synopsis: another bubble video from Chris—it was routine by now. but ever since you first watched it, you couldn't get that necklace out of your head, and the thoughts you had were a little outside the norm, even for you. (2,9k words)
warnings: unprotected sex; oral sex (f!receiving); dry humping; lots of edging; teasing; praising; nipple play; overstimulation
author’s note: unless he stops posting videos on bubble, I won’t stop writing about them, never.
taglist open! comment under this post to join.
For about ten minutes now, you’ve been fixated on the video Chris sent on Bubble. With your breath hitching and your lips parted, you took him in piece by piece: the upward glance he gave each time, the flex of his biceps, the way his chest swelled… and then there was the necklace.
You hadn't expected it to affect you this much, but the anticipation of him arriving and what you’d do together had completely taken over. So many thoughts were flooding your mind that—
“I’m home, baby.” Hearing the door close followed by Chris’s voice, you quickly swiped out of the video and bolted upright from the couch.
“Hey, babe.” With a soft smile playing on your lips, you masked your anticipation. You closed the gap between you to press a lingering kiss to his lips.
Chris returned the kiss, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you in. When he pulled away just enough to see your face, he tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s with that look?”
You just shrugged, blinking up at him through your lashes while your gaze drifted back to his necklace—the one that had been stuck in your head all day, sparking thoughts that were anything but innocent. “Nothing…” You managed, forcing your gaze back to his face, but it was too late—Chris had clearly caught on that something was up.
Chris let out a low chuckle and shook his head slowly. “C’mon, spill it. What’s on your mind?”
You let out a deep sigh, unable to stop yourself from smiling as you looped your fingers around his chain to pull him closer. “You really haven’t gotten tired of posting those videos on Bubble, have you?”
Chris raised a brow, giving you a look of mock surprise. “What have you cooked up in your mind this time? Let’s hear it.”
Instead of answering, you crashed your lips against his. You felt him gasp into the kiss before his arms hooked around your waist, pulling you in. “That damn necklace has been torturing me all day…” You murmured against his lips as you started backing him toward the bedroom.
He pulled back just an inch to breathe, a soft laugh escaping him. “You’re insane.” He said, shaking his head slightly before returning to the kiss.
His hands tightened their grip on your waist, his mouth slanted over yours again and again, hungrier each time, until you’re making him stumble backward under the sheer force of you. He spins you around, guiding you with a control that makes your breath hitch, and when your knees hit the edge of the bed, you collapse onto the mattress, breathless.
He doesn’t stop kissing you as his body follows yours down, hovering above you, caging you in. The weight of him doesn’t touch you fully, but it’s close enough that you feel his heat radiating through the fabric of his tank top, the ridges of his muscles shifting with every move.
His lips move over yours with a rougher edge now, pressing harder, deeper, like he’s determined to fulfill your dreams. The cool scrape of his necklace teases you at every angle, sending sparks down your spine, and every time you gasp for air, he seizes the chance to taste you deeper, his tongue stroking yours with maddening precision.
Your hands instinctively fly up, fingers tangling in his necklace, and you grip his shoulders, dragging him closer. He smirks against your mouth, knowing exactly what that means.
“Want me to lose the necklace?” He asked between kisses with a knowing grin, clearly aware of the answer before the words even left his mouth.
“No, no—absolutely not.” You shook your head rapidly, your fingers curling tighter around the chain.
That smirk of his grows slow, dangerous. “You’re driving me crazy…” He murmurs, his voice low, taunting, and his chest heaving against yours.
He captures your bottom lip gently between his teeth, his hands roaming over yours possessively. His fingers hook into the thin straps of your top, playing with them teasingly. The kiss turns hungry, passionate. His other hand slides up your thigh, getting closer to the sensitive area between your legs.
His thumb traces the edge of the thin fabric of your shorts before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.
And then he plants his mouth on your neck and sucks softly, full lips flush with your heated skin, which pulls a gasp from you and sends shivers down your spine. His lips and tongue leave gentle marks as he trails kisses down to your collarbone. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing against the undersides of your breasts through the soft fabric.
When you gasp, he smirks against your skin before biting down gently on that sensitive spot just below your ear. His hands slowly push the straps of your top down, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze.
He pulls back, his lips shining with saliva, groaning before pressing his face in between your soft mounds, his hands gripping your hips, grinding his against you.
He inhales deeply like he’s trying to breathe you in. His hands squeeze your hips possessively, grinding his hardness against you.
He presses kisses to the valley between your breasts, looks up at you, his pupils dilated with desire. “You’re perfect… Gosh.”
You look down at him. “Chris… please.” You say breathlessly, tangling your fingers in his hair lightly.
“Please what?” He asks, eyes locked on yours as he switches his attention to the other breast, sucking harder this time as his hands tighten their hold on your hips.
You can feel exactly how hard he is as he grinds against you—thick and straining against his pants.
Your hips lifting to meet his, moaning as your back arches off of the bed, hands tugging at his curls. “I-I need you… Chris, please—“
He groans against your breast, and without waiting any further he takes your top off following with his; grinding against your hips, the friction is delicious, his thick length sliding between your folds even through the fabric of his pants and your soaked shorts. He wraps his lips around your nipple again, sucking hard as his teeth graze the sensitive bud.
His fingers curl under the waistband of your shorts and slide them down your legs along with your panties. He kisses your thighs as he slides the drenched fabric down before throwing it to the side, eyes locked on the wet flesh before him.
His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you lying before him—legs spread open for him. He kisses a path up your inner thighs, his hands pushing your legs further apart to give him better access.
The first swipe of his tongue is slow, deliberate, tracing the seam of your folds as if he’s savoring the taste. “Fuck, Chris—“ You breathe, your thighs instinctively clenching around his head, but Chris only smirks against you, his tongue pressing deeper.
The sight alone makes your head spin—Chris on his knees between your thighs, broad shoulders spread against the mattress, his mouth buried in your wetness while his chain dangles with every drag of his tongue. When his eyes lift to meet yours, it feels like the air gets knocked out of your lungs.
You can’t look away. He’s watching you as he eats you out, watching every twitch, every gasp, every desperate shift of your hips. His lips glisten with your arousal, the silver chain catching the light each time he drags his tongue across your swollen clit.
“Oh, God—“
The moan that breaks from your throat seems to fuel him. His tongue moves faster, his mouth gets greedier, and when the overwhelming pleasure makes you grab at his hair, tugging hard, he groans into your cunt like he can die happily at the moment. The vibration sends another shockwave through you, your hips bucking against his face.
He doesn’t relent. If anything, he doubles down, one hand pinning your thigh open while the other presses hard against your hip to hold you in place. His tongue works you in slow, devastating strokes one second and rapid, precise flicks the next, always bringing you right to the edge before easing off, dragging another shameless moan out of you.
“Louder.” He mutters against your slick folds, voice muffled but clear enough for you to comprehend. ”Let me hear you.” His eyes are still locked on yours, dark and glinting with something both menacing and unbearably hot.
Your thighs tremble, every muscle in your body strung tight as Chris devours you. The relentless drag of his tongue, the sinful words he said—it’s all too much and yet not enough. You can feel it coming, the swell in your belly, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter until you’re right there, seconds away from snapping. Your voice breaks on his name, desperate, needy. “Chris—please—oh, God—“
Your cry cuts off into a frustrated whimper as he pulls back just enough to let the cool air ghost over your drenched cunt. He licks his lips deliberately, catching your taste on his tongue as he smirks up at you.
“Not yet, baby.” He says, voice low and smug. His thumb traces lazily along your inner thigh, close enough to make you shiver but never touching where you need him the most. “You sound too good when you’re begging, love.”
You glare down at him, chest heaving, but it’s impossible to hide the way your hips twitch, aching for more, and his smirk deepens.
“Don’t look at me like that, c’mon.” He murmurs, leaning in to press one slow, devastating lick up your slit. Your body jerks, but he pulls back before you can chase the sensation. “I’ll give it to you when I think you’ve earned it.”
You’re panting, flushed, and your hands are still tangled in his hair, torn between yanking him back down and pushing him away before he ruins you.
But Chris settles himself between your thighs again, utterly unhurried, eyes glinting with wicked amusement as he teases another languid stroke over your folds. You can feel yourself getting wetter, needier, desperate to give in.
His mouth hot and hungry against your core. His tongue curls just right, and the pressure builds so fast it’s almost unbearable. Your back arches, thighs trembling as you gasp his name, so close—
“Fuck—Chris—“ You let out a strangled cry, tugging hard at his hair as he pulls away for the second time, just when you’re seconds away from falling over the edge.
“Not yet. I wanna hear you scream for it.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking like the cocky devil he is.
Your hips buck toward him, shameless now, but he just presses a hand to your stomach, pinning you down. His touch is firm but teasing, like he owns the pace, owns you—which he does.
The next time his mouth returns, it’s worse but better. He alternates between deep, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue, never settling long enough to push you over the edge. You’re dripping, writhing beneath him, the sheets damp beneath you. Your moans are wrecked, pleading, begging without even realizing. Again, right as your body clenches and you’re seconds away, he pulls back with a wicked grin.
You nearly sob.
You choke out a frustrated sound, glaring at him through your haze of need. “You’re so fucking cruel.”
Chris only laughs under his breath, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. His hand goes to the waistband of his pants, and when he tugs them down, your breath hitches even though you’ve seen it a thousand times. His cock springs free, flushed and heavy, the tip wet. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, heat coiling even tighter in your stomach.
He fists himself slowly, lazily stroking up his thick length as he looks at you with that grin of his. “Who is cruel now, huh?”
Your thighs instinctively press together at the sight, but his other hand pushes them open again, spreading you wide for him as he pumps himself, letting you watch.
The sight alone has you dripping, clenching around nothing, your body betraying your protest.
“You’re quiet now.” He teases, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock as he groans softly. He leans forward, letting his tip drag up your soaked folds, not pushing in—just enough to make you gasp.
Your lips part, a shaky breath leaving you, your eyes fixed on him. The edging, the sight of his swollen cock so close, the teasing words—it all winds you tighter, pushing you closer to breaking.
“You want me to fuck you properly? Then take me. Every inch of it.” His hips snap forward, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch is overwhelming, a choked cry tearing from your throat as your nails dig into his shoulders.
Your body clenches desperately around him. You take him—every inch of him—with your back arching into the sheets, and Chris notices.
“Fuck—“ He breathes, low and wrecked, before his smirk curls back in place. “You’re taking me so well.”
Without warning, he draws his cock almost all the way out, leaving you painfully empty, only to slam back inside with a force that makes you cry out in pleasure.
“Yeah—” He groans, watching your body react to the thrust. “That’s what I want. That sound. Just like that, baby.”
He repeats it, cruelly slow withdrawal, then a brutal snap of his hips that makes your eyes roll back. With every thrust, his necklace brushes against your jaw, making you clench around him even tighter as your moans grew louder. Each time he slammed in harder, he’s hitting that spot inside you that makes your body writhe.
His pace grows erratic, his hips snapping against yours with raw urgency. The sound of skin meeting skin mixes with your ragged moans, with his sharp grunts.
It feels like the world has shrunk to just this—just him inside you, stretching you, filling you, unraveling you.
As you stuck out your tongue and took his necklace into your mouth, you felt his breath caught in his throat sharply.
“Fuck—“ He bites off his words with a moan, hips grinding deep into you, chasing the heat that coils tighter inside him.
Your legs wrap around his waist, locking him closer, and he groans when your walls clench around his cock. His control shatters further, his thrusts harder, needier, less measured. “Shit—if you keep clenching around me like that, I’m gonna—”
He can barely finish his sentence. He buries himself to the hilt, grinding against your spot with desperate precision.
Your moans spilling into his mouth, feeding his loss of control. Your body trembles beneath him, your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his waist.
Every thrust drags another broken moan out of you, your body overstimulated, yet he just keeps pushing deeper, slower at first, savoring the way you whimper and twitch beneath him. He takes your breast into his mouth again, tongue flicking your nipple, and you nearly sob at how good it feels.
Your nails rake down his back, leaving red trails on his skin, and he only groans, fucking into you harder.
All you can hear is the sound of Chris’s hips slamming into you, the wet drag of him sliding in and out, and your own voice breaking with cries of pleasure you can’t hold back.
He leans in, teeth grazing the shell of your ear before he growls. “Come with me.”
The words push you over, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave, your walls spasming wildly around his cock as you scream his name. He thrusts erratically, chasing his own release, and with a guttural moan, he follows, hot spurts of cum flooding your cunt, filling you as his body tenses, arms crushing you to him.
“Fuck, yes—take it all" He grunts, mouth back on your nipple, sucking through the aftershocks.
He collapses against you at last, chest heaving, sweat-slick skin pressed to yours. for a long moment, there’s only breathing—your mingled gasps, the sound of your hearts trying to slow.
His weight is heavy, grounding, and you don’t mind at all. Your arms are still around him, holding him close, as though if you let go the moment might slip away.
You feel the tremor in his shoulders when he exhales a shaky laugh against your neck, warm breath tickling your skin. He presses a kiss there, lingering, soft in contrast to everything before.
“Fuck…” He mutters, still catching his breath, “You were so good for me” Another kiss, this time to your collarbone, his lips curved into a small, proud smile, “So perfect, every second. And also… I didn’t know you had a thing for my necklace—”
“That’s not—oh, shut up.” You say, flushed and embarrassed.
Chris let out a low chuckle in amusement. “Honestly… it was hot as fuck, the thing you did, when you took it into your mouth—“
“Chris… please.” You groan in protest, a flush creeping up your face with his words.
At this moment, he can’t stop his laughter, he dangles his necklace just to get under your skin.
“Stop it, Gosh…” You groan in annoyance but can’t help the way your lips curl upward slightly.
He bites back a grin before leaning in to whisper in your ear. “Tell me now, what kinks do you have that I don’t know?”
You groaned again and you knew that no matter how much you denied it, he wouldn't believe—and he wasn't going to let it rest.
let me know your thoughts about the fic in the comments below, thanks for reading :)
synopsis: meeting someone, falling for them, and having the best night of your life wasn't part of the vacation plan you made with your friend. yet, Felix made all of it happen, in the best way imaginable. (4,9k words)
warnings: protected sex; oral sex (f!receiving); fingering; praising; power play
author’s note: taglist open! comment under this post to join.
After months of planning, you and your friend finally made it on that trip, and right now, you’re living the moment you’ve been dreaming of. Just lounging in the sun by the sea, feeling the intense heat on your skin.
Hearing her voice, you peered over your sunglasses at her. “What?”
She gave a subtle look and pointed her eyebrows toward two guys sitting just a bit further down. “Are you blind? That blonde guy over there has been eyeing you up for ages and you’re completely oblivious.”
You furrowed your brows and gave her a look like you had no idea what she was talking about. You stole a quick look in their direction, trying to play it cool, and honestly? Someone really was eyeing you up.
His bright, long, blonde hair was actually shimmering under the sun. Even though he was slim, his abs were chiselled, and he possessed a beauty you honestly couldn’t put into words. The combination of being both handsome and beautiful left you even more—
“Need a napkin?”
Hearing her voice, you quickly diverted your gaze and turned her way. “You’re exaggerating, I was barely even looking.”
She gave you a teasing grin and nodded in disbelief. “Mhmm, sure. Totally.” But of course, she couldn’t help herself. Before you could even get a word in, she just kept going. “You practically ate him alive with your eyes! You think I missed that? Admit it, you think he’s hot.”
You instantly shushed her. “Keep it down. They’ll hear us.” Once you actually thought anout her words, you had to asmit she had a point. He was definitely attractive, and the fact that he was checking you out, too… maybe you really should give him a chance. “Fine, maybe I’m feeling him a little… So what now? Am I supposed to just go over there and—“ she snapped in before you could even get the rest of the sentence out.
“God, no.” She pinched the bridge of her nose with a shake of her head. “Oh, honey… what are you gonna do, just go over and say, ‘You were eyeing me up and I’m into it, so let’s be a thing.’” She leaned in close and dropped her voice to a whisper. “He’s going to make his way over here way before you do. Just play it cool. Keep lounging, go for a dip—whatever. Just act natural and trust me on this one.” she whispered with an encouraging smile.
She definitely knew what she was doing more than you did, so you were all in on her plan. “Deal. But if it flops, you’re dead meat.”
She smirked playfully. “Just trust me, he’ll come crawling over here in no time.”
You gave a light shrug and went back to sunbathing. “We’ll see.”
The warmth of the sun was so perfect that he’d slipped your mind entirely. That is, until a shadow cut through the sunlight. Opening your eyes, you found him standing over you, beaming down with a dazzling grin. “Hey.” Hearing his tone and the low rumble of his voice sent you straight into a sitting position in an instant.
His innocent look and golden hair did not prepare you for that voice. You were so floored by how husky and deep it was that you just blanked, staring up at him until your friend's nudge snapped you out of it. “I’ve actually got to take this call from my mom. I’ll leave you two to it—be back in a few.” Before getting up, she gave you a pointed look, basically screaming at you to keep it together. Then walked off while faking a call from her mom.
“Alright…” you breathed out, barely audible, before looking up at him. “Hey…” a pause, “Have a seat, please.”
He flashed that bright smile of his once again. “Thanks.” He took a seat beside you, carefully avoiding crossing any lines—he settled close enough to be friendly, but far enough to give you your space. “Felix, by the way.” He offered his hand as he spoke.
You reciprocated his smile, gave a soft nod, and introduced yourself. “Good to meet you, Felix.”
“First time here? I haven’t run into you before. Are you here on vacation?” He asked, tilting his head slightly to the side with curiosity.
You nodded, still struggling to focus as his voice vibrated through you. “Yeah, exactly. We’d been planning this trip for ages, but we just never had the chance until now.” a pause. “I take it you’re a local?”
He nodded frantically. “I’ve been here my whole life, and honestly, no other place beats this as a getaway.” He let out a small, deep chuckle.
Matching his laughter, you teased. “Since you’re talking it up so much, it better be as good as you say it is.”
With a knowing grin, he arched an eyebrow playfully. “Just behind the shore, there’s a solid bar. That’s where I can start giving you the grand tour, if you’d like.”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah, I saw that place on my way in… So, is this your “local guide” routine that you pull on every tourist girl you meet?” Proping yourself up on your elbows, you met his gaze daringly, a playful grin plastered on your lips.
He let out a chuckle, clearly amused by your words. “Is that the vibe I’m giving off? Do I really come across as that much of a flirt?”
You gave a little shrug, your lips still curved in a smile. “Well, the whole “let me show you around” thing… those are moved you could pull on any girl, every summer. Am I wrong?”
Without letting his smile fade, he gave a slow shake of his head. “Fair enough—you’re absolutely right to think that. But I don't really do “tactics”. I just thought you were beautiful and wanted to make a move. That doesn't mean I approach every girl I see like this. Am I wrong?” He countered your question with one of his own, his smile widening into a smirk.
You scoffed under your breath, smiling at him as if you couldn’t believe his nerve. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Alright, have it your way. Let’s go to that bar tonight.”
With a triumphant smile, he let his gaze sweep over you slowly before meeting your eyes again. “Is nine good for you?”
You nodded in agreement. “Works for me. Nine it is.”
He rose to his feet, keeping his gaze locked on yours. “I’m looking forward to our night. I’ll see you at nine.”
You managed a smile, masking your excitement as you give him a subtle nod. “Likewise. See you at nine.”
He gave you one last wave before heading back to his friend, and before you could even look around to find your own, she was already right there beside you. “Girl, you were incredible! I watched the whole thing from behind. Those looks he was giving you… And how you didn't even break a sweat—proud of you! So, how’d it go? Tell me exactly what happened.”
You shushed her quickly and began to spill. “I’m going to give you all the details, but we need to go back to hotel and prep me first. Because your girl has a date tonight.” you couldn’t keep still, unable to stop smiling as you spoke.
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head as she heard you. “No way… Seriously? Girl, get up, get up right now! We need to get you ready. He’s going to be drooling the second he sees you. Hurry, pack your things.” Without giving you a chance to answer, she started rounding up all your beach stuff.
“Could you be any more obvious? Calm down… geez.” you whispered to yourself with a grin, joining in to help her pack up.
She didn’t even care a word you said; she was too busy thinking out loud about which dress you should wear and how to style our hair. It amazed you that she was more hyped for this than you, and you couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of happiness inside.
You finished packing in record time, and now all that was left was picking an outfit and getting ready—which was the hardest part. But like she said, you were going to have him drooling tonight.
-
The second you stepped into the club, you could feel the heavy bass vibrating through your entire body; it was a stunning spot as he said before. As your eyes searched for Felix, you suddenly felt a light touch—a hand on the small of your back. “Perfect timing.” Bringing his lips close to your ear to compete with the loud music, he shouted slightly.
Turning your head just enough to catch his eye, you smiled. “I hope I didn’t make you wait too long?”
He shook his head right away. “Not at all. I just got here five minutes ago, and my eyes were already searching for you.” The moment the words left his mouth, he couldn’t help but let his eyes trace down your entire body. His eyes lingered on your legs a little too long, clearly distracted by the dress. He licked his lips subtly before meeting your eyes again. “You look gorgeous.” He breathed out against your ear.
You were suddenly so glad the club was dark, because you could feel a massive blush creeping up your neck. You were flushing so hard you felt your face burning. “Thank you.” you managed to say.
You gave him a once-over and realized you were both playing the same game. You mirrored his gesture, licking your lips as you took in the way that leather jacket hugged his frame. You were low-key disappointed to see those muscles covered up, but he still looked breathtaking. “I have to say the same about you. You look really good.”
A slight smirk played on his lips as he replied. “Thanks, thanks… How about we grab a drink at the bar?”
Nodding in approval, you let him guide you through the crowd. “Yeah, sure. Lead the way.”
He placed his hand lightly on your lower back, helping you move ahead of him. His touch was gentle, guiding you through the crowd without crossing any boundaries. Once you reached the bar, you could hear each other much better away from the blaring music—at least you didn't feel the need to shout anymore.
Seeing the bartender approach to take your order, Felix turned your way. “What are you having? You should definitely try the Negroni—it’s their specialty.”
You thought for a moment, and with no particular drink in mind, you nodded. “I’ll go with a Negroni, then.” You turned to the bartender to place your order, and Felix gave a “make it two” gesture, sending the bartender off.
With a soft smile, he leaned in closer to talk. ”Still think I pull this move on every girl, huh?”
You let out a chuckle, arching an eyebrow slightly. You could tell he genuinely didn’t want you to think that, but what was the harm in making him work for it a little? “Hmm, I’m still on the fence. How exactly do you plan on changing my mind?”
He smirked, leaning right into your space to whisper. “Wait for the night to unfold. I promise I’ll make a believer out of you.” Just as you were about to reply, bartender arrived with your drinks. After thanking him briefly, Felix continued. “It hits heavy by the way. Don’t come telling me I didn’t warn you when it starts to kick in.”
Rolling your eyes with a playful grin, you muttered before taking a sip from your drink. “Don’t take me so lightly, c’mon. One drink isn’t going to tip me over.”
As soon as you tasted it, you realized he wasn’t exaggerating. It wouldn’t knock you off your feet, but the strength of it was undeniable. The moment that first sip hit your tongue, you couldn’t help but wince.
Seeing your face, he fought back a laugh by pressing his lips together. “You okay? A bit too weak for your taste?” He teased, clearly enjoying himself.
You weren’t about to let him tease you. You downed the drink in one go and set the glass down. Even though your face twisted from the bitter sting, and you had a brief coughing fit, you forced a smile anyway. “What was that again?”
Felix’s eyes widened in total shock, clearly caught off guard by your move. “Woah… take it easy. How did you pull that off?” He muttered a curse under his breath, taking a sip of his own drink with an amused smile. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s no way I’m finishing mine in one gulp. I have my limits, y’know.”
You burst into a laugh, loving every second of this. “Still can’t handle it in one shot? And here I thought you were a pro after all those girls you brought here. Guess I was wrong about your endurance.” With a teasing smirk, you began tracing the rim of your glass, keeping your gaze locked on his.
After taking another sip, he gave you a grin in disbelief and shook his head. “You’re determined to keep thinking I’m some kind of player, aren’t you?”
Shrugging your shoulders lightly, you leaned in close to his ear to whisper. “Why not work a bitharder for it, huh?”
Slowly placing his glass back on the bar, turning his whole body to face you, looking you over with a smirk. “Are you getting a little tipsy, or are you just feeling bold?”
“I already said one drink wouldn’t do it, and I meant it.” You got up from your seat and dida graceful turn to prove your balance, then slid back into your spot. “I was just giving you some advice on trying a little harder, that’s all.” Your eyes wandered over his features, lingering on his lips for a moment longer before meeting his gaze again.
When your eyes met, you could feel a heavy silence settle between you. The music, the crowd seemed to fade into the background until they were gone completely. In that moment, nobody else existed; it was only you and him.
As you felt his hand slowly caressing your cheek, your eyes closed instinctively. There was such a tenderness in his touch that it felt like you were simply melting into the warmth of his hand. ”Just so you know, I’ll make sure to take your advice to heart.” He murmured slowly, despite the deep voice of his, you felt a softness in it that led you to slowly flutter your eyes open.
“And if I had another advice… would you follow that one as well?” you murmured, staring deep into his eyes without looking away.
Felix smiled softly, but this time his smile was deeper, more meaningful. As his hand continued to stroke your cheek, he pulled you into his space until you were breathing the same air. He lingered on your lips for a heartbeat, then met your gaze again, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “I’m all ears, go on.”
“Kiss me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed his lips firmly against yours. It wasn’t soft. Wasn’t tentative or testing. It was sure and certain, like he’d been thinking about this since he saw you for the first time, judging by the way his other hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, he probably had.
Your hands found his chest, fingers curling into his jacket as you kissed him back with everything you had been holding in all day. Since the moment he landed his eyes on you.
He made a sound low in his throat, a groan tangled in relief, and the deepened the kiss, angling your head just so. His tongue swept across your bottom lip and you parted for him immediately, tasting the Negroni you’d just drunk from his lips.
When he finally pulled back, just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours, you were both panting. “You’re perfect.” He muttered against your lips breathlessly.
Without waiting any longer, you stood up from your seat hurriedly. “Hope you don’t live too far away?”
“Much closer than you think.” Without waiting any longer second longer, he stood up and guided you toward the exit, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back.
-
The door clicks shut behind you, and before you can even kick off your shoes, Felix’s hands are on your waist, spinning you around with a firm grip that sends a thrill racing down your spine. He presses you back against the wall, his body flush against yours.
His blonde hair falls slightly into his eyes as he leans in, capturing your mouth in a devouring kiss. His lips are insistent, tongue sweeping past your parted lips to tangle with yours, tasting you deeply, hungrily. His mouth moves against yours with a growing fervor, each kiss deeper, more demanding than the last.
Felix groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against yours lips as he tilts his head, kissing you harder, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, just enough to draw a whimper from you.
The heat between you builds, your breaths quickening as the world outside the room fades to nothing. You feel his fingers brush against the fabric of your dress, his touch firm yet unhurried, as though he’s savoring the moment. His lips leave yours briefly, trailing down to your jaw, then your neck, each kiss igniting a fire that spreads through you.
“You’re driving me insane.” he says against your neck, his breath hot and ragged, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your head while the other grips yours hip, pinning you in place.
The air between you grows heavier, the atmosphere charged and electric. You sense the shift as his focus sharpens, his movements deliberate yet unspoken, the tension between you nearly tangible.
And before you could sense what was happening Felix gets on his knees. With a touch that’s both deliberate and unhurried, he lifts your leg slightly, tilting it closer to him. His lips graze the soft skin of your thigh, leaving a slow trail of kisses that climb higher with every breath.
And when Felix finally dips his head lower, the closeness of his breath on your clothed core igniting a fire along your skin. You close your eyes briefly, caught in the moment, every action a silent promise of what’s to come.
Taking you off guard, Felix tugs the fabric of your panties between his teeth and drags it down your thighs until it’d off of you. Nothing is getting in his way now but before that, he shot you a menacing look.
His hands moved up, sliding your dress until it was bunched high on your hips. “Spread your legs for me.” He says softly, his voice a low command, and you do, parting your thighs to reveal your slick cunt to him.
“So wet for me already.” He murmurs teasingly.
“Felix… please.” You whisper desperately, looking down at him with pleading eyes
Before dragging it any further, his mouth meets your cunt—tongue flicking out to taste you, lapping at your clit in firm, circling strokes. You let out a loud moan, hands flying to pull at his hair, pushing his head exactly where you need him.
“Fuck… you taste so good. I’ve been thinking about this all night.” He groans against your skin, the words muffled as he sucks your clit between his lips, humming vibrations that makes your body arch toward him.
When he finally slid two fingers inside you and curved them just right, you cried out. He growled against you, a deep, rough sound. “Gosh… you’re perfect.” he said, his voice wrecked.
He worked his fingers again, his mouth covering your clit, and the world went bright for a moment. His tongue delving into your folds, mixing with his fingers as he thrusts them faster, curling them to stroke your inner walls while his mouth devours your clit.
He alternates between sucking and licking, his free hand gripping your thigh to keep your legs open for him, his groans rumbling against your cunt with every pull of your fingers in his hair. The sounds he makes—deep, needy—only heighten the sensation, pushing you closer to the edge.
Your hips grinding down against his face, chasing the building pressure, moans spilling from your lips as you say his name over and over.
“Felix—oh, God—“ he growls again at your words, louder this time, the vibration sending a jolt through you, his tongue pressing flat against your clit while his fingers move inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again.
The coil in your stomach tightens unbearably, pleasure building hot and fierce, and you feel your body tensing as the orgasm crashes over you. “Felix—“
You cried out his name, your cunt clenching around his fingers, walls fluttering as waved of ecstasy pulse through you. Your thighs shake, trying to close around his head, but he holds them open, lapping your folds through it, drawing out every shudder and gasp until you’re spent, trembling against the wall.
He slows his movements, fingers easing out with a wet sound, his tongue giving one last gentle lick before he lifts his head, lips glistening with your arousal, a satisfied smile curving them as he looks up at you.
“Your taste… it was so fucking perfect, baby.” he says softly, getting on his feet slowly.
You lean in, capturing his mouth in a kiss, your tongue delving deep, claiming him as he did with you moments ago. He responds eagerly, his hands roam down your sides, fingers hooking into the hem of your dress, tugging it upward with impatient urgency. You help him, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank the fabric over your head, letting it drop somewhere on the floor.
Felix’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his gaze lingering on the swell of your breasts barely contained by your bra. He doesn’t waste time, his mouth returning to your neck, kissing and licking a path downward while his hands work at the clasp of your bra, snapping it open with ease. The straps slide down your shoulders, and you shrug it off, exposing your skin to the cool air of the hallway and to his heated stare.
“Fucking shit…” he whispers, voice rough with desire, as he dips his head to kiss along your collarbone, then lower, his lips brushing the tops of your breasts.
Impatiently, your hands fumble with his jacket and shirt, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal the lean muscles of his chest and abs you’d seen few hours ago at the beach. You feel his skin’s warmth under your palms as you trace the lines of him.
By the time you reach his bedroom, you’re both completely naked, his pants and boxer had thrown somewhere on the hallway, skin sliding against skin with every step.
He backs you into the room, his mouth never leaving yours, kisses turning sloppy and desperate as his hands explore every inch of your body. You stumble toward the bed, legs bumping against the edge, and Felix guides you down onto the soft mattress.
“Can’t wait to be inside you.” He breathed against your mouth, fingers never stop moving around your body.
“Then do something.” You said breathlessly.
He laughed in amusement, the warmth of his breath spreading across your skin, making goosebumps rise. “I am doing something.” He muttered before reaching for the nightstand, rummaged through it for a while.
You watched his hands shake as he found the condom, tore it open with trembling hands, nearly dropping it. You pressed your lips together to supprass your laughter. You watched him roll it on, watched the way his jaw clenching when he touched himself, the way his eyes squeezed shut for a second, and then he was settling between your thighs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, hot even through the latex.
“Ready?” He whispered, his voice rough and shaky with anticipation.
You nodded firmly and he pushed in slowly, so slowly, and you both gasped at the sensation. The stretch was perfect, that edge of too much that melted into exactly right. He was thick, much thicker than you thought he’d be, and you felt every inch as he sank into you. He buried his face in your neck, breathing hard, body trembling with the effort of holding still, and you could feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest.
“Fuck—“ he groaned against your skin, the word muffled. “You feel—I can’t—give me a second or I’m gonna fucking lose it…”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, puling him deeper until he was fully seated inside you, you felt him twitch, felt every pulse of his cock. “You’re so big.”
“Don’t—fuck—“ his hips jerked forward involuntarily, grinding deeper. “Don’t say things like that. I’m trying to hold back—shit.”
“What if I don’t want you to hold back?” You rolled your hips deliberately, clenching around him, and he made a sound that was almost whimper. “I want you to lose it.”
He lifted his head to look at you, and the expression on his face, desperate and wanting and barely hanging on, sweat beading on his forehead, lips parted around ragged breaths, made your heart race. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“Move, Felix.”
He did. He pulled out slowly, the drag of him against your walls making you both moan, and pushed back in. He set a steady rhythm, deep and thorough, his forehead pressed to yours, breath mixing.
“You can go harder, Lix.”
His breath hitched with the name you called him, his control snapped with your words. He grabbed your hip with one hand, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, the other braced beside your head, his forearm flexing as he held himself up, and fucked into you exactly how you asked, harder. The sound of skin meeting skin obscenely loud in the quiet room, the headboard starting to hit the wall with each thrust.
“So tight, so wet for me… fuck—“ He was gone now, words tumbling out between gasps, filter completely gone. “You feel so good, so perfect—God—“
Your nails dug into his shoulders, his back, dragging down hard enough to make him hiss. The slight pain seemed to spur him on, his hips snapping faster. “Don’t—don’t stop—“
“I won’t.“ His rhythm was getting erratic, chasing his release, each thrust slightly off-beat, desperate.
Felix pulled out halfway and slammed back in—hard enough to knock the air from your throat. You cried out, back arching, and his hand flew to your hip to hold you down.
“Oh my—Felix—“
“That’s it.” he growled, voice low and rough. “Take it.”
He set a brutal rhythm now, hips snapping forward with precision—deep, fast, punishing. Your body jolted with every thrust, his skin slapping yours, his breath ragged against your neck.
When he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, you sobbed. “You’re taking me so well, squeezing me like you were made for me.”
His words sent heat straight to your core, and your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, locking him in. He buried his face in your neck, his words muffled against your skin, lips moving against your pulse. “Come with me—I’m so close—“
“Oh, God—“
Your second orgasm hit different, deeper, longer, starting from where you were connected and radiating outward, pulling him right over the edge with you. He came with a broken sound of your name, hips jerking erratically as he spilled into the condom, and you felt every pulse, every twitch of it, felt him throbbing inside you.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just lay there breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat, heartbeats gradually slowing, still connected. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours, could feel his lips pressed against your neck, could feel the occasional aftershock flutter through both of you.
Finally, he lifted his head, brushing sweaty hair out of your face with shaking fingers, his touch so gentle compared to how he’d just fucked you. “So,” He smirked slightly, voice breathless and shaky. “Did I finally manage to convince you?”
Although you frowned for a moment, not quite catching what he said, you let out a chuckle once you understood what he meant. “About that… I dunno, maybe I just need a little more convincing?”
Hearing this, a glint lit up in his eyes; his grin returned, and he leaned in to whisper into your ear. “I assure you that by the end of the night, you’ll be completely convinced.”
let me know your thoughts about the fic in the comments below, thanks for reading :)
synopsis: as usual, Chan had brought Jeongin along to post a video on Bubble; until you got in the way. the fact that his videos were getting freakier every day was reason enough for you to take action. (2,7k words)
warnings: unprotected sex; wall sex; oral sex (f! and m!receiving); fingering; lots of edging; praising; teasing; power play
author’s note: his latest video made me feel I had to write it, enjoy babes!!❣️
also taglist open! comment under this post to join.
”Is that another video for Bubble, Chan?” You let out a heavy sigh as you walked over to Jeongin and Chan.
Jeongin was at it again, phone in hand, filming Chan’s workout from a perfect angle. After a few more reps, he got into standing position and turned to you. “Yeah, why?” He asked, his breath coming deep, sharp, panting heavily. Before you could even get a word out, he turned to Jeongin. “Thanks, I can handle the rest.” He took his phone from Jeongin and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Anytime, hyung. I’m gonna head back to the dorm from here, talk to you later. Bye, noona!” Jeongin headed out with a wave over his shoulder.
“See ya, Jeongin.” You muttered before turning back to Chan with your arms crossed across your chest.
“What’s with that look, baby?” He mirrored your movement, a smirk breaking through despite his best efforts to hide it.
“You know perfectly well why. Don’t act like you don’t know what those videos do to me—how much they drive me crazy…” You took a step toward him, tilting your head slightly to the side, eyes locking with his.
He stared at you with wide eyes, feigning shock, though his smirk only widened. “Is that so? Go on then—tell me what they do to you, baby?”
You moved in close, eliminating the distance between you, and leaned toward his ear. “You want me to tell you? Right here, in the middle of the gym?”
He turned his head slowly, grazing his nose against your neck. “Tell me.”
“Fine.” You took a deep breath, scanning the room quickly before leaning back in. “I want you to make the same sounds you’re holding back in those videos while you’re on top of me. I want those arms you’re training to be pinning me against the wall instead. You keep posting those videos even though I tell you not to… so I want to give you the punishment you deserve. I want you right here, right now.”
You felt Chan’s breath hitch. “You…” His voice was thick and rough; you could feel him literally shaking under the weight of your words.
Before you could say another word, he grabbed you by the arm and hauled you toward the locker rooms. “Seriously?” A small grin spread across your face as you trailed after him, half-shocked that your words actually worked that well.
“Weren’t you the one who wanted this right here?” he rasped, not slowing his pace while pulling you along.
“Oh, I’m not complaining. Not at all.”
-
He’d hooked your thighs over his shoulders, strong hands splaying possessively across your hips. His breath was hot against your bare skin, lips trailing lazy kisses up your inner thigh. “So you wanted me to use my arms to pin you against the wall, huh?” He muttered, his tongue tracing a slow, maddening path closer—so close. “Was that the view you wanted?”
A strangled whimper slipped from your lips, thighs quivering where Chan held you pinned. The wicked, taunting curve of his mouth made your pulse jump—anticipation coiling hot and tight in your stomach. “Yes, fuck—yes.”
“Eager.” He murmured, breath feathering over the most sensitive part of you. “I haven’t even tasted you yet, but you’re trembling in my arms, baby… Do you want me that much?”
The teasing lilt of his voice sent heat prickling along your skin, a shiver rippling down your spine. Your hips twitched, the barest grind against his mouth, but his grip tightened, fingers digging into your thighs just hard enough to sting—a warning.
“Nuh uh.” He tutted, squeezing until you stilled. “Answer me.”
You looked down at his face between your thighs, but just when you tried to answer, the words caught in your throat as his tongue traced a slow, teasing circle around where you needed him most.
The soft, wet heat of his mouth was a shock, a lightning bolt of sensation that had your head falling back against the wall, a choked moan escaping from your lips. Chan hummed against you, the vibration a taunt of its own, lips curling into a smirk that you could feel more than see.
“Answer me or I’ll stop.” He murmured teasingly, fingers pressing bruises into your skin.
“I want you so much, Chan… I need you—fuck—“ You gasped, fingers digging into the wall as he licked another slow, deliberate stripe.
He hummed in approval, pressing a brief, almost gentle kiss to your iner thigh before his mouth returned to you—hot and wet, tongue flicking over your swollen clit with deliberate, calculated precision. Your body arched instinctively, desperate for more. “Then I should give you what you want, right?” He muttered between slow, lazy licks, his breath searing against your oversensitive nerves.
You were barely holding it together, every flick of his tongue made your hips twitch. “Yes, please—“
His tongue started to move faster, never slowed. Each flick over your clit sent sparks racing through your nerves, making your thighs tremble where he held them open. You wanted to grind—had to grind—but his grip was too tight, fingers digging into your skin like his life depended on you.
“Just like that.” He praised against your skin, breath hot and full of desire.
You moaned, back arching when his tongue flattened against your clit, pressing hard before dragging down to your entrance. He licked into you, slow and deliberate, groaning like he was the one getting wrecked.
“You taste so fucking good, love.” He murmured, voice muffled by the way he buried himself between your legs.
His tongue was relentless, licking into you with obscene noises, lapping at every drop you gave him. And when his fingers joined—two thick digits pressing inside without warning—the dam broke.
“You’re squeezing me so hard, baby… keep goin’.” His voice was low, shaky.
His fingers curled, pressing just right, and your whole body jolted. You clenched around and when he sucked just a bit harder, you nearly sobbed. His fingers pumped deeper, stretching you open, teasing that one spot that made your vision blur.
“Chan—oh, God—“ Your voice caught as he crooked his fingers, fucking them into you with ruthless precison.
“Say my name, let the whole gym hear it.” He groaned, low and possessive.
Your body was too hot, too tight—you couldn’t even think, couldn’t do anything but whimper and moan his name. His fingers kept thrusting, kept fucking into you harder, his tongue kept flicking, and your voice was broken, wrecked, your body barely able to keep up with the relentless pleasure tearing through you.
And when your orgasm slammed into you, you couldn’t even brace for it, pleasure surging through you in dizzying waved. Your thighs trembled, hands fisting his hair, body locking up as you came with a broken moan.
Chan groaned. “Fuck… that was—you were so good, baby.”
You could barely think, barely breathe—and Chan looked like he was barely holding himself together. It hit you like a thunderclap—shattering, consuming, a pleasure so intense it almost hurt. Chan groaned, lapping up every drop, working you through it even as you trembled.
Only then did he pull away, lips slick and curved into something dark and satisfied. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze locked on your wrecked form—your twitching thighs, your heaving chest, the way your body still shook from the aftershocks.
He slowly got on his feet. “Is that what you were thinking every time you watched those videos.” He asked, voice teasing but affectionate.
You smiled lazily, still breathless from the earlier event. “Well, sort of. But there’s more to it.” You said, and grabbed him by the collar and pinned him against the wall, switching the roles. “Do you remember the part about punishment? Now it’s my turn.”
With a small smirk, you sank on your knees before him, hooked your fingers into the waistband, eyes locked on his, and tugged his pants down along with his boxers. “You’re killing me.” He breathed out, voice low and desperate now.
His cock stood hard and glistening, thick and veined, a tantalizing tease. You licked your lips, meeting his gaze as you leaned in, your tongue flicking out to taste the precum beading at the tip. His head fell back against the wall, a low moan escaping as you wrapped your lips around him, taking him deep, your mouth hot and tight.
“Fuck, yes—“ He hissed, his hand tangling in your hair, guiding you but not forcing, his hips twitching as you bobbed slowly, hollowing your cheeks. You tease him, swirling your tongue around the head, then taking him deeper until he hit the back of your throat, making you gag softly. The sound drove him wild, his fingers tightened in your hair, his breath ragged.
“Look at you, taking me so well.”
The way he talked—filthy, and like the way he’s in control—made you want to drive him a little crazy, remind him who’s in charge.
That’s why you slowly pulled away, looked up at him. “Now I remember that you didn’t listen to me when I warned you about videos—maybe I shouldn’t have let you come so quickly, should I?” You asked, a smirk curling around your lips.
You heard him curse under his breath. “Y/N. You won’t, right?” He asked, with the hope that you might change your mind.
“Nuh…” You shook your head slowly, still smirking slyly. “I will, and you will beg for it.”
And before he could answer, you wrap your hand around his cock, his precum making your grip slick and smooth as you stroke him from base to tip. He let out a choked moan, his hips jerking forward into your fist, the sensation overwhelming after the build-up.
“Please, please don’t stop—fuck—baby—“ He groans, his head thrown back as your thumb circles the tip of his cock, spreading his precum slowly.
You to pump him steadily, feeling him throb in your hand, his balls tightening as pleasure builds fast, too fast. But you stop just as his moans get higher, his body tensing on the edge, your hand releasing his cock and Chan whines loudly, his eyes snapping to yours in desperation.
“Please, don’t stop, love—fuck—please—“ He begs you.
You wrap your lips around his cock without warning, taking him as deep as you can. His back arches against the wall, a loud, broken moan echoing as your mouth takes him.
You bob your head slowly at first, the salty precum flooding your mouth as you hollow your cheeks, sucking with firmpressure. His hips stutter, trying to thrust, but you pin him against the wall with one hand on his chest, as the other cups his balls, rolling them gently.
“Fuck—I’m so close, just like that, baby—yes—“ He says his voice wrecked, his fingers weaving back into your hair.
You take him deeper, relaxing your throat to let the head bump the back, gagging slightly. The locker room fills with wet, slurping sounds, his groans growing louder, more frantic, as you use your hand too now, twisting it at the base in time with your mouth, pumping what you can’t take.
His cock throbs and you feel him swelling, his balls tightening, signaling he’s so close. You hum around him, the vibration pulling a shout from his lips.
Just as you feel he’s going to come, you pull away. He groans in frustration, throwing his head back against the wall. “Fuck.“ He mutters but before you could tease him, he looks down at you and lifts you off of the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist, pinning you against the wall. “You find this funny, huh? Edging me to death?”
“Chan—“
He cuts off as he lines himself up and pushes in with one slow, relentless slide that made your vision white out.
You both moaned, loud and shameless.
He stilled, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to yours. “So how are you going to fucking punish me, huh?” He hissed, voice low and rough.
You clenched around him deliberately. His breath stuttered.
“Move.” You ordered.
He did—hard, deep, punishing. Every thrust slammed you against the wall. You met him stroke for stroke, nails digging into his back, head thrown back.
“I’m going to fuck you dumb—shit—.” He panted against your lips, yanking your head back as he rolled his hips in a slow, torturous circle.
You gasped, his mouth trailed down to yours jaw, then to your neck, kissing and sucking every now and then. His hips snapping against yours with building force, your cunt squeezes him, drawing a guttural groan from his throat. When he starts to kiss your lips, the kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue, swallowing your moans as he pounds harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the locker room. Your legs tremble around him, but you don’t let go. His free hand grips your ass, lifting you for better leverage, and the new angle makes him hit that spot relentlessly.
“You’re gonna make me come—fuck—“ He says, his breath ragged against your lips, his thrusts erratic now.
“Come with me—Chan—“ You say, your nails raking his scalp, pulling his hair just hard enough to make him hiss.
He nods vaguely, capturing your mouth in a kiss, your tongues together as the coil snaps. your second orgasm crashes over you, waves of heat pulsing through your core, as you moan into him.
Chan follows seconds later, burying himself deepwith a chokes groan, spilling hot inside you, his body shuddering against yours. You both pant, your foreheads touching, his cock twitching as he rides out the last pulses. Slowly, he softens, but doesn’t pull out yet, holding you close, his hands gentle now on yours thighs, his thumbs soothing the marks he left from gripping too hard.
“You’re such a tease, Gosh…” he murmurs, kissing your swollen lips softly, a lazy smile curving his mouth.
“That was so good, admit it.” You give him a small, satisfied smile.
“I’m not complaining, never.” He said, a small smile curving his lips slowly. “Are you really bothered by me posting those videos on Bubble?” He asked, becoming serious again.
You let out a chuckle quietly, your fingers grazing the back of his neck. “Of course not. It’s just that… when I saw you filming another video, I knew you’d post it, and I knew that once you did, I’d find myself wanting you all over again, so I wanted to get it over with beforehand—to spare myself the pain.”
After listening to with his mouth parted open, he bursted out laughing. “And here I thought you really didn’t want me to send them anymore… So you used me for your own sake?”
You slowly ran your fingers in his hair, smiling slyly. “I mean, it would’ve been better if you hadn’t put it that way, but I guess… yeah.” You said, pressing a long, lingering kiss on his lips.
He kissed you back, then pulled away slowly. “I can’t believe you, really… I’m going to send even freakier videos from now on, you’ll see.” Your eyes widened in shock and madeyou clench around him involuntarily. “Y/N, stop.” He groaned as he buried his face into your neck.
“Since you’re going to send even freakier videos, I’d better get myself ready now, right?” You asked, grinning slyly.
Even though he rolled his eyes as if he didn’t like the sound of the idea, he couldn’t help the way his lips pull upward. “You’re impossible.”
let me know your thoughts about the fic in the comments below, thanks for reading :)
synopsis: You had attention deficits and trouble focusing because you sometimes forgot to take your medication. But if there was a better solution than medication for your distraction, it was your boyfriend. (2k words)
warnings: unprotected sex; oral sex (f!receiving); fingering; nipple play; dirty talk (use of slut); overstimulation; slight choking
author’s note: it was requested by this anon. I hope I’ve managed to write a fic that meets your expectations; I hope you like it, my love❣️
also taglist open! comment under this post to join.
“Then Jeongin and Felix started stomping around on the couch, and everyone was laughing—you really should have been there—baby, you okay?” Han asked as he snapped his fingers to get you out of your dazed state.
You hummed, distracted. “Yeah, yeah. Please keep talking, babe.”
He nodded but still unconvinced. “Alright… Then when it was finally time to start our dance practice, Chan hyung tried to gather all of us—you’re not listening to me.”
As you tried to figure out the exact shade of your hair and examined it closely, you turned toward Han at the sound of his voice. “I'm really listening, honey, I'm just trying to figure out exactly what color my hair is. What do you think it is, exactly?” you said as you moved closer to him so he could take a closer look at your hair.
When Han realized what was happening, he let out a deep sigh. “Did you forget to take your medicine again, honey?” he asked, his voice low and concerned.
You furrowed your brows and tilted your head to the side slightly. “I remember taking them—in fact, you reminded me just as you were leaving, and I…” you paused for a moment, trying to recall what had happened. “Damn it… Just as I was about to take them, I remembered the laundry in the machine, so I took it out, then washed the dishes, got ready to go out… and completely forgot.” You face-palmed yourself in embarrassment, pulling away slowly with a sigh.
“You’ve been forgetting to take them a lot lately; I told you to set a reminder, love.” He said, pulling you into his side tightly.
“I’ve already set it up, but just then something happens or I remember something else, and I end up forgetting to take them again.” You sighed heavily, huffing out a humorless laugh.
When he noticed that you’d started playing with the bracelets on your wrist again and were muttering incomprehensible things, he didn’t say anything; he wanted to see how long it’d last. After you stopped fiddling with your bracelets, you started shifting in your seat and swinging your leg, and you kept mumbling to yourself.
When something came to mind, you immediately looked up at Han. “By the way, when I went out today, a woman told me how beautiful my hair was—she liked the color of it—and then I started wondering why she suddenly said something like that. And then, when I went into the grocery store, everything on the shelves looked so good that I felt like buying it all; I ended up getting a few snacks—should I bring some over? I bet all of them were—“
Without a word, Han flipped you on your back, placing you beneath him with a precision that sent a rush of heat through your body. The world around you seemed to fade into nothingness, leaving only him—his touch, his body against yours.
His eyes searched yours. “Will you focus on me now?” he asked, a smirk spreading across his face slightly.
You’d already given him every word he needed in the moment. He was in control now, and you were more than willing to let him have it.
His lips crashed down on yours, the kiss was hard and demanding, felt with an intensity that stole your breath away. After he’d stripped you down to your panties, his hands roamed freely, touching you with a hunger that made you ache. His lips trailed down your neck, nipping at the soft skin there, then trailing down your chest, where he focused his mouth on your breast, rolling his tongue around your hardened bud, and his left hand attending to your other breast, kneading the supple skin.
His right hand moved lower, slipping under the waistband of your panties to trace his fingertips ever so lightly through your folds.
“Tell me now, how did you get this wet even though you weren’t even listening to me? What was going through your mind, you naughty girl?” he murmured against your skin, moving away to stare at your cunt, to which he dragged his tongue across his bottom lip. “Are you tongue-tied, or have you just decided to keep quiet and focus, huh?”
You barely managed to muster a reply before his hands fled their posts to lift your hips, to allow for his teeth to catch the elastic of your panties and drag them down to your ankles and toss them to somewhere on the floor with his mouth. Without another word, he dove straight in.
His tongue moved with a slow, devastating precision—savoring every inch of you slowly, deliberately. Each stroke of his tongue was skillful, hungry, and maddeningly thorough, his mouth worshipping you with an unrelenting hunger that bordered on reverence. His hand gripped your thighs, fingers digging into the softness as he spread you wide for him, holding you open as though he couldn’t bear to lose a single moment of access.
You let out moans, huffs, and groans shamelessly; you were desperate beneath the weight of his mouth, and he only smiled proudly at you, enjoying the fact that he’s the one who keeps you focused—tongue flicking over your clit with wicked precision, then sucking hard enough to make you see stars. You cried out, hips jolting, thighs beginning to close around his head in a helpless, overwhelmed instinct.
And when he moaned at you—low, rough, shaking with need—it reverberated straight through your core. The sound alone nearly broke you.
You shattered with a sob, your orgasm tearing through you fast and violently, your body trembling as the release overtook you—but he didn’t stop.
He held you in place, relentless and devoted, licking you through it with obscene focus, tongue fucking you slowly, deeply, while your body broke apart beneath him. You were unraveling in his hands, and still—he kept going until your twitching had slowed to a stop.
When he finally pulled away, his chin was slick with your arousal, lips glistening. “You taste so fucking amazing… God.”
Your breathing was ragged, hands clutching at his hoodie before he leaned up so he could strip it off, revealing his tattoos and smooth skin stretched over lean muscle, his chest heaving with restraint. His eyes were molten, locked on yours as he tugged your thighs apart, settling between them once again.
“This time, I want you to watch me with your eyes fixed on me, without letting your gaze wander. Can you do that?” he muttered, his voice thick with desire.
Your heart raced, your mind spinning with the control he had over you. You could feel the fire building inside you, your breath shallow and fast as you fought to keep yourself from completely losing it.
“I can.” you gasped, eyes glassy with need. “Please, Han—“
Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, and two fingers shoved inside with zero warning, deep and brutal, the stretch enough to punch the breath out of you. Your body jerked violently, knees kicking up.
You didn’t even get time to adjust—his fingers were moving instantly, fucking up into you—fast, hard, unrelenting. “Fuck, Han—“
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he growled, mouth hot against your jaw. “Now take it like the slut you are.”
Your moan broke, he didn’t let up. His pace was savage—each thrust precise, fingers curling deep as your body convulsed under him. You were already slipping, your vision hazy, your muscles limp, your mouth open in a silent moan. You couldn’t feel time, couldn’t think. Just this warm, heady fog flooding every inch of you.
He leaned in, watching every twitch, lips brushing your ear. “You said you could keep your focus on me, don’t float away yet.”
You slowly opened your eyes, gaze fixed on him as he pulled back, his fingers slipping from you, wet and glistening as he reached down to undo his belt. His cock sprang free, flushed and thick, veins prominent along the shaft. You reached for him, but he caught your wrists again, pinning them above your head.
He lined himself up, nudging at your entrance, dragging the head through your slick folds until you were trembling with anticipation. Then, with one slow, merciless thrust, he filled you to the brim.
You gasped, nails digging into his back as your walls stretched around him, the pressure overwhelming in the best way. He paused only a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him, before drawing his hips back and slamming into you again.
“Eyes on me.” he murmured, pulling back slightly, only to thrust deeper, his breath ragged against your skin. “Breathe.”
He groaned when you clenched around him, he buried his face in your neck and set a punishing rhythm, each thrust deeper, harder, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, the angle perfect, the drag of his cock inside you enough to make your vision blur. His hand snaked up to your throat, fingers curling there—not tight, just enough to remind you of his hold.
“Am I supposed to have to keep bringing you back to the focus every single time, huh?” he growled into your ear, biting the lobe. “Or should I make this moment memorable so that you never forget to take your medicine?”
You gasped, tried to form an answer but when nothing could come off, you just nodded absentmindedly, vaguely.
“Tell me, who keeps you focused when even medicine can’t?” he muttered. “Answer me.” he demanded, voice low and rough.
“You—Gosh… you keep me focused—“ you gasped.
And when the words finally slipped from your lips, breathless and raw, Han’s eyes darkened with triumph. “That’s my girl.” he murmured. “Now keep your eyes on me, don’t look away.”
He shifted, hips grinding against yours as he fucked into you, stroking that sweet spot again and again until you were sobbing with the need to come. His thumb found your clit, circling fast and mercilessly now, pushing you to the edge.
And then you felt it hot—your body clenching around him, stars exploding behind your eyes as your second orgasm ran through you like fire. Han didn’t slow down, chasing his own high, thrusting into you through your climax until his rhythm broke and he spilled inside you with a shudder.
“Fuck, fuck… I’m coming—“
He groaned as he collapsed onto you, both of you panting, slick with sweat and trembling from the aftershocks. The tension had finally broken, but his gaze lingered on you, and you could see the soft smile tugging at his lips.
“What?” you asked with a playful smile.
“You never took your eyes off me for a single moment—do you know what that means?” he asked, his fingers tracing over your lips.
“Oh, please tell me what that means.” you feigned intrigue in amusement.
“I’m even better for you than medicine, so you better appreciate me, baby.” he said with a playful cockiness.
You let out a chuckle, shaking your head. “If it helps me stay focused every time, why not?” you said as you climbed on his lap effortlessly.
His brows lifted in quiet shock. “I was just kidding, honey. We don't have to—“
“You said I should appreciate you, well, now I do.”
With that, your lips met again.
Since you couldn’t focus, you would’ve let him help you, again.
let me know your thoughts about the fic in the comments below, thanks for reading :)
⤷ part of the weight of love: eight ways to STAY series
as your son eunwoo grows older, seungmin finds himself trying to navigate the quiet distance that begins to settle between them, unsure of when to hold on and when to let go. while you remain the steady heart of the home, father and son are forced to confront the growing pains, fear, and love that come with realizing things don’t stay the same.
pairing thirties!seungmin x thirties!reader
genre married life ; coming-of-age ; hurt/comfort
rating mature, 18+
word count 13k
warnings themes of teen angst & mental health ; domestic realism ; graphic & detailed smut ; p in v sex ; breeding fantasy
𓄲 when i tell you i cried...idk how i got through editing y'all. i am a certified crybaby, i know this, but the amount of times i had to go through it all, jc. as you can tell, this series is diving into v serious topics, that are very real. i hope you all are enjoying the series!iI would love to know your thoughts so please do not hesitate to comment, send me a message/ask, and please reblog if you are enjoying <3
m a s t e r l i s t ⋆ i n b o x
The first thing Seungmin noticed was not the closed bedroom door. That, on its own, would have meant nothing.
Sixteen-year-old boys were not exactly known for lingering in family spaces like they were desperate for one more round of charades in the living room. Eunwoo had earned his privacy the same way he’d earned longer curfews and the right to choose his own clothes without his mother quietly replacing shirts she thought looked ridiculous. It came with age. With growing bones and a deepening voice and the odd, awkward in-between stage where he was somehow still Seungmin’s son and also increasingly a person Seungmin had to learn all over again.
So no, it wasn’t the closed door. It was everything around it.
It was the way Eunwoo used to leave it cracked open.
Not wide or dramatically welcoming, but enough that the warm light from his room would spill into the hallway in a thin yellow stripe while music played low from his speakers or the sound of him laughing at something on his phone floated out with enough volume for the rest of them to hear and roll their eyes at. Enough that Areum would wander past and pause just long enough to ask some annoying little sister question about whether her math worksheet looked right or whether he’d seen her pink hair tie, and Eunwoo, after acting like she was the biggest inconvenience in the world, would answer anyway.
Lately, the door shut all the way. Not slammed or locked. Eunwoo wasn’t that kind of kid, not usually. But there was something in the final click of it that made the upstairs hallway feel longer than it was.
Seungmin noticed other things too, because that was what he did. He noticed when the carton of milk was nearly empty before anyone else said they needed groceries. He noticed when you were pretending your shoulder wasn’t bothering you again because you stirred soup with your left hand and reached for cabinets more slowly with your right. He noticed when Areum was about to cry before she cried, when rain was coming before the weather app confirmed it, when one of the kitchen chairs had started wobbling because Eunwoo leaned back in it every night despite being told not to.
He also noticed his son was disappearing a little at a time.
Not the kind that got a parent’s heart thudding immediately into panic. Nothing that obvious. Nothing he could point to and say, there, that’s the problem. It was smaller than that. More irritating.
Eunwoo stopped coming downstairs before school unless he absolutely had to. He started grabbing toast and taking it upstairs instead of sitting at the table. He answered questions with one-word replies that weren’t rude enough to call rude, just clipped enough to end a conversation before it had a chance to become one. His headphones seemed permanently attached to him. Some evenings he came home, kicked off his shoes by the door, muttered a vague greeting, and vanished upstairs before Areum could even launch herself at him with whatever story from her day she’d been storing up.
At first, Seungmin let it go because he remembered being sixteen.
Adults sometimes lied to themselves about their ‘golden years’. About how carefree and amazing their youth had been. Not Seungmin. He remembered it accurately. He remembered how being a teenager felt like living with your skin turned inside out, every annoyance sharper than it needed to be, every question from your parents carrying the faint accusation that you were being watched, measured, corrected.
He remembered wanting to be alone and not understanding why everyone seemed so offended by that desire. He remembered being convinced that no one in the house understood him, even though he’d never once explained himself clearly enough to give them a fair chance.
Sixteen was a strange age. Old enough to want freedom. Young enough to still need someone to tell you when you were being stupid.
So when you stand at the kitchen counter one evening, rinsing strawberries while Eunwoo’s footsteps cross the upstairs hall not ten minutes after dinner, Seungmin only glances toward the ceiling and says, “Let him be.”
You look over your shoulder. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was not.”
“You had that face.”
You turned fully then, affronted in the specific way you always were when he was irritatingly accurate. “What face?”
He leans one hip against the counter, taking a strawberry from the container before you could stop him. “The one where you’re pretending you’re not bothered but you’re already planning a speech.”
You slap his wrist lightly when he reaches for a second one. “I don’t plan speeches.”
Seungmin bites into the strawberry, entirely unrepentant. “You absolutely do. They even have sections.”
Your eyes narrow. “And what would the sections be, exactly?”
He swallows, then lifts one hand, counting off. “Gentle concern. Practical advice. Emotional appeal. Closing statement.”
A laugh escapes you before you can hold it back, quick and reluctant, exactly the kind he liked earning from you. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he says, reaching for another strawberry with his other hand this time, “you remain legally tied to me.”
You smack that hand too, but you’re smiling now, and for a second the kitchen felt like itself again. Bright overhead lights. Sink running. Areum in the living room, a cartoon playing a little too loudly. The soft domestic clutter of a Thursday night.
Then you glance toward the stairs. The smile fades first. It’s small enough that most people wouldn’t have caught it. But your loving, observant husband does.
“He’s fine,” he says.
You dry your hands on a dish towel. “I know.” That answer, more than anything, tells him you’re worried.
Because when you actually think someone is fine, you tend to say much more than that.
Still, he keeps the line steady. “He’s sixteen.”
“And moody,” you say.
“And dramatic.”
You give him a look.
He lifts a shoulder. “You married me. You clearly have a type.”
That gets him another almost-laugh, but only almost. Your eyes go back to the stairs, to the absence sitting above the ceiling.
“He barely sat with us tonight.”
“He had two servings of rice and enough chicken to bankrupt us eventually. I think his body was physically present.”
“Seungmin.”
He knows when to stop pushing. He sets the strawberry tops aside, takes the knife from where you’d left it, and starts slicing the fruit into smaller pieces because if he was standing in the kitchen, he might as well be useful.
“He’ll come around,” he says after a moment. “Give it a week.”
You go quiet. When you go quiet like that, it was never because you had nothing to say. It was because you were sorting through too much to decide what deserved to be spoken out loud.
Finally you say, “Areum notices.”.
He keeps slicing, but more slowly.
In the living room, your daughter is sprawled on the rug with colored pencils and construction paper, humming to herself with the wholehearted concentration only children seem capable of. She still moves through the house like it belongs to her, completely unembarrassed by her own presence. She asks every question as soon as it occurs to her. Sings songs with the wrong lyrics and great confidence. Leaves socks in baffling places. Calls for her brother the second she needs someone to admire a drawing of a cat that looks, at best, like a haunted loaf of bread.
If Eunwoo’s withdrawal had only affected Eunwoo, maybe Seungmin would have waited longer.
But houses have ecosystems. One person shifting changes the weather for everyone.
He looks past you into the living room. Areum has a purple marker cap between her teeth while she reaches for the green one. Her hair is escaping the ponytail you’d tied that morning. And there’s a smudge of what looked like glue near her elbow.
“Did she say something?” he asks.
You shake your head. “Not really. Just…” You fold the dish towel once, then again. “She asks where he is more often now. If he wants to watch something with her. If he’s mad at her.”
At that, Seungmin finally stops slicing.
“Did you tell me that already?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
You gave him a flat look that translates easily to ‘because you’re currently lecturing me about giving him space, Kim Seungmin.’
Fair enough.
He sets the knife down and exhales through his nose. “She shouldn’t be worrying about if he’s mad at her.”
“I know.”
The kitchen falls quiet for a moment with that familiar marital heaviness that comes from standing side by side in a shared concern neither of you want to make larger than it needed to be.
Then, because life rarely respects timing, Areum’s voice floats in from the living room.
“Mom!”
“Yes?”
“Can hamsters eat glue?”
Seungmin closes his eyes.
You’re already moving. “Why are you asking that?”
“Because Bori maybe licked some.”
Seungmin opens his eyes again just in time to see you hurry out of the kitchen. “What do you mean maybe?”
Areum, who only ever sounds guilty after the fact, answers with a thin little, “Maybe maybe.”
He stands there with the half-sliced strawberries and listens to the next thirty seconds unfold.
“No, don’t pick him up like that.”
“I’m not hurting him.”
“You’re holding him upside down.”
“He’s daring.”
“Bori does not like to be daring.”
Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. For a moment, despite everything, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
That was another thing about family life. One child could be drifting out of reach upstairs while another nearly poisons a hamster with arts and crafts in the next room, and somehow both things live under the same roof at the same time. You don’t get to focus on one emotional catastrophe too long. There was always another smaller, stranger one trotting into view.
He carries the bowl of strawberries into the living room and finds Areum cross-legged on the rug, looking deeply offended on behalf of a hamster that was currently trying to burrow into the couch cushion.
“You,” Seungmin says, setting the bowl down on the coffee table, “are banned from all adhesives until further notice.”
“That’s not fair," Areum says immediately. “It wasn’t even a lot.”
You shoot her a look. “That does not help your case.”
“He only sniffed it.”
“A minute ago, you said licked.”
“Okay, well.” Areum pushes her hair behind one ear. “Maybe kinda licked it.”
Seungmin stares at her. You stare at her. And Areum stares back with the confidence of a child who had never once thought before speaking and had somehow survived that habit for a full decade.
Then Seungmin laughs despite himself, and you have to turn away because you’re laughing too. The sound of it warms the room. Briefly. Naturally. The way laughter in family homes often did, filling the corners and brightening up the space.
And right in the middle of it, Seungmin looks up toward the stairs. He doesn’t know why. Maybe because some small part of him expects Eunwoo to come out at the noise. Roll his eyes. Say something dry from the landing. Ask why the hamster is involved in a criminal investigation. For one second, he can see it so clearly that the absence of it feels sharper.
But the upstairs hallway remains still and the door stays closed.
That night, when Areum is in bed and the dishes are drying in the rack and the house had finally settled into its softer nighttime sounds, Seungmin finds himself pausing outside Eunwoo’s room.
He hadn’t meant to stop there. He’d only gone downstairs to grab his charger from the outlet and check whether Areum had kicked off her blanket again. But when he passed Eunwoo’s door, something in him stalled.
Light glows under it, thin and steady.
He can hear the faint rhythm of music through the wood, too muffled to identify, just enough to know Eunwoo is still awake.
Seungmin stands there with one hand in his pocket and the other hanging uselessly at his side, feeling faintly ridiculous.
He could knock. He could walk in. He could do what fathers have done for generations and ask some version of ‘how’s school’ or ‘everything okay’ or ‘why are you acting like a stranger in your own house’.
Instead he stays where he is, listening to the music, staring at the line of light.
He tells himself there’s nothing urgent yet. No smoking, no skipping school, no calls from teachers, no signs of real trouble. Just distance. Just moodiness. Just adolescence doing what adolescence does best, which was taking a perfectly normal child and replacing him, temporarily, with someone who acts like basic kindness was a burdensome request.
Still, Seungmin knew the tone. He knew atmosphere. He knew when something in a house had shifted. And lately, Eunwoo’s silence didn’t feel like privacy. It felt pointed. Not always. Not enough to corner him over. Just enough to leave a mark when it brushed against the rest of them.
A missed dinner here. A shrug there. A tight response when you asked whether he’d finished his homework. A visible annoyance when Areum knocked once, asking if he wanted to see the bracelet she’d made. Nothing huge. Nothing worth a lecture on its own. But Seungmin knew better than to ignore patterns simply because each individual piece looked harmless.
He stands outside the door another few seconds then he moves on.
In the bedroom, you’re sitting up against the headboard with your glasses low on your nose, scrolling through something on your tablet. You look up when he comes in.
“You checked on Areum?”
“She’s sideways across the bed like always.”
“That’s her natural state.”
He hums, plugging in his charger. When he climbs into bed beside you, you glance at him again, more closely this time. “What?”
He settles against the pillows. “Nothing.”
You let that sit for all of two seconds. “You were outside his room.”
Seungmin turns his head. You don’t even look smug.
“How do you know that?”
“I’m married to you.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
He clicks his tongue, but there isn’t much fight in it. “I was passing by.”
“Mm.”
He looks at you fully now. “Why do you sound like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve just caught me doing something embarrassing.”
You try, badly, to hide your smile. “Because you look embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“You’re sulking.”
“I’m thinking, dear.”
“You’re sulking while thinking.”
He exhales, long and quiet, then reaches over to tug your tablet gently down to your lap. Your expression softens a little. The room is dim except for the bedside lamp on your side, warm light catching on the edge of your glasses, on the familiar lines of your face he has spent years learning by heart.
“He’s different,” Seungmin says.
There it is. Small. Plain. But once spoken, impossible to take back into silence.
You look down for a moment, thumb resting against the edge of the tablet. “I know.”
“He barely talks.”
“He talks.”
“Not to us.”
At that, your mouth tightens. Not in disagreement. In recognition.
Seungmin looks toward the bedroom door, even though there was nothing to see beyond it but the dark hallway and another room at the end where his son sits behind a shut door under the same roof and yet increasingly out of reach.
“I don’t mind giving him space,” he says. “I’m not expecting him to sit downstairs every night and tell us about his day in full detail like he’s doing a presentation.”
“God forbid.”
He shoots you a glance. “Very funny.”
“I’m serious. If Eunwoo ever willingly starts giving us a detailed recap of his day, I’ll call a doctor.”
Despite himself, Seungmin smiles.
That was the humor in your marriage. Never loud enough to break the emotion completely. Just enough to keep it from swallowing the whole room.
But the smile doesn’t last long. “He was short with you this morning,” he says.
You shrug a little too quickly. “He was tired.”
“And with Areum yesterday.”
“He apologized.”
“Only after you told him to.”
Your silence this time is answer enough.
Seungmin rests his head back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. “That’s the part I don’t like.”
“What part?”
“Him being moody with me, I can live with. I was worse at his age.” A beat. “Probably.”
You turn to look at him. “Probably?”
“I’m trying to be generous to my younger self. He deserves that much after surviving my father.”
That gets a quiet snort from you.
Seungmin’s voice lowers. “But taking it out on you? On Areum? No.”
The room holds that sentence for a moment. He can feel your eyes on him, the way you always look at him when he has crossed from observation into decision.
“You’re going to talk to him,” you say.
Not a question.
“Yes.”
“When?”
He thinks about the line of light under the door. About the way Eunwoo had brushed past Areum that afternoon without even glancing at the drawing she’d shoved up at him. About your face in the kitchen when you’d said, Areum notices.
“Not yet,” he says.
You blink. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“I thought once you started making that face, the speech was coming.”
He frowns. “What face?”
“The one where you pretend you’re calm but are actually three minutes away from sitting somebody down for a Serious Conversation.”
“I do not have a face for that.”
You give him a look so unconvinced it nearly offends him. Then, more gently, you ask, “Why not yet?”
Seungmin is quiet for a moment before answering. Because that’s the hard part, the part nobody talked about when their kids were little and clinging and easy to read. Back then, parenting often felt physical. Pick them up. Feed them. Bandage the knee. Hold the feverish body through the night. Love was direct, visible, welcomed.
This is different. This is loving someone enough not to push too soon.
“I want to know if this is a phase,” he say finally. “Or if something’s actually wrong.”
You lean your head back against the wall behind the bed. “And how long do we wait before those become the same thing?”
Seungmin looks at his hands. Long fingers loosely folded over the blanket. Hands that had once cradled Eunwoo’s whole body with room to spare. Hands that still remember the weight of him asleep against his shoulder, warm and heavy and trusting. It was strange, sometimes, how the body refuses to forget what the heart is still trying to keep up with.
“He still comes home on time,” Seungmin says. “His grades are fine. He eats. He sleeps. He’s not doing anything reckless that we know about.”
“That we know about,” you repeat.
He glances at you.
“I’m not trying to be difficult,” you say. “I just…” Your voice softens. “I don’t want us to wait so long trying to respect his space that we wake up one day and realize he stopped wanting us in it at all.”
That one hits deeper than he expects. Because some part of him had already been quietly afraid of the same thing.
He reaches over and takes your hand, thumb brushing once across your knuckles. “He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” Seungmin says. “But I know him.”
You look at him then, tired and worried and trying very hard not to let either thing take over completely.
Seungmin squeezes your hand once, then lets it rest in his.
“I’m not going to ignore it,” he says. “I’m just not going to corner him the second he starts acting like a teenager either.”
“And if he keeps acting like an ass?”
“He gets that from your side.”
You stare at him. Then you shove his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m being truthful. It’s important in marriage.”
“You’re obnoxious.”
“And yet,” he murmurs, turning your hand over to press his lips to your knuckles, “still beloved.”
You roll your eyes, but your shoulders loosen a little. That was enough for tonight.
Later, after the lamp is switched off and you have drifted closer in sleep, one hand tucked unconsciously against his side, Seungmin lays awake longer than he means to.
He thinks about the version of fatherhood he’d once understood so well. The practical one. The immediate one. The one where every problem arrived crying and could be soothed, fed, reasoned with, or carried.
No one told him how helpless it sometimes felt when your child grew old enough to shut you out completely. No one warned him that distance could enter a home so quietly.
By the time Seungmin finally falls asleep, his mind had settled not on fear, exactly, but on vigilance.
He would wait. He would watch. He would give Eunwoo room to breathe. But not so much room that the boy forgot there was a family on the other side of the door, still standing there, still loving him, still refusing to disappear just because he had started to.
And downstairs, by morning, Areum would ask for cereal in the wrong bowl and complain about her hair tie being lost again, and you would drink your coffee too fast, and Eunwoo would come down looking half-awake and blank, and the house would do what houses did best.
It would keep going. Even with one room more closed than before.
A week later, at 12:07 in the morning, the house had gone from tense to sick with worry.
It happened so gradually that Seungmin almost resented it, the way a normal evening had managed to slide into something sharp and frightening without ever announcing the exact moment it became one.
At nine-thirty, it had still been manageable.
Eunwoo was late, yes, but not by much. Late enough for you to glance at the clock from the kitchen and ask, “Did he say where he was going after practice?” and for Seungmin, who had been drying dishes while Areum sat at the table doing a worksheet, to answer, “He said he might stop somewhere with friends.”
At ten, the first call went to voicemail.
At ten-fifteen, his location stopped loading.
At ten-twenty, you called again. Then texted. Then called one of Eunwoo’s friends, who said he thought Eunwoo had left an hour earlier.
By ten-forty, Seungmin had his keys in his hand.
By eleven, both of you had crossed that quiet, invisible threshold from trying not to overreact into the kind of fear that makes your body feel wrong from the inside out.
It was not dramatic fear. Not at first. It was worse than that. It was disciplined. Tight. Functional.
You sat at the kitchen counter with Eunwoo’s phone number pulled up again, calling and redialing like repetition might somehow force the connection through sheer parental desperation.
Seungmin stood by the island with his own phone in hand, going through every name he could think of, every parent number saved over the years, every coach, every classmate, every kid who had ever stepped into your house and eaten your snacks and called you ma’am a little too politely.
Nothing. Nobody had him. Nobody knew where he was.
When Areum came downstairs rubbing one eye and clutching the stuffed rabbit she had slept with for years past the point anyone expected her to, you both turned too fast. Too guilty. Too caught.
She looked between the two of you immediately, and Seungmin hated how quickly his little girl could tell when the air in a room had changed.
“Why are you guys awake?” she asked, voice small with sleep. “Where’s Eunwoo?”
You pushed your chair back before Seungmin could answer and crossed to her in three quick steps. “Honey, you should be in bed.”
“Where’s Eunwoo?”
“He’s just late.”
That answer did not satisfy her for a second. “Is he in trouble?”
“No,” Seungmin said, more firmly than he felt. “Go back to bed, Are.”
She looked at him. Then at you.
It was a terrible moment, one of those tiny domestic ones no one wrote songs about, where a child studies your face and learns too much from what you fail to hide.
You crouched down in front of her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He probably forgot to charge his phone. That’s all. Go lay back down, okay? If he comes home, I’ll tell you in the morning.”
Areum had hesitated, then nodded, because ten-year-olds still wanted to believe their parents could smooth fear back into something manageable if they spoke gently enough.
Seungmin watched the two of you disappear toward the stairs. He heard your soft voice all the way up, low and soothing, carrying the same tone you’d used for nightmares and fevers and scraped knees. When you came back down a minute later, your face had changed.
Your mouth was too tight. Your eyes were bright in a way that told him you were refusing, with force, to fall apart before there was permission.
“Nothing?” you asked.
He shook his head once.
That was when you called the first hospital.
Seungmin never forgot the sound of your voice during those calls. Too calm.. Your diction got better when you were terrified. Every word cleaner. Every question more precise. You sounded like someone trying to earn good news through politeness. As if enough composure might make your son walk through that front door sooner.
“Hi, sorry to bother you this late. I’m calling to ask whether you’ve had any admissions tonight involving a teenage boy, sixteen, around 173 cm in height…”
Then the next hospital. Then another. Then the local police station, where the officer on the line was patient and tired and told you, kindly, that unless there was reason to suspect immediate danger, there wasn’t much to be done yet.
Seungmin took the phone from you after that one, because your fingers had started trembling so badly that the screen kept slipping.
He made the next call. Then the next.
At some point, the house stopped feeling like home and became a place where time was happening incorrectly.
The kitchen lights were too bright. The clock over the stove too late. The silence between calls too long.
Around one in the morning, Seungmin drove the route home from school and then farther than that, tracing the roads Eunwoo might have taken with his windows down and his jaw so tight it started to ache. He checked the convenience store by the intersection where kids liked to gather. The empty parking lot by the soccer field. The gas station three blocks over. Two bus stops. The park with the broken fountain.
Nothing.
When he got home, you were sitting at the table with your phone in both hands, staring at the black screen like you were willing it to light up.
You looked up when he came in. The look on your face stopped him cold.
There were a thousand things a husband learned to read over the course of a life together. The little signs. The almost-invisible changes. He knew your annoyance from your fatigue, your embarrassment from your anger, your sadness from the kind of silence that meant you needed him beside you and not speaking.
This was fear. Pure and stripped down. The kind that made you look suddenly younger and older at the same time.
He set his keys down softly. “Nothing,” he said.
You nodded once, too quickly, and looked back at the phone before your face gave too much away.
He crossed the kitchen and crouched in front of you, one hand on your knee. “We’re not there yet,” he said quietly.
Your eyes dropped to his. “Not where?”
He hated that he had said it wrong. Hated the way your voice came out thin around the edges. He corrected immediately. “Not anywhere bad. We don’t know anything bad.”
“But we don’t know anything good either.”
He stood and went to fill a glass of water because if he stayed still too long, he was going to put his fist through the cabinet door just to feel something break in proportion to what was happening inside him.
You didn’t drink the water when he set it down in front of you. Just wrapped your fingers around the glass like maybe the cold would hold you together.
By two-thirty, there was nothing left to do except wait.
Waiting was an ugly, humiliating thing. It stripped you down to the parts of yourself you least wanted examined. It made the imagination feral. Every distant siren became unbearable. Every passing headlight a false alarm. Every minute another worry.
You had lasted longer than he thought you would. So had he. But at some point, your body reached its limit before your mind did. That was the only reason he convinced you to go upstairs.
“You need to sleep,” he said.
“No.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m not sleeping.”
“You don’t have to sleep. Lie down.”
“I can’t.”
He put both hands on your shoulders then, not hard, just enough that you had to look at him. “If he walks in and sees you like this, he’ll react in a way you don’t want him to.”
That was the wrong argument and the right one.
You swallowed hard and looked away. “How am I supposed to lie down?”
“You do it because you have to. I’ll stay here.”
Your eyes went back to his. “You’ll wake me up?”
“Yes.”
“Right away?”
“Yes.”
You took a breath that sounded like it hurt and nodded.
He walked you upstairs, waited until you sat on the edge of the bed, then crouched to take your face in both hands. You were trying so hard not to cry that the effort was visible in your throat.
“He’s coming home,” Seungmin said.
You shut your eyes.
He kissed your forehead once, then your temple. “Lie down.”
You did, though not because you believed rest was possible. He pulled the blanket over you and stood there a moment longer, watching the way your fingers curled into the sheet, tense even in stillness.
When he left the room, he kept the door cracked open. Then he went downstairs and waited. He sat on the couch at first. Then stood. Then sat again.
He checked his phone. Checked the time. Checked Eunwoo’s location one more time even though it was still a useless spinning wheel. His body had gone past tired into something flatter and meaner. His thoughts no longer came in sentences. Just flashes.
Where are you?Pick up the phone.Walk through the door.Let me see you standing upright so I can be angry.
The anger had arrived around one-thirty and only grown sharper since.
It sat beneath the fear like a blade under cloth. Not because Eunwoo was out late. Not even because his phone had died, if that was all it was. Teenagers were careless. They forgot chargers. They misjudged time. They assumed their parents would magically know the difference between normal lateness and the kind that rotted a house from the inside.
No, Seungmin was angry because he had spent weeks telling himself to be patient. To give space. To respect the slammed-shut privacy of sixteen. And now he had watched that distance widen into a night like this, where he and you had called hospitals with your hearts in your throats while your son was simply…somewhere.
At 3:12 a.m., the front doorknob turns.
The sound is so small Seungmin almost thought he imagined it. But then the lock clicks softly.
The door eases open inch by inch, cautious in the guilty way of someone trying not to wake a sleeping house. Eunwoo steps inside with his shoes in one hand and his backpack slung off one shoulder, hair flattened in the back from sweat or sleep or wind, Seungmin can’t tell which. He closes the door quietly behind him and starts to turn toward the stairs.
“Interesting strategy.”
Eunwoo goes rigid.
Seungmin is already standing by the time his son spins around.
In the half-light, Eunwoo’s face drains so fast it makes him look younger. For one disorienting second, Seungmin sees every age in him at once. The boy who used to cry when he lost sight of his mother in grocery stores. The kid who had hidden behind Seungmin’s leg on the first day of kindergarten. The teenager now frozen in the foyer at three in the morning with guilt all over his face and no idea what kind of storm he had just walked into.
“Dad, I…”
Seungmin crosses the room in four strides. “Where the hell were you?”
The question comes out lower than a shout but far more dangerous.
Eunwoo’s shoulders draw up instinctively. “My phone died.”
Seungmin stares at him. Not because that explanation is impossible, but because it is so insultingly incomplete.
“Your phone died,” he repeats.
“I didn’t know it was that late.”
“You didn’t know it was three in the morning?”
“I was at Minji’s house.”
“Who is that?”
“My friend.”
“You couldn’t borrow a charger?”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“You didn’t think it was a big deal?.”
“Dad, I said my phone died.”
The irritation in Eunwoo’s voice, tired and defensive and edged with something that sounded almost like he thought this was inconvenient for him, makes something hot and ugly surge up Seungmin’s spine.
Behind him, upstairs, the house remains quiet. You’re still asleep. For now.
He keeps his voice down by force. “Do you have any idea what kind of night your mother has had?”
Eunwoo looks away first, which is answer enough.
Seungmin laughs once, a humorless exhale. “No. Of course you don’t. Because while we were calling every person we could think of, calling hospitals, calling the police station, trying not to lose our minds, you were apparently forgetting that other people exist.”
Eunwoo’s head snaps back. “I didn’t ask you to do all that.”
That did it. Seungmin steps closer, not enough to frighten him, but enough that Eunwoo has to either hold eye contact or make it obvious he can’t.
“You didn’t ask?” Seungmin says softly. “You vanish for hours, stop answering your phone, your location stops working, and you think this is about whether you asked us to worry?”
Eunwoo grips his shoes tighter. “I’m fine, aren’t I?”
Seungmin’s jaw clenches so hard it hurt. “That is not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” Eunwoo shoots back, voice rising before he remembers the sleeping house and tries to yank it down again. “I’m not out doing anything bad. I’m not getting arrested. I’m not failing school. I don’t even do half the stuff other kids do, so what is the problem?”
The words hit the walls and stay there.
Seungmin looks at his son, really looks at him, and understands with perfect clarity how easy it would be to handle this wrong. How easy it would be to answer on the surface. Curfew. Phone. Rules. Consequences. All the obvious things.
But that isn't actually why he’d been waiting in the dark.
“The problem,” Seungmin says, very carefully, “is not just tonight.”
Eunwoo frowns, still keyed up, still vibrating with defensive energy. “What does that mean?”
“It means this didn’t start with a dead phone.”
For the first time since walking in, uncertainty moves across Eunwoo’s face, quick and unguarded. Then it hardens again.
“Whatever.”
“No,” Seungmin says. “Not whatever.”
He takes a breath, trying to keep his own voice from turning sharp enough to cut.
“You’ve been short with everyone in this house for weeks.”
Eunwoo scoffs and looks away. “That’s not true.”
“You raised your voice at your mother.”
“That happened once.”
“You snapped at your sister twice in one day because she asked you to look at a bracelet.”
“She was being annoying.”
“She’s ten.”
The silence after that is brief, but loaded.
Eunwoo shifts his backpack higher on his shoulder. “I said sorry.”
“After being told to.”
“Why are you doing this right now?”
Seungmin stares at him. That question, somehow, more than anything else, drives home just how far apart they were standing from each other even with less than two feet of foyer tile between them.
Because Eunwoo thinks this is a lecture. And Seungmin, exhausted to the marrow, feels something in his chest go raw with frustration.
“I’m doing this right now,” he says, voice shaking at the edges despite his best efforts, “because your mother has spent hours wondering if you were dead in a ditch somewhere, because I have been sitting in this room waiting to hear the front door open so I could know you were breathing, and because your sister thinks she did something wrong.”
Eunwoo blinks.
Seungmin sees it land. Not fully. But enough to crack through.
He presses on before the moment could close. “She wonders what she did to make you hate her.”
Eunwoo’s face changes all at once. No defensiveness this time. Just shock. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“She thinks I hate her?”
“What is she supposed to think?” Seungmin asks, and now there was no stopping the hurt in his voice because it had finally burned past anger. “You brush past her. You shut yourself away. You act like every question she asks is ruining your life. She’s a child, Eunwoo. She doesn’t know what to do with your silence except blame herself for it.”
Eunwoo’s mouth parts. Then closes. For one second, he looked stricken. Then he does what he has apparently been doing with every unbearable feeling lately. He reaches for anger. “Well, maybe everyone should stop acting like I’m some huge problem all the time.”
Seungmin feels the argument tip. Not toward shouting exactly, but toward something more dangerous, where neither of them is hearing the actual thing under their words anymore. “No one is doing that.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, we are not.”
“You’re literally waiting up in the dark to ambush me.”
“To make sure you came home.”
“To control me.”
Seungmin laughs again, stunned. “Control you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what you think this is?”
“What else would it be?”
For half a second, Seungmin just stares at him. Then all the fear and sleeplessness and accumulated weeks of tension drag honesty out of him with more force than tact. “You’re disappearing.”
The foyer goes still. Eunwoo’s expression falters. Seungmin’s own voice sounds strange to him now. Rough. Too full. “You’re in this house less and less even when you’re physically standing in it. You barely look at us. You barely speak. Every time your mother asks you something, you answer like she’s bothering you. Every time Areum tries to be near you, you act like she’s in the way. I let it go because I know you’re sixteen and I know not every mood needs to become a family meeting. But this?” He swallows hard. “This is not just moodiness anymore.”
Eunwoo’s chest rises and falls once. Quickly.
Seungmin takes a step closer, gentler this time, even if his words aren’t. “I don’t care that you’re a good student,” he says. “I don’t care that you’re not out getting drunk or doing something reckless. That is not the standard. The standard is that you do not get to treat this family like we are disposable just because you’re having a hard time.”
Something breaks across Eunwoo’s face then. Not in a neat way. Not the soft, cinematic crack of a character finally understanding the lesson. It’s messier than that. Meaner to witness. His jaw tightens. His eyes brighten in furious, unwilling glassiness. He looks suddenly trapped inside his own skin. “I said I’m not doing anything bad,” he bites out.
“And I’m telling you that’s not enough.”
“Why?”
“Because being physically safe is not the same thing as being okay.”
The words hang between them.
Eunwoo stares at his father. Then his whole face twists, not with attitude this time, not with defiance, but with the strain of someone who has been holding something shut for too long and was losing the strength to keep it there.
“I don’t know!” he bursts out, loud enough that Seungmin’s heart kicks against his ribs.
He sees movement out of the corner of his eye, up on the stairs. You, barefoot and pale in your sleep shirt, one hand gripping the banister, eyes wide and wet and awake in the most frightened way.
Seungmin barely had time to register you before Eunwoo keeps going, words rushing now with the force of a dam giving out. “I don’t know why I’m like this lately, okay?” His voice cracks hard on the last word. “I don’t know why everything makes me mad. I don’t know why I say things and then hate myself after, or why I can’t make myself stop before I do it. I don’t know why my brain feels so…” He drags in a breath like he can’t get enough air. “I feel trapped in it sometimes.”
Seungmin does not move. He cannot.
Eunwoo’s hands are shaking now, shoes dropping to the floor with a muffled thud he doesn't even seem to notice.
“I’ll be sitting there and I know I should just answer normally, I know Areum isn’t doing anything wrong, I know Mom’s just asking me a question, and still I feel…” He presses the heels of his hands briefly to his eyes, furious with himself for crying and failing at stopping it. “I feel like I can’t breathe in this house some days. And then I feel horrible for thinking that because I love you guys and nothing is even wrong and I know I’m being an asshole, I know that, I know.” His voice splinters. “I just can’t control my own feelings sometimes.”
The foyer, the hallway, the entire sleeping house seems to draw tight around the confession.
Eunwoo looks wrecked now. Not rebellious. Not careless. Just young. Terrified. Humiliated by the act of saying out loud what he clearly had not known how to carry alone.
And then, softer, smaller, like it had cost him everything to get this far: “I’m scared.”.
Seungmin moves before he can think better of it. He closes the space between them in one stride and pulls Eunwoo into him. Not a careful side hug. Not the restrained, masculine clap on the shoulder fathers sometimes use when they’re too frightened by love to show the real thing.
He takes his son in both arms and holds him.
At first Eunwoo goes stiff in shock, the old teenage instinct to resist comfort firing automatically even now. Then Seungmin feels the fight leave him in one shuddering collapse.
He folds. Just folds right there in the front hallway, face turning into his father’s shoulder, body shaking hard with the kind of crying that had been waiting longer than tonight.
Seungmin holds the back of his head with one hand, the other locked across his shoulders.
“It’s okay,” he says immediately, though his own voice is breaking now. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Eunwoo makes a sound Seungmin would remember for the rest of his life, something between a sob and a gasp, the noise of a person who had been terrified he would say something honest and be punished for it.
Seungmin tightens his arms. “You hear me?” he says, pressing his cheek against his son’s hair. “I’ve got you.”
“I know.” Seungmin’s own eyes burn so badly he has to shut them. “I know that too.”
Eunwoo clutches at the back of his father’s shirt now, no longer pretending he was too old for this, too proud for this, too anything for this.
Seungmin rocks him once without meaning to, some old instinct from years ago surfacing whole and intact. His child upset in his arms. The body remembering what to do before the mind can catch up.
“You are not a problem,” he murmurs.
Eunwoo shakes harder.
“You are not bad.”
Another ragged breath.
“And whatever this is, whatever’s going on in your head right now, you do not sit in it alone. Do you understand me?”
Eunwoo nods against his shoulder, barely.
Seungmin draws back only enough to cup the side of his face, forcing him gently to look up. His son’s face is blotched and wet and achingly open in a way Seungmin has not seen in years. Not because the softness has vanished, but because adolescence had buried it under too many new things all at once.
Seungmin wipes under one of his eyes with his thumb. “I love you,” he says, and there is no keeping the tears out of his own voice now. “I love you so much it makes me stupid. So if you scare me like this again, I’ll still love you. If you’re angry, I’ll still love you. If you don’t understand your own head right now, I’ll still love you. Nothing you say in this house is going to make me stop being your father. Nothing.”
Eunwoo’s mouth trembles.
Seungmin presses his forehead briefly to his son’s. “You tell me when you’re scared. You let me in. Even if it comes out ugly. Even if you don’t have the right words yet. You do not disappear.”
That last part nearly undoes him again, but Eunwoo nods, crying openly now. “Okay,” he whispers.
Behind them, the stairs creak. Seungmin turns his head.
You are halfway down now, tears running unchecked down your face, one hand still braced on the banister as though you needed it to stay upright. He had seen you cry a hundred times over the years. From laughter. From rage. In labor, with sweat pasted to your hairline and your whole body split wide with effort and love. Quietly at movies. Quietly after funerals. Quietly after Areum’s first day of school because apparently you were emotionally unstable and he had married you anyway.
This is different. This is relief so immense it looks painful.
You come down the rest of the steps quickly, wiping at your cheeks with the heel of your hand and failing completely to stop the fresh ones.
Eunwoo sees you and immediately looks stricken all over again. “Mom…”
You don’t let him get farther than that. You go straight to him, your hand finding the back of his head, your other arm wrapping around both of them because the space was small and family life was rarely elegant and none of you seemed to care.
“Oh, baby,” you cry, voice breaking clean in half. “My baby.”
That name. That old, terrible, tender thing. It finishes him.
Eunwoo turns toward you and lets you hold his face and kiss his forehead and cry over him while he stands there wrecked and embarrassed and loved within an inch of his life.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice hoarse.
You shake your head immediately, as if apology was the least urgent part of this. “We were so scared,” you whisper.
“I know.”
“You should have told us.”
“I know.”
You press your lips together, trying not to crumble further, and lay your palm against his cheek. “You don’t ever scare us like that again.”
“I won’t.”
Seungmin lets one hand stay firm between Eunwoo’s shoulder blades. Grounding, present, and always there.
For a while, no one moves much. The house that had spent hours strung tight with panic now holds a different kind of quiet. Not solved. Not fixed. But honest at last.
Eventually Eunwoo scrubs a hand over his face and looks exhausted enough that Seungmin’s anger, what little remains of it, finally dissolves completely.
“When’s the last time you ate?” he asks.
Eunwoo blinks, thrown. “What?”
Seungmin sniffs once and steps back just enough to look at him properly. “It’s a simple question. Try answering it.”
You let out a watery laugh before you can help it.
Eunwoo, to his credit, looks almost offended. “I had fries.”
“What time?”
“Around six?”
Seungmin stares at him.
“That barely counts as food,” you say, swiping at your face.
A tiny, incredulous sound escapes Eunwoo then. Not quite a laugh, but enough.
Seungmin takes a breath and straightens. His body feels as though someone had poured sand into every joint, but there was work to do now. Better work than waiting. Better work than imagining.
“You’re not going straight to bed,” he says.
Eunwoo wipes under his nose. “I’m not?”
“No. You’re going to sit at the kitchen table and eat something with actual substance while your mother continues staring at you like she’s making sure you’re not a ghost.”
“I’m literally right here,” you say, though your hand is still on Eunwoo’s arm as if confirming exactly that.
“And then,” Seungmin continues, looking directly at his son, “tomorrow we’re going to talk properly. Not like this. Not after no sleep and three hours of me imagining prison time for whichever friend’s house didn’t own a charger.”
Eunwoo looks down. “It was my fault.”
“Yes,” Seungmin says. “It was.”
You look at him. He looks back. “What? I’m hugging him and feeding him. I can still be accurate.”
A startled, broken laugh comes out of you this time. Eunwoo actually smiles, small and miserable but real.
Seungmin touches the back of his neck once. “Come on.”
The three of you move toward the kitchen slowly, almost awkwardly, as if re-entering ordinary space after what had just happened.
At the base of the stairs, Seungmin glances up automatically.
Areum’s bedroom door remains closed.
Good. Let her sleep one more hour without carrying any of this. He would deal with morning when morning came. With explanations. With the right words for a ten-year-old who loved too openly and worried too fast. With whatever conversation had to happen next about counselors or doctors or the maddening, frightening labyrinth of adolescence and mental weather no one could see from the outside.
But not yet. For now, he had his son walking beside him again. For now, you were alive at his shoulder, still crying a little, still reaching out every few seconds to touch Eunwoo’s sleeve or back like you needed the reassurance of contact.
For now, the kitchen light was on, and there was rice in the fridge, and eggs on the counter, and a family pulling itself back together in the middle of the night with swollen eyes and no sleep and love still warm enough to serve.
And for the first time in a while, the house no longer felt like it was holding its breath.
A few weeks later, the house felt almost unfamiliar in its quiet.
Not empty, exactly. Not cold. Just missing the particular kind of chaos that had become so woven into the walls that its absence left odd little pockets of stillness everywhere. No Areum singing to herself from a room away while she got distracted halfway through cleaning. No Eunwoo’s heavier footsteps overhead or the muffled pulse of music behind his door. No sudden arguments over bathroom time, missing chargers, cereal choices, or whose turn it was to feed the hamster.
Now there was only you and Seungmin.
It had been Eunwoo’s idea, which was somehow the part that kept catching Seungmin off guard.
Not the practical side of it. Your parents had invited the kids over plenty of times before, especially in summer, when your mother got sentimental and started talking about core memories. But Eunwoo, who once would’ve scoffed at any suggestion that sounded vaguely wholesome, had been the one to mention it first.
He had shrugged in that careful teenage way, like he didn’t want the sentiment caught too clearly in his voice, and said Areum had been asking to spend more time there anyway. Summer break had started. Your dad wanted help fixing up something in the backyard. Your mom had said yes before anyone even finished asking.
Seungmin had watched him from across the kitchen that afternoon, leaning against the counter with a glass of water in hand, and noticed the way Eunwoo avoided looking too directly at either parent while making the suggestion. Casual on the surface. Deliberate underneath.
An offering. Not an outright apology exactly. Something gentler than that. More thoughtful. A quiet, awkward attempt to give back a little ease. It had done something strange and warm to Seungmin’s chest.
So now here you were, two nights into a week alone, sitting together on the couch with the living room lit only by the movie playing in front of you and the small lamp on the side table casting a golden circle over the armrest.
The movie was your choice. This, according to Seungmin, was already strike one.
“It’s critically acclaimed,” you had informed him earlier while scrolling through the streaming menu.
“It’s three hours long,” he had replied from the kitchen, where he was putting popcorn into a bowl.
“That means it’s important.”
“That means it’s self-indulgent.”
“You haven’t even seen it.”
“I don’t need to eat a whole lemon to know I won’t enjoy the experience.”
You had turned on the couch to glare at him just as he walked in with the popcorn, and something about the combination of your offended expression and the ridiculous care with which he was balancing snacks had made him laugh.
Now, an hour and twelve minutes into the film, he was proving himself annoyingly right by only pretending to watch it.
And Kim Seungmin, chronic observer and lifelong menace, had chosen to remain awake just enough to keep making little comments every so often in a voice pitched low and dry.
“This man is definitely going to betray somebody.”
You kept your eyes on the screen. “Can you stop.”
“He’s doing too much to be trustworthy.”
“You cannot assign morality based off a few scenes.”
“I can and I just did.”
Five minutes later:
“She should leave him.”
“They haven’t even met yet.”
“She should still leave him. Preemptively.”
You reach into the bowl and take a handful of popcorn with more irritation than necessary. “Do you want to watch something else?”
“No,” he said easily.
“Then stop talking.”
“I’m enhancing your experience.”
“You are deeply misunderstanding what that word means.”
He only smiled. You didn’t have to look to know it was there. You could hear it in his voice.
That had been the thing about being alone together again. It was not that you and Seungmin had lost yourselves in parenting. Neither of you were dramatic enough to romanticize life that way. You still found each other. In kitchens, in doorways, in those tired, familiar exchanges over laundry and bills and bad takeout and school emails. In bed, half-asleep. In glances across crowded rooms. In the thousand ordinary ways long love stayed alive.
Still, being the only two people in the house had shifted something. Not back, exactly. It wasn’t a return to who you’d been before kids, because that would’ve been impossible and, if Seungmin were being honest, not even desirable. You had built too much since then. Become too much. But there was a certain oldness to this quiet. Something that reminded him of early marriage. Of evenings stretching without interruption. Of sitting close because you wanted to, not because there was only one available corner of the couch that hadn’t been claimed by a child, a blanket, a tablet, or a pile of unfolded clothes.
You were tucked against his side now, one leg folded beneath you, your head resting just lightly enough against his shoulder that he could feel every small shift when you reacted to something on-screen. He had one arm draped along the back of the couch behind you and the other resting near the popcorn bowl in his lap. Your socked foot was pressing into his thigh in a way that would’ve become uncomfortable if he’d loved anyone else less.
On-screen, the movie now enters a long, hushed sequence meant to be emotionally devastating.
Seungmin gives it a fair try for nearly four minutes.
Then he leans just slightly and murmurs, “Did he fart, or is he just standing like that?”
You make a sound of immediate outrage and turn to stare at him. “Why are you like this?”
He looks down at you with complete calm. “I’m helping you maintain perspective.”
“You’re impossible to watch movies with.”
“And yet,” he says, because some habits in a marriage became permanent by law, “you continue to choose me.”
You narrow your eyes.
He can see the exact second your annoyance gives way to reluctant amusement. It always happens there first, in the corners of your mouth. Your face tries very hard to remain unimpressed, but your mouth has never been loyal enough to pull it off.
“Do you even know what’s going on?” you ask.
“Of course.”
You wait..
Seungmin gestured vaguely at the television. “He’s there. She has large eyes. Everyone’s dressed like Bridgerton.”
That gets you. A laugh slips out, sudden and bright, and Seungmin feels something in himself loosen just hearing it. You tip your head forward for a second like you’re trying to hide it, then look back at him with your smile still there. “There’s actually something wrong with you.”
“Yes,” he says. “But you’ve had plenty of time to leave.”
“Too late now. We have children.”
“That doesn’t stop some people.”
You swat his chest lightly, still smiling.
Seungmin catches your wrist before you can pull it away, the movement easy and unforced, just his fingers closing around you with familiar certainty.
For a moment neither of you say anything.
The movie keeps going. Some soft, orchestral swell in the background. Actors staring meaningfully at each other in rain or grief or maybe both. The lamp beside the couch casts warm light over the curve of your cheek, the line of your mouth, the small laugh still lingering there.
Seungmin looks at you properly, lets his eyes linger.
You feel it. Your expression shifts just slightly. Not surprised, but more aware.
“What?” you ask, quieter now.
He still has your wrist in his hand. His thumb moves once across the inside of it before he answers. “Just looking.”
“At what?”
He could say something clever. Something lightly irritating, which is often his preferred language when things in him turn too warm too fast. Could tell you you had popcorn salt on your lip. Could deflect with humor and make you laugh again.
Instead he says, “You.”
You blink once, and then your smile softens around the edges.
Seungmin lets go of your wrist only to lift his hand to your face, brushing his thumb lightly along the corner of your mouth. “You do,” he says.
“What?”
“Have popcorn salt on your lip.”
You stare at him in total disbelief.
He smiles, slow and unrepentant, while something that is half a laugh and half an offended noise leaves you all at once.
“I knew it,” you say. “I knew you were being annoying on purpose.”
“I’m never annoying by accident.”
“You’re such an ass.”
“You say that like it’s new information.”
But you’re leaning in a little now. Whether you mean to or not, he can’t tell. Maybe both.
You reach over and take the remote off the couch cushion beside you without looking away from him. Seungmin watches your hand, then your face.
“Are you pausing it?” he asks.
“You’ve already ruined it.”
“Mmm, debateable.”
You click the movie off anyway. The room dims further at once, the television screen going black and reflective, leaving only the lamp on.
For a second, neither of you move.
Then Seungmin says, “That’s a little dramatic.”
You turn more fully toward him, one knee shifting across the couch, your hair falling forward slightly over one shoulder. “You started it.”
“With commentary?”
“With that face.”
He frowns. “What face?”
You gave him a long look. “You know exactly what face.”
He does not, in fact, know exactly what face, but he had been married to you long enough to understand when pretending ignorance was more entertaining than useful.
“I think you’re projecting.”
“Mm. No.”
“Then explain it.”
Your gaze flicks down to his mouth and back up so quickly another person might’ve missed it. Seungmin does not.
He leans back into the couch a little, arm still stretched behind you, and watches color rise slowly into your cheeks.
“Explain it,” he repeats, quieter now.
You narrow your eyes at the tone.
“There,” you said softly. “That.”
Seungmin looks at you for a second, then smiles in a way that is unhelpful. “Still not following.”
“You’re awful.”
“And yet.”
“Yes, yes,” you mutter. “Still here. Unfortunately.”
He tilts his head. “Only unfortunately?”
You roll your eyes, but your hand comes up to rest against his chest over his T-shirt, fingers spreading there in a way that says more than your voice is willing to. Seungmin glances down at it, then back at you.
He lifts his hand from the back of the couch to the nape of your neck. “Come here,” he murmurs.
That’s all it takes.
You lean in and kiss him. Not tentative either. You press your mouth against his, soft and familiar and immediately enough to make his eyes close.
Seungmin kisses you back with a quiet sound in his throat, hand sliding more securely against the back of your neck as he angles toward you. Your fingers curling slightly into his shirt. He can taste the faint salt from the popcorn still lingering on your mouth and almost laughs at the absurdity of how much he likes that, how perfectly domestic it is, even now.
You draw back only far enough to breathe, your forehead brushing his once before your lips find his again.
Seungmin’s other hand comes to your waist, settling there with that old, instinctive certainty, thumb pressing lightly into the soft fabric of your shirt. You shift closer, knee sliding between his, and the couch gives the faintest creak under the adjustment.
He kisses you deeper then, and feels the way your breath catches. Your hand slides up from his chest to his shoulder, then higher into his hair. Seungmin exhales into your mouth at the feel of your fingers there, and you make that small, pleased sound he know too well, the one that always tells him you notice exactly what you do to him.
You pull back just enough to look at him. His hand stays at your neck. Your fingers remain tangled lightly in his hair.And for a second, all Seungmin can do is look back.
You’re flushed. A little breathless. Your lips parted, eyes heavy and bright in the low light.
He kisses you again before either of you can say something that would break the spell. “You know,” Seungmin murmurs, his lips moving and brushing your ear as his hand slips under your shirt, “the house is empty for a whole week.”
His palm is warm against your stomach, fingers tracing a slow, possessive circle. You arch into him, already feeling that familiar heat pooling low in your belly.
“I do know,” you whisper back, turning your head to catch his mouth again. His tongue slides against yours, and your hands are on his chest, feeling his firm chest beneath his soft t-shirt, then drifting down to the waistband of his sweats.
He kisses you harder, then flips you and presses you firmly into the couch. One of his legs slides between yours, the pressure against your inner thigh delicious. His breathing has changed, gone a little rougher. When he pulls back just enough to speak, his eyes are dark with a playful, familiar spark.
“A whole week,” he repeats, his voice low and intimate. “We could practice…for a third.”
You laugh, a soft puff of air against his cheek. You roll your eyes, though your heart gives a little skip. “Practice? Seungmin, we have a sixteen-year-old and a ten-year-old. Our ‘practice’ is perfected. It’s called ‘sleeping through the night.’”
He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he looks at you, his gaze steady and full of that teasing light. His hand moves from your stomach, up under your shirt until his thumb finds the underside of your breast, brushing just beneath the curve. Your breath catches—not a hitch, but a full, suspended moment where your lungs just stop.
“I’m serious,” he says, though his tone is still light. “Think about it. No schedules. No early morning alarms. Just…us. We could start over. Fresh.”
You shake your head, grinning. “You’re insane. We’re in our late thirties. We’re not ‘starting over.’ We’re enjoying the peace.”
His thumb circles your breast now, a slow, deliberate tease that makes your nipple tighten instantly against the fabric of your bra. He leans in, his mouth finding your neck, kissing just below your ear. “Then let’s enjoy it,” he murmurs. “Let’s enjoy it like we’re starting over.”
The suggestion hangs there, silly and sweet and suddenly, inexplicably, hot. It’s the absurdity of it, the playful fantasy. You feel a blush creep up your neck, a warmth that isn’t just from his touch. You play along, the role falling into place effortlessly.
“Okay,” you say, shifting so you can look at him fully. You put a hand on his cheek, your tone shifting to something softer, more conspiratorial. “Okay, pretend. Let’s pretend we’re trying. Right now.”
His eyes flare—not widen, but ignite. A smile spreads across his face, genuine and hungry. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t wait. His hands move with a new purpose, pushing your shirt up. You help him, pulling it over your head and letting it fall to the floor. Your bra is a simple cotton one, and he looks at it for a second, his gaze appreciative and focused. Then his fingers hook under the straps, pulling them down your shoulders. The cups fall away, and your breasts are exposed to the cool room air and his warm stare.
He doesn’t just look; he studies. His hands come up, not to grab, but to cradle. His palms are warm and slightly rough, and they hold the weight of your breasts with a reverence that makes your stomach clench.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, and it’s not a line. It’s a statement, thick with feeling. His thumbs pass over your nipples, which are already hard, peaked and sensitive. The touch sends a sharp, pleasant shock straight down to your core. You sigh, letting your head fall back against the couch.
He leans down and his mouth replaces his thumb on your right breast. His lips close around the nipple, warm and soft, and he draws it into his mouth with a gentle, persistent pull. The sensation is immediate and deep—a tugging pleasure that radiates outward, making your back arch. His tongue flicks against the tight bud, circling it, then flattening against the underside. You can feel the wet heat of his mouth, the slight scrape of his teeth in a controlled, teasing graze.
Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the short, thick strands. You hold him there, urging him silently to keep going. He switches to your other breast, giving it the same attentive, mouthing treatment. His free hand continues to knead the first breast, his fingers squeezing and massaging the soft flesh, making it bounce slightly with his rhythm. You watch, your vision hazy, as your own body responds to him. Your breasts are full, the skin flushed a deeper pink where he’s been. They move with his hands, a soft, yielding bounce that feels profoundly erotic.
He lifts his head after a long moment, his lips wet, his eyes locked on yours. “I love these,” he says, his voice rough. “I love how they feel. How they look when they’re full.”
The roleplay solidifies in your mind. You’re not just having sex; you’re trying. The fantasy wraps around you, making every touch feel more significant, more charged.
“They’d look even fuller,” you murmur, playing into it, “if you did your job.”
He grins, a predatory, happy grin. “My job,” he repeats. “My job is to fill you up. To make sure it sticks.”
He stands up suddenly, pulling you with him. The shift from couch to standing is dizzying. He doesn’t lead you to the bedroom; he simply turns you around, your back to his front, and bends you forward over the arm of the couch. Your hands grip the fabric, your breasts pressing against the cushioned ridge. The position exposes your back, your ass, to him completely.
His hands are on your hips, holding you steady. He yanks your leggings and panties down in one hurried, efficient motion. The fabric slides over your skin, cool air hitting your exposed rear and the wet heat between your legs. You feel utterly open, vulnerable, and desperately ready.
He doesn’t enter you immediately. He steps back, and you hear the rustle of his sweats coming off. You twist your head, looking back over your shoulder. He’s naked now, and you see him—all of him. His erection is thick and fully hard, the shaft a dark, flushed muscle curving slightly upward. The head is a broader, deeper crimson, smooth and wet already at the tip. Veins track along the length, prominent and pulsing. His balls hang below, heavy and full, the skin tight at the base. He looks at you, his gaze burning, and then he looks at himself, his hand coming down to grip his cock at the root. He gives it a slow, proud stroke, from base to tip, making the head glisten.
“For you,” he says, and his voice is thick with intent.
He comes back to you, his body pressing against your back. His cock nudges between your thighs, not yet aiming for entrance. The hot, hard length slides against your inner lips, coated now in the moisture that’s been gathering there. The feeling is exquisite—the smooth, firm pressure rubbing against your most sensitive outer parts. You moan, pushing back against him, wanting more.
“Tell me,” he whispers into your ear, his body blanketing you. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to fuck you and come inside you.”
You’re breathing hard, your chest compressed against the couch arm. “I want it,” you gasp. “I want you to fuck me…to… to finish inside.”
He makes a sound, a low groan of approval. His hands tighten on your hips. Then he shifts, the head of his cock finding its target. It presses against your opening, which is already swollen and plump from anticipation. The outer lips are puffy, stretched slightly apart by his pressure. He doesn’t push in yet; he just holds it there, letting you feel the blunt, warm promise of his penetration.
Then he pushes—slow, controlled. The head breaches you, a firm, spreading pressure that makes your eyes roll back. Your inner walls are drenched, soaked with your own arousal, and they part for him easily but with a delicious, gripping resistance. You feel every millimeter of his advance. His cock is thick, and it stretches you as it sinks deeper, a filling, claiming sensation that makes your toes curl. He goes in until his full length is buried, his hips flush against your ass. You’re stretched around him, your internal muscles clamping down on the intrusion instinctively, then relaxing to accommodate him.
He holds there, deep inside you, both of you breathing raggedly. His body is hot against your back. You can feel the subtle pulse of his cock within you, the hard reality of him planted in your core.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel incredible. So deep. So ready for me.”
He pulls back, then pushes in again. This time, the motion is smoother, a full, slick glide. Your body accepts him completely. The feeling of being fucked in this position is intense—your breasts are mashed against the couch, your ass is high and open, and every inward stroke of his hips sends a jolt of pleasure straight up your spine. His balls slap against your clit with each thrust, a soft, impactful tap that adds another layer of sensation.
His pace builds. He starts a rhythm, steady and deep. Each thrust is a full-length drive, his cock plunging in until the head nudges something deep and tender inside you—your cervix. The contact isn’t painful; it’s a profound, internal pressure that makes your whole abdomen clench. You gasp, your mouth open against the couch fabric.
He changes angles slightly, and the next thrust brushes a different spot—a rougher, textured patch on your front wall. Your G-spot. The sensation is immediate and electric; a burst of pleasure radiates outward, making your thighs shake. You cry out, a short, sharp sound.
He hears it and focuses there. His thrusts become more targeted, the head of his cock dragging over that specific area with each inward stroke. The friction is exquisite, a rubbing, building heat that makes your own fluids gush around him. You can feel the wetness, a hot slickness that coats his shaft and drips down your inner thighs. The smell of it, of sex, fills the space between you—musky, intimate, and profoundly arousing.
His hands move from your hips to your ass. He grips your cheeks, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. Your ass is thick, and with each of his thrusts, it bounces and claps against his body. The impact sends ripples through the flesh, a visual and tactile proof of his force. He watches, his breath coming in harsh pants.
“Look at that,” he grunts. “Look at how you take me. Your body, fuck, so perfect for this, baby.”
His words feed the fantasy. You’re not just fucking; you’re being bred. The thought, ridiculous and taboo, sends a new wave of heat through you. Your internal muscles tighten around him, a rhythmic, clutching pulse that mimics the act of trying to pull him deeper, to keep him inside.
He feels it and groans, his thrusts growing harder. “You’re gripping me,” he says, his voice strained. “You want my cum, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you moan, the word barely coherent. “Yes, Min. Fill me up.”
His pumping intensifies. He’s not just moving in and out now; he’s driving into you with a focused, powerful energy. Your nipples are painfully sensitive, scraping against the fabric of the couch, adding a sharp, subsidiary pain to the overwhelming pleasure.
You’re close. The orgasm builds not as a wave, but as a pressure—a ballooning, urgent tension in your core that threatens to rupture. Your breathing is ragged, your mouth open and gasping. Your eyes are half-closed, seeing nothing but the blur of the room and the feeling of his body dominating yours.
He senses your edge. One of his hands leaves your ass and slides around your hip, down to your front. His fingers find your clit, which is swollen and protruding, hard as a little pebble. He doesn’t rub it; he presses it, a firm, direct pressure that sends you over the brink.
The orgasm breaks and your inner muscles convulse around his cock, a series of tight, rhythmic spasms that grip and release him. Your fluids flood around him, a hot gush that you can feel escaping along his shaft, dripping down your thighs. The pleasure radiates outward, burning through your belly, down your legs, up into your chest. Your back arches impossibly, your head thrown back. A sound tears from your throat, a long, ragged moan that doesn’t seem to end. “Oh my—yessssss!”
He keeps fucking you through it. His thrusts become erratic, wild, but he doesn’t stop. He’s chasing his own finish, spurred by your climax. His cock is still buried deep, pistoning into your sensitized, contracting channel. The overstimulation is intense—each thrust sends new shocks through your oversensitive nerves, a painful pleasure that makes you gasp and whimper.
He’s breathing in harsh, broken gasps. His body is trembling against yours. His hand on your clit stays, pressing, amplifying everything.
“I’m gonna—” he grunts, the words fragmented. “I’m gonna come deep in your pussy. I’m gonna fill you up.”
His last few thrusts are hard, almost brutal. He drives into you, his hips slamming against your ass with a force that makes your whole body shudder. Then he stops, buried to the root. He holds there, his body rigid. “Fuck! Mmm, baby…that’s right, take my cum.”
Inside you, you feel him pulse. It’s a distinct, throbbing sensation deep within your stretched passage. Then the heat spreads. His release isn’t a single shot; it’s a hot, rushing flood that fills you. You feel the liquid warmth jetting into your deepest space, pooling inside you, a tangible, claiming deposit. It’s copious, abundant. The sensation of being filled, of his seed spreading inside your cavity, is profoundly physical and psychological. Your own spasming muscles seem to clutch at it, trying to pull it deeper, to keep it.
He groans, a long, shuddering sound of release. His body slumps against you, his weight pressing you fully into the couch. His cock stays inside, still hard, still dripping. You feel the overflow begin, a trickle of mixed fluids—his and yours—starting to seep out around the base of his shaft, down your thighs.
He stays like that for a long minute, both of you breathing in ragged, exhausted sync. The room is quiet except for your panting. The television is still on, some muted program casting soft light over your tangled bodies.
Slowly, he pulls out. The sensation is slow and slick, his cock sliding free, leaving you open and empty. A rush of warmth follows it, the deposited fluid beginning to escape more freely. You feel it, a hot trickle against your skin.
He turns you around, his hands gentle now. Your legs are weak, and you stumble into him. He holds you, his arms wrapping around you. Your face presses into his chest. You’re both sweaty, sticky, smelling of sex and completion.
He looks down at you, his eyes soft and satisfied. He kisses your forehead.
“Practice,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse but smiling.
You laugh, a weak, breathy sound. “That was thorough practice.”
He nods, his hands stroking your back. “We’ve got a whole week,” he says. “We can practice a lot.”
it's the user @/leriexoxo. although i am not sure if they still do, i still find some of their recent fics a little disturbing (i.e their "bi-curious" with lee-know that poorly describes how the dynamic works and just assumed leeknow becoming bi-curious after having sex with reader, we know that's not how gender and sexual preferences works). But hey! it's still your decision. you could search here i think on tumblr what was their issue last year to fiil your curiosity and for you to decide what course of action you would want to do.
I know about @/leriexoxo, babe. someone mentioned it to me in an anon message, and I removed her works from all my recommended fic lists right after that. if you check now, you’ll see she’s not there anymore.
here’s the conversation between me and that lovely anon:
but thank you so so much for letting me know, love💗💗 have nice day again!!😊
maria’s note: all the fanfics listed below contain explicit scenes, so MDNI! these authors are all incredibly talented writers whom I’ve always admired, so don’t forget to show them plenty of love!! 🤍
making love by @chandora
apartment #203 by @skzfflovers
drink it up by @skzfflovers
fantasy by @elylyyy
walk him like a dog by @emmiesoverthemoon
risky text by @stryscribbles
‘cause this type of love’s the epitome by @kloversung
attention by @hanjinology
fire vs. fire by @joyracha
messy by @ghostlyscripture
target acquired by @ghostlyscripture
i like it by @skzophreniic
the third mug (3 parts) by @skzophreniic
national anthem by @seospicybin
for your recommendation by @seospicybin
burning love by @starlostjisung
the birthday game by @starlostjisung
the friend i love by @starlostjisung
needy by @ysljoon
fwb seungmin by @jisunggy
rainy day by @moch3rii
you shook me by @1nthedarknessofthenight
as we are (5 parts) by @leeknowlore
I’M IN LOVE WITH THOSE AUTHORS SO PLS SHOW THEM SUPPORT AND LOVE, THEY’RE AMAZING 🤍🫶🏻
i have seen all of your fic recommendations, and honestly i love them all, but just so you know, if you have no idea one to many of those recommended fics are from a certain user that has been proven of using AI on their fics. i don't want to be the police user into pointing it out but if you are against any usage of AI for fics, i could tell you ho the user is, but if not, that is okay. i just think some readers who would look at your recommended fics would like to know who should they avoid reading fics with. ANYWAY, i hope you having a great day! < 3
on the contrary, I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me which ones use AI. because based on the anon comments I’ve received so far, I’m having a hard time figuring out which ones do and which ones don’t—I’d appreciate it if you could point them out to me.
maria’s note: all the fanfics listed below contain explicit scenes, so MDNI! these authors are all incredibly talented writers whom I’ve always admired, so don’t forget to show them plenty of love!! 🤍
making love by @chandora
apartment #203 by @skzfflovers
drink it up by @skzfflovers
fantasy by @elylyyy
walk him like a dog by @emmiesoverthemoon
risky text by @stryscribbles
‘cause this type of love’s the epitome by @kloversung
attention by @hanjinology
fire vs. fire by @joyracha
messy by @ghostlyscripture
target acquired by @ghostlyscripture
i like it by @skzophreniic
the third mug (3 parts) by @skzophreniic
national anthem by @seospicybin
for your recommendation by @seospicybin
burning love by @starlostjisung
the birthday game by @starlostjisung
the friend i love by @starlostjisung
needy by @ysljoon
fwb seungmin by @jisunggy
rainy day by @moch3rii
you shook me by @1nthedarknessofthenight
as we are (5 parts) by @leeknowlore
I’M IN LOVE WITH THOSE AUTHORS SO PLS SHOW THEM SUPPORT AND LOVE, THEY’RE AMAZING 🤍🫶🏻
maria’s note: all the fanfics listed below contain explicit scenes, so MDNI! these authors are all incredibly talented writers whom I’ve always admired, so don’t forget to show them plenty of love!! 🤍
making love by @chandora
apartment #203 by @skzfflovers
drink it up by @skzfflovers
fantasy by @elylyyy
walk him like a dog by @emmiesoverthemoon
risky text by @stryscribbles
‘cause this type of love’s the epitome by @kloversung
attention by @hanjinology
fire vs. fire by @joyracha
messy by @ghostlyscripture
target acquired by @ghostlyscripture
i like it by @skzophreniic
the third mug (3 parts) by @skzophreniic
national anthem by @seospicybin
for your recommendation by @seospicybin
burning love by @starlostjisung
the birthday game by @starlostjisung
the friend i love by @starlostjisung
needy by @ysljoon
fwb seungmin by @jisunggy
rainy day by @moch3rii
you shook me by @1nthedarknessofthenight
as we are (5 parts) by @leeknowlore
I’M IN LOVE WITH THOSE AUTHORS SO PLS SHOW THEM SUPPORT AND LOVE, THEY’RE AMAZING 🤍🫶🏻
maria’s note: all the fanfics listed below contain explicit scenes, so MDNI! these authors are all incredibly talented writers whom I’ve always admired, so don’t forget to show them plenty of love!! 🤍
making love by @chandora
apartment #203 by @skzfflovers
drink it up by @skzfflovers
fantasy by @elylyyy
walk him like a dog by @emmiesoverthemoon
risky text by @stryscribbles
‘cause this type of love’s the epitome by @kloversung
attention by @hanjinology
fire vs. fire by @joyracha
messy by @ghostlyscripture
target acquired by @ghostlyscripture
i like it by @skzophreniic
the third mug (3 parts) by @skzophreniic
national anthem by @seospicybin
for your recommendation by @seospicybin
burning love by @starlostjisung
the birthday game by @starlostjisung
the friend i love by @starlostjisung
needy by @ysljoon
fwb seungmin by @jisunggy
rainy day by @moch3rii
you shook me by @1nthedarknessofthenight
as we are (5 parts) by @leeknowlore
I’M IN LOVE WITH THOSE AUTHORS SO PLS SHOW THEM SUPPORT AND LOVE, THEY’RE AMAZING 🤍🫶🏻
maria’s note: all the fanfics listed below contain explicit scenes, so MDNI! these authors are all incredibly talented writers whom I’ve always admired, so don’t forget to show them plenty of love!! 🤍
making love by @chandora
apartment #203 by @skzfflovers
drink it up by @skzfflovers
fantasy by @elylyyy
walk him like a dog by @emmiesoverthemoon
risky text by @stryscribbles
‘cause this type of love’s the epitome by @kloversung
attention by @hanjinology
fire vs. fire by @joyracha
messy by @ghostlyscripture
target acquired by @ghostlyscripture
i like it by @skzophreniic
the third mug (3 parts) by @skzophreniic
national anthem by @seospicybin
for your recommendation by @seospicybin
burning love by @starlostjisung
the birthday game by @starlostjisung
the friend i love by @starlostjisung
needy by @ysljoon
fwb seungmin by @jisunggy
rainy day by @moch3rii
you shook me by @1nthedarknessofthenight
as we are (5 parts) by @leeknowlore
I’M IN LOVE WITH THOSE AUTHORS SO PLS SHOW THEM SUPPORT AND LOVE, THEY’RE AMAZING 🤍🫶🏻
maria’s note: all the fanfics listed below contain explicit scenes, so MDNI! these authors are all incredibly talented writers whom I’ve always admired, so don’t forget to show them plenty of love!! 🤍
making love by @chandora
apartment #203 by @skzfflovers
drink it up by @skzfflovers
fantasy by @elylyyy
walk him like a dog by @emmiesoverthemoon
risky text by @stryscribbles
‘cause this type of love’s the epitome by @kloversung
attention by @hanjinology
fire vs. fire by @joyracha
messy by @ghostlyscripture
target acquired by @ghostlyscripture
i like it by @skzophreniic
the third mug (3 parts) by @skzophreniic
national anthem by @seospicybin
for your recommendation by @seospicybin
burning love by @starlostjisung
the birthday game by @starlostjisung
the friend i love by @starlostjisung
needy by @ysljoon
fwb seungmin by @jisunggy
rainy day by @moch3rii
you shook me by @1nthedarknessofthenight
as we are (5 parts) by @leeknowlore
I’M IN LOVE WITH THOSE AUTHORS SO PLS SHOW THEM SUPPORT AND LOVE, THEY’RE AMAZING 🤍🫶🏻
kysa's note: literally another one of my top favourite tropes. the passion i've put into this is unfathomable. started with jotting it down on my phone's notes app as usual, then moved on to WRITING IT BY HAND on my tablet. then i completed the final draft. anyway, thankyou to the anon that requested this ! hope you like it ! reblogs and comments are really appreciated <3 xoxo.
academic rival seungmin, who is the golden boy of the university, climbing to heights people don't even dare to dream of.
academic rival seungmin, a computer science major always decked out with his laptop and headphones, ready to tackle each and every task.
academic rival seungmin, who is exasperatingly good at everything he does — a fact you refuse to accept due to your own ego.
academic rival seungmin, who manages to irritate you by his mere existence; he is cocky — like he is superior to you, someone whose company is unattainable.
academic rival seungmin, who loves to argue with you — or rather, looks at you amusedly as you snap at him for being an asshole.
academic rival seungmin, who calls you by your last name as you call him 'kim', competing with you on every possible front whether it's the gpa, the hackathon or the race for the valedictorian.
academic rival seungmin, who looks too fuckable for his own good; his face making your heartbeat race but those thoughts are shunned as soon as he opens that mouth.
academic rival seungmin, who gives you that breathtaking smirk as he decodes the program bug — literally a second after you — winning the competition, much to your dismay.
academic rival seungmin, who types away at his laptop, the lithe fingers clicking onto the keyboard giving you the unholiest of thoughts, which you despise yourself for.
academic rival seungmin, who manages to rile you up no matter what — manspreading in those grey sweatpants as his gaze locked with yours mid-lecture.
academic rival seungmin, who manages to impress you; you know you don't truly hate him because you admire his brilliance too much.
academic rival seungmin, who smirks when your professor announces you both as partners for the semester end project, making you roll your eyes.
academic rival seungmin, who nods amusedly when you come over to him, telling him to meet in the library today so that you both can start working on the project.
"so you're ordering me around now?"
academic rival seungmin, who surprisingly shows up in the library on time, clad in a white ribbed tank top, a blue shirt thrown loosely over it and those sinful grey sweatpants, laptop under his arm as he sits beside you.
"let's get this over with — i've better places to be."
"well i don't prefer your company either — you absolute douchebag."
academic rival seungmin, who brushes his legs against yours as he opens his laptop, both of you beginning to discuss the topic for your project.
"okay let's just get started with our individual parts — i can't listen to you ramble on for fucking forever."
"i knew you weren't paying attention, you little piece of sh —"
academic rival seungmin, who couldn't take his eyes off your form — the pretty skirt you rarely wore, a beautiful long sleeved top and your hair in a messy bun, glasses on your nose as you focused onto the screen of the laptop.
academic rival seungmin, who managed to catch your attention every second despite you trying your best to tear your eyes away — he looked too delectable that you had to bite your lips to stop the train of thoughts.
academic rival seungmin, who kept working alongside you as the library emptied, leaving you both engrossed in the project you both wanted, no needed, to excel at.
academic rival seungmin, who insists on his suggestion to change the trajectory of your half of the project after you had just completed the finishing touches.
"well too bad, i also have a say here. it's my project too — sir."
"say that again."
academic rival seungmin, who gazes at you with darkened eyes as his eyebrows quirk up at the usage of the title, your breath hitching slightly but you can't let lose that easily.
"what ? you got a title kink or something ?"
academic rival seungmin, who tilts your chin to face him — your mouth feels dry, making you lick your lips — his eyes falling to your lips then back to your eyes.
"only if it falls from your lips, angel."
academic rival seungmin, who pulls you onto his lap as your breath hitches — chest heaving as you await his next action — his own heartbeat racing with yours.
academic rival seungmin, who crashes his lips with yours as you gasp, hands catching the strap of his tank top as his shirt falls off his shoulder.
academic rival seungmin, who groans as you whimper into the kiss, breaking apart to look at you, skirt splayed on his lap, lips swollen and glistening.
"is this why you run your mouth in front of me? want me to shut you up with a kiss everytime ?"
"as if you don't like it hm? i could have you on your knees in a heartbeat — wouldn't that be a sight to behold ?"
academic rival seungmin, who reaches for your hips, squeezing them slightly as he enjoys your warm weight on him, soothing him.
"been thinking about that sight often? — how cute."
academic rival seungmin, who presses you down on his lap, your wet panties coming in direct contact with his already hardened bulge.
"well mr. unaffected, your cock says something else."
academic rival seungmin, who thrusts up into you, his bulge putting sudden pressure on your clit making you sputter out a moan.
"you're not in any state to say that, angel. i can feel you dripping on my lap."
academic rival seungmin, who watches you grind onto him instinctively, busy chasing your pleasure — losing all semblance of control you were feigning earlier.
"look at you — just begging me to put you in your place."
academic rival seungmin, who kisses you again, moving your drenched panties to the side, groaning as he plunges his fingers into your slick heat.
academic rival seungmin, who loves watching you as you bite your lips to contain your moans but end up spilling them anyway, your grip tightening on his shoulder.
"yea — you like that? do i need to do all the work, angel? come on — ride my fingers, ms. topper. i know how hardworking you are."
academic rival seungmin, who fell in love when you leaned forward, kissing and sucking on his pulse point as you slowly began bouncing on his fingers.
academic rival seungmin, who could feel his fingers reach your sweet spot as you clenched around him, whining as your head dropped onto his shoulder.
academic rival seungmin, who can feel you slowing down, as you keep trying your best to continue riding his fingers, your legs slowly giving way.
"mmmm — s-seungmin fuck — need you."
academic rival seungmin, who hasn't enjoyed himself this much, seeing his dream come true, you needing him — not wanting — needing.
"what are the magic words, angel?"
"please — sir."
academic rival seungmin, who moves his laptop aside and gently lays you flat on the table, a shiver running through his spine as he finally looks at you.
academic rival seungmin, who takes his shaft out of his sweatpants, groaning as the air hits a bead of precum on the tip, your gaze making him harder.
academic rival seungmin, who pushes his cock in, almost cumming as your heat envelopes him, walls gripping him like your life depends on him.
"oh god — seung — 's too fucking big."
academic rival seungmin, who drops sweet pecks on your forehead as he slowly bottoms out, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
"it's okay love, you're doing — fuuuuuck — so good for me."
academic rival seungmin, who starts snapping his hips into yours, making you moan as his tip kisses your cervix, his lips marking your collarbone.
academic rival seungmin, who comes to envelop your lips as you both ride your highs together, cradling your head.
academic rival seungmin, who cleans you up with a gentleness, fixing your clothes as he finally asked you out after pining for years.
academic rival seungmin, who never craved attention until he tasted yours, and now he has finally made you his.
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romaincrisis
janainaart
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
baratheonpilled
snowghoul
