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star-suh · 3 months ago

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Boys Interrupted

Jake Sim & Jay Park x Male Reader

cw: idol au, yn is part of enhypen, threesome, voyeurism.

—

“finally we're done” jay cheered, talking to the rest of the members, it's been a rough week for them with all the promotions they have to do with their recent comeback. they were sitting in the living room now, some of them after showering, others eating or playing video games but two of them were missing, jake and yn. and jay noticed it.

“jakeee!!. ynn!!” he yelled at both, “come to the living room, we're gonna eat some spicy noodles”, they didn't respond. weird, he thought, but he heard something weird, the more he gets closer to their shared bedroom the more weird sounds he hears. “what the..” he walks slowly, carefully, his steps becoming quiet. his hand grabbed the knob of the door while some hushed fucks and harder rumbled on his ears, he turn it slowly, opening the door just a bit to peek inside –he already had an idea what was happening but curiosity got the best of him.

there they were, jake folding yn in half on the bed, his hips snapping wildly against yn's ass. jake whispered dirty words while biting his lower lip and kissing him to swallow his whines and moans. surprised –and excited– by the lewd sight in front of him, a tent formed in jay's pants, “fuck, it's not fair they're the only ones enjoying things here” he sighs, palming his growing erection restrained on his underwear. he looks around to make sure no one is coming to keep staring, giving in into his voyeuristic experience.

“fuck you’re so… tight” jake growls on yn’s ear, his big veiny hand on yn’s mouth, muffling every sound coming out of his throat. his sexy low voice making yn’s body tremble in pleasure, the top then shifts his angle, scraping other parts inside yn’s hole. yn couldn’t help but arch his back, burying himself deeper in the other’s meat –chasing that heat that jake’s provoking on him. jake kept muttering curses, his breath hot against yn’s neck –tickling it, his hole closing around his thick shaft. jake swallowed a moan, biting his lower lip while looking up with his eyes closed –focusing on not cumming right there, with yn’s sloppy hole taut around his hole. sweat dripping down his face and neck, some of them splashing and falling on yn’s body, mixing it with his own. and that’s when he realized something, a peeping tom on the other side of the door, but instead of getting startled by it jake became more aroused, his dick grew bigger inside yn, “fuck, your dick feels bigger all of a sudden” yn mutters burying his face on a pillow, to cover his moans.

jake and jay locked eyes, both flushed faces staring at each other while continuing doing their respective things –one fucking and the other masturbating. jake lifts yn, he puts his legs around jake’s hips while he introduces his dick on his hole, showing jay how well yn is taking him. the scene was sinful, jake getting off on someone watching him doing sexual acts that most péople would consider are intimate but having an audience light something up inside him. jake kissed yn’s collarbone and nipped at it while still looking directly towards jay, like a hunter warning another hunter that that prey is his already, but jay didn’t got intimidated by him –who said a hunter can’t steal another’s prey?.

jake invited him to come in.

who even said hunters can share prey?

yn didn’t notice jay entering the room, jake distracted him with rapid thrusts that sent him to cloud 9. jay leaned against a wall, pulling down his sweatpants, his dick sprung out hard the tip with a red hue, it ached – it needed to be stroked, he coated it with his own saliva, going up and down slowly, soothing the pain of being restrained tight under his underwear. “i like how you’re doing. you’re taking me so well” jake spoke, “glad someone else is a witness of how much of a slut you are for some dick” jake slowly lifted yn’s head by grabbing the back of his neck, showing him how jay was there, they both locked eyes –jay’s stare was dark, pure lust and hunger in them. he didn’t say a thing, he left his cock do the talk, yn’s eyes stared down –another thick cock, his hole throbbed and jake felt it –he chuckled lowly.

fuck, why is he so hot?

feeling his gaze on him now, send shivers down yn’s spine. jake relentlessly snapped his hips against yn’s hole, his ass wobbled with every thrust –he then slowed his pace, drawing a whine out of yn, he positioned himself to now lay on the bed while yn is now on top of him –in a riding position– al without pulling out of him. “wanna join?. there’s room for one more” he puts four digits inside the ring of muscles, showing jay how gape he was already. “should we let him join?” jake asked yn who shook his head in yes motion, his ass closing around the top’s shaft and digits –he was eager to be stuffed to the max, what a slut.

jake nips at yn’s ear, “you hear him, put it in already”. yn’s heart raced, his pulse spiked at jake giving jay permission to fuck him too –as if he was just a fucktoy for him, and he loves it. the heat spreaded throughout yn’s whole body, his body became flushed –back, face, ears all in a red pink-ish hue, the sweat increasing too, he was a mess. jay discarded only his sweatpants, staying with the hoodie on. jake withdrew a little, just enough for jay’s tip to make its way inside the already occupied hole. yn’s whimpers were shaky, jay and jake caressed his back and thighs, teasing, testing him how good is yn doing. jay touched the sensitive skin, it crawled all the way up yn’s back to his head, tugging at the hair to make him look towards him “you’re so fucking pretty” he positioned his hand on yn’s neck to help his head stay still and kiss him, in the process arching his back, letting both dicks go deeper. “let us take care of you” he whispered, cleaning the remaining saliva around his lips with the back of his hand.

jake kiss him next, claiming his mouth too, while jay kept steady thrusts, jabbing his dick constantly –his shaft rubbing against jake’s, the friction making them both to move their hips on their own, chasing more of that heat they’re getting, two big cocks held tight inside someone’s hole, that squeezes them like his life depended on it. jake’s hands roamed around yn’s body while jay’s spread him open, squeezed it and spanked the jiggly glutes of yn, moving due to the recoil caused by the thrusts. jay’s hoodie became soaked in sweat, wet patches appearing on it so he discarded it, his chest now pressed against yn’s back while jake’s fingers were on his lips. yn sucked them, strings of saliva connecting each finger with his mouth.

“fuck, relax” jake manifested, slicking back his damp hair with his hand, sighing in pleasure, he was being overstimulated like everyone else in the room. the feeling of two cocks rubbing against each other in a tight space or of being filled completely –sensations that they haven’t felt until now. it’s a dizzying feeling that felt good –the only words coming out of yn were broken moans and some “more’s” but they came out of him with every thrust the tops did, as if they were pushing them out of him, their dicks jabbing quickly inside him. yn’s insides felt warm, the constant friction making it look as if he was having some kind of fever. “good boy” jake praised, kissing him, “you’re taking us so well” jay compliments too.

the orgasm built fast, the overstimulation there wasn’t a joke at any moment they would reach their climax. jake’s grip tightened while jay angled himself deeper and yn was in between them trembling and in the blink of an eye both tops came, their cocks spurted loads and loads of semen jake whispered loudly a curse while jay groaned lowly. yn followed them soon after, his dick spurting ropes on jake’s abs, painting them white. the three of them riding their highs after such an amazing climax.

the room was filled with the manly scent of sweat and sex, the two tops musk intoxicating a fucked up yn, feeling cockdrunked. jay’s dick slip out of the slippery hole with a pop, coated in white with strings of it connecting his shaft to jake’s and yn’s ass. “so fucking hot. i should've spy you two sooner” he growled while flopping onto the bed besides the other two, that fucking sexy –almost cocky– smirk of his plastered on his face and jake stayed close to yn, his hand resting on one of yn’s asscheeks his dick slipping out slowly too, followed by a stream of mixed cum and lube that felt right on his balls, coating them in the sex-scented liquid. “worth the watch?” jake asked jay, and he nodded, “indeed, it was worth it”.

yn collapsed on top of them both, lazily snuggling in between them to sleep after the tired session. the other two, also feeling weak, followed him to sleep, they could deal the next morning with the other members’ questions.

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star-suh · 3 months ago

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Boys Interrupted

Jake Sim & Jay Park x Male Reader

cw: idol au, yn is part of enhypen, threesome, voyeurism.

—

jake invited him to come in.

who even said hunters can share prey?

fuck, why is he so hot?

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star-suh · 3 months ago

Note

i totally forgot about that part maybe a jake n jay x male reader instead? thank you🙏🏻🙏🏻

postings are NOWWW

#star-suh responds #star-suh rambles

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star-suh · 3 months ago

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world class sin : prologue

sim jaeyun, park sunghoon, park jongseong x male reader.

After the contract is signed, Y/n stops asking why. He just shows up—quiet, pretty, dressed in whatever they hand him. The boys don’t want him there, not really. But the cameras love him. The mirrors follow him. Every rehearsal hurts. Every silence drips with resentment. And still, they keep him. Jay writes like he’s angry. Sunghoon dances like he’s alone. Jake watches him too long. None of them speak it aloud, but the feeling is the same: Y/n wasn’t earned. He was chosen. By the wrong people. For the wrong reasons. And now he’s theirs. Just twenty-three days until debut. Twenty-three days to become a fantasy.

warnings: idol!reader, objectification, industry power dynamics, emotional manipulation, possessiveness, voyeurism, obsessive behavior, gaslighting, celebrity exploitation, toxic relationships, industry elitism, ambiguous morality, dark themes of grief and identity loss, aestheticization of suffering, subtle yandere dynamics, inspired by The Idol and Anora.

please read before continuing:

CONTENT WARNING + Author’s Note World Class Sin is a fictional story. It is not real. The characters portrayed here are fictionalized versions inspired by public figures, but they do not reflect the real personalities, actions, or values of anyone in real life. This story is created purely for fictional storytelling and emotional exploration — nothing in it should be read as truth, reality, or a commentary on real people. This fic is made of dramatized emotions, and heightened dynamics set within a stylized, pressurized version of the global idol industry. Though it explores intensity, control, and desire, it is not intended to reflect what is healthy, safe, or good in real life. This story includes themes that may be emotionally heavy or difficult for some readers — such as emotional manipulation, objectification, isolation, possessiveness, psychological pressure, voyeuristic or obsessive dynamics, and moments where characters are treated as products instead of people. It also includes mature or NSFW scenes that reflect those imbalances — shaped by tension, not tenderness. The characters are morally gray. They are flawed, reckless, and often driven by desire more than compassion. They do things that are not admirable. And while those choices may be compelling in fiction, they are not excuses for real behavior — and they are not meant to romanticize harm. If you’re someone who’s sensitive to themes of control, emotional coercion, unwanted attention, or being dehumanized — please read with care. If at any point something in this story feels too close to home, too sharp, too familiar — you are allowed to stop. You never need to push through discomfort to prove anything. There is no story more important than your peace. You are not someone’s fantasy. You do not have to be ruined to be seen, or hurt to be held. If this story ever makes you feel small, unsafe, or alone — please, please take space. Close the tab. Drink water. Text someone who sees you clearly. Come back only if and when it feels right. And if it never feels right again — that’s okay too. Please don’t force yourself to return. This story does not deserve more of you than you’re able to give. From writer to reader — I care about you. I care about your well-being more than this plot or any fictional moment. You matter more than anything written here. Your softness, your boundaries, and your safety are always worth protecting. Please take care of yourself. You’re never alone in choosing yourself. With care, Luke.

Before the company. Before the cameras. Before the lights wrapped around his skin like a second set of hands and people began calling his silence presence — there was just Y/n.

Y/n, who used to sing under his breath in the backseat of his mother’s car while she drove barefoot, humming along to songs too old for the radio. Who used to dance in the kitchen at night while spaghetti boiled on the stove, barefoot on cheap tile, arms wide like the world couldn’t touch him. He didn’t want fame. He just liked how music felt in his chest — like proof that he existed. Like warmth. And she saw it. His mother. She used to say he was a light. A soft one. The kind that flickered gently in dark places, not to shine, but to keep people from feeling alone. She called him magic. Said if the world saw him the way she did, it would fall in love and never recover.

But the world never got the chance to meet her. She got sick, fast and cruel, like some invisible hand reached down and stole the only thing keeping his life from collapsing in on itself. One day she was folding his laundry and singing about the weather; the next, she was a name on a hospital file he couldn’t afford to print. The grief didn’t break Y/n all at once. It hollowed him. Slowly. Gently. Like a song that fades without ending. He didn’t scream or cry or destroy things. He just�� stopped. Stopped talking. Stopped singing. Started disappearing one silent moment at a time.

There were nights he didn’t come home. Mornings he couldn’t remember where he’d been. Rooms he walked into that felt too hot, too cold, too loud. People touched him and he let them, but it didn’t mean anything. He didn’t feel ruined — just distant from his own body. He let strangers speak to him like they knew who he was. Let the world pull at the corners of his clothes, his mouth, his name. He wore her perfume for weeks after she died, just to remember what love smelled like. And eventually, even that faded.

So when a woman with too many rings and too white of a smile called and said she’d known his mother once, said she had a place for him, a stage, a future — Y/n didn’t question it. He didn’t even want it, not really. But he went. Because it was forward. Because it was something. Because standing still was starting to feel like dying.

They flew him to Los Angeles. No audition. No promise. Just a room, a contract, and a group that had already been chosen. A self-producing global project: stylists from Seoul, choreographers from London, a debut stage booked in MCOUNTDOWN before the ink had even dried. Jay, Jake, Sunghoon — three names carved into the industry like sharp things. Boys with scars. Boys with hunger. Boys who had given everything to be here.

And now, they had to stand next to Y/n — the boy who had given nothing but still looked like he’d been born in spotlight.

The executives were obsessed. He was everything they wanted without even trying. A beautiful, damaged blank slate. His trainee period was short — barely weeks. But that didn’t matter. They said he had that thing. The unnamable thing. They called his eyes marketable sadness. Big, glistening, expressive things that looked like he was always about to cry. Like he knew something you didn’t. Like he needed saving. And people wanted to save him. Or ruin him. Or both.

He was pliable. Innocent in all the wrong ways. And when stylists dressed him in sheer shirts and told him not to smile, he didn’t ask why. When vocal trainers told him to whisper his lyrics like they were secrets, he did. When photographers posed his hands limp and his lips parted, he obeyed. There was something in him that had been emptied out. And in its place, the industry poured something else — glossy and broken and dripping with want.

They didn’t see the boy in the kitchen spinning barefoot for no one. They saw the after. The glow of something burned too long. A boy with soft wrists and pretty bones and eyes like bruises. Something not quite alive but still moving.

And Y/n let them have it.

Because it was easier than remembering. Because grief had made him quiet, and now quiet made him desirable. Because being watched felt better than being alone.

Because when you’ve been loved by someone who saw your soul, you’ll spend the rest of your life letting people take your body just to feel something close.

They didn’t meet him on a stage. Or in a practice room. They met him in silence—late afternoon, overhead lights too white, the hallway outside the recording studio carrying the sterile smell of burnt coffee and industrial air freshener. The building always felt like that. Cold, new, over-designed. Like ambition lived in the vents.

Y/n stood alone in the corridor, tucked into a corner like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to take up space. His clothes were plain—company-issued hoodie, soft drawstring pants, shoes too clean. He looked like he’d been dropped there, like someone forgot to tell him what to do next. His hands were tucked in his sleeves, his gaze heavy and uncertain, big glassy eyes scanning the passing staff like he was waiting for someone to explain what his life had become. But no one did. People walked past him like he wasn’t real.

And inside the studio, the boys were waiting.

Jay had been mid-edit, headphones pulled halfway off one ear, track looping back on itself as he adjusted vocal layering. Jake had been at the whiteboard with a pen in his mouth, scribbling fragments of a chorus they hadn’t agreed on. Sunghoon was sitting on the floor, stretching in slow, practiced lines, watching his reflection in the glass.

When the door opened and one of the assistant managers stepped in, clearing their throat with a smile too tight, everything slowed.

“Your new member’s here,” they said. Simple. Blunt. As if it were a schedule change, not a shift in the entire balance of the room.

Jay’s eyes didn’t move from his screen. “What do you mean, new member?” His voice was flat. Controlled. But his fingers paused mid-click.

“CEO’s orders. He’s joining the lineup.”

Jake turned. Sunghoon didn’t blink. None of them said anything, but the silence that followed was louder than any protest.

And then he stepped in.

Y/n, soft-faced, quiet, impossibly still. His presence wasn’t loud, but it was there. It crept into corners. His eyes—those too-bright, too-sad things—flicked from face to face, not with confidence, but with the strange, hollow politeness of someone used to being tolerated, not welcomed. He bowed. Soft. Awkward. Like he wasn’t sure he was doing it right.

Jay’s stare was unreadable. He leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow lifting slightly. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The tension in his shoulders said enough. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They had trained for years together—fought, failed, rewritten songs through tears and caffeine and injury. And now this? A stranger in their studio? One they hadn’t trained with, hadn’t chosen?

Sunghoon stood. Slow. Measured. His body moved with dancer’s precision even now, coiled tight beneath the silence. His gaze swept over Y/n once, impersonal. Not curious. Just… calculating. Like he was adjusting choreography in his head to factor in a flaw.

Jake’s lips pressed into a line. He said nothing, but his grip on the whiteboard marker tightened, ink bleeding into the surface behind him like it had nowhere else to go.

And Y/n? Y/n just stood there. Looking at them. Looking past them. Not trying to explain. Not trying to smile. Just standing there with those trembling, ruined eyes like he already knew what they thought. Like he’d heard it before.

The manager gave a quick clap, like the moment needed wrapping. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it. He’s already got housing in your dorm. Training schedule starts tomorrow. Be good to each other.”

The door clicked shut.

And the silence collapsed into something heavier.

Y/n didn’t speak. He didn’t introduce himself again. He just stepped further into the room, slow, hesitant, like the floor might reject him. He moved toward the couch in the corner, sat down too carefully, as if afraid he’d take someone’s spot.

Jay turned back to his laptop. Pressed play. The track looped again.

Jake went back to the board, but didn’t write.

Sunghoon lowered himself to the floor again, more rigid this time.

No one told Y/n where to stand. Where to sit. What to do. No one asked his story. They didn’t need to. They had already decided what kind of person he was.

He was the fourth member now. A piece of a group he hadn’t earned. A replacement for someone they actually cared about.

He didn’t belong.

And in some twisted, brutal way—

That was exactly why they chose him.

The training studio was too bright in the next morning. Too clean. The kind of sterile, high-ceilinged space that didn’t allow mistakes to hide. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors on every wall, polished until they could catch even the faintest flicker of shame. The sound system buzzed faintly overhead. The air reeked of lemon disinfectant and effort.

Y/n was already there when the others arrived.

He’d shown up twenty minutes early, clutching a company-issued water bottle with both hands, like it might anchor him to the floor. He stood near the back wall, away from the mirror, staring at his own reflection like it didn’t quite match up. His hoodie sleeves were bunched at the wrists. His hair was still damp from the rushed shower. His eyes—their usual wounded-glass glaze—were unreadable, a little too wide, like he hadn’t slept.

He didn’t look like a trainee. He looked like someone pretending to be one.

Jay walked in first, earbuds still in, the collar of his jacket loose and unzipped like he’d sprinted from the studio just to be forced into this. He didn’t look at Y/n. Just dropped his bag at the wall and started stretching.

Jake came next, nodding curtly to the trainer stationed near the door, then immediately scanned the room. When his eyes landed on Y/n, something behind them tightened. It wasn’t surprise anymore. It was adjustment. A silent recalibration—how do you move around something you never asked for?

Sunghoon entered last. His expression didn’t change. It never did. He placed his water down carefully, tied his shoelaces like they were performance art, then stood in the center of the room and rolled his shoulders with the mechanical focus of a blade being polished.

“From the top,” the trainer called.

The music started.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. It was the track they’d been preparing for weeks, long before Y/n had been added in. Heavy bass layered over precise percussion, punctuated with vocal stabs and hard cuts in the tempo. It's a song of the French House mixed with drum & bass and dubstep. The choreography was difficult—sharp hits, tight formations, no room to fall behind. It was designed to showcase unity.

Y/n was half a beat behind from the first step.

His movements were rehearsed, yes. Memorized. But not lived in. He danced like a soldier following orders, not like someone who believed in what he was doing. His limbs moved with calculated correctness, but there was no rhythm beneath it. No breath. Just mimicry. Just survival.

Jay didn’t hide his reaction. His eyes flicked up to the mirror mid-verse, caught the staggered rhythm in Y/n’s step, and narrowed. His jaw clenched. He didn’t say anything—but the tension in his arms as he hit his mark spoke volumes.

Sunghoon’s movements were a masterclass in control. Every pop of his shoulder, every step, every lift—clean, exact, devastating. But when they transitioned to group formation and Y/n brushed his side during a cross, Sunghoon’s body tensed. Only for a second. But it was there. A recoil.

Jake kept his eyes forward, lips pressed into a line. He hit every beat—fluid, magnetic—but you could feel it in the way his hands curled too tight on the downbeats, in the way his gaze skipped over Y/n whenever the formation pulled them too close. Not quite anger. Not yet. Just a loaded silence.

Y/n didn’t react.

Even when the trainer paused the track and called out, “Y/n—again. Your timing’s off on the first chorus.”

He only nodded. Stepped back into place. Counted under his breath. Reset his feet. Tried again.

And again.

By the third hour, the mirrors were fogged at the edges and the floor was streaked with sweat. The room reeked of it now—effort, frustration, resentment stewing under fluorescent light. Y/n’s hoodie was gone, revealing the too-thin tank top underneath, damp at the collar. His cheeks were red from exertion. His arms shook faintly when he raised them. But his expression hadn’t changed. He still looked like someone doing penance.

When they finally broke for water, Jay didn’t sit. He paced, wiping his neck with a towel, the lines between his brows deepening every time he glanced back toward Y/n, who was crouched by the wall, sipping water like it hurt to swallow.

Sunghoon didn’t speak. But his silence wasn’t neutral—it was sharp-edged, purposeful, a presence in the room like a wire stretched too tight. He pulled out his phone, thumb tapping idly, but his reflection in the mirror stayed fixed on the corner Y/n sat in.

Jake stood by the stereo, arms crossed, gaze down.

No one spoke.

Because nothing needed to be said. They were rehearsing for a debut that was supposed to be theirs—just theirs. Built on history. On blood. And now the fourth was here, soft-eyed and silent, fucking up the counts and soaking up the attention.

They weren’t teammates.

Not yet.

Just strangers in matching shoes, breathing the same stale air, waiting to see who would break first.

When the trainer finally called it, the silence that followed was louder than the music had ever been. No celebration. No breath of relief. Just the hollow, collective sound of sweat hitting polished floors and lungs still burning from the last chorus. Y/n stayed where he was, crouched low with his elbows braced on his knees, palms digging into the fabric of his pants. His chest rose and fell slowly. Measured. Controlled. The others didn’t look at him—not directly. They moved around him like he was a piece of faulty equipment no one had figured out how to replace yet.

Jay was the first one out the door.

He didn’t even bother pretending. His towel hit the floor beside his bag, and he stalked out of the studio with his jaw clenched and one hand already scrolling through his contacts like he was ready to start a war. Jake followed. Not as fast, but just as intentional. His water bottle was still full, untouched, swinging loosely at his side like a weapon. And then Sunghoon, calm as ever, but his gaze didn’t lift once—not to the trainer, not to Y/n. Just forward, like if he looked back, the thin thread holding his composure together would snap.

Y/n didn’t ask where they were going.

Didn’t ask if he should follow.

He sat there in the corner of the practice room, arms resting on his knees, hair stuck to his temples in wet strands. His eyes—those wide, silent, glassy things—looked straight ahead but didn’t see anything. They weren’t just tired. They were frayed at the edges, rimmed red, not from tears but from the ache of trying not to cry. It wasn’t the rehearsal that did it. It was everything underneath. The way grief builds like heat beneath the skin. The way loneliness makes your body too heavy. The way every second here felt like punishment for something he didn’t understand.

They hadn’t told him how much this would hurt.

Two floors up, the air felt different. Cooler. Quieter. The executive level of the building was all soundproof glass, imported marble, and lighting that made your skin look better than it actually was. Jay hated it. He hated the way the hallway echoed with silence, the way every piece of furniture was too expensive to sit on. He hated the waiting room outside the CEO’s office with its spotless magazines and staged smiles. But mostly, he hated that they had to come here at all.

He didn’t knock.

The receptionist barely looked up. “He’s finishing a call.”

“We’ll wait,” Jay said, already pacing. His voice was sharp, sure, dangerous. Jake didn’t say anything. He stood beside the window, arms crossed, watching the skyline like it had answers. Sunghoon sat, legs crossed, but his body was pulled taut. Even his stillness was strategic—like his breath could ruin the balance.

When the door finally opened, the CEO didn’t bother with greetings. “I assume this is about the new lineup.”

Jay stepped in first. “You assume right.”

The office was warm. Too warm. Designed to feel comfortable, inviting. But the weight of it pressed against their skin like humidity. Fake comfort. Manufactured trust. The CEO didn’t sit at his desk—he sat across from them, on a lounge chair like they were about to have a casual brainstorm session. That just made Jay angrier.

“We’ve been rehearsing this set for months,” he said. “We built this. The three of us. From scratch. And now there’s someone we’ve never trained with suddenly center in the marketing decks? You didn’t even ask.”

“He’s not center,” the CEO replied smoothly. “He’s presence.”

Jake’s knuckles flexed where his hands were folded. Sunghoon didn’t move.

“Presence doesn’t fix formation,” Jay snapped. “Presence doesn’t cover missed steps. He’s not ready.”

“He doesn’t need to be ready,” the CEO said, calm, like he was explaining something to a child. “He needs to be watched. And he is.”

Jay opened his mouth, then shut it again. There was something terrifying in how confident the man was. Like this had never even been a debate.

“He’s not the strongest dancer,” the CEO continued. “He’s not the best vocalist. But people don’t look away from him. We’ve tested it. Media, marketing, even styling. When he’s in the frame, he is the frame.”

“That’s not what we’re building,” Sunghoon said finally. His voice was low. Even. But the edge in it was impossible to miss. “This isn’t just a group. It’s a system. And he’s not part of it.”

The CEO nodded. Slowly. Like he’d heard that line before.

“And systems evolve. Especially the ones that want to last. You three are the spine. The sound. The foundation. But he’s the face.”

Jake looked away. His jaw twitched.

Jay was already standing. “You should’ve told us. Before it became official.”

“It’s been official since the day he arrived,” the CEO said. “The press release is already drafted. MCountdown is booked. You’re debuting in twenty-three days.”

Silence.

The kind that wasn’t hollow—but final.

Jay stormed out. Jake followed.

Sunghoon lingered for just a second longer.

Then he nodded once, almost imperceptibly. Not agreement. Just acknowledgment.

He understood now.

They were no longer building this group.

They were part of what had been built around someone else.

The door to the CEO’s office shut behind them with a soft click, but the silence it left in its wake was anything but gentle. The hallway stretched before them like a tunnel with no end, polished tile reflecting the muted overhead light, the buzz of fluorescent fixtures matching the hum in Jake’s ears. No one said anything at first. Jay stalked ahead, his shoulders rigid, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Sunghoon followed, his steps slow and even like he was regulating every inch of his body just to keep it from trembling. Jake walked last, still reeling from what had just been said, from the clarity of it — the certainty with which they’d been dismissed, replaced, rearranged around a single, silent newcomer with no past and no proof.

It wasn’t about talent. It never had been.

And that was the part that left a taste in their mouths like rust.

None of them had cried when their old friends were cut. When the lineups changed. When the fifth, sixth, seventh iteration of this group was dissolved and rebuilt again. They knew the rules. Knew how it worked. Survival meant adaptation. But this — this wasn’t survival. This was sabotage dressed up as strategy. They weren’t just making room for Y/n. They were being told that everything they had bled for was secondary now. That their work, their history, their nights spent collapsed in rehearsal rooms and vocal booths didn’t matter as much as the way he looked under soft lighting. The way his eyes stayed wide and sad, like he’d never learned to protect himself. Like the industry could devour him slowly and still leave room for dessert.

Jay stopped in the middle of the corridor, running a hand through his hair like he could scratch the thought from his skull. “He’s not even trying,” he muttered under his breath. “He just stands there. And they act like it’s art.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. The line of his jaw, the quiet rage in the set of his mouth, said more than words. Jake leaned against the wall beside them, arms crossed, staring at the floor like it had betrayed him.

None of them had asked for this. And yet—there it was. That image of Y/n in the studio, barely moving, barely breathing, and still somehow commanding every eye in the room. It was offensive. It was infuriating. And it was undeniable.

The executives had seen it instantly. They hadn’t looked at Y/n and seen potential. They had seen a product already in its final form. A face that could sell out stadiums and perfume ads. A presence that didn’t need to say anything because the silence did all the work. That was the trick — the way his grief softened his features, made his mouth look vulnerable even when closed. The way his eyes stayed glassy, as if carrying a sadness that hadn’t been explained yet, but begged to be understood. They didn’t need him to be perfect. They needed him to be breakable. Beautiful in a way that made people want to ruin him, gently. Slowly. With reverence.

“He’s not even acting,” Jake said suddenly, voice tight. “That’s just how he is.”

Jay glanced at him. Jake wasn’t defending him. That wasn’t what this was. But the words hung in the air like something dangerous.

Because it was true. Y/n wasn’t calculating. He wasn’t pretending to be tragic. He simply was.

And that made it worse.

Because it made people want to keep him. To protect what looked so fragile, even if it wasn’t. Because despite the resentment curling in Jay’s chest, despite the quiet loathing in Sunghoon’s gaze, and the cold irritation in Jake’s bones—none of them wanted anyone else to have him. Not the executives. Not the stylists. Not the audience. He was theirs. He was in their group. Their story. Their songs. He hadn’t earned it, but now that he was here, the idea of someone else taking ownership of him felt like a deeper betrayal.

That wasn’t love. It wasn’t even care. It was possessiveness in its most twisted, quiet form. The kind that festers when something soft is placed in a room full of people who’ve only ever survived by being hard.

“He’s gonna ruin this for us,” Jay said flatly, starting to walk again.

But Jake didn’t move. And Sunghoon lingered.

Because ruin wasn’t always fire and blood. Sometimes, it looked like a boy with eyes full of grief and hands that didn’t know what to hold onto. Sometimes it looked like innocence laced with something sensual — not on purpose, but in the way people wanted to project their filth onto something clean. Y/n had become that. Not even a person anymore. A screen.

And maybe that was the real reason they couldn’t stand him.

Because he made everyone want things they weren’t allowed to want.

They walked without speaking.

The street was mostly empty, the kind of late where everything felt quiet in the wrong way—like the city was holding its breath. The sidewalk stretched ahead in long strips of shadow and light, blinking from the neon buzz of 24-hour storefronts and the muted glow of passing cars. Jay’s steps were fast, agitated. Sunghoon moved more slowly, deliberate, his body carrying itself with the kind of practiced calm that only barely masked unrest. Jake followed behind, not dragging his feet, but not really pushing forward either. Just… moving. Like the floor might vanish if he stood still too long.

They were still full of what had happened upstairs.

The way the CEO hadn’t blinked when he said it. He’s not the center. He’s the frame. Like they were props now, scaffolding around something else. Like the years they had poured into this — the ruined knees, the vocal strain, the callouses, the panic, the loneliness — were just context for a face with the right kind of silence behind it.

It was insulting.

And worse — it was working.

Jay had known a thousand boys more talented than Y/n. He could name five off the top of his head who were better dancers, better singers, better alive in front of a camera. And yet none of them made the room shift like Y/n did. That haunted stillness. The eyes that looked too open to be safe. A softness that wasn’t weakness — just absence. Like someone had carved out the center of him and left the shell behind, and somehow that was beautiful. The stylists whispered about it. The executives didn’t even try to hide their obsession. They were already shaping him into the kind of icon people whispered about, idolized, wanted to break just to see what kind of sound he’d make when he fell.

Sunghoon hated it.

Not Y/n, exactly. Not yet. But the imbalance. The way the system bent around him. He wasn’t supposed to be part of their equation. The three of them had been trained together like a machine — interlocking, precise. They’d shared blood, floors, years of fighting. They knew each other’s timing better than their own. And now this… soft thing had been dropped in the middle of it all like a piece of furniture no one remembered ordering.

And yet — even Sunghoon had caught himself watching him. Noticing the strange angles of his silence. The way he held tension in his throat but not his shoulders. The way his lips stayed slightly parted, always, like he was trying to breathe in something he’d never been taught how to take.

It made you want to reach for him.

Or shake him.

Or both.

Jake didn’t even want to admit what it made him feel. There was something about the way Y/n existed that made people confused about what they were looking at. He wasn’t performing, but it still felt like he was always on display. Like the air folded around him differently. Jake had been around stars before — people who knew how to command a room. But Y/n was the opposite. He did nothing. He shrank. And somehow, that was worse. Because people filled the space around him with their own desire.

And it wasn’t just them. It was everyone. The marketing team. The vocal coach. Even the interns whispered when he walked past.

They didn’t look at Y/n like a person.

They looked at him like a suggestion.

And maybe that was the worst part. Jake couldn’t stop seeing it either.

It wasn’t sympathy. They didn’t feel sorry for him. They were too angry for that. But they also didn’t want anyone else to get too close. Didn’t want to see him styled in a way they hadn’t approved. Didn’t want to hear a stranger talk about his eyes like they meant something. He was theirs now, whether they liked it or not. Their problem. Their weak link. Their… whatever he was. No one else got to decide how far he’d fall. If anyone was going to cut him down, it would be one of them.

The dorm loomed ahead — bland building, dim lights, the shape of routine glowing behind the curtains. It looked the same as always. But nothing inside felt stable anymore.

Jay didn’t stop walking until the front door clicked open.

Jake’s fingers hovered near the code box, even though he already knew the numbers. Sunghoon stood beside him, eyes flicking up toward the dark window above the kitchen. No movement. No sound.

Inside, Y/n was probably on the couch again. Or in the corner of the bedroom with his knees tucked up, headphones in, expression blank. Or maybe asleep with the light on, not dreaming. Just suspended.

They stood outside for a moment longer than they needed to.

No one said it.

But something had changed.

And none of them knew what it meant that the boy they hated most — the boy they had every reason to resent — was already starting to feel like something they owned.

There was no word for it — what he made them feel. Not jealousy, not fascination, not pity. It was something heavier, messier. Something they couldn’t talk about without sounding sick. And maybe that was why none of them spoke as they entered the building, shoes thudding softly against the tile, the hallway narrowing toward their unit like the tension between their ribs. Jay was the first one to disappear into the kitchen, pretending to check the fridge, like he wasn’t picturing the way one of the stylists had leaned too close to Y/n during fittings, adjusting the hem of his shirt like she was dressing a doll she wanted to bite. It had made Jay want to throw something. And he didn’t know why.

He’d seen idols before. Had stood in the wings while others were stylized into stardom — molded, exploited, made desirable. But Y/n wasn’t molded. He just existed. And it enraged Jay, how easily the staff folded around him. How everyone treated him like something breakable but beautiful enough to be worth it. Jay didn’t want to touch him. Not really. But sometimes, in the silence after rehearsal, he imagined what it would feel like to shake him. To crack the quiet out of his body just to see what was underneath. Was it real? That dazed innocence? That polished fragility? Or was he just acting like everyone else?

In the living room, Jake paused by the door to the shared bathroom, eyes flicking toward the dim light under Y/n’s room. Still no sound. Still no presence. Jake had spent years building himself into someone who could perform what people wanted — a good trainee, a good idol, a lyricist who knew how to turn emotion into sellable lines. But Y/n didn’t write anything. Didn’t offer opinions. Didn’t even flinch when people spoke about him like he wasn’t in the room. It made Jake feel insane. And worse — it made him curious. Because every time the PR team mentioned Y/n’s face — those eyes, that mouth, the melancholy soft enough to brand — Jake caught himself imagining it too. The way his lashes curved wetly when he was tired. The way his lips looked when he was breathing too hard after a failed take. It wasn’t even attraction. It was obsession with the idea of him. The way you want to figure out a locked door just because you’re not allowed behind it.

Sunghoon didn’t follow them in right away. He stood in the stairwell a moment longer, hand braced against the wall, replaying the moment in the CEO’s office when one of the assistants had said, “He’s the kind of face people fight over.” Sunghoon had laughed — just once — too bitterly, too sharp. He hated how right it was. How every staff member treated Y/n like a prize and a burden in one. How they cooed over his bone structure, his posture, his silence, as if it were something trained. As if it hadn’t come from being emptied out. But even Sunghoon, in the stillness of his own mind, had started to imagine it too — the way Y/n’s body moved when he wasn’t performing, the twitch in his shoulder when someone startled him, the way his voice broke on certain syllables like he didn’t know how to ask for comfort. It wasn’t sexual, not exactly. It was something worse. Wanting to own the shape of his ruin before someone else made a mess of it.

They didn’t like him. They didn’t trust him. But they couldn’t stop watching him. And that was the problem — not just the threat he posed, but the way he unsettled something deep in each of them.

Not as a person.

But as a question.

A symbol.

A story waiting to be owned by someone.

And God forbid that someone wasn’t them.

note: hi, it’s luke. if you made it this far — welcome, and thank you for reading. this prologue is just the beginning of what world class sin is going to be. a small taste of something heavier. i’ve had this concept sitting with me for a while now, and writing it has felt like peeling back something slow, sharp, and a little too intimate. the themes are layered — obsession, grief, beauty, control — and that’s exactly where this story lives. in the spaces between what’s seen and what’s endured. there’s more coming soon, and things will only get deeper. the emotions, the tension, the unraveling — it’s all just starting. and if you’ve been peeking around the blog, you might’ve already caught a little spoiler floating around. hehe. thank you for being here with me. and while you’re here, make sure you’re also being kind to yourself. drink some water, rest your eyes, and go easy on your heart when you need to. more soon, luke :)

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star-suh · 3 months ago

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fuck it i'm writing it, gonna indulge myself a bit teehee 🥴 ouu richard harmon the man you are 🫠😵‍💫

idk if y'all fw with final destination but there's this character in the new one called erik and he's fucking me up so bad 😩😩🫦🫦🫦

also, this could be a potential spoiler, idk, but

he fucked me up even more after finding out he has a prince albert piercing lmaooo, need him BAD

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star-suh · 3 months ago

Note

Hey I sent a yuta x male superpower au and I wasn't sure you got it because some of my asks don't go through

the one were yuta is a villain? yes i got it dw

#star-suh responds #star-suh rambles

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star-suh · 3 months ago

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idk if y'all fw with final destination but there's this character in the new one called erik and he's fucking me up so bad 😩😩🫦🫦🫦

also, this could be a potential spoiler, idk, but

he fucked me up even more after finding out he has a prince albert piercing lmaooo, need him BAD

#star-suh rambles #star-suh horny hours

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star-suh · 3 months ago

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The Protector.

Lee Hoseok x Male Reader.

cw: bodyguard top wonho, bottom rich reader.

—

yn is the son of an important businesswoman of the city, at 22 yn got uses to get what he wanted –the new luxury item on the market, a designer piece of clothes or even someone’s attention– but sometimes being in the eye of the public and with such a quantity of money behind someone’s back could put a target – a red dot– on someone’s forehead and that’s what happened to yn. lately he has been receiving a lot of anonymous calls, death threats and the feeling of someone always watching him –ready to jump on him and do what those threats say, seeing how he was in danger, his mother had to take action, she hired a bodyguard that would be protecting his son 24/7.

“here’s your new bodyguard son” his mother says, taking a step to the side so he can enter the lobby, here he is –tall, muscular, his arms and broad back straining against the black suit– he exuded such a strong aura and was very professional, something that trapped yn, like a moth to a flame. so naturally the flirting came, yn always made sentences emphasizing how the suits hugged his body so tightly, how he’s so muscular, so big, “i won’t mind being pinned down by you. you know, for safety reasons”, the joke falling flat to wonho’s ears, “focus yn,i’m here just to keep you safe”, his responses were always short, just a few words that were enough to shut y up for a moment. but this didn’t stopped yn to keep going, because he can see something flickering on his eyes, a little bit of heat igniting behind his eyes that held some intensity to it.

then that fateful night happened, there was a family meeting and yn was there, bored of the adults talking nonsenses that he didn’t understand –he was just there accompanying his mom with his bodyguard to his side as always, the smell of his cologne feeling like a drug for yn. then one of the other bodyguards received an enveloped, yn’s name on it scribbled in what it looks like it’s blood, he opened the letter and it says ‘tick tock, at eleven o’clock the basement would be gone’ chaos erupted in the room, everyone leaving as soon as they can –there were only minutes left for 11:00 pm to come– everyone fled to find a safe spot outside the building, “take my son far away from here”, ms. ln told wonho and he obeyed, grabbing yn and running towards the black SUV. in the road outside the city, wonho spotted a motel where they can lay low for a couple of days, parking the SUV there while asking for separate rooms, unfortunately there was only one room left, so he took it saying he could sleep on the couch while yn does it on the bed.

yn lay on the bed, taking off his jacket, staying with a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, all while wonho peeked through the curtains, seeing if there’s something suspicious happening outside, his posture is rigid, his gun ready to fire.

“this is boring, the tv only has like two channels and the wi-fi signal is bad” he tossed the phone to one side of the mattress. “you’re safe and that’s what matters”, wonho said. “why don't you drop the professionalism for once. come on we’re alone wonho, that bodyguard act makes you ten times hotter but just drop it for five minutes at least”. his eyes locked onto yn’s, “i was hired to protect you, not entertain you” he voiced, putting his gun on the nightstand and sitting on the couch. “protect me i see…” yn trailed and then chuckled, “why don’t you protect me from this cold night then. come over here” he pats the side of the bed.

wonho felt heat creeping up his neck, becoming flushed, “would you ever watch your mouth?” he fixed his posture, “i know you like this so why would i stop?”, he sits on the bed, “i know the way you watch me, you think i’m not paying attention but i do” a grin appearing on yn’s face –you might be good at your job but you suck at hiding things” he added, “i’ll keep pushing until you break, until you give in and give me what i want” he muttered lowly with a sexy tone, crawling in the bed that was right i front of the couch where wonho was sitting.

“i don’t mix my work with personal matters. as i said i’m supposed to protect you not fuck you” wonho loosened up his tie, it felt like it was choking him, “there’s always a first time for everything” yn smirked at wonho, his chin resting over his hands that were placed on the edge of the bed. wonho stood up and walked towards yn, he stopped right in front of him –his crotch inches apart of yn’s face, he was there looking down at yn with those hunter dark eyes. he grabs his face, both hands placed on his cheeks –pulling his face up to make eye contact– “you don’t have any idea of what you’re asking for, boy” his low voice making yn’s body shiver. “then why don’t you show me?” submissiveness laced on yn’s voice.

yn’s face was pressed against wonho’s crotch, sniffing into his manly scent, feeling the bulge growing inside those clothes. he is then pulled up by wonho and then is thrown to the center of the bed –wonho crawled quickly over yn, lips latched on the other’s. his hands pinning yn’s hips in place. yn gasped, feeling breathless by wonho’s rough kisses, he melted on the kiss while his hands took off the other’s jacket and shirt –the tie still around his neck, hanging loosely. yn’s fingers quickly found wonho’s massive chest, squeezing and kneading the skin there and also playing with his nipples –swallowing his moans in the act.

yn kept tugging at his tie to deepen the kiss while wonho’s hips moved on their own, frotting his bulge on yn’s ass, the legs of the latter locked on the other’s hips. “just because i did what you wanted doesn’t mean i’m not in charge” wonho spoke in between pants and wet sloppy kisses to which yn responded with “i didn’t pretend to be in charge anyway”.

wonho as the strong man he is ripped yn’s shirt and in a swift motion pulled down both his pants and underwear leaving him completely naked under him, then his mouth latched on yn’s throat –nipping at the skin there while his hands unbuckled his belt to take off his the remaining pieces of clothes on his body. “you’re so fucking hot” yn whimpered, “you have no idea how much i wanted this”. one of wonho’s hands wrapped around yn’s dick while the other worked on his hole, coating it in saliva and stretching him open with scissoring motions. then he finally pushes himself into yn, the stretch making yn moan louder. the room quickly got filled with those arousing wet sounds accompanied by filthy words that wonho whispered on the bottom’s ear –each word making him more and more horny. the headboard of the bed slammed against the wall and the bed creaking as equally as wonho’s rough thrust were, the pace perfect to fuck some attitude out of yn, to make him realize who’s the one in charge in this work relationship.

yn’s hands clawed at wonho’s broad, muscular back, his nails leaving traces –marks of how good he was feeling thanks to him. the stinging pain didn’t matter, it’s being drowned by the delicious sensation down there, it’s like heaven. “wonho” yn slurred, hugging wonho tightly –he doesn’t want this night to end– this flipped a switch inside the bodyguard, “say my name again” purposefully slowing down his thrusts to make the other whimpers, the painfully slow drags of his cock inside his ass making him squirm, he wanted more, he needs more.

“please wonho, harder… fill me up” tears pooling on his hooded eyes, if there was an ounce of self-restraint left in wonho is completely gone now, he thrusted as fast as any human could do, yn’s words coming out shaky, gritting his teeth when he felt the climax coming –coming like a tidal wave– he came on his stomach, some of it sticking to the other’s perfectly toned abs. he is followed then by wonho who pulls out to stroke his cock, aiming the tip directly towards the bottom’s gape hole to shoot his load inside him. when he’s done he puts it back again to thrust a few times more. the bed is drenched in sweat and fluids, wonho didn’t pulled out, he stayed there buried, “i’ll tell my mom to give you a rise if you keep doing this to me” yn jokes, “shut up” wonho grinned, “i would’ve let you cockwarm me but i still have a job to do” wonho stood up and went towards the bathroom to clean himself. yn remained on the bed, his chest heaving. oh these next months are going to be very fun.

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star-suh · 3 months ago

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The Protector.

Lee Hoseok x Male Reader.

cw: bodyguard top wonho, bottom rich reader.

—

#lee hoseok x reader #lee hoseok x male reader #lee hoseok x male reader smut #wonho x male reader #wonho x reader #wonho x male reader smut #male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #smut #male reader smut

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star-suh · 3 months ago

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saurrr i have two news, a good one and a bad one:

bad one, my pc broke.

good one, i have my phone but for me it's easier to type on a pc.

but don't worry y'all it's not like i'm fast and consistent in writing so y'all don't have to worry about it 😼

#star-suh rambles

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star-suh · 3 months ago

Note

posting this one in a few minutes

Dom Top! Wonho x Bottom Male Reader – MR, the young-adult son of an important businesswoman, has been receiving multiple threats regarding his safety. As a result, his mother decides to hire a bodyguard (Wonho) to protect him.

MR finds him extremely hot, as he attempts to flirt with him. Wonho rejects his advances, not because he doesn’t reciprocate, but because he tries to keep it professional.

However, one night, things change. During a private family meeting, MR receives a threatening letter which reveals that there’s a bomb in his mansion. Everyone evacuates, meanwhile MR and Wonho get sent to a motel far away. Bored, MR and Wonho start talking and the conversation starts to get more intimate/flirty, leading to them having sex.

i'm working on this 🤓☝️

i'll assume this is you 🦢 anon and if it's not forgive me juseyooo 😭😭😭

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star-suh · 3 months ago

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Delicious Temptation

Choi San x Male Reader

cw: mafia au, dom top san, bratty-ish bottom reader.

an: first person pov, let me know if y’all like it like this.

—

you are the son of an important CEO –one who owns a conglomerate with several successful businesses around the country– your life consists basically of being a spoiled kid, going to parties almost every day, living a luxurious life with almost no consequences. the perfect target for whoever wanted a good amount of money. your friends already told you to be careful, even more now that there are rumors that one of the known mafias in the city is planning to strike. “rumors say they’re after a CEO and they’re really fucked up yn” one of your friends said while chugging a glass of vodka, “i’m not scared of anyone” you assured, “whoever comes after me is going to face death itself” you threatened –so full of yourself, “what’s their name again?”...

“ATEEZ” you hummed while typing that name on the web browser, lots of articles coming out signaling how evil they were, how they’re a mafia that you have to think twice before messing with them –”interesting” you trailed, searching now for their rumored members. blurry pics and possible names came out: hongjoong rumored to be the leader, then there’s seonghwa who’s the second in charge, yunho and yeosang in charge of robbery while wooyoung and jongho are the ones that do the kidnapping part. “mingi… he’s possibly in charge of collecting money that people owe them. he’s the a loan shark” you spoke along the lines you were reading. “finally choi san. the hitman, merciless cold blooded killer” a picture was attached to the article and he was… handsome. “oh fuck” you moaned looking at his sharp features, you thought that the picture didn’t make justice to how he looks like, “bet he would look hotter in person” you bit your lower lip, palming the growing erection on your pants, “i’d let him kidnap me i don’t care” you muttered pressing your thighs together.

be careful what you wish for.

you were at another party drinking lots of cocktails, dancing with friends and some strangers that you didn’t bother to ask for their names –then the next thing you realize is that you were inside a black van, hands tied, gagged and a black bag put loosely on your head. you shake it, violently, trying to get it out of your head and see who were these people that were kidnapping you –then something clicked, “rumors say they’re after a CEO” you remembered what your friend told you several days before, connecting the dots you say in your head ‘they weren’t targeting a ceo but a familiar.. me!’. the bag fell off of your head letting you see the responsibles of the crime, no other than fucking ATEEZ and choi fucking san was sitting beside you, his knee making contact with yours, ‘i was right he’s prettier in person’ you tought.

you remained calm, something that surprised them, you were supposed to be shaking in fear, this was indeed a powerful move to show other rich businessmen to not mess with the gang but you were not what they expected, it seems like you were amused, amazed… you’re definitely a kinda twisted individual. you studied each familiar face –that you learned after days of research, your eyes fixate especially on san –the hot hitman– his broad shoulders and big arms hugged tightly by a black tight turtleneck shirt and those fucking piercing eyes that could make anyone wet. “what?” he utters, exuding dominant energy. so fucking sexy.

the van stopped on its tracks, “he’s too calm for someone who is being kidnapped” yunho spoke, breaking the silence. “you know your fucked right?” seonghwa added and you nodded, a grin on your face, “rich boy’s a brave one i see” hongjoong said while accommodating his black leather gloves after quitting the gag on your mouth –your gaze meeting his, you chuckled, “i know how this works man. you need the money and for that you can’t kill me” you wink “my dad’s a CEO duh” you mocked, “he’s gonna pay and you all would free me so why should i be scared, trembling like some pussy bitch”. mingi glanced at his leader, “well damn” he voiced –surprised, “spoiled bitches are something else”.

san then intervened, “knowing shit doesn’t mean you're in control, little shit” his stare piercing into your soul, the atmosphere became tense. “i know” you answered him, “but i’m not the one freaking over someone not being freaked out. i thought you guys were though” he laughs but it doesn’t last long when san’s fist meets your face. “okay enough, get him inside” hongjoong commanded and hte rest followed his demand. “san you're gonna guard him until our dear daddy pay the ransom money” his grin is quite scary.

the hitman walked you towards the second floor towards the last room on the hallway, it was surprisingly luxurious to be a kidnapping site, you stood there, right in the door when suddenly san shoved you onto the bed, locking the door immediately after –he then straddles your back untying your hands, his bulge pressing against your ass, millions of thought crossing your perverted mind, to then put handcuffs on them and then locking it into the bed’s headboard.

“kinky” you voiced, teasing san, wanting a reaction for the so called cold-blooded killer – he pushed your face hard against the mattress, “keep running that mouth of yours and see what the fuck you get in return”, you couldn’t help but moan and chuckle, “hopefully something fun”, your tongue poking the inside of your cheek.

heat was increasing in the room, san stood up and went towards the door leaning against the wall, arms crossed –that fucking shirt bulging with his arm muscles. he watched you with like he was a predator and you’re a mere pray that he could devour anytime, amping up the tension of the moment. hours passed and he remained there, looking at his phone sometimes, the silence as becoming unbearable –”so boring” you shouted, the bratty side coming to the light. you started to move and change positions on the bed, making it creak. this wasn’t what you imagined your encounter with san in those wild thoughts you have since that day you saw his pic, you have become infatuated with him that it’s ridiculous at this point, you want him so bad you can’t explain it. you need to start riling him up so he gets mad at you and you get you well deserved fun, after all you also have to take advantage of the situationship.

“the fucking hitman babysitting me while the others play the big guys, i’d be mad if i were you”, “shut up” san tightened his jaw. you pulled at the handcuffs trying to get closer to san, in the process your shirt opened a little bit, letting him see a bit of your skin, “imagine being called a cold-blooded person but here you are stuck with someone who doesn't give a shit and is not scared of any of you guys” you keep tugging at the handcuffs hoping you could slide your hand through it in a desperate attempt –marks starting to appear on your wrist–.

san stormed his way towards you, grabbing you by your chin, his rough fingers cupping your cheeks, “fucking brat, it seems like you don’t know your place”, his eyebrows frowning, his eyes showing the rage inside him, a vein bulging on the side of his forehead. “you don’t know yours either, cold-blooded my ass”. “watch your mouth, i’m the one in control here and i can do whatever i want with you”. “i don’t want to” you retorted –your faces just a few centimeters apart, san chuckled darkly, “last warning shut the fuck up” his intense stare locked on yn’s, “make me” –for a moment none of you spoke, just stares locked with each other.

then it happened, san’s lips crashing against yours, his tongue licking your lips and the inside of your mouth, exploring it –he immediately took the lead, his dominant aura kicking in– the hand that was previously on your chin is now in your throat, pressing slightly. you whimpered in the kiss, you were desperate –the thing you’ve been begging for these last days is happening, dreams come true huh?.

“let’s see if your still this bratty and cocky when i’m done with your nasty ass”, he pulls out a key from his pocket –uncuffing you, your hand is free now… but not to long since san grabbed both your wrists and pinned them above you, with just one hand. he was on top of you, his weight against you, you could felt all his muscles and the heat radiating from them, his body keeping you pinned against the mattress. “so when are you going to fuck me or you’re one of those that are all talk?”, with no effort he ripped your shirt apart, buttons flying around the room, his mouth quickly latching on your neck but he didn’t left hickeys, instead he left bite marks, “i’m ruining you for the rest of your life spoiled bitch” you whimpered, the pain turning rapidly into pleasure, your hooded eyes showing how much you were enjoying that. his free roamed everywhere around your torso –pinching nipples and then discarding your pants, kneading at the skiing of your thigh as if he’s the owner, his painfully bruising touch igniting your body on fire.

he flips you around, positioning you on all fours, he spanks your ass repeatedly leaving a stingy pain on them, it was delicious, he definitely knew how to push your buttons. “you like that?” he kept spanking you, drawing whimpers out of you, “where’s the brat from before?” he taunts you but the only thing you're focusing on right now is in his big hands abusing your ass, leaving it red. he quickly pulls down his pants and boxer, his cock sprung free from the clothed restraint, the tip in an aching red hue –leaking already– he didn’t pulled out your boxer tho, instead, he rip them open finally seeing what you’ve been hiding down there, the tight hole pulsating, clenching onto nothing. he slide a finger on it, up and down, “so desperate, if this was a pussy a bet you would be drenched, a river leaking out of it” his digit kept circling around it, with some spit to lube it. the thick and rock hard shaft rested on top of your hole, the heat of it making you clench even harder, eager to have it inside you.

“beg for it” san demanded, but yn didn’t obey instead you replied with another playful “make me”. san shook his head “tsk tsk there he is, the annoying brat” and with no warning he pushed himself balls deep, all his inches inside you at once. you choked a moan, tears pricking your eyes because of the sudden stretch, you felt as if all your energy was drained from you –your legs trembled and your tongue lolled out. san set a brutal pace, not slowing down even if you asked him too, “you begged for this, you shouldn’t ask for more than you can take”. –”fuck san i..” you swallowed your moans and your hands fisted the sheets under you while he pounds you raw and deep. he discards his turtleneck shirt, his sweaty body glistening with the dim lights of the room, his body is to die for. the top leans down and bit your shoulder, then your blades, your back –you’re like a blank canvas for him to paint–, “say my name slutty boy” he said, his dick entering you relentlessly, “let me hear how much you want this, how much you want me”. your body was a mess, surrendered at his control, he has you trembling, moaning and whimpering under him –the only things coming from your mouth are curses and choked out moans. he shifted his angle, hitting right at your sweet spot –you saw stars– his tip perfectly abusing your prostate sending waves of immense, overwhelming pleasure to your whole body.

“fuck i’m gonna cum” you uttered but san warned you, “don’t you dare to cum yet, wait until i give you my permission” he spanked hard, you nodded, biting your lower lip. you’re fighting the urge to cum but it was impossible, san was too good at what he’s doing, he knows how to fuck you good. you gritted your teeth, arched your back and did a lot of other things to avoid cumming but the orgasm is inevitable so your only choice was to do what he wanted you to do way before, “san pleasee” you started begging him to let you cum, “i need to”. “you need what? use your words bitchboy” –you panted, desperate to chase release, “let me cum please sir. fucking please”.

“look who’s being an obedient slut all of a sudden” he chuckles, “good boy” he grabbed your dick, he leaned down, his mouth right beside your ear and he whispered, “you can cum now”, with the few pumps he made on your cock you came, cum spurted all over the sheets, you rolled back your eyes. the orgasm made you clench hard on san’s dick making him cum too, “ufff fuck! your fucking milking me” he played with his nipples while his throbbing cock is being choked by your tight walls squeezing all the warm cum out of his balls. you buried your face on the mattress –eyes still rolled back– as your head went down your ass went up, a perfect position for him to bury himself even deeper, filling you up so much as you deserved it. he continued thrusting into you “i still have one more load” he flips you once again and now you're facing him, seeing the finest specimen you’ve ever seen in your life. his abs contracting with every thrust while his tits bounced at the rhythm of them, sweat of his body falling onto you, adding more to the nasty act you’re both doing right now. “i’m fucking close” his arms now placed on each side of your face, his tits right in front of you so you did what it has to be done, sucking onto them. “fuck!” he growled loudly, loving how you chewed on his nipples, leaving them all red and puffy –and sensitive too. he bottomed out, ready to dump the second load inside you accompanied with grunts.

you stayed on the mattress for some time, your ragged breath echoing in the room, “not bad for someone who doesn’t show feelings” you made a quote unquote sign with your fingers with that last word. san laughed lowly while pulling out his cum drenched cock, “fuck off bitchboy”. “you need to give me clothes, you made a mess with mine” you told him he laughs putting on the turtleneck shirt but this time you can see how he winced when the fabric touched his nipples and how they’re still hard –peeking out of the black fabric, “stay here” he said cuffing you again, and leaving the room after.

the ransom money was paid and you were now free –with a set of clothes that is ridiculously bigger than you– but you didn’t care they had the smell of san. “i’m never washing these” you said as you sniffed them, your face becoming flushed.

little did people know that a second round happened, then a third, a fourth, a fifth and so on. san's cock is too good to never try it again.

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star-suh · 3 months ago

Text

Delicious Temptation

Choi San x Male Reader

cw: mafia au, dom top san, bratty-ish bottom reader.

an: first person pov, let me know if y’all like it like this.

—

be careful what you wish for.

little did people know that a second round happened, then a third, a fourth, a fifth and so on. san's cock is too good to never try it again.

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