🍒Cheoli's Cake Café🍒

It started innocently enough. sitting on the lounge chair of the hotel room balcony, feeling the heat trickle against your skin. the weight of your sunglasses pushed on your nose as sweat dripped down onto the pages of your book.

the midsummer heatwave was knocking the energy out of everyone, including your, typically energetic, boyfriend, mingi. fresh out the shower, his short black hair was messy, spiked over his head as he opened the balcony door. he had slipped on his matching set of a striped shirt and shorts, the buttons hanging dangerously open.

your eyes were begging to tear away from the words on the pages, catching glimpses of mingi sitting in the comfort of a plush chair opposite from you. you hadn't spoken a word, something unsaid lingered in the air.

as beads of sweat started to run down the side of your neck, you couldn't help but use your book as a makeshift fan. the view before you surely wasn't helping. mingis eyes had shifted closed, hands resting on his lap as his head was leaned back into the chair cushions.

maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the need.

but something in you snapped. nothing crazy, yet, just a floodgate of something seeping out of you. so, you pressed your book shut, and got on your feet.

mingis eyes didn't open just yet, he was basking in the sun, it hugging his features so beautifully in this warm morning. as you stood before him, you let your other hand grip the metal railing next to mingis chair, the other holding onto his shoulder blade. his lips twitched at the sudden touch, but melting into it as your familiar warmth neared him. speaking in a mumbled tone, he muttered:

"isn't it a bit too hot to cuddle hm?" you chuckled lightly, your hips now laid on top of his, chest pressed up on his.

to admit, it was definitely not making the heat go away, more so making it worse. but you couldn't possibly tear yourself off your delicious boyfriend now, his tan toned arm now tight around your waist. you just craved being close, just being here together like this.

the trip so far had been mostly you inside, alone, reading books, since mingi was on a business trip. having these little moments together was certainly more and more rare, so you had to take what there is to take.

"but it's so comfortable like this isn't it?" you asked, tracing shapes into the exposed skin of mingis collarbones. his low laugh rumbled in his chest as he nodded, eyes still hung close.

"mhm, you could say that"

you weren't sure how long you sat there, unmoved, before something started to change. maybe it was the subtle changes in your seating position, or the way your eyes were wandering, but you couldn't help but feel a new type of heat rise in your body.

your both hands laid against mingis sweat sticky chest, your thighs spread around to straddle his. looking up to see his eyes still closed, light breaths passing his lips, you let yourself experiment a bit.

your hand slid down his torso, hanging onto the buttons that remained closed a little longer then supposed, accidentally popping one open. the newly exposed skin glistened in the sunlight, making your cheeks burn red like you've never seen him like this before.

you could feel his breath catching a little, making you pause for a moment before resuming. your other hand traced down to meet the other, slowly opening the last two remaining buttons. with slow but sure movements, you moved aside the light fabric, flashing his toned chest to your vision.

you couldn’t help but feel your mouth salivating at the sight of his exposed chest, the ridges of his muscles, the light hairs below his bellybutton, all the way to to his perked brown nipples. it was all too much.

you didn’t even notice your hips moving at first, your body taking over into an animalistic state. the fabric of mingis shorts was riding up dangerously high, the skin of his toned thick thighs meeting yours as you humped down on him like a dog in heat.

you felt a grin tug on mingis plump lips, his lengthy tongue slipping past to wet the surface before he spoke in a low voice:

" tsk, now now, that's not cuddling now is it angel?"

your breath hitched, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop moving against him, hands now eagerly tugging on the remains of his shirt that hung on his chest. mingis grip on your waist adjusted a bit, both his large palms now resting against your hipbones, guiding your movements.

"couldn't help it" you mumbled, face merely inches away from his. a smirky grin appears on his lips, before he bites down into them, pulling you closer on his lap. you fall forward slightly, your hands now laid above his chest, fingers directly on his perky nipples.

"don't you dare stop now then, even if you're caught, you dirty girl"

even if you wanted to, you couldn't. the feeling of the heat radiating from mingis body, his scent, his presence. the way his eyes were slightly opened now, that dark gaze burning into your skull as you worked your hips against him. you felt your brain melt away as you eased more into it, upping the pressure as mingis hands guided you back and forth.

as you moved, you could feel tension rise below you, the hardness of mingis cock firm against your clothed pussy as you grinded with need. a twitch rippled through mingis body as your hips met up with the sensitive spot of his tip through his flimsy shorts, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“thats it baby, faster f’me, go on”

his hands are eager to pull and push you faster, the slickness of your pussy seeping through your clothes, leaving a wet patch on his shorts. moans tear past your lips as you lean forward to lay youe forehead on his shoulder, fingers digging into his chest muscles.

“min- so good.. fuck..”

raking your hands down his torso, your nails leaving behind a red trail as your chest heaves. you’re burning up, the heat of the summer air and the burning sensation of your body against mingis driving you near passing out, but it felt so worth it.

“yeah? gonna cum untouched like a fucking virgin are you baby?”

mingis words twist your gut, his pitying tone making a new wave of arousal slick down your thighs. he just smirks knowingly, beginning to thrust up into your grinds.

you shriek, digging your nails into his stomach as the new sensation takes over. you may as well be naked from how much you can feel the imprint of mingis cock in his pants. you can feel the thick shape of it, every ridge, every vein running down its sides. and its making you lose it faster then you want to.

“p..please.. d- da.. mghm min..” your words stutter as you hold onto him, teeth grazing his exposed shoulder blade.

“mmm what was that, say that again” his words sharp as his hips slow down a bit, waiting your answer.

your cheeks flare, gulping, you try again:

“please.. please daddy more!” you muster the courage, shaking as mingi chuckles against you, picking back up his page.

“that’s a good girl, always so obedient for me”

you feel the tightness in your abdomen come scarily close at his words, your body tingling with every grind, every thrust. raising your head from his shoulder, youre met with his gaze again, eyes clouded, lips parted in a smirk while low groans tear out repeatedly.

his palm smacks your right cheek before pulling on it again, spreading you open while grinding up into you, and you feel yourself lose it.

“need to.. need to cum now daddy mgmh! m coming”

mingis face dives forward, closing you into a kiss thats almost all tongue and teeth, sucking your sounds into his mouth. you pant, repeating his name like a mantra as his cockhead grinds against your clit with ease.

“thats it, cum on daddy just like this, attagirll baby” his voice mumbles against your lips, you feel him smile into it with that devious grin.

and it completely undoes you. you feel the band inside you snap, the overwhelming heat of your body peaking as you hold onto mingi for some stability, his hands on your hips grounding you.

the wet patch is even more imminent now on mingis shorts as you lean forward to his shoulder again, hanging on like a ragdoll. his hand caresses your back, soothing the burning skin as you come down from your high.

after a minute or two, you leaned up again, meeting his attentive gaze, and that never ending smirk. you raise a brow.

“now, why are you still grinning now, what’s so funny?” mingi chuckles, running his hand down your side, the other below your chin.

“oh nothing, just imagining how you’re gonna walk once we’re done on this balcony” you smack his shoulder, pretending to be hurt.

“oh? don’t think i’m not going to have you holding onto that bar for dear life while i stuff your pussy full, you know i’ll do it.”

and with that, you knew your knees would remain wobbly, and your body heated for the rest of this damned heatwave.

You pull back, narrow your eyes, tilt your head all suspicious:

“Wait… when I’m not here… do you, like… get yourself off?”

San freezes mid–back rub.

“…Huh?”

“Answer. The question.” Your eyes squint even harder.

He sighs, looks away, rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Baby, why would you ask me something like—”

“Cause I wanna know!”

He stares at you… then gives up.

“I watch our tapes.”

“Huh?”

“Our sex tapes.”

“San—”

“And I look at your Instagram pictures.”

“San.”

“And sometimes I screenshot your bikini photos before you delete them.”

“San???”

“And sometimes I use the ones where you’re adjusting your top because you always look flustered and—”

“Stop—”

He keeps going, dead serious, like he’s reading a grocery list:

“And that one video where you’re laughing and your boobs bounce a little? Yeah. That one goes crazy. Top-tier.”

“What????”

“And those mirror selfies where your hair is messy. And the ones where you’re not even trying. Those are the worst.” He shifts under you, already getting hard just thinking about it.

You smack his chest.

“You’re SICK.”

He shrugs.

“I’m in love.”

You slap him harder.

“You’re DEPRAVED.”

Another shrug.

“You’re SEXY.”

You bury your face in your hands, dying.

He gently pulls them away, lowering his voice:

“You asked, baby. You really think I jerk off to random women? No. Everything I do, I do to you.”

He leans in, kissing your cheek, jaw, neck.

“And if you want… I can show you exactly how I do it.”

You slide off his lap just a little, sitting between his knees, eyes wide and way too curious for his sanity.

“…Show me, then.”

San blinks once. Twice. His Adam’s apple jumps.

“…Yeah?” he asks, voice already dropping into that low, dangerous tone.

You nod.

He drags a hand down his face like he knows he’s about to ruin you with this demonstration alone.

“Okay,” he mutters, leaning back into the couch, legs spreading a little, “but don’t— don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

You bite your lip.

He sees it. He groans.

Then he slips a hand under the waistband of his sweats, pulls himself out, already half-hard from the conversation alone. His breaths get shaky, on purpose, because he knows you’re watching.

“Normally…” he starts, eyes flicking to yours, “…I start slow. Just— thinking about you walking around the house, tiny little outfit, pretending you’re not teasing me.”

His thumb glides over the tip spreading the precum, — and he sighs, deep, breathy, borderline whimpering.

You swallow so hard he hears it.

“And then,” he continues, pumping slowly, “I think about how you look when you ride me… all loud and needy…”

You shift on your knees.

He definitely notices.

His lashes flutter, and he lets out a soft, broken “mmh—fuck…”

You scoot closer.

He moans again, high, pretty, shameless, because he’s absolutely doing this on purpose now.

“You like watching me, baby?” he breathes out, jaw clenching, hips lifting into his own hand. “Yeah… you do…”

You nod, dazed.

He groans, throwing his head back for a second, biting his lip dramatically, exaggerating it because he knows it gets you.

Then he looks at you through heavy lids.

“You always make me this hard,” he whispers, voice cracking just a little. “Even when you’re not here.”

Your thighs press together.

He smirks, then lets out another deliberate whimper, soft and choked, like he knows it shoots straight into your bloodstream.

“Come here,” he murmurs, hand stroking himself faster. “If you’re gonna watch… watch up close.”

You crawl into his lap.

He pulls your hand to his stomach— so warm, tense, shaking, and keeps moaning softly, messy and pretty, just for you.

He’s doing all of this on purpose.

You lean in so close he can feel your breath on his throat, eyes glued to every movement of his hand, every twitch of his stomach, every shaky inhale he lets slip.

And San loses his mind over it.

“Jesus…” he whispers, voice cracking when he looks down and sees your face—eyes blown wide, lips parted, studying him like he’s something you want to taste. “You’re really watching me like this…?”

You nod slowly. His chest stutters.

He bites his lip so hard a muscle in his jaw jumps.

“That’s— fuck— this is the hottest thing you’ve ever done,” he mutters, voice warm and breathless. He spreads his legs wider, giving you a better view, pumping his hand a little harder… slower… letting you see everything. “You’re looking at me like you wanna eat me alive.”

“San,” you breathe. His eyes darken instantly.

“Oh my god…” he laughs under his breath, ruined already, “you’re obsessed with me.”

Your face heats.

He cups your chin with his free hand, forcing you to hold eye contact while the other keeps stroking, wet and filthy and slow enough to make your stomach twist.

“You like how I do it?” he whispers. You nod. His smile is evil.

“You like seeing what I do when you’re not home?” Another nod.

His grip tightens. His thighs flex under you.

“Y’know what I think about?” he murmurs, leaning closer until your noses almost touch. “You. On your knees. Mouth open. Eyes like that. Waiting for me.”

Your breath catches.

He groans. 

“Keep watching,” he says, voice low and trembly. “Don’t look away. Not once.”

You don’t.

Your eyes track the movement of his hand, the veins on his forearm, the way his stomach tightens every time he pumps upward. He notices. He feels your stare. It makes him moan again—soft, involuntary, almost shy.

You whisper, barely audible:

“…You look so hot.”

He chokes on a breath. His hips jerk.

And his voice drops even lower, wrecked and proud and starving:

“Say that again.”

You whisper it again, slower. “So fucking hot.”

You slide closer—slow, curious, innocent in that way that makes his whole body seize up—and tilt your head.

“Can I help…?”

His hand falters on himself, eyes snapping to yours like you just offered him the cure to every problem he’s ever had.

“…yeah,” he whispers, voice already breaking, “yeah—baby, c’mere.”

Your smaller hand slips under his, replaces his stroke. The second your skin touches him he whimpers—a real one, sharp and desperate, right against your neck.

“Oh—fuck—” His head drops to your shoulder. He’s trembling.

He grabs your wrist gently, guiding your rhythm, but you’re already doing it exactly how he likes—soft at the base, tight at the top, twisting up just a little—

“Baby,” he gasps, breath hitting your collarbone, “you’re—fuck—you’re so good at this—”

His hips buck into your palm. His hand is gripping your thigh, hard enough to bruise.

You look up at him through your lashes and his knees actually shake.

“That’s it,” you whisper, teasing, “you like when I do it?”

He moans. A pretty, broken, breathy sound right into your ear.

“I love—when you—help me—god—fuuuck” He’s collapsing, chest heaving, face flushed, thighs tense beneath you. The wet slick sound of your hand working him faster fills the room and he completely loses the last bit of control he had.

“Y/N—baby—oh my god I’m gonna cum—”

You tighten your grip, stroke him exactly how he likes—

His whole body jerks—

He lets out the most ruined groan you’ve ever heard—

And he finishes right into your hand, warm and messy and so much more than you expected.

He collapses into you, panting into your shoulder, completely melted.

Your sticky hand is still resting on him when he finally breathes again.

“…you’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, voice wrecked, trembling all over. “You’re actually gonna kill me.”

You hold your hand up— dripping.Absolutely covered in him. A warm, glossy mess. Your eyes go wide on purpose.

“…San.”

He looks up from your shoulder, dazed, hair a mess, breaths still shaking.

And you wiggle your fingers.

“Look at this! You're. SO. Desperate.”

His whole face flushes scarlet.

“Baby—” he groans, grabbing your wrist to hide the evidence, “don’t… don’t say it like that…”

But you lean back, smirking like the menace you are.

“You made a huge mess. This is—San, this is ridiculous. You couldn’t even hold it for a second??”

He hides his face in your neck, mortified, whining like a grown man being scolded.

“You can’t tease me after what you just did to me,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, “I warned you—I told you I was close—you kept going—baby, you know what you were doing—”

“No,” you say, faking innocence, showing your sticky palm again, “you’re nasty. Nasty. Look at this.”

He pulls your wrist down, panicked.

“Stop showing it to me!” His voice cracks. “I know what I did!”

You laugh so hard he swats your thigh lightly, embarrassed, still breathless.

Then he looks up at you—eyes heavy, lips parted, totally ruined—and mutters:

“…clean your hand before you start teasing me again or I swear I’ll make an even bigger mess.”

OH.

You grab a warm towel and clean him up gently, slow little wipes that make him flinch because he’s still sensitive.

You purposely kiss the tip softly just to watch him jolt.

“Y/N—!” You kiss it again..

He slaps a hand over his face. “Stop… you’re gonna kill me…”

You hop off the bed, still glowing, still smug, and go to the mirror. You clean yourself up too—wiping your mouth, fixing your hair—

But then curiosity hits.

You look at your fingers. You look at him in the reflection. You drag your tongue over them.

Slow. Purposeful.

San’s jaw drops.

“…that tastes kinda good. Somebody changed their diet. Good boy.”

His ears turn red.

“Why would you DO that?!”

You shrug in the mirror, wiping your lips.

“I was curious.”

“That’s not— you can’t just— you—” He’s literally malfunctioning.

Then, quieter, almost proud:

“…but yeah, I did start eating more fruit.”

You grin.

“Mm. I noticed.”

He hides under a pillow. Absolutely finished.

Masterlist

you unlock the door, push it open,

and immediately wish you hadn’t.

seungcheol. on the couch. fisting his cock.

your brain short-circuits. like, full shutdown, blue screen, cease all functioning mode.

the man is spread out—legs wide, head tipped back, theres a drop of sweat that drips from his neck aand land in the middle of his chest. hes exposing his toned abs that clench with every up and down of his hand. and his cock is huge. thick from the base to the top and flushed deep red at the tip, veins prominent as his fist works over it.

he’s so lost in it that he doesn’t even register your presence at first, not until he finally cracks his eyes open and sees you standing there, frozen stunned into silence.

the next few seconds happen in slow motion.

his eyes widen. his entire body stiffens. his hand stops.

“WHAT THE FUCK—”

seungcheol scrambles to cover himself, reaching for the nearest thing—which, unfortunately for him, is a shirt that does nothing to hide the absolute tent he’s pitching. his face goes red, splotchy from the neck up, and he looks so flustered that for a split second, you almost feel bad.

“why the fuck are you here?!” he practically barks at you, voice ragged from whatever the fuck he was doing before you ruined his life.

you blink, still processing the image that’s now burned into your brain for eternity. “uh. joshua?”

“what about joshua?!”

“he… he needed a document.”

seungcheol lets out a sound that is so frustrated, so exasperated, that it almost doesn’t register as human. “and you didn’t think to knock?!”

“why would i knock?! i didn’t think anyone would be jerking off in the living room like a fucking pervert—”

“IT’S MY APARTMENT.”

“IT’S JOSHUA’S TOO.”

“HE’S NOT HERE.”

“WELL, NEITHER AM I, NOW.” you turn on your heel, hand reaching for the doorknob. “i’ll just get the doc later—”

but before you can escape, he rasps, “don’t you dare tell joshua about this.”

you pause. smirk. oh, this is fun.

back still facing him, fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. you should leave. should pretend none of this ever happened. but something—some sick, wrong part of you—doesn’t want to.

so you turn. lean back against the door. cross your arms.

“what?” he snaps, shifting on the couch, the shirt still pitifully draped over his lap.

you tilt your head, dragging your gaze slowly down his body—his hard nipples, the taut muscles in his arms, the way his thighs tense like he’s fighting the urge to close them. you can see the way he twitches under the shirt.

“you’re still hard,” you note, your voice syrupy sweet, but your eyes gleam meanly.

seungcheol tenses. “so?”

“so… you’re mad at me for walking in,” you say, cocking a brow, “but you’re still hard as fuck.”

he grits his teeth, but his silence is loud as hell.

so you take a step forward. just one.

his breath hitches.

“cheol.” you coo at him. “you sure you hate me?”

he glares, but it’s weaker now, faltering under your scrutiny. you can see it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way he’s not telling you to stop.

so you take another step.

and another.

until you’re standing right in front of him, the shirt the only barrier between his cock and your eyes.

his jaw tightens. “don’t.”

“don’t what?” you murmur, reaching forward to trace your fingers over his wrist—the one that was just wrapped around his cock. “don’t call you out? don’t get closer? don’t—”

in a flash, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down.

you gasp as you land on his lap, his hands firm on your hips, his cock pressing against your ass through the thin barrier of the shirt and your clothes.

his lips are right by your ear when he growls, “don’t fucking test me.”

you shiver, but you’re not scared, you’re thrilled.

so you shift, pressing back against him, and smirk when he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.

“or what?” you whisper.

his grip tightens. “you really wanna find out?”

your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

“yeah,” you breathe, lips brushing his jaw. “i do.”

he snaps.

the shirt under you is gone.

his mouth crashes into yours, hot and angry, his hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue prying your mouth open, swallowing the gasp you let out when his fingers dig into your hips.

you grind down, moaning into his mouth when you feel just how fucking thick he is, leaking against your skirt. 

his hands are rough when he yanks your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist with no intention of letting it fall back down. you barely have a second to breathe before his fingers push past your thighs, finding the front of your panties hooking his thumb into the damp fabric and pulling it to the side.

the rush of cold air makes you gasp, thighs trying to snap shut, but his thighs pins them open. and maybe, he has a shred of decency in him, because he lets out a low breath and murmurs, “this is gonna be rough.”

no warning. just that.

you should stop him. you should tell him to go slow, to prep you, to at least spit on it—but you don’t, you need to feel this big cock stretching you until every single thought inside your head gets completely erased.

there’s no lube, no prep besides the mess between your thighs, just the torturous process of sinking down.

seungcheol watches all of it. watches the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter, how your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders the lower you go. he’s leaning back against the couch, one hand gripping the plush of your ass, the other wrapped around his base, guiding you onto him like you’re something delicate. like he’s trying to help.

but he’s not.

because he knows what he’s doing when he taps his cockhead against your clit first, dragging the tip through your slick, coaxing out little whimpers that make him smirk. he knows what he’s doing when he presses up, just the tip slipping inside, barely enough to be satisfying but more than enough to make your thighs twitch.

your breath catches in your throat, your whole body twitching up as you take the next inch too fast. your brain is empty, your body is working on instinct, thighs shaking as you brace yourself against him, trying—failing—to push down further.

and he sees it. sees how you’re struggling, sees how your muscles twitch like you’re about to give out, sees how you want to take it but your body is fighting the stretch.

so he helps.

his hands clamp down on your waist.

and then he slams you down.

the sound that leaves your throat is so ruined that he cant help but feel a bit of compassion.

because suddenly you’re full. suddenly you’re sitting completely in his lap, completely engulfed in him, your thighs flush against his, his cock buried so fucking deep that you can feel it pressing up against every nerve inside you.

but when you try to move, try to lift yourself even an inch—nothing.

your thighs won’t cooperate. your muscles won’t listen.

you can’t move.

“oh?” seungcheol tilts his head, smug grin curling at his lips as he grinds up, watching the way your mouth falls open at the sensation.

“too big for you, baby?”

you whimper.

“thought so.”

and then he takes control, because you can’t move—so he does it for you. his hands lift you effortlessly, dragging your hips up before slamming you back down, setting the pace, forcing your body to take what it’s given.

and you can’t think straight anymore. every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, every time he slams you down it punches little whimpers from your throat that only make him hungrier.

“awww… thought you were so tough. but you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock, huh?”

you cry out, body giving up, melting against his chest as you desperately try to follow his rhythm, hips twitching with little, pathetic attempts to keep up. your body isn’t even yours anymore—just a toy, something for seungcheol to use, something he’s breaking in with every brutal roll of his hips. 

his fingers dig into your waist, gripping you so tight it hurts, but the pleasure drowns it out. you’re so deep into it, into him, that every ounce of shame has left your body, every shred of dignity gone. because you can’t do anything but take it, can’t do anything but let him use you like you were made for this.

he tilts his head, watching you fall apart, watching how your thighs tremble with every slap of his hips against yours.

“damn,” he laughs, licking his lips, voice mocking. “you’re making such a fucking mess of yourself.”

you whimper, forehead pressing against his collarbone.

and then he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“mm-mm, don’t hide now,” he says, smirking. “be a good girl and let me see that dumb little face while i ruin you.”

a sob rips from your throat, high-pitched and wrecked.

he groans, grinding up into you.

“fuck. bet the neighbors can hear you, huh? joshua’s gonna be so fucking embarrassed when he gets a noise complaint for his dumb little best friend getting dicked down like a whore.”

your whole body jerks, a whimper escaping your lips at the humiliation, the filth dripping from his tongue.

and he sees it.

his grin turns cruel.

“oh, you like that?” he taunts, thrusting up so deep your back arches. “you like knowing that you’re loud enough to make it everyone’s fucking problem? that you’re such a good little fucktoy for me that i can’t even keep you quiet?”

you nod, because you can’t lie. his fingers tighten around your jaw, his lips brushing against yours as he coos.

“poor little thing.”

he thrusts up again, so hard, so deep that your whole body bounces, hands scrambling against his chest, voice cracking in a choked-out sob.

and he moans, deep and satisfied, because you’re so fucking perfect for him. because your body is his to use, to mold, to ruin.

“joshua’s gonna kill me c-cheol.”

his hips snap up again, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“but you’ll tell him it was worth it, won’t you, baby?”

he smooths one over your back, pressing down so your tits rub against his burning skin, while the other stays firm on your hip, keeping you still. your body jerks with every pulse of his cock inside you, twitching as you flutter around him, so overstimulated you can’t tell where the pleasure starts or ends.

“s-seungcheol—” his name is nothing but a broken cry, muffled against his neck, but he’s relentless. he doesn’t even let you finish, just shifts his knees slightly and thrusts up into you with all the power in his core.

“fuck,” he hisses when you clamp down, crying out into his skin, and he wraps an arm fully around you to hold you up. “shh, baby, you’re being so loud.”

his hand snakes up your back, fingers tangling into your hair, forcing you to lift your head. you meet his gaze, and it knocks the breath from your lungs. he looks fucked, mouth parted, sweat dripping from his hairline, chest heaving, but he still manages to look at you like he’s about to devour you whole.

“c’mon,” he coos, tilting his head, his grip tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “tell me it was worth it. tell me how good my cock is.”

he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips and you keen, trying to lift yourself, trying to relieve some of the intensity, but your thighs betray you. seungcheol laughs, breathless but smug, and his fingers press bruises into your skin as he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing.

“see? can’t even move, huh? my poor baby,” he murmurs, voice syrupy sweet, his free hand cupping your cheek now. “you’re just gonna sit here and take it like the perfect fucktoy you are.”

heat prickles at your skin at the words, your brain too fogged up to be embarrassed, too fucked out to do anything but let him guide you. he rocks you against him, making sure you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls, rubbing at all the right places, pressing into you deeper than you thought was even possible.

“you take me so well, baby,” he praises, leaning in to press his lips against yours, just enough to tease. “so fuckin’ tight, so warm—fucking heaven.”

his hand slides between your bodies, two fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over it. the sensation makes your thighs twitch, your nails dig into his back, a fresh wave of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

“shhh, i got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing your jaw now, your temple. his fingers on your clit work in time with the slow, torturous grind of his hips. “i got you, yeah? you gonna cum for me? hm?”

he kisses you full on the mouth when you sob, swallowing the sound like he wants to keep it forever. and then he speeds up just a little, rolling your clit with more pressure, meeting every rut of your hips with a firm thrust up.

you shatter.

your whole body seizes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as you clamp down so tight on him that it sends him tumbling over the edge with you. he groans, long and low, holding you so tight against him that you can feel every pulse of his cum inside you, hot and deep. his hips jerk once, twice more before he stills, forehead pressed against yours as you both gasp for air.

it’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds are the distant hum of the city outside the window, and the soft squelch when he finally shifts, making you both moan.

your body trembles like a leaf caught in the wind, and seungcheol drinks it in, the heat of your overstimulated form twitching against his chest as he presses slow, lingering kisses into the curve of your neck. his lips move down, sucking at the pulse point that hammers beneath your skin. your breath stutters. his fingers, nails just barely grazing, trail down the arch of your spine, featherlight but enough to make you shiver. you barely even realize you’re moving, the last bit of strength in your boneless limbs used to weakly push yourself up, to let his cock slip free from where it’s buried inside you. 

the second it leaves you, your body gives out. you collapse right into his chest, heavier than before, spent and trembling, the exhaustion hitting all at once. you can’t even pretend to be embarrassed about it. you just sigh, your lips brushing the base of his throat as you settle against him, body limp.

seungcheol holds you steady with both hands, like he’s afraid you might melt right into the couch and disappear. his broad palm cradles the back of your head, fingers splaying across your scalp, scratching at your roots. he keeps the other hand wrapped around your waist, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs. the tension in his body hasn’t left yet. his shoulders are still tight. you know him well enough to know what’s coming before he even says it.

“you good?” 

you hum in response, nuzzling into his chest as your fingers curl weakly against his pecs. “just a little sore.”

he exhales through his nose. shifts beneath you. you can feel his fingers flex where they rest on your waist, like he wants to squeeze but holds himself back. then, with zero effort, he grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, just enough to force you to look at him. your lids are heavy, half-lidded, dazed, and fuck, that shouldn’t make him feel so possessive, but it does.

his thumb sweeps across your cheek, his jaw tensing. “shit. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over your features like he’s searching for anything more than just exhaustion. “lemme take care of you, hm?”

you don’t have it in you to resist, don’t even want to. you let him move you, let him handle you like you weigh nothing as he lifts you from his lap and shifts you onto the couch, laying you down as if you’re something delicate. and maybe you are, now, after the way he ruined you. maybe that’s why you don’t fight him when he presses your thighs apart, watching as they just fall open on their own, spread wide like a doll.

you don’t have the strength to do much else than whimper softly as his thumbs spread you further, gaze locked onto your swollen cunt, still so slick from where he fucked you. his jaw clenches.

you don’t even get a warning before he moves in, before his hands grip your thighs to keep them open as he dives between them, mouth sealing over your clit in one slow stroke of his tongue.

you jolt, a weak little gasp punching from your lungs. your fingers barely find the energy to tangle into his hair, and the grip is nowhere near as firm as it usually is, but he groans anyway. whether it’s from the feeling of your grip or from the way you instantly react to him, you don’t know. but he doesn’t stop.

his tongue moves slow, warm and so fucking wet as he licks broad, flat strokes over your sensitive flesh, working you open again with patience. he isn’t trying to overstimulate, isn’t trying to get you off again—though you can already tell it wouldn’t take much. his focus is entirely on easing the ache, on massaging every tender inch of you with his mouth, his lips, his tongue.

“feels good?” his voice is muffled against you, but it vibrates in just the right way.

you nod, breath hitching when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling it in slow circles. your body twitches, heat curling at the base of your spine. “cheol…”

he moans against you, and presses you down harder against his face. your hips jump, an embarrassing whimper breaking free as his tongue dips lower, tracing around your entrance before dragging back up, collecting every bit of slick along the way.

you whine, fingers curling tighter in his hair. he doesn’t tease. doesn’t prolong it. just keeps his pace slow and steady, gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to keep you on the edge of something, even if you’re too sensitive to chase it. and if the way he’s grinding his hips into the couch tells you anything—it’s that he’s just as affected as you are.

he’s not eating you out to get himself off, but fuck if it isn’t working.

the obscene sounds of his mouth working between your thighs filling the entire apartment, mixing in with your breathless moans and the way he groans right into your cunt. you don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed about the way your cum is smeared all over his chin, his jaw, his cheeks—how it drips down onto the couch below with every intentional roll of his tongue against your entrance.

his tongue works in circles, pressing flat to your hole before dragging up again, tasting every bit of your arousal as it gushes out onto his lips. his mouth is open the entire time, tongue rolling and flicking, nose nudging against your clit as he angles his head lower. he flattens his tongue, groaning as he drags it up through your folds before plunging it into you, so messy that you swear you see white behind your eyelids.

your back arches, chest rising in sharp, hiccupped gasps, every single nerve in your body on flames. your thighs twitch in his grasp, and he squeezes them tighter, keeping you spread open just for him. his hands slide up, one wrapping firmly around your waist, keeping you pinned in place, while the other travels up, up—his fingers finding the stiff peaks of your nipples.

your eyes snap open, a gasp catching in your throat as he rolls one between his fingertips, twisting just enough to make your eyes roll. you swear you hear him chuckle against you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“breathe,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your clit before sucking it between his teeth, tongue rolling in lazy, teasing circles on the swollen bud. “breathe for me, baby.”

you try. you really do. but the way his mouth moves, the way his fingers tweak and pull, it’s too much. you’re spiraling. you feel another orgasm creeping up so fast it steals the air right out of your lungs.

he sees it. he knows.

his grip tightens on your thigh, his tongue flicking faster, working you open as his free hand continues to play with your tits, kneading the soft flesh, fingers rolling your nipples in rhythm with the lazy grind of his tongue against your clit.

your moans turn high-pitched, desperate. your body twists beneath him, unable to keep still as the pleasure builds, climbing higher and higher.

but then—a whimper.

not from you.

from him.

you force your heavy lids open, head lolling to the side as you try to focus on him. and fuck, the sight that greets you is almost enough to make you cum then and there.

seungcheol is rutting against the couch. grinding, fucking humping it like a damn dog, his hips rolling in slow thrusts, his rock-hard cock straining against his stomach, smearing precum all over his abs and the fabric beneath him.

he whimpers again, this time louder, his brows furrowed, his breath coming in short, uneven pants.

“fuck,” he groans, mouth still pressed against you, voice muffled by the way his tongue keeps working you over. he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his chin soaked. his eyes are dark, glassy, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you. “can’t—fuck, i can’t stop. you taste too good.”

your chest tightens, a desperate, aching cry slipping from your lips as you clutch at his hair, thighs twitching in his grasp. “cheol—gonna—gonna cum, oh my god—”

he moans, actually fucking moans, his hips grinding down harder against the couch as he redoubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit in precise, teasing flicks, his fingers pinching your nipples just hard enough to send you over the edge.

your body locks up. your back arches. your mouth falls open, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, all-consuming.

seungcheol doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow down. he works you through it like it’s his mission, licking you clean, his tongue rolling over your entrance, collecting every last drop as your body trembles violently beneath him.

your chest heaves, your vision blurring, but even through the haze, you can feel him still grinding against the couch, still so fucking hard and desperate, all because of you.

your brain is slow. dial-up connection slow. everything feels like it’s underwater, your body floating somewhere between consciousness and the best orgasm-induced coma of your life. it’s warm, so warm, like your body is still riding out the fever of your high, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth, throat dry, muscles heavy like they’re full of sand.

you don’t even remember when it happened—when you blacked out, when you got moved. just flashes of cool wipes dragging over your skin, a damp cloth pressed between your thighs, seungcheol’s hands gentle, careful, murmuring something you were too gone to comprehend. like déjà vu, like something out of a dream.

but you’re awake now. sort of. and you’re in his bed.

the sheets are soft, cool against your fevered skin, and it feels so good that you can’t help the tired, pleased moan that slips past your lips, involuntary, barely conscious.

but it’s enough to make him look at you.

you blink, vision still a little hazy, but yeah, that’s definitely seungcheol, sitting at his desk, dressed in a loose shirt and sweats, hair damp, probably from a shower. there’s a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are soft as they sweep over you, taking in the way you’re still half-buried in his sheets, limbs heavy, body relaxed.

then it hits you.

the documents.

joshua.

fuck.

your eyes widen, and you jolt up too fast, regretting it immediately when the soreness between your thighs protests, a sharp ache shooting up your spine. “fuck—”

seungcheol’s already up, one hand pressing to your shoulder, guiding you back down before you can do any more damage. “hey, hey, relax. you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“the—documents,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again as the exhaustion creeps back in. “joshua.”

he chuckles, and you open your eyes just in time to see him shaking a small stack of papers in his hand. “yeah, yeah. i got it. sent them over while you were passed out.”

you frown, groggy. “i was supposed to send them.”

“and joshua needs to get used to me handling shit for you,” he says, grinning as he sets the papers down. “besides, he’d probably prefer not to get another noise complaint under his name.”

your face heats up instantly. “oh my god.”

“mhmm,” seungcheol hums, tilting his head. “wanna know how loud you were?”

“no.”

he laughs, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek. “then go back to sleep, baby.”

you glare at him. or, at least, you try to. it’s weak, and he knows it, because all it takes is one more stroke of his thumb before your eyes flutter shut again, body sinking further into his bed.