorial like this, influenced by your heat. You could cum just like this. But he gives you more. He swivels his fingers over your throbbing nub, rubbing side to side just the way you like it. You don’t know how he knows, but you’re grateful for it, because it takes only a few minutes for your high to catch up to you. You want to let go, but you’re neck deep in Jeonghan’s pheromones, and the primal part of you tells you to not dare do it without your alpha’s permission. So, like the good girl he claims you are, you ask.

“Alpha,” you gasp against his precise fingers, hips undulating, listening to his wet and filthy it sounds. Jeonghan hums in question, licking over the shell of your ear. His strong arm holds you in place, and you only have so much wiggle room under his grip. You feel you can’t breathe as you plead with him, asking if you can cum. His lips stretch where they are pressed against the skin below your ear. His arm that was holding you comes up, grips your jaw tightly and tilts your head back so he can run his tongue over your lips. Your eyes fill with unshed tears.

“Such a quick learner.” He praises. “You know exactly what your alpha wants. Such a good omega, my perfect omega. Cum for me, darling. Come on.”

So you do. You gush over his hand, giving into the unrelenting pressure as he keeps rubbing harshly over your clit. He reaches his hand down and plunges two fingers inside your spamming cunt, grinding his palm on you to prolong your orgasm. You whine and twitch, digging your nails into his wrist, but he seems undeterred. He fingers you like that, not slowing for a single second even when you sob. Your high never really weans, being pulled longer and longer until you can’t differentiate where your first orgasm ends and your second one starts. All you know is that you’re wailing and twitching again, body convulsing so hard that Jeonghan has to almost roll on top of you to keep you in place, and he is finger fucking you through it as he whispers sweet praises in your ear. You gasp and nearly choke, vision swimming as you slowly come down. Finally, he buries his fingers deep inside you and stills.

For a long moment, you lay like that, half on your front, with Jeonghan draped over you. He pulls out gently and you gasp at how empty it feels. He plants a sweet kiss in your hair and finally separates from you, leaving your nest.

You can vaguely hear him moving around, going to the bathroom, the kitchen, more shuffling before he joins you in the nest again. You’re half dozing at this point, but he manages to coax some water into you before you fully fall asleep. He holds you through it, cuddling into you and taking advantage of your break to nap as well. When you wake up again, you’re feverish and sweaty, and Jeonghan is ready to give you what your omega has wanted all its life. A knot.

He kisses you slowly and tenderly as he undresses you, making sure to not let your omega get restless. His own clothes follow, and you’re surprised by how toned he is. He always hides under bulky clothes, so you didn’t anticipate this. Jeonghan is strong, and very athletic, you know this, but you expected him to be skinny, not deliciously lean like this.

He smirks when he catches you looking, finally tugging off his pants. Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock. He’s huge, throbbing and ready for you, flushed an angry deep pink color that has you clenching around nothing. Your body is more than ready for him, breaths already leaving you in ragged gasps as you try to retain your sanity.

“Ready, baby?” He’s only called you that once before, when you were in the throes of a heat, whispered prettily over the phone. Of his wide roster of petnames for you, you definitely love this one the most, especially the way he says it so sweetly. It takes all your effort to not keen, but it’s not possible to hold back, especially when he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and slowly presses inside you, his cock carving through your desperate, spongy walls. You moan at the same time he does, revelling in the feeling. He brushes over every delicious spot inside you, making your toes curl. Your omega whines, just the relief of being filled up is so acute and so massive that your back arches and, without a warning, you cum.

Jeonghan curses over you, immediately moving. He wants to prolong your high, because he noticed that your heat broke for a good while after being properly stimulated. He fucks the orgasm right through you, and your body scrambles to process it all. It feels so unbelievably good, deliriously good, that you can’t believe you held out without this for so long. And it’s not just his cock, not just the fact that an alpha is fucking you through your heat, but it’s because this is Jeonghan. Your omega trusts him, yearns for him, and he takes that responsibility seriously, holding your body down and pounding into you just the way his alpha knows you want. You believe with complete certainty that no alpha on the planet can do you the way he does, anticipating your needs before you can even vocalise them, before you can even feel it yourself. It’s only him, and as he leans down to press his forehead against yours, his breaths heavy as his hips snap into yours over and over, you know this is it for you. Jeonghan is your endgame. He always has been, you just didn’t know it.

“Alpha,” you weep. Jeonghan groans.

“My pretty girl.” He rasps. You can see how dilated his pupils are, the flush rising up from his chest, to his neck and ears. He’s sweating, groaning, cursing as his cock indulges your pulsing, greedy pussy.

“I love you.” He breathes. You whine at his words. “Loved you for so long. Always knew you would be mine. My omega. Mine.”

Your leg, pressed between your bodies where it’s thrown over your shoulder, is joined by your other one as he maneuvers you into a mating press. His angle shifts in the position, and you can’t hold it any longer. You cum again, soaking his cock, making the base swell up so that finally, finally, Jeonghan bullies his fat knot into you, cumming so hard his whole body curls forward.

The whole room smells like sweat, sex, and dense alpha pheromones. Jeonghan’s presence is undeniable, so all encompassing that it overtakes even yours. He finally relaxes over you, catching his breath while he runs his tongue over your scent glands. You let him, enjoying the feeling, this indirect way of him laying his claim on you. Lying here, uninhibited and with your omega finally quiet after years and years of silent torture, you imagine what it would be like if Jeonghan were to claim you, in the concrete and sure way that alphas do by biting their omegas. The thought of being linked to another person for life should freak you out, but it doesn’t. Not when the person in question is Jeonghan. He already has your heart. He has taken your body too. There’s nothing you wouldn’t give to him, including the rest of your life.

When Jeonghan teasingly nips at the skin right over your scent glands, it feels like a silent promise that he wants the exact same thing. For the first time in your life, the future doesn’t seem bleak.

Blanket large enough to share, your feet touched beneath the cover, both of your legs folded up on the couch, the only sounds in the room the crackling of the fire and uncoated pages turning by the grip of two fingers. You’ve been absorbed in the series you’ve been reading this month, in the second book out of five, the next conflict laid out for the characters to resolve. A fantasy series by an author you enjoy, you’ve come to love nights like these, across from your fiancé on the couch, silence in the room, minds escaping to another universe. 

You shifted, getting comfortable, Yunho eyed you from above the spine of his book, beneath his thin frames. An arm beneath your body, you curled into the couch, legs stretching to tangle with his, your bare skin against his clothed by cotton. 

“Do you want me to move?” He asked softly, “Or are you comfortable?”

“I’m comfortable, you’re fine,” you shake your head, barely shooting him a glance, nose in the pages before you.

He smiled to himself, not that you could see, because he loved these nights just as much as you did. It’s turned into every night these past few weeks, ending your long workdays on the couch, full stomachs and minds roaring to empty upon pages of someone else’s life. A shared hobby, one of many, how you both looked at reading the same way– an escape of your own busy routines, emptying out your thoughts, your worries, taking your consciousness and placing it into another realm. 

You slid your leg beneath one of his, letting the weight of him comfort you. Your head dug into the couch cushion along the back, book held up in front of you, brows subconsciously furrowing as the two main characters finally reached somewhere private. Excitement sits low in your belly, you know what’s coming, it only makes sense for their relationship to take the next step. 

A shared kiss, your lips curl, flipping the page. Your toes wiggle beneath Yunho’s leg, eyes scanning the page, smile growing as their clothes come off. He’s watching you now, as your hand lifts, fingernail between your teeth, biting onto your manicured hand like he didn’t pay for it yesterday. He knows that look, he can feel the tremor in your legs, he can see the arousal spreading through your body like the fire crackling across the room. 

Amused, his own lips twitch upward in a grin. You flip the page again, ignorant to his eyes, to how well he knows you. Finally, he asks, “How’s your book, baby?”

You don’t even look up, “So good.”

Still amused, grin still present, his eyes thin. “Should I read it next?”

“I don’t know if you’d like it,” you answer mindlessly, words breathy and casual like you didn’t know what you were saying, too focused on what you were reading. 

“Why not?” He pries further, closing his own book after bending the corner of a page, letting it fall into his lap. “It’s fantasy, no?” 

“I don’t know, maybe you will,” you flip the page, eyes glued to the top of the next page. You were brushing him off, he should leave you alone, let you at least finish the scene. His lips tighten, scrunching to one side as he opens his book back up again, eyes finding the last sentence he read, trying to pick up where he last left off. 

He gets all the way to the next page before he realizes he hasn’t actually read a single word. Eyes scanning the page, recognizing words, but the movie isn’t playing, he can’t see what’s happening. His mind drifts again, you’re reading smut, he knows you are, yet you pay no attention to him? Can he not do what your little characters in your book can? 

He gives his head, his shoulders a small shake, ridding himself of the thoughts. That’s not what reading is– he knows it in his soul, he reads, too. It’s a story, you’re watching a scene in your head of two other people, it had nothing to do with him. Yet his eyes flicker back up to you, your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes flying down the page like you couldn’t digest the words fast enough. His book lowers to his lap again subconsciously. 

At that, your eyes perk up, they’re on him and suddenly he feels bare. Caught red-handed. 

“You okay over there?” A smile tugs at your lips, and Yunho blinks in response.

“Fine,” he nods, slapping a smile on his lips, “just reaching a wall, my brain isn’t working anymore, I think.”

“Turn on the tv then,” you bring your eyes back down to your book, and Yunho doesn’t move an inch, not a single muscle. Now he just wants your attention, he thinks, he’s too curious about what you’re reading, what spicy shit is happening between those characters to get your legs twitching beneath his own. 

You chuckle, and Yunho realizes your eyes are on him again, analyzing, amused at what’s probably a dumbfounded look on his face. You fold the corner of your page, reaching sideways to place your book on the coffee table, no force to your actions, no sign of irritation. 

“Whatsup, baby?” You ask, voice light and playful, “Wanna watch our show instead?”

Ah, fuck, he loves you. He can’t fucking wait to marry you. 

“Want you to tell me what’s happening in your book,” he finds himself answering, maybe he’s the cat that’s grown too curious. 

“Feyre and Rhys,” you shrug, then you smile, “they’re fuckin’.”

Yunho’s brows raise, knowing a few details already from what you’ve shared over the month, “Finally.”

“I know,” you groan out, tipping your head back, “Rhys is so sexy.”

“Yeah?” Yunho’s voice dips, cresting something deeper, an idea that had been planted ten minutes ago finally taking shape. “What’s he doing?”

Your head straightens again, eyes thinning as you stare at Yunho across the couch, warm brown hair unstyled, air-dried, laying flat over his forehead. “Why are you asking, hm?”

He reaches sideways the same way you did, placing his book on the coffee table beside the couch, your eyes stay locked on his bicep that flexes as it sneaks out of his short sleeve tee. He croons, “Wanna know what’s got you so hot n’ bothered.”

You chuckle again, disbelief lining your tone, “I am not hot n’ bothered.”

He squints at you the same way, like he doesn’t quite believe you. “So you don’t want me to fuck you stupid on this couch?”

Smile gone, your eyes widen ever so slightly, bones going rigid. Then the heat sinks in, like a warm hand at the base of your spine, spreading through each limb until it reaches your throat, forcing an ‘I do’ out of your mouth. 

Yunho’s smile grows into something cocky, pushing himself up with his palms on the cushion beneath him, knees pressed to the couch as he crawls over you, so close your foreheads are touching. The heat of him is raw, it seeps into you, mixing with your own– your breath grows shallow, eyes widening as the full broad length of him looms over you. So threatening, he could be, he might be, you don’t know what mood he’s in yet. 

“You do?” He asks again, chocolate eyes boring into yours, circled with something brighter, an idea brewing. 

Your feet kick at the blanket still covering you, peeling it off your body, answering him with a breathy, “Yes.”

“That’s my girl,” he says with a knowing grin before he presses his lips to yours, one arm on the armrest behind you, the other pressed to the cushion beside you. Molding together like you always do, your head tilts to meet his guiding lips, hands coming up to his chest, feeling his cotton-covered skin before they trail up to his shoulders, his neck, letting the shape of him comfort you until your legs spread beneath him. 

They hook over his thighs as he slots himself between them, pinning you down to the couch, his tongue splitting your lips to taste you. You whimper into him as your hips buck, the strength of him still as you use his thighs to lift yourself up, hips grinding against his. He breaks the kiss, keeping his lips just grazing yours to taunt you, “Thought you said the book wasn’t making you horny.”

“It wasn’t,” you’re quick to respond, voice breathy, loaded by impatience, “it’s just you.”

He hums, smiling as he places another kiss on your lips, “She’s nice today, huh?” 

You smile, hooking your arms around his neck, grinding your hips into him again, “Want you, Yun.”

“How do you want me, baby?” He asks, dipping his head below your jaw, placing soft kisses along your skin, tongue poking out to leave a trail as he sinks down your neck. 

“Wanna ride you,” somewhere between a whine and a moan, your eyes flutter closed, using him to grind yourself up against him, his length beneath his sweats catching onto the slick beneath your sleepshorts, already sticky, already clinging to your core. 

He scoops an arm under your back, breaking from your neck to lift you upward in one quick motion, sitting up straight at the center of the couch. A move he’s done a thousand times, you barely react, using one foot planted on the floor beneath you to shimmy your shorts down your legs as he tugs his shirt off his head. You throw yourself against him, thighs bracketing his hips, core pressed flush to his. 

Skin creamy like the moon, it’s littered with splotches of cherry, flushed and needy, he was just as horny as you. It makes you smirk, arms laying over his shoulders to attach your lips again, heavier this time, quicker, your hunger grows as your hips grind into his still-clothed length, this angle better, harsher, it leaves you gasping into his mouth. 

“Take your pants off,” you whisper into his mouth, barely breaking the kiss, “need you inside me.”

“Not yet,” his hands find your hips, grinding you against his length, using more force than you were on your own, a broken moan forces its way out of your lips, head dipping down in pleasure. 

His lips find your jaw, sinking down to your neck as his fingers toy with the hem of your tee, pushing it upward, over your chest until he breaks away from your skin, pulling it over your head. Hands to your chest, you find his lips again, a mess of saliva and teeth, rushed as if you were running out of time. 

Thumbs brushing over your nipples, he hisses, “Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

“Don’t tease,” you whimper, hips rocking against him, voice breaking as you say, “I need you inside me, Yunho.”

“Patience, my love,” he whispers, the air cool against your nipple, making your back arch as your hands fall into his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp. “What were they doing in your book, hm?”

Your brows furrow, jaw already slack in pleasure, you search your mind, blinking, dumbfounded, trying to find words you just read. His eyes glance upward, lips around one of your nipples, the look of him does nothing to aid in finding the memory, it makes you groan out, body twitching. 

He chuckles, popping off of your chest, “What? Can’t remember?”

“Not when you’re doing that, fuck,” you huff out, “why do you care? Just fuck me.”

His brows furrow, disappointed, you don’t care. He tsks, taunting again, “Come on, smart girl, you just read it. Don’t tell me you weren’t paying attention.” 

“Ah, fuck–” you whine, “I was, it’s too much– I have to explain,” his lips wrap around your other nipple, teeth poking out to graze, “shit– the table, he ate her out on the table–”

His hands slide down to the plush of your ass, squeezing, shifting you backward on his thighs, spreading his knees to open yours wider. His lips breaking from yours again, his hands slide over your hips, squeezing your thighs as he leans back into the cushion of the couch, watching you with analyzing eyes. His voice is short, curt, ordering instead of encouraging as he says, “Keep going.”

Palm up, his hand slides between your legs, fingers spreading your wetness along your folds and you suck in an exasperated breath, back arching, eyes fluttering closed. His fingers slap up against your core once, “Hey.”

“I’m sorry!” You hiss, shaking your head to collect your jumbled thoughts, rearranging your memories. His fingers slide up to your clit, keeping pressure there as you start again, “He ate her out on the table, m-made her cum twice– the sex was claiming, they kept saying ‘You’re mine.”

He hums, leaning forward as his fingers slide backward, the tips of two fingers catching on your entrance, “Made her cum twice, hmm?”

You choke out a moan, hips digging into his fingers, bottom lip trapped between your teeth in a fight to keep your composure as you nod, stuttering out, “T-twice.”

His fingers sank inside, “Then what?”

Your head falls forward, a lewd moan slipping out, his fingers are so long, they curled inside you perfectly, adding pressure where you needed it most. Hips already shaking, you ground them into him, his other hand thrown lazily over your thigh. 

You cursed, “They fucked again, she gave him head, fuck– and he flipped her on her front, fucked her stupid.”

His fingers picked up in speed, curling inside you with each thrust, hitting that spot each and every time like his fingers couldn’t go anywhere else. It’s engraved in him, you think, to make you cum with ease, to pull you to the edge as quickly as possible, because he knows exactly what to do and when to do it, and never fails. 

“That what you want?” Taunting, teasing, honest.

You shake your head, shoulders shaking in pleasure, “Wanna ride you.”

“Need you crying around my fingers first,” he hums, flattening the edge of his palm against your clit, making you cry out, fingers clawing at his shoulders for purchase, stability while you grind yourself into him. 

You pick your head up to see a ghost of a smile on his face, eyes locked on yours as he asks, “Should I make you cum twice, too? Hm?”

You nod, lips parting, breath catching in your throat as your clit glides against his palm just right, the sounds of his fingers filling you up obscene. “Please, Yun,” you cry out, trying so hard to keep your rhythm steady, to catch the high you were so desperately chasing.

“I’ll give you one,” he adds more pressure in his palm, fingers working you faster, the sounds of you gushing so loud, you couldn’t feel the flame of shame. “You’ll have to work for the second.”

You clench around him, pressure building with each curl of his fingers, it’s worse when they stay there, pressed up against your walls while you clench hard, clit grinding against his palm like a bitch in heat. You cry, “I’m gonna cum– I’m close, I’m gonna–”

“Give it to me,” he urges while his palm presses harder, almost bouncing against your clit, “Let me feel you cum around my fingers, c’mon, give it to me.”

“Kiss me,” you cry and he leans forward, a mess of teeth and tongue, your lips barely moving against him as your pleasure hits its peak, orgasm washing over you, hips jerking wildly against him as your nails claw hard enough into his skin to leave crescents in their wake. Yunho groans, working you through it, feeling the sting of your nails in his skin, loving it as much as you need it. 

“S’good,” there’s relief in your voice, hips slowing down into a dirty grind, chest heaving, breathing into his mouth that he keeps pressed to yours, top lips touching, bottom lips connected by a single string of spit. 

He gives you a moment to come down, to breathe, he waits for your core to stop clenching around him before he starts again, plunging his fingers deep inside of you instead of curling them around your walls. You gasp, eyes blowing wide, body locking up, bones made of stone, he smiles into your mouth. 

“Told you you’d work for it.”

A promise, one that went over your head, you quickly realized. Lifting your hips, you’re still, silent as he fucks his fingers into you, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

“Y-Yunho– fuck, Yunho!”

Your voice grew in pitch, high and whiney, surprised, still reeling off your last orgasm, body still shaking. Your toes curl, shins lifting off the couch cushion behind you, face scrunching into pleasure, into surprise, into overstimulation. 

“Breathe, baby, you can take it,” he encourages, swiping his tongue over his lips, “you can do it, my good girl, one more f’me. Just one.”

The sound that leaves you is between a scream and a squeal, eyes screwed shut– he curls his fingers and you fold, abdomen clenching, elbows pressing against his shoulders to keep yourself up. 

“Yunho, I can’t, I can’t–” you can’t breathe, you can’t feel anything other than blinding pleasure, it’s too much. 

“Just like the girl in your book, baby,” he says it like it’s easy, “just one more, don’t disappoint me. I’ll let you cum on my cock after, you want it, don’t you?”

You’re nodding before any words can leave you, they’ve all died in your throat that constricts around nothing, jaw dropping, tongue lolling out. A knowing, fond smile breaks out across Yunho’s face, “There she is, my good girl, needs something in her mouth, huh?” 

You’re stuck in a whirlwind of pleasure as his hand fucks you open, fucks you dumb– the other one travels up your waist, a thumb over your nipple as he crosses your chest, over the curvature of your shoulder. It lands on your jaw, forcing your eyes on him, his had deepened, seeming more charcoal than chocolate. “Say please,” he said simply, edged with dominance. 

“Please,” you whisper, voice shaky. 

Two fingers push past your lips, landing flat on your tongue. Your eyes fly back, immediately grinding into his fingers still working at your core, effectively restarting your nervous system. Your lips close around his fingers, tongue massaging against them, you can’t see the smile he wears, how proud it is, how loving it is. 

“Cum for me,” it’s nothing but an order, his voice harsh. His fingers press against the front side of your walls and you lose it, clit untouched, hips bucking against his fingers as your lips suck harder against the ones in your mouth.

Shaking, spent, your body crumbles, hands holding onto his wrist like it's your lifeline to keep his fingers in your mouth as your forehead hits his shoulder. His fingers slide out of you, pulling them up to his mouth, you can hear the sound as he licks them clean. Wet, sloppy, lewd– it makes you shiver.

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet,” his wet hand finds your back, trailing fingers down your spine, “want you to ride my cock like you did on my fingers.”

You whine, letting go of his wrist, freeing his fingers. “Dunno if I can.”

“You wanted to,” wet fingers find your waist, lifting you to slip his sweatpants off his hips, lifting them to tug his pants down to his thighs so his cock can spring free. 

You shiver again as it slaps against the slick spread on your folds, the weight of it clear, fear sitting heavy in your spine at the length of him. “Yun,” you mumble, followed by a whimper. 

You break away from his chest to sit up, lifting your hips for his length to sit before you, tall, pink, leaking– your mouth waters like you didn’t just come twice. 

“Look at you,” he settles back in the cushions while you wrap your fingers around the base of him, “my cock-hungry slut, already wanting more. Thought you were too tired?”

You stare at him through your brows, gaze pointed, “Don’t be mean.”

“You’re wetter when I’m mean,” he laughs a little, and even that feels condescending. “We both know you like it. Ride my cock like you were begging to earlier.”

Cheeks inflamed, you obey, hips lifting to line him up with your entrance. “Deep breath,” he reminds you, like he does every time, as you start to sink down onto his length. 

It steals the breath from your lungs every time, you need the reminder. Mouth falling open, your brows furrow, a small squeak escapes from the tip of your throat as you pass the mushroom tip, slowly lowering yourself inch by inch, savoring the curve, every vein until you’re fully seated. A moan of relief escapes, breath entering your lungs again, mumbling out, “So fuckin’ big.”

“Never gets old, huh?” He’s smiling, it’s cocky, but you can see the furrow in his brow, the pleasure he was hiding. 

“Arrogant,” you mutter, but you clench around him, when he’s like this it never fails to edge you further. “Fuck,” you force out, it’s harsh, the stretch, the feeling of being so fucking full. 

His hands find your wrists, throwing them over his shoulders, bringing your chest close to his, pulling you into him. Your lips find his, not as messy, more controlled, his tongue slips into your mouth with purpose, tasting every inch of your mouth. 

His hands on your back, his nails graze your skin, making you shiver. “Move,” he says into your mouth and immediately you start grinding your hips, followed by a moan poured straight into his lips. It’s indescribable, how he can feel so fucking good, like you were molded for him, by him, how sex can feel so perfect. 

He leans backward, dipping his head to wrap his lips around one of your nipples as you start to move, hips grinding against him, bouncing when his teeth poke out to bite.

“Shit,” you curse, using your shins pressed to the couch for leverage, his hands hold you at your waist, sliding forward, thumbs sliding under your chest, holding up your tits for him to use. His tongue pokes out from between his lips, grazing your nipples as you bounce. “So good, Yunho, so good,” you cry, holding him by his hair, bouncing against him.

He pushes himself forward, reaching over you to get his sweatpants down to his ankles, never breaking his lips from your nipple as he kicks them off, bringing his ass to the edge of the couch, spreading his knees wide, trapping your calves between his knees and the couch.

Your hips switch to a nasty grind as his arms wrap around your back, cradling your body, you don’t break your rhythm as he leans forward, your body sliding backward. Your arms slide around his neck, keeping his head to your chest as gravity pulls your hips down, farther off his length, giving you more space to fuck onto him, to grind your hips steadily onto his length, all while pathetic, whiney moans leave you one after another, the pleasure too much to bear. 

“There you go,” he says into your skin, voice sounding choked, raw, “fuck, so fuckin’ good, my good girl, doing what I need her to do.”

“Big,” is all you can get out, repeating it like a mantra, his arms tighten around you harder, holding you closer. Your hips pick up speed, riding him faster, feeling him curve against your walls, the drag of the head of his cock against you. 

“So big, fillin’ you up,” he chokes out, “feel good? This what you wanted?”

You’re nodding, you loosen your arms as he pulls you backward, finding his lips again, pushing him back into the couch to bounce on him faster, the tops of your feet hooking over the tops of his thighs. 

“Needed this,” you whimper, steadily bouncing, “needed you to fill me up.”

“No one else can fuck you like this,” he reaches up to grab your jaw, pulling you down to whisper into your mouth, “you’re mine, this pussy is mine.”

You moan out, pressure building in your core all over again, “No one, Yunho, just you– fuck– this’s all I need– fuck!”

Your thighs burn, you don’t care, his lips are on yours again, messy and wild, so claiming it renders you brainless. You moan into his mouth, fingers curling into his hair, you need him to take over, to give him what he needs, you need to be full. “Flip me over.”

In one quick movement he turns the two of you over, you flip to your stomach on your own, pressing your face into the pillows, one knee bent up on the couch while the other lays dangling off of it, presenting yourself for him. He groans behind you, so low and dragged out it makes you arch further, one of his legs lifts onto the cushion beside you, a palm splayed over your ass while he lines himself up, sliding inside. 

Your face digs into the couch, a punched yelp escaping you, legs shaking, your fingers fist the cushions. “Yes, yes, Yunho!”

“Fuck,” it’s a low groan, an honest admission, he picks up speed immediately. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, the squelch of him sliding into you, the crackling of the fire silent by now. 

“I won’t last,” he leans over you, fingers rough at your spine, sliding up until they reach your hair, pulling you upward. 

You cry out, fingers reaching for the back of the couch, your other leg half on the couch, half dangling, letting him use you in whatever position he needs you in. One of his legs lifts yours onto the couch until you’re steadily positioned for him, stable, head pulled back into his chest, back arched, breath heaving as you look up at him– face red and splotchy, hair fucked up, features blown out and crazed, fuck, you couldn’t help the way you clenched around him. Even upside down he was beautiful, perfect, you couldn’t believe you got to marry him. 

“So pretty,” you say mindlessly, voice not your own anymore, something ruined, overwhelmed. 

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Not as pretty as you, baby. Rub your clit f’me, need you to cum around my cock.”

He lets go of your hair to wrap an arm over your chest, holding your back flush to him as he fucks into you all over again, “Fuck, baby, need you to cum.”

Your hand finds your clit, still buzzing from your previous orgasms, you use your middle finger to rub tight circles into the bundle of nerves as his hips pick up speed. He holds you steady as your moans grow in pitch, closer together, body bending at the hips as the pressure picks back up where it left off, getting too heavy too quick, at this angle his cock slides against the front of your walls, curving deliciously, adding pressure exactly where you need it. 

He holds you tighter, head dipping down to your ear, breath hot against your skin, “Come on, baby, one more, need to feel you cum around my cock. Need to feel you clenching around me.”

Your breath is thin, tight, cramped in your chest as your orgasm approaches, “Fingers, Yun, please–”

You barely get the beg out before his other hand is wrapping around you, fingers hooking into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue until you’re gagging around them– the loss of breath, of the intrusion, the weight on your tongue, the taste of his salty skin, you convulse around him, orgasm washing over you in a heavy wave, his other arm holds onto you tight as your hips stutter, jerking, bending against him. 

“Yes, my baby, fuck– so fuckin’ good, feels so good,” mindlessly babbling his praise, his hips fuck into you harder, faster as a nasty whine escapes him, “gonna fill this pussy up, yes, gonna cum inside.”

Your head falls limp against his shoulder while his hips snap against yours, riding out the end of your orgasm as his hips stutter, pushing into you as deep as he can until he empties himself inside you with a guttural moan, his teeth finding the shell of your ear, sinking into it as he fills you with warmth. 

You hiss, then moan, letting your body ease into him, letting him hold your weight. He lets go of your chest, pulling out of you slowly, his voice soft as he says, “Careful.”

Two hands find the back of the couch again as you kneel into the cushion, carefully sinking into the plush, chest still heaving, eyes half open. You felt… Open, used, loved, spent. 

Yunho’s at your side, sitting back on the couch, pulling him into you slowly, easing your head onto his chest, “You okay, baby?”

“Mhm,” you nod, eyes closing, grounding yourself in his skin, in his warmth. His hands dance over your skin, your arms, your back, your thigh, your calf bent up on his lap, each one analyzing, searching for a reaction, disguised by careful, loving touches. 

 In a quiet, soft voice, he says, “I’ll give you five, then we’ll go clean you up, okay?” 

“Wanna sleep with you,” you mumble into his chest, “quick shower, kay?” 

“Want you to drink water before bed,” he says into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “maybe eat something if you’re up for it, hm? It’s still early, baby.”

Your head lifts, looking up at him, soft brown staring down at you, skin still splotchy, flushed. His eyes, filled with so much warmth, so much love, it makes you smile, craning your neck upward to press your lips to his. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he smiles against your lips, giving you another, “I really do want you to eat, though.”

He gives you five minutes on the couch, kisses you lazily for three of them, then he’s scooping you up bridal style, bringing you up the stairs to the second floor, into your bedroom, into the bathroom where he places you on the toilet to pee while he heats up the shower. All innocent, you wash each other’s bodies, giggling while you wash your hair, letting your bodies soak under the hot water, your muscles relaxing. 

In a robe, you’re sitting at the kitchen counter while he cooks you noodles, something quick and light to share, he forces three glasses of water in your system before he’s satisfied. Across the counter from each other, you’re silently eating, making eye contact after every few bites, the two of you erupting into giggles all over again. 

After cleaning up, shutting the lights off, you pause at the base of the stairs, “Hold on, forgot something.”

Running to the living room, you pick up your books from the coffee table, meeting him back at the stairs with a smile, “So we can read before bed.”

Yunho deadpans, eyes thinning, lips amused, “You want round two?”

“If you interrupt me again I will kill you,” you push a finger into his chest, stepping up onto the stairs, “We’re reading our books and then we’re going to bed.”

You were currently lying on your back on the couch in the very spacious cabin Hongjoong had rented for a week and a half, and your body was not happy with the amount of moving you've been doing the past couple of days. Jet skiing, swimming, rock climbing, long hikes to gorgeous waterfalls and other breathtaking focal points— it was all a lot of fun, but even with the more relaxed day of board games and group painting on the back patio thrown into the mix, it wasn't enough rest for your body to not wake up this morning and immediately protest any ideas involving moving.

You drag yourself to the kitchen and take a seat at the island, watching the chaos of Wooyoung yelling at Mingi and Yeosang to get out of his cooking space or he'd hit them with the skillet he was using to make pancakes. Meanwhile, Jongho stole eggs from the plate sitting off to the side while the chef was distracted.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and turn to see Seonghwa walking into the kitchen with a sigh. He squeezes your shoulder in greeting with a sleepy smile before immediately herding Mingi and Yeosang back to the living room, distracting them with talks of the day ahead.

"So Yeosang, I ended up calling that place you mentioned with white water rafting and we're set to ride the rapids at 2!"

Seonghwa's voice floats into the kitchen from the living room and you turn your head in time to see Mingi cheer and a smile spread on Yeosang's face.

Rough water plus your tender body didn't seem like an equation that would work, and Seonghwa could tell from the face you unknowingly make.

"Not feeling it, doll?"

"Oh, sorry." You laugh sheepishly, "Didn't mean for it to show. I'm just a bit tired."

"That's fair. Don't worry about it, you can stay back today if you want, you won't be the only one anyway."

You furrow your brows in confusion as Hongjoong and San make their way down the stairs to join for breakfast. You do a quick headcount and come up short one person.

"Yunho?" You turn back to Seonghwa who nods.

"He's been in a mood all morning. Woke up with a scowl, I swear." Mingi chimes in from his spot on the couch, swiping through something mindlessly on his phone, "Told me to set his plate aside and leave him out of plans for today."

You frown at this news, a small inkling of worry wiggling it's way into your mind. You did notice that once you all came back in from the hike to the waterfall yesterday, he beelined it right to his room instead of staying downstairs to chat with everyone while dinner was made— but you chalked it up to exhaustion and him just wanting some time to himself. An assumption that was clearly wrong considering what Mingi just told you. You flip through yesterday in your head, trying to pinpoint what could've made him so irritable, but nothing comes to mind. Nothing out of the ordinary happened.

"Maybe you can check in on him, Y/N? He's always had a soft spot for you." Yeosang suggests, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Yeah, maybe I will once you guys head out. Leave a plate for me, I'm gonna shower." You stand up and stretch a bit, groaning as you hear several cracks ring out from your body before you relax.

"You got it, grandma!" Wooyoung calls from the kitchen, breaking out into loud laughter when you give him a death glare.

Refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reply, you head back upstairs— hoping a long, warm shower would be the thing to help ease your muscles.

Half a playlist later, you shut off the water and step out of the wet chamber that had become your sanctuary for the past 50 minutes. The boys were really sweet giving you the room with the ensuite bath— at first you turned it down, but now you were grateful that it only took you about 10 steps before you could faceplant into your soft bed. You listen to the hustle and bustle outside your bedroom door of everyone getting ready to head out for the day, and though you don't mean to, your eyes slip shut. Perhaps it was the really warm shower, or the soft robe you put on, or the softness of the mattress underneath your body, but one moment you're resting your eyes and the next the house is dead silent. You crack your eyes open, a yawn leaving you as you sit up and glance at the clock on the bedside table.

1:32 PM. You must've fallen asleep. Shit.

No doubt the boys had already left for the rapids, meaning you were here alone.

Wait, no, Yunho. Yunho was also here.

Your brain replays Mingi's words from this morning and you glance at your door, knowing Yunho and Mingi's room was right across from yours. Yeosang did task you with finding out what was up with him, now is a good a time as any.

Once you put on some actual clothes, of course.

You toss on the first oversized shirt, pair of panties, and sleep shorts you find in your drawers then make your way over to Yunho's door, putting an ear to it and try to listen for any sounds.

Silence.

You knock softly and wait for a response.

"I said I'm good. Go without me." Yunho speaks loudly to make sure his message gets through the door.

The monotone tone of his voice was foreign, a frown forming on your face at how wrong it felt to hear him like that.

"It's me. I stayed back too. Do you want to hang out just us? We can watch a movie while we eat breakfast or something. I wasn't feeling too sporty after yesterday's hike so..." You trail off, rocking back and forth on your heels as you wait for a reply.

There's silence for a moment before Yunho replies.

"I'm good."

The rejection shouldn't sting as much as it does. He has the right to say no, but he's never once told you no when you've asked him to hang out. Yunho was always the one super excited to spend time with you, so for him to turn you down in such a disinterested tone felt like a slap to the face.

"Oh..." You reply, cursing mentally when your voice cracks, "Okay. Sorry."

You turn and walk away from the door, body on autopilot as you go back to your room and shut the door behind you. Now that you were there, you didn't know exactly what you wanted to do. Eventually, you settle on laying in bed and turning on the TV, no longer feeling hungry despite knowing a plate awaits you downstairs.

Who needs Yunho anyway?

You swallow down the sad lump in your throat. Whatever. You'd enjoy some time alone, there was too much testosterone in the house anyway. You're ten minutes into a random action film when you hear a knock on your door. Your eyes dart to it, confused as to who could be there since Yunho was shut up in his room. Maybe one of the boys changed their mind and came back?

"Come in." You call out softly as you sit up.

The door opens slowly and in pops Yunho's head, looking at you like a puppy who got into something it shouldn't have and was now pleading for forgiveness.

"Hey..."

His voice drips with guilt and you fight the urge to forgive him too quickly. He had been rudely dismissive, he couldn't just come around with his big eyes and pathetic tone and expect to be immediately forgiven. You give him a light glare as you pull your blanket more on you.

"Hi."

An awkward silence settles in the air, the only sounds being the car chase happening on the TV you had completely forgotten about.

"Can I come in?"

"Oh, am I worthy of your time now?" You deadpan and Yunho sighs softly as he closes his eyes.

"I deserved that."

You hum in agreement, turning back to the TV as Yunho steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. He was in sweatpants and a loose tanktop with a lollipop hanging between his lips. He pushes the lollipop into his cheek as he walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, watching the action scene with you for a moment before he speaks again.

"I'm sorry for brushing you off like that. I've just been...in a mood lately."

"Yeah I noticed, that's why I came to check on you. Are you not having fun?"

Yunho turns to you with widened eyes, as if even the implication that he didn't wanna be here was appalling.

"I am! I love being with all of you, you know that. It's just..." He trails off, averting his gaze back to the TV.

"Just...?" You echo, hoping he'll continue what he was about to say.

Yunho sucks on the lollipop for a moment before he pulls it out of his mouth and rolls the stick between his fingers, watching it glisten in the light from the TV.

"I have this...habit?" He tests the word out, making a face as he realizes it doesn't fit what he means, "Urge? Yeah, urge. An urge that I can't sate while I'm out here. I thought I'd be fine but it's starting to get to me and make me irritated."

You tilt your head, thinking over what Yunho is sharing. He has an urge he can't sate and it's making him moody. What kind of urge could have that big of a hold on him and his mood?

"Is it a gaming thing?" You ask, taking a shot in the dark.

Yunho huffs out a humorless laugh.

"I fucking wish. Would be easier to deal with if it was."

"Okay then, what is it?"

Yunho's cheeks start turning red as he puts the lollipop back in his mouth and rolls it around his tongue for a moment, thinking to himself before he responds.

"No judgment?"

"Is that even a question? You're my best friend. I wouldn't ever judge you, nothing you say will make me look at you differently." You say surely with a warm smile, scooting closer to put an arm around his shoulder.

Yunho gives you a grateful smile before he pulls the candy out of his mouth again.

"You know what an oral fixation is?"

The question makes your brain stutter for a moment as you blink at your best friend a few times.

Okay— that wasn't what you were expecting.

"Yeah...I do." You nod slowly, brows creasing in confusion.

Where was he going with this? You follow his gaze down to the lollipop and the gears in your head start turning. Yunho had been chewing gum, sucking on candies, and chewing on straws in his water bottles this whole trip. You didn't think much of it, but with this question it was starting to make sense.

"You have an oral fixation...and the things you brought to curb it aren't working enough?" You speak slowly, piecing it together as you go.

Yunho sighs deeply as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders as he nods his head.

"It's getting to the point where I'm getting irritable and I hate it but I also can't help it. I'm so used to having someone sate it that I never imagined it becoming this much of an issue for me."

Yunho runs a hand through his hair, putting the candy back into his mouth and bitterly biting at it.

"Self-soothing isn't working, and whoever you have sate it is obviously not here with us." You say, Yunho nods to affirm what you said.

"So...I'm almost scared to ask. How do you usually sate it?" You ask and a small smile tugs at Yunho's lips.

"I'm sure you can imagine the ways one can use their mouth on someone. I'm not picky as long as it's someone else's, can't explain why but my own fingers and stuff don't do it for me like someone else's fingers."

You nod in understanding, mind running a mile a minute as you process the information Yunho is sharing.

"So sucking on someone else's fingers could help?"

Yunho's eyes light up like a Christmas tree at the mere thought and you fight the urge to giggle at him.

"Absolutely." He confirms, "God, I'd kill for that right now."

The thought is one you shouldn't entertain, but you have at least 5 more days out here and you really didn't want Yunho to be miserable and in his room for most of it. So regardless of the warning bells in your mind, you still let the thought fall from your lips.

"Then you can suck on mine if you want."

You hear a loud crunch as Yunho bites straight through the lollipop, a chunk flying out of his mouth and to the floor but neither of you acknowledge it as your words hang in the air. He turns his head to you with a look of pure shock.

"W-What? You really mean that?"

His wide eyes hold a level of joy you've only seen when he's fresh off the stage or just ranked up in a game. There was no way in hell you'd take it back when he was looking at you like you held the answer to all his problems. You nod with a small shy smile.

"It's just fingers. A small favor if it means you'll go back to enjoying the trip. Plus it's only us home so no worries of the guys seeing it." You reason, shrugging a bit despite how your heart thumps against your chest.

"I owe you. So much. Seriously, thank you."

Yunho gives you a big hug, his gratitude is clear in how tight he squeezes and rocks you side to side lightly before he gets up to throw his lollipop stick away. You watch him for a moment before your eyes flicker back to the movie on the TV. The loud explosions and gunshots should serve as the perfect distraction as Yunho got his urges out of his system.

You lay back, propping your head up on two pillows so you can easily see the TV while comfortable. Yunho makes his way over, settling in the bed next to you and resting his head on your tummy as he curls into your side. It's a little amusing seeing such a tall man curl up on you like this, but he was clearly comfortable in how he hums in satisfaction and relaxes against the bed.

"Oh, I do want to warn you that I may drool a bit. So if you want me to like...move your shirt out the way so I don't stain it, just let me know." Yunho says as he tilts his head back to look up at you.

It isn't that you didn't hear his question, it's that your brain needed a minute to truly take in what Yunho's said. He's rested against your bare skin before, usually shoulders or putting his chin in your neck but nothing to do with your stomach. It felt strangely intimate but also the thought of spit soaking into your shirt wasn't appealing, it would be easier to clean your skin. So you nod to show it was okay and Yunho gently pushes your shirt up before resting his cheek on your bare stomach and facing the TV in front of both of you. His warmth was pleasant despite the odd circumstances that led here so you find yourself relaxing into the bed easily as you move your right hand to gently pet his head like you always do. You feel his cheek shift up as he smiles at your gentle affection, relaxing further into your side.

"Whenever you're ready." Yunho hums softly, eyelids starting to feel heavy with how comfortable he was.

He couldn't help it, the puppy jokes weren't too off base considering how much he likes it when you rub his head. There's a light flutter in your stomach as you slowly move your left hand to his face. Yunho parts his lips, gently taking your wrist and putting your pointer and middle finger into his mouth. The sensation was foreign, a bit weird considering you've never had someone do this to you before, but the content sigh that leaves Yunho as his lips wrap around your fingers makes you suck it up and endure the weird feelings that were settling into you. Instead you try to hone in on the movie in front of you, watching the main character make a speech to his team about whatever dangerous mission they were going to embark on.

Perhaps if you could've spoken to Yunho it would've been easier to take your mind off what's currently happening, but his mouth was occupied which means you were left to sit with only your thoughts and the soundtrack of the movie playing on the TV.

The former was extremely unhelpful.

No matter how much you try to focus on the high intense scenes playing in front of you, your brain chooses to focus on how Yunho's tongue gently swirls around the pads of your fingers with a practiced ease that made your stomach flip. How he sucks so tenderly and sometimes bites down softly before he swallows around them. How every so often you'll hear a slurp of him trying to keep his drool in his mouth and it makes your thighs clench involuntarily. How his thumb rubs circles on your wrist right over your pulse point which you're sure is broadcasting that your heart is racing. How his breathing has gotten slightly heavier and though his tongue's movements were lazy, his eagerness for your digits is clear in how he has yet to let go of your wrist, as if he's scared you'll pull his salvation away.

It was an agony you had no idea was coming when you agreed to something that seemed simple. Your mind wanders to how his tongue would feel elsewhere, with each swipe of his tongue a spark of arousal finds its way into your body until a dim fire is simmering right between your thighs. Thank God Yunho couldn't see your face at this angle, you can't imagine you were able to hide how you were feeling now, especially with your nipples annoyingly poking through your shirt in a way that your best friend would likely instantly notice the moment he looked up at you.

How would you get out of this situation in a way that wasn't extremely awkward? Logically speaking, you knew Yunho was respectful enough to not point out your hard nipples even if he did notice them. If anything he'd just thank you for the help and hug you before returning to his room and you both pretend this never happened.

But what if logic wasn't what controlled you in this moment?

A once small desire has bubbled into a bigger problem, gripping at your resolve and weakening it to the point of winning you over. It had been a while since you've gotten off, even longer since you'd gotten off with a partner, and you had been yearning for it for a while. You didn't think you'd ever put your best friend in the position of fulfilling that yearn but with each suckle on your fingers, he was looking more and more like the perfect fit for it. You squirm lightly with the next swallow around your fingers, clearing your throat to speak.

"How are you feeling?"

Yunho perks up, tilting his head back to look at you. You watch his gaze land on your tits before they lifted to your face, a haze in his eyes you've never seen before. He smiles at you, slurping before letting go of your fingers with a pop.

"Amazing. You?" He asks, voice dropped into an octave that made your heart skip.

That dangerous want rears its head harder than before, whispering at you to let the lines blur for just this one time. Who could pass up a tongue like that?

"I, um..." You trail off, voice light and airy, betraying your attempt to seem unaffected.

Despite your brain racing endlessly for the past 5 minutes, you can't form any words to exactly describe how you felt beside 'horny' and you'd rather sink into the ground than say that. Though it seems Yunho may be able to see your thoughts because the smallest smirk tugs at his lips as he takes in your current state.

He's seen that type of look too often to not know what you were feeling right now, but instead of calling you out on it, he gently pushes his hips forward against you. Something hard presses against your leg and your eyes widen as you realize exactly what's being pressed against you, your body tensing as the reality that Yunho is hard crashes into your already scrambled mind. You barely have time to assess how that makes you feel before Yunho pulls his hips back to their previous position, an almost playful twinkle passing through his eyes.

Despite the space he's put between you both, you can almost still feel it against your leg. As if an imprint has been left behind, like footsteps in fresh snow. Your leg twitches, itching to follow Yunho's hips and press against him again, to feel him— hard, thick, warm against your bare skin.

These new feelings for the man currently watching your face are almost overwhelming, your mind and body at odds between jumping his bones and remembering this was your best friend not a random guy you met on Tinder.

"You...?" Yunho repeats, tilting his head as amusement slips into his stare.

He was enjoying seeing you melt like this. A light annoyance starts forming words on your tongue, ready to sass Yunho, but then he takes your fingers back into his mouth. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he slowly drags his tongue between them before sucking them deeper in. Any words melt off your mind as he sits up and turns to face you, his free hand running up your forearm and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"You know when you offered to give me your fingers, I wondered if you'd feel it." Yunho muses, his speech is a bit slurred around your fingers but you understand him just fine, "Any time I get my mouth on someone, things tend to escalate. I'm really good with my tongue, at least that's what I've been told."

You swallow thickly, eyes trained on Yunho's lips as his breath fans over your hand and his tongue works your fingers like they would over a clit. You swear you go lightheaded for a moment at the thought of a tongue this precise being between your legs, and if you're picking up the energy Yunho is putting off as he stares a hole in your face, he wouldn't be against that idea.

"I didn't think it'd be this intense." You confess, heat flooding your cheeks as Yunho pops your fingers out of his mouth again, licking his lips.

"Fingers seem innocent enough." He agrees, "Until you realize where else it can lead."

His eyes trail down your body, as if he could see through your pajamas. Like he knows you were staining your panties as he sits beside you, thinking about his mouth and what it could do to you. Yunho sets down your hand, leaning forward until his lips hover right by your ear.

"If you want it, all you have to do is ask." He whispers, warm breath fanning over your skin, "I promise I'll make you feel good, but I'll warn you that I can be...insatiable, and I've been dying to have someone on my tongue. I can't promise I'll be able to control myself."

The arousal flowing through your body made you feel delirious, breathing getting heavy as Yunho's words go straight to your core. For a moment you mull over whether this is a good idea or not, but then you remember the taunting drag of his tongue on your fingers, the thick bulge he pressed into your leg, his fingers sliding along your skin and you nod without realizing it— your body coming to a conclusion before your brain can kick in to stop it.

"Please. Show me what else you can do."

A deep rumble of satisfaction leaves Yunho's chest as his soft lips drag over the shell of your ear down to your neck.

"Anywhere I want?" He whispers, lips brushing against your skin.

Automatically your head falls back to give him more space, craving more of him. Any opposing thoughts you may of had fade into the background, the need in your body burning bright enough to turn them to ash, leaning behind only the desire to chase the wisps of pleasure Yunho is giving you. You give him a quick nod as you lick your lips.

"Anywhere."

Yunho wastes no time in pressing his lips to your heated skin, trailing kisses to your collarbone before moving up to your jaw. His hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers gripping your hair to keep you exactly where he wanted you as he bites down. You keen softly, hand flying to his shirt to grip it in your fist. You didn't pull him in or push him away, it was an anchor that kept you in the moment before you floated away under the greed on his tongue and teeth.

The sounds leaving Yunho's throat were new to you: guttural, gritty, deep, hungry. Something in them made your body go completely pliant under him as if a spell was casted over you, making you surrender to the man who was currently moving his mouth to your chest while his free hand creeps up your stomach to go under your shirt. You arch into his hand more as he cups and squeezes your breast, your nipple dragging against his palm as he gropes you. Your eyes flutter shut when his lips continue down to the neckline of your shirt. He's quick to move his hand from your hair to push your shirt up to your neck. He pulls back to look down at your now exposed chest, eyes drinking the expanse of skin he has at his disposal.

"How do you feel about marks?" He asks before wetting his thumb and circling it around your nipple, relishing in your soft whine.

"Keep them somewhere I can hide is all I ask."

Yunho nods in response before he lowers his mouth down and takes your other nipple into his mouth, a gritty groan leaving his throat as he finally sates the unreachable itch he's had for the past couple days. You arch your back lightly, rubbing your thighs together for some relief as Yunho takes his time circling his tongue around your stiffened bud.

When Yunho warned you about being insatiable, you expected him to be rushed or impatient in how he devoured you, but you couldn't have been more wrong. His tongue's swirls and flicks are calm, slow, intentional. While you compared insatiable to an all-consuming greed that would quickly overwhelm you— Yunho's greed showed itself in a patient game that built upon itself with each trace of his warm tongue along your skin until you're left panting, whining, moments away from begging him for more. He toys with your chest, switching between sucks, flicks, and swirls on one nipple and almost like he could read your mind he would switch to the other one when it started feeling neglected.

Sometimes his eyes would stay shut, savoring your skin against his lips with a slight raise of his brows being the only tell giving away his state of bliss. Sometimes you'd let out a whimper he really likes and his darkened eyes would lock onto yours, the intensity in them sending a pulse of pleasure down to your core, legs clenching together as your mind starts to slip into a fuzzy warmth.

"Y-Yunho-" You whine his name breathlessly, his next harsh suck at your skin making your body shudder underneath him.

"Mmm?" He hums low against your skin, eyes flickering to your face as he bites down hard enough to leave yet another hickey on the side of your chest where he knew you could hide it.

His hands rub at your sides, sometimes moving up to lightly pull at your nipples and roll them between his fingers but it felt like an afterthought compared to his mouth. Hot, precise, messy as he descends even further down your body, kissing and nipping at the skin on your stomach. Your reply is lost in the soft whimper you let out when one of his hands makes it's way to your legs, spreading them apart so he can rub at your inner thigh— nails lightly dragging down the sensitive skin.

"What is it, sweetheart? Talk to Yuyu." He coos sweetly, but the look on his face didn't match his tone at all.

A knowing smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, like he knew exactly what it is you wanted to say but couldn't get out of your fog-filled mind. Instead of words you settle on threading your fingers through his soft, black locks and pulling at them, making him groan deeply and his smirk only widens further. You kept playing into exactly what he wanted and you had no idea.

"Too much? Should I stop?" He tilts his head into your grip, hand slipping back toward your knee and you instinctively clamp your legs shut, capturing his hand.

"Don't you even think about it." You hiss between pants, the small bubble of irritation at his smugness breaking the haze in your mind just enough to get words out.

Yunho chuckles— a deep, honeyed sound that makes your thighs clench around his currently captured hand. Of course he notices and though he doesn't say anything, you can see the amusement in his eyes as his hand grips at your thigh as best as it can.

You've never seen Yunho so cocky or smug before and something about it made you itch to knock him down a peg or two.

"You know for someone who claimed they were dying to have someone on their tongue, you sure are taking your time messing with me. Makes me wonder if you really have an oral fixation or if you just wanted an excuse to sleep with me." You jeered while rolling your eyes.

The surge of brattiness isn't one you expected to come out of you but with how wet you were and the lack of Yunho moving to where you so clearly wanted him, it was only a matter of time. Yunho raises a brow at you as he pulls back from your stomach to sit up next to your hips, your hand forced to fall from his hair due to him going out of your reach. You wait for a retort, a scolding, a correction of some sort, but instead Yunho gives you a smile.

"Oh, am I taking too long?" He asks, eyes trailing down your body and taking in the sight of the many hickeys littering your tits and upper stomach.

The lack of bite back makes your response come out stammered, uncertain.

"Y-Yeah. Want more."

Yunho is quiet for a moment, his face unreadable, then he nods once and smiles at you.

"Okay, sweetheart. Whatever you want."

He takes the hand that fell to your side and kisses the back of it before setting it back on the sheets and your confusion only intensifies. You've never bratted your way into anything other than some sort of punishment— for a second you wonder if perhaps Yunho wasn't the type to respond to acting up and instead the type to give what you want when he's asked.

Strange. A small part of you was disappointed in his lack of response, but that quickly dissipates when you feel Yunho's fingers dip into the side of your shorts and panties. You lift your hips and let him tug them clean off your body, face growing hot as he pushes your legs apart and settles himself between them. His eyes stayed glued to your dripping wet core, a deep hunger in his gaze as his hands move to your hips and yanks you down to be more level with him.

"Look at you. So wet for me." He murmurs against your skin as he gently kisses up your inner thigh.

Your breathing quickens, thighs trembling as his tongue peaks out to swipe along your skin. His thumbs rub circles into your thighs as he continues his trail of kisses, making his way closer and closer to where you were aching for him. Soon his kisses lead him right to your pussy— you can feel his breath on your aching clit and your hips buck upward, begging for him to finally put his tongue where you've been imagining it since he started sucking your fingers. His gaze flits to your face as his grip tightens on your hips to keep you down, then without breaking eye contact, he flattens his tongue and licks over your clit slowly.

The same motions he made over the pad of your fingers are repeated over your clit but with more intent behind his actions— a deadlier precision to the swipes of his tongue as he takes in your reactions and adjusts to what makes your face twist in pleasure more. Which patterns make your thighs tremble around his head, how harsh and long he could suck before you start tugging at his hair— he read your body like a book until he developed the perfect routine to make your eyes roll into your skull, your hips fight his grip, and your cries bounce off the walls.

Meanwhile your mind was reeling from the pleasure coursing through your body. Yunho's previous warning that you used as a taunt turned into a reality you couldn't have prepared for. The continuous wind up from his tongue on your neck, then your chest, then your stomach and now your clit has left your body feeling tight, hot, seconds away from snapping before he's even been down there for too long. When he lets out a long moan into your pussy, the vibrations sending another pulse of pleasure straight up your spine, you know you're hitting your limit.

"Yu-Yun-" You stutter between whimpers, back bowing as the next drag of his filthy tongue makes you moan loudly.

Somewhere in your clouded mind you decide it would be a good idea to lift your head and look down at the man currently between your legs, licking at you like a sweet treat he couldn't bear to be separated from. His hair is a mess, thanks to your frantic hands, eyes closed with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he savored you on his tongue, skin lightly sheened with sweat. As if he can feel your stare on him, in that moment his eyes snap open— smoldering, dark gaze meeting yours and the heat from his stare sends a surge of arousal through your body that sends you crashing over the edge. The world goes white for a moment and you let out a loud cry as your orgasm rips through your body, trembling in Yunho's grip as your toes curl and he chooses that moment to slip a finger into you.

A whimper leaves your throat as your walls flutter around the digit, brain still returning to Earth as he keeps his tongue flicking over your clit, working you through your orgasm. As your climax subsides what was once helping you ride the waves of pleasure becomes overstimulating pumps of his finger deep inside of you and your hips try to squirm away from his insistent tongue still dragging filthy patterns over your now tingling clit.

"Y-Yunho, sensitive-" You force the words out of you, fighting against his grip.

But he doesn't pull away entirely like you expect him too. Instead he works a second finger into you, curling them against your still twitching walls as he pulls his mouth from your clit to speak.

"One more time, sweetheart?" He asks, a sweet lilt to his deepened voice that makes you clench on his fingers.

"S-Sen-" You start to repeat yourself but then he presses into that spongy little spot inside of you that makes your eyes cross.

"But you wanted more, didn't you?" He purrs, flashing a smile at you that didn't reach his eyes at all, a sadism seeping into his tone as his fingers pick up speed, "Weren't you the one rushing me earlier? Saying I was just using this as an excuse to fuck you?"

Yunho leans forward to hover over your trembling figure— amused eyes meeting your teary ones as you fight to get anything beyond whines and whimpers to come out of your mouth and fail miserably, only able to grip at his shirt with a pleading look. His smile only widens at how helpless you look beneath him.

"See, I would've let that be the end, but you just had to run that pretty little mouth. You had to rush me. Impatient little brat you are." He hums, lowering his head to kiss and nip at your neck again.

Your legs try to close but his body is more than effective at keeping you spread for him, his weight keeping you still enough that he can keep thrusting his fingers into your sweet spot. Your overtuned body tries to move away from the stimulation, but there was nowhere to go. He had you trapped under his big body, at the mercy of his ministrations that refused to slow down even as tears stream down your face.

"You wanted to cum so bad, didn't you? Well, go ahead." He husks into your ear, "Cum."

Your body responds to his words like a command, a second orgasm hitting you so hard you sob as it rolls through you, every nerve in your body feeling set alight.

"Good girl." He coos, kissing your jaw before swiping his tongue over your tears with a dark chuckle, "Now you're gonna keep cumming since you wanted it so badly.”

A third finger slips into your sopping wet heat and you thrash against him, more tears streaming down your face as the pleasure becomes almost disorienting at this point. His thumb on your clit rubbing circles in time with his thrusting fingers is what breaks you, the words jumping out of your mouth before you even realize it.

"S-Sorry! 'm sorry!" You yell between the sobs wracking through your chest.

"Hm? What was that, sweetheart?" Yunho asks, fingers slowing down just a bit, but that slight reprieve was enough to set off more apologies.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You ramble repeatedly, wet eyes locking onto his as he pulls back to look at your completely wrecked face.

"Oh, you're sorry? For what?"

His fingers keep slowing down gradually as he gives you a chance to fix your earlier mistake.

"F-For rushing you! For being a b-brat, I'm sorry! P-Please, please, I'm sorry-"

Yunho looks over your teary eyes, the annoyance from earlier long gone from them— all that's left is a desperate, pleading look of pure submission that makes his cock throb in his boxers. You were so pretty when you cried for him, even prettier when you submitted to him. His fingers finally come to a stop and you let out a deep sigh of relief as your body goes limp against the bed.

Your heart hammers in your ears as you try to catch your breath. Yunho pulls his fingers from your twitching heat making you whimper at the loss but also at how sensitive you were. You watch him bring his fingers to his mouth and groan deeply as he sucks them clean, a small bolt of desire still finding its way to your core despite your sensitivity. Yunho sits back on his knees for a moment and you watch his face as he seems to think over something. Your gaze naturally lingers down his body and you stop at the tent in his sweatpants.

Oh yeah. He didn't really get off, did he? The agreement was to sate his fixation and it seems to have worked considering his much happier state, but still...he didn't get to cum, and that bothered you more than you'd like to admit. He made you feel amazing, you wanted him to feel good too.

Yunho starts to get off the bed but you grab his arm before he can and pull him back toward you. He looks back at you with a questioning glance.

"Yeah? You okay? Was it too much?" He asks, concern filling his gaze as he crawls back to you and looks over your face.

There's your Yuyu. Sweet, caring Yuyu.

You ignore how the fondness in your chest morphs into something else for a moment, opting instead to move your grip from his arm to his shirt and continue pulling him until he hovered over you again with one hand holding him up. His confusion only deepens as you move him where you want him.

"Y/N? What are you...?" He begins to question, but when you lock your legs around his waist and gently roll your hips, whimpering at the stimulation that still felt a little too raw, he goes quiet.

Yunho's eyes widen as what you want suddenly clicks in his head. He looks down at where you're both pressed against each other before his eyes go back to yours.

"Oh you don't have to worry about me. You did your part, the fixation is sated. That's all we agreed on." Yunho assures you, a hand rubbing up and down your arm.

"I know, but..." You trail off, heat flooding your cheeks as you look away, stomach flipping as you continue, "I want to."

Yunho's brows raise in shock, not expecting you to actually want to go any further than this. His free hand turns your head back to face him, a soft expression on his face as he gently cups your cheek.

"Are you absolutely sure? You don't owe me this and I won't be mad if you change your mind. I just don't want you to regret this. I can always go rub one out in the shower like a normal person."

You burst into giggles at that and Yunho can't help the smile that makes it way to his face at your clear joy.

"I'm sure, Yunho. Very sure, just take it easy on me? Still a little sensitive." You run your fingers through his hair and he nods with a small chuckle.

He gently unwraps your legs from him so he can stand up to take off his clothes and you take the moment to throw aside the shirt that was still hiked up to your collarbone. When you turn your attention back to Yunho he's crawling between your legs again, stroking himself with one hand while he gets settled and the sheer size of him makes you clench around nothing. Good thing he used three fingers on you earlier, it was prep that you unknowingly needed for what was coming. Yunho starts to position himself when he suddenly goes still.

"Yuyu?" You call to him, tilting your head a bit as he lets out a sigh.

"I don't have a condom. I didn't pack any." He groans, anguish in his voice like it physically pains him to start pulling away from your dripping core.

But you clamp your legs around his hips to stop him and he meets your gaze with a raised brow.

"Are you clean?"

"Of course! I don't mess around with things like that." He balks, understanding why you asked, but still semi-offended you asked anyway.

"So am I." You say between amused giggles at his facial expression, "Just pull out."

Yunho blinks once, twice, before a familiar heat settles into his gaze again. He looks at you, spread open in front of him, completely bare and wanting him so much you were willing to forgo a condom. His cock twitches and your eyes flicker down to the movement, biting your lip as you spread your legs further to invite him in. He takes the invitation immediately, one hand settling next to your waist to hold himself up as his other hand lines himself to slide into you. He taps his tip against your clit a few times, relishing in your soft whimpers and how your hips jolt at the stimulation before finally angling himself and sinking into you slowly.

You keen at the stretch, forcing yourself to stay relaxed as Yunho carefully sinks into you with a soft hiss. Every nerve in his body begs him to fuck into you already but your words about taking it easy continuously ring in his mind. By the time he's fully sheathed inside of you, you feel full. Completely and utterly full, like he was somehow reaching your lungs and taking the air out of them. Yunho leans over more, eyes searching your face for discomfort and your breath catches in your throat.

The current energy was different than what crackled in the air in the beginning. Before there was a burning need in every motion between you two, greedily sating all urges and desires until nothing was left but satisfaction. Now, with him deep as he can be inside of you, looking at you with his usual caring, concerned eyes, his hand gentle on your waist— you find your heart leaping into your throat and your face flooding with so much heat you want to sink into the ground. Yunho just smiles once he sees there's no discomfort to be found and leans down to gently kiss your neck.

"I'm gonna move now, alright?" He whispers against your heated skin.

You bite down on your lip, cursing mentally at how your walls clench around him from his whisper as you nod in response, not trusting your words at the moment.

He pulls out halfway before rolling his hips back into you and your hands fly to his back, digging your nails into it as some lingering wisps of overstimulation run through your body, but at a level that leans toward pleasure over pain. You hide your face in Yunho's neck— your moans and whimpers spilling onto his slick skin as he keeps rocking into you slow but firmly.

Yunho grits his teeth as his eyes squeeze shut, fighting every instinct in his being as you unknowingly pull at every loose end he has, unraveling his resolve slowly. Each whine into his skin, each drag of your nails down his back, each sigh of his name when he rocks into your sweet spot, each clench of your walls around his cock. He pulls away from your neck, intending to warn you of what you're doing to him, but his words catch in his throat when he sees your face— your fucked out, blissful face. Parted lips, tongue lightly poking out of them as you breathe heavily, glassy, wet eyes giving him such a needy look it makes his cock twitch. When your eyes flicker down to his lips, he can't help but give you exactly what you're wordlessly pleading for.

Your lips meet in a soft kiss that Yunho intends to keep that way, until your fingers thread into his hair again and pull. His hips snap forward harshly at the pleasurable burn on his scalp, an instinctive action that makes you cry out his name against his lips and he decides he really likes how you sound when you're crying his name like that.

So against his logical mind's better judgment, he starts to fuck you harder— not plowing into you, just putting slightly more weight behind his thrusts, enough to make you bounce against the bed and the headboard to start gently knocking against the wall. When your reaction is to pull at his hair and claw at his back once more, his hips start rocking even faster, fisting the sheets beneath his hands as he breaks the kiss to focus on keeping his pace steady and deep in you.

He watches you fall apart yet again— soft whimpers becoming louder cries, wet eyes becoming overflowing, back arching into him, nails scratching at him in ways he knows will leave marks but he doesn't care. Not when you're singing his name so sweetly and looking at him like that. Not when you're gripping him like you never want his cock to leave you every time he pulls out until only his tip is in.

"F-Fuck, I'm getting close." He rasps, looking at where you two connect and biting back a groan at how wet his dick was and what a mess you've left on his hips.

"M-Me too, just a bit more, Yuyu." You pant before pulling him back into a desperate kiss, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts.

Yunho's hand cups your cheek as the kiss gets messy, with you bouncing from his thrusts it's hard to keep your lips locked but neither of you care as you get closer to your shared high. You feel a hand sneak between your legs to rub circles on your clit in time with his strokes and it only takes four circles before your eyes are rolling back and you're cumming around Yunho with a silent cry. Yunho has to stop moving his hips entirely to focus on not emptying his balls into you because the way you clench around him makes his body feel like you're begging for it, desperate to be filled with his warm load— but no, not this time. He had to keep to your request, so his fingers on your clit help you ride out the high. He cuts it dangerously close, barely pulling out with enough time to spill his seed all over your mound and lower stomach without even needing to stroke himself.

His large frame collapses a bit onto you and for a while you both lie there, breathing heavily. Eventually Yunho rolls off of you, relaxing into the bed as he stares at the ceiling. You turn your head to Yunho and he turns to meet your gaze, smiling softly at how cute you looked all worn out like this.

"Come here, sweetheart."

Yunho has called you that pet name more times than you can count, but this time it sets a flutter into your stomach and you dip your head into his neck to hide your face as heat rises into your cheeks again. Yunho laughs softly, pulling your body against him and putting an arm around you as you settle on his chest.

The cabin is quiet except for the credits rolling on the movie faintly in the background, but neither of you feel the need to speak. Despite the questions rolling around in both of your minds, you don't say a word. Instead, you let exhaustion take you under and before you know it, you're asleep on Yunho's chest. Yunho glances down when he notices your slowed breathing, pressing a soft kiss to your head before lying on the pillow again. He'd wake you up in a bit to clean up and eat, he did a number on you and you could take a few minutes to recuperate. Plus, he liked your weight pressing on him like this. A closeness he's had with you before but not exactly like this, though he didn't mind it at all. Matter of fact, he liked it.

Huh, who woulda thought? Certainly not Yunho.

He looks at your face one more time, trying to place a finger on the feelings blooming in his chest, but ultimately he gives up because his brain was not entirely here in the moment. For now, he would just hum a song softly as he traces shapes in your skin.

For now, he'd see this as a one-off favor that went a bit further than intended. Nothing more, nothing less.

For now.

please do not repost my works. thank you for reading!

These last few weeks have been the most impressive run of insanely crappy weeks you’ve ever had.

Everything just keeps going wrong. With work, with bills, and even a petty fight with one of your closest friends. To top it all off, your last phone call with your mother went awry too, with her complaining about your schedule and you getting a little too harsh on the phone. You regretted it immediately, but now she’s a little icy with you, which only dampens your mood further.

It has just been bad overall, so this shopping trip with Seungkwan is really something you need, even if you don’t have a whole lot of money to spend.

“Oh, I like this one.”

You hold the large coat up to your chest and turn to Seungkwan so he can take a look. It’s huge, falling all the way to your knees, and the fur is dark brown, a neutral and earthy color that looks shiny and smooth. It’s very soft to touch, and you have to wonder how it ended up in a thrift store. It looks and feels so high quality.

Seungkwan tilts his head as he appraises it. “Put it on.”

You do, standing in front of the full-length mirror for a better look. You turn to assess some angles, but you’re quickly being distracted from the way it looks, focusing more on the way it feels. It’s comforting as hell, and very warm. You’re still in awe that you managed to dig up something so good from this store.

“I’m getting it.” You announce before Seungkwan can even give his opinion. You don’t know why, but you really feel drawn to this coat. Something tells you that you need to own it. And after the shit week you’re having (it’s not even Wednesday), you think you deserve this. You haven’t bought anything new in ages. If this can give you a little boost of happiness when you feel like you’re drowning, then you won’t pass that opportunity up.

It doesn’t cost a lot, considering how wonderful it feels on your skin and the fact that you’re getting your next paycheck after the weekend. You feel a positive sensation jump in your chest as you walk out of the store, listening to Seungkwan whine about something work related. You’re quickly swept up in his emotions, augmenting his words and losing yourself in the conversation. You really do need to vent, and Seungkwan is the perfect person for something like that. He matches your energy, understands your struggle since he himself is afflicted with a terrible case of jerk-boss. You feel like you are shedding off pounds and pounds of negative build-up, which you are so thankful for.

Two more workdays follow your trip with Seungkwan, and they weigh heavily on you. By the time the weekend rolls around, you are so grateful you could cry. You need this, the relief of two whole days of no work. You get home on limbs that weigh like lead. With nothing but rotting in bed in your mind, you quickly change into something more comfortable, a loose shirt and leggings. You go through your streaming services to find something to watch as you cook. Just when you’re settling on the couch to start eating your freshly cooked meal, you hear a knock on your door.

Your eyebrows furrow, confused. For one, you aren’t expecting anyone. And for another, you have a doorbell, so the fact that someone is knocking makes even more questions arise. Before you can think further, there’s another knock, more insistent this time, and you’re quickly placing your bowl on the coffee table and scrambling to the door before you can wonder about who it might be. You curse the fact that front doors in your apartment building don’t have peepholes. You carefully unlock and open the door a tiny smidge, peering outside. You blink, confused at the sight.

It’s a man. He looks young, around your age, and has a head of thick, shaggy brown hair that is falling into his equally dark eyes. You look down, and you pause at what you’re seeing. He’s wearing a sweater vest over what looks like another sweater, both terribly mismatched. And he’s wearing…. a skirt?

Yes, it’s a plaid skirt. Deep maroon. Layered over dark denim jeans. And right below them, leather sandals.

You don’t even know what to say. You look back up at the man, and this time, he’s wearing a wide smile. His eyes are wide and bright, and you’re caught off guard by how cheerful he looks.

“Hi.” His voice is fresh, chirpy. You nod your head uncertainly.

“Hello.” Your own is uncertain and damp. You hold the edge of the door tightly, bracing yourself.

“My name is Chan.” He says.

You nod slowly. “Okay.” There’s no way in hell you are telling this stranger your name.

“May I come in?”

Your jaw drops at the question. Who is this man? Why is he dressed so strangely?

“Who are you?” You can’t help but scowl. You don’t have time for this. If this is some strange sales call or something, you are not interested.

The man blinks, as if confused by the question. “I’m Chan.”

Is he stupid? You stare at him for a moment. “Look, I don’t know you and whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”

As you go to close the door, the man rushes forward, knocking his palm on the wood and stopping it in place. You freeze, feeling slightly scared now. He immediately pulls his hand away, now fiddling with his fingers and looking incredibly nervous.

“I’m your husband.”

You blink once. Twice. He doesn’t say anything more, just stares like he has told you nothing more than a fact about the weather.

“Excuse me?”

He looks just as nervous, but he nods slowly. “You took my fur. You bought it. So I’m your husband.”

You are so confused and shocked that you don’t even realise you’ve opened the door properly. You’re just holding the doorframe now, jaw dropped, an incredulous look on your face as you eye him. He shifts a little uncomfortably, swaying back and forth as he wrings his hands.

“I’m a selkie.” He babbles. “You bought my fur. I’ve been looking everywhere for it. I lost it near the pier a few weeks ago. I can’t go back without it. But I’ve found it now. It belongs to you. Which means I belong to you now. I’m your husband.”

You don’t understand more than two words out of his mouth. Briefly, you think of drugs, and you edge the door slowly closed again.

“Listen,” you say, trying to keep annoyance and confusion out of your tone to make it more soft. Maybe he will listen to you that way. “There’s a shelter just a few blocks down. I promise you will find help there. I’m sure if you ask someone, they will tell you exactly where it is.”

You wave your arm to the left in a vague gesture for direction. He just stares at you. You fidget.

“I can’t leave.” He says. “You have my fur. I belong to you.”

You are starting to get a little scared, so you shake your head vaguely as you keep pushing the door closed. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”

You close the door before he can say anything else, immediately locking it. You stare at it for a second, listening. You can’t hear shuffling, or footsteps. You wonder if he has left.

You double check the locks before moving back inside, wondering what you should do. The whole interaction has left you a little shaken. You eye your now cold food, and the paused movie on your television screen. It only makes you grit your jaw and huff, feeling annoyed again. You have enough on your plate without worrying about some weirdo at your door. You can’t let this weigh on you. It’s probably a one-off, someone who just got confused. And you did try to help him, so hopefully he takes your advice.