#san choi x you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jensthwa · 8 months ago

Text

we can't be friends (CS x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

San is your first love. He broke your heart and played with your feelings without even kissing you back when you two were in highschool. Now, many years later, you do your best to avoid crossing paths with him because there's just no way you could ever hate him, but there's also no way you two can be friends again. But his best friend is also one of your best friends, so there's only so much you can do to avoid San when he arranges a dinner you're forced to go to.

PAIRING: first love!choi san x afab reader.

GENRE: one shot (fluff, angst, smut)

WORD COUNT: 20k (yikes).

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, unnecesary pinning, a looot of context, bad friends :(, some arguing, tension, drinking and drunk behavior, tears, making out, description of female anatomy, oral (f reciving), fingering, love making, pet names (babe, baby), flirty seonghwa, wooyoung being a little shit again but also a genius, gyuri almost commiting a crime.

NOTES: hi everyone! this is a lenghty one, i know, but trust me when I say the context is necessary to understand what reader goes through with san. also, some of this may or may not have happened to me (have fun figuring out which part) (it's quite obvious tbh). THIS IS PART OF THE SHOW AND TELL UNIVERSE BUT CAN BE READ AS A STAND ALONE, even though there's some references and characters that you can only know if you read s&t lol. this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: august 06 2024.

permanent taglist: @hotteokkay, @potatomountain, @fairylover68

masterlist.

You and Choi San go way back.

Well, it's nine years way back? You were only fourteen when you first saw him.

He moved back to your area of the city a year after you moved from an entirely different one. You thought you knew every school secret there ever was, provided by your new best friend, Gyuri, but she didn't tell you about him at all.

She claimed that it was because he didn't cause any stir the years they studied together before and after spending a whole first period in your eighth grade classroom with him at the back of the class, silently taking notes, you couldn't phantom why.

He was great at every subject, seemed to have a lot of popular friends and was, overall, a pretty nice guy. He was also very cute, skinny but you could tell he was the kind of guy who played a sport outside of school hours and he had a cute pair of dimples that showed everytime you scanned the classroom just to lay eyes on him.

Choi San was a perfect boy to crush on, even a perfect guy just to have as eye candy during recess. You felt really strongly about him, not really forming a full opinion although your gut told you right away you were right. There was something about him… but you only figured that something until later, next year, starting your ninth grade.

Gyuri and you were avid readers. Precocious girls, with minds way above your age. All your teachers praised came laced with the same compliment so you both decided that was the truth. You rejoiced in it, thinking you shared things in common with the grown ups and decided that that was the key to feeling a little superior in comparison to the rest of your classmates, who neither of you liked very much.

Until they all decided to start dating each other and you two realized you were nothing but two kids with great imaginations and a love for school, praise and fictional men that couldn't be translated to the real world without sounding delusional and weird.

So you decided to do something about it. And so, on a random Tuesday recess, you two scanned the crowd trying to find two boys (or a boy and a girl, because you always knew you liked girls too) worthy of your affections. One for her, one for you. Bonus points if the two of them were also best friends, of course.

Double dates were all the buzz at the time anyways.

Besides, only then they could understand the bond you and Gyuri had. Sisterhood like no other, nevermind Gyuri actually had an older sister and a niece at the ripe age of fifteen.

And so when your index finger scanned the crowd and eliminated at least three potential crushes before landing on Choi San, you felt like it was meant to be.

You see, his best friend, Jung Wooyoung, was perfect for Gyuri to crush on. He was almost as tall as she was at the time and his easy, outgoing personality was compatible with her book crush at the time as well.

He also flirted with her on several occasions before that.

So it was meant to be.

Choi San, on the other hand, had never even glanced in your direction before.

Just like your book crush did before he fell in love with the main character.

See? Meant. To. Be.

It was decided then that, although Choi San was not going to be your first crush ever, he was going to be the guy that motivated you to be at school for the time being, because math gets really boring after trying and failing at least ten times.

You thought nothing of it when it felt a little forced, when you couldn't blush at all at the sight of him and you gathered that it didn't need to happen like in the books you read. You simply needed to say his name when someone asked you if you had a crush on anyone and that was enough to be in symphony with the rest of your classmates.

Your longing glances were caught once or twice by him and you brushed the weird flip your stomach did everytime he looked away, blushing a little. You never really cared when it happened, really, knowing his crowd and your crowd (Gyuri and you) would never even cross paths in the first place.

You two kept to yourselves and your little book unofficial book club, sitting on the floor at lunch time and cursing everyone who dared to call you weird for it. San and Wooyoung had a crowd of people at the loudest table laughing with them over stupid teen jokes and, uh, sports? You didn't even know.

And then the unimaginable happened.

Jung Wooyoung sat down, criss cross applesauce and everything, in front of you on a random Monday afternoon while you and Gyuri discussed the english assignment due next period.

Gyuri was not too excited about that.

Turns out, the only one excited to have a crush at school was you. She was very much still in the Lonely Hearts Club phase while you skipped all the way to your The Notebook phase and she was, in her own words, too afraid to admit it when you came up with your crush plan.

You forgave her, of course, and decided to wait for her as long as needed because you were certainly not about to be an individual and have a crush on your own.

And by the time Wooyoung smiled at you both and introduced himself to you, like you weren't in the same class for a year already, you thought your pretend crush on his best friend evaporated and joined the void superficial and fleeting interests you had.

But then Choi San sat beside him, his knee brushing against yours in the process, and you knew you would have to issue a formal apology to your best and only friend for leaving her behind on this little thing.

Because, oh boy, were you crushing on Choi San.

You felt the blush rush to your cheeks and then fell silent while your friend and his friend discussed Fifty Shades of Grey for some reason you never cared enough to discover and you knew you were done for.

It was the first time seeing his dimples in full action, so close to you, so you completely stopped functioning all together. Amazing.

When you decided to have a crush, you never took into account that you were, actually, quite shy. And he really wasn't, but you noticed that he knew when to talk and what to say and with your friend being a lot more outgoing that you were it gave you the comfort that she would speak for the both of you while you admired from the sidelines as your little duo became a group of friends you still miss deeply to this day.

He was funny and you laughed at your jokes even though you pretended to be tired and completely worn out by the school day, resting your head on Gyuri’s shoulder and stealing glances at the boy while she kept arguing with his best friend.

Wooyoung was popular and liked enough to have a few people sit with you later that week, people who never even knew you existed before that. They were good friends with San as well, so you tried your best to keep up with everyone until she sat down next to you one day.

Arin was not really a bad person. She just was a bit conceited, calling herself princess type of conceited and you never really related to her even if she was nice to you to your face. She was absolutely gorgeous and, you found out with Wooyoung’s arm around your shoulder and a whisper to your ear, she had been San’s crush since they were both in elementary school.

That would explain the sudden tension at the table when she sat down next to you, said hello to everyone, offered you a sweet she just bought from the cafeteria, and stared at San for the remainder of lunch time.

You also noticed Wooyoung glaring at her a little and he later explained to you that he didn't really like her all that much. She loved attention and San gave her attention, so she would intentionally flirt with him to get her ego stroked in return.

It didn't really matter how he felt about the girl, though, he didn't have to like her just because his best friend did. And when you caught her batting her eyelashes at San, you knew you didn't even stand a chance.

You tried to hide the disappointed look on your face but both Gyuri and Wooyoung looked at you while the two of them flirted endlessly for the remainder of lunch time and you figured you were doing a pretty shitty job at it. He didn't glance at you once either way, so it didn't really matter.

Arin did but she just complimented your eyes and then started a conversation with someone across the table, her annoying sweet and fake voice making your right ear ring in disapproval.

Either way, you ended up becoming her friend. Gyuri was not very fond of her and neither were you, but you all went to the bathroom together, did your makeup together, did school projects together and then sat everyday at lunch together with the rest of the guys who were, in one way or another, trying to get her to like them.

Because, once again, she was a sight for sore eyes.

It wasn't until later, in the middle of the year, that one of them did. Not Choi San, but Choi Yeonjun.

You remember the day you found out they were together and the gut wrenching concern you felt when you found out that San was not at school that day.

It was after summer break, you remember Wooyoung telling you that San and his family took a few more days of vacation and if you couldn't believe your eyes when you saw the new couple sharing a sweet kiss at the designated lunch table, you could only imagine how San felt the next day when he saw the same image right in front of him.

Yeonjun was his friend, right? He knew about his crush and decided to get together with her anyways. Surely, San was devastated.

But he wasn't. He just cheered them on and then laughed along when Yeonjun shoved his arm playfully after the hollering.

But you saw through it.

Your crush on San made you observant. Made you believe you knew him better than everyone else and so, after lunch, you took out your phone and pulled up the notes app. Writing a simple “are you okay?” in it and passing it to him the next second, you were surprised with yourself before you saw him frown a bit. And then he understood what you meant.

Nodding, he passed you the phone back, before giving you a reassuring smile that you treasured in your heart and saw in your dreams.

You didn't believe him, though, but stayed close enough to everything related to the situation to hold Arin in your arms when Yeonjun inevitably broke her heart.

Starting your tenth year, he moved back to his city and decided to play the I thought we weren't even that serious card on her. Which was nasty, considering love it's very, very serious for a sixteen year old girl.

By this point, you were all a little family and hanging out after school and on the weekends was not unusual, so it didn't surprise you when Arin invited you, and only you, to her house after choir practice on a Thursday.

She lent you her older sister’s clothes to wear (because her's would never fit you. Her words, not yours) and took you to a walk in the park just to break your heart for the first time ever.

“You know… I thought love was something I couldn't find in highschool anymore. But San it's really making an effort, you know? He's been there for me ever since Yeonjun left and… Well, I think he's going to ask me to be his girlfriend tomorrow.”

Grasping the park bench she forced you to sit at, you only nodded and let out a shuddering breath that gave away what she was trying to figure out since earlier that day.

“I'll say yes but only if you say it's okay to do so.”

Arin was not really your friend, the same way Yeonjun was not really San’s friend.

Because there's no way you would ever be okay with it.

And yet, you tried your best to give her a smile and pretend the sound of your heart breaking didn't bring tears to your eyes “Of course it's okay. Why wouldn't it be?”

A week later, they were officially dating. The rumors spread around like a wildfire and it took out of you with everyone calling San a nasty rebound and you doing your best to prioritize the ghost of the friendship you had with him. That whole fiasco lasted a few months.

Months in which your friendship with everyone just grew stronger. Gyuri was still your best friend, Wooyoung was crushing on her hard and everyone knew, Arin and San were a steady couple, a new girl joined your class that year, named Yeri, and the principal assigned her to you because she thought you two would get along really well.

“I like girls,” was like, the third thing she ever told you while you were showing her the school “I'm just telling you now because I don't plan on hiding it and you are wearing a pride pin.”

“Oh, that's cool. I like girls too,” you smiled, looking at your pride pin “I didn't hide it either and no one gave me shit about it, so, don't worry.”

Yeri also liked the mainstream music that you liked and soon she became a new addition to your group. And with Arin spending all of her free time with San, you, Gyuri and Yeri only grew closer and closer. You didn't have Arin’s voice in your ear telling you the million reasons she found Yeri uncool, but you saw it in her face every time the table laughed at one of Yeri’s jokes.

And so, it went on for a while:

Your mom driving all of you around in her car to the beach, to dinner, to the movies and letting you have mixed sleepovers at your house (meaning you, Arin, Gyuri, Wooyoung, Yeri and San) was fun and all, but it was not enough to distract yourself entirely. Everytime you glanced at the couple, that sinking feeling in your chest would appear and sulk your whole mood for, at least, fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes of pretending you were okay with them before forgetting completely for an hour or so and then the cycle would repeat until you were alone staring at the ceiling and doing your best to not cry about it.

All it took was your first kiss being Yeri of all people for you to decide that it was time to retire your crush for Choi San once and for all.

And for a while, it all went according to plan. You decided to tell Gyuri that it was okay because he was your friend first and the guy that you liked second and that you were not fourteen and desperate for love anymore, that it was time to go on with your life as if nothing really happened in the first place.

You were hooking up with Yeri anyways, so it seemed like you were doing just fine.

You grew closer to San as well and even though he mostly talked to you about Arin and whatever tantrum she was throwing at the time, you really started to feel some sense of normalcy within you when it came to just speaking to him.

You no longer blushed when he made you laugh, you no longer looked at him with the longing of a past life lover and you were really happy for him because, at the end of the day, he was really happy with his relationship.

Until winter break came around and Arin decided to give San his first heartbreak ever.

She decided to call for a break in their relationship because she was, in his words, too overwhelmed with the amount of love and attention she was getting from him.

Which was completely fucking insane considering the fact she forced him to save her contact as Princess Arin and all.

So naturally, you sided with him. And she didn't take it to heart because everyone knew you liked San anyways.

She told you the news herself through Facebook after asking you to explain to her the English assignment due next day and then she decided to tell you something you'll never understand because you no longer are on speaking terms with her:

Princess Arin: u know i broke up with him because of u right? :)

Princess Arin: one day I'll tell u all abt it.

She never told you anything about it. And by then, you were starting your last year and San was your best friend who hung out with you everyday after school, calling you late at night and helping you with assignments through Skype. So you didn't really care.

And as the day passed, you started understanding the connection they talked about in books and movies. You thought you did before, Gyuri being your eternal person in this world, but it felt so different with San.

Different and good. Different and achy enough for you to want to keep it in your life.

Your dynamic was friendly, sure, but it was alright. It consisted of banter and daring stares as well as laughter and soft moments you treasured till this day.

“It's way too early to be this annoying, Choi San.”

“Oh, you think this is me being annoying?”

You both got an hour of detention for disturbing the class that day.

You loved it.

But then, after almost a month of picking up the broken pieces of his heart one by one, and your mother giving him a self-help book to make him regain the confidence he lost during the breakup process, you realized that you were in love with him and there was nothing you could do about that.

You noticed one friday afternoon, when he offered to pay for your and your mom's ice cream at the drive through, when he scrambled to get all the change he had on him to leave a tip for the person who handed you guys the sweet treat, that there was no way you didn't love him.

And it was confusing as fuck when everyone else started to tell you he had feelings for you as well.

“Think about it. You text each other good morning everyday” Yeri listed with her finger and you nodded “Then, you go to school, sit together and spend the rest of the day together” another nod “Then after school you either go get ice cream together or hang out for a bit with your mom while she drives him home. And after that, you get on Skype for the reminder of the afternoon and then he calls you on your house phone and you two spend the rest of the night talking before falling asleep on the line together,” she looked at you like you were insane for even denying the accusations made against San, but she continued anyway “And then it's rinse and repeat and it has been that way since… What? Three months ago?”

You nodded again, defeated.

“Girl, he likes you.” she sighed, annoyed and a little tired, before sitting on your lap and kissing your lips affectionately “And you're here making out with me instead of him. You really are a lost cause.”

That didn't stop you from hooking up with her until she found a girl who's heart was not reserved for someone else, though. Said girl went to a different school and was a year younger than all of you, but she looked very happy and stopped secretly kissing you in the school bathroom like a week after they met.

And when she finally told everyone, you were really happy for her, but San not so much.

It was the night you thought everything was about to change. The night you thought he was about to kiss you or you were about to kiss him, whatever happened first.

Laying in your bed, facing each other in the dim light, he thought it was the biggest form of betrayal and pouted the whole time he explained to you why.

He thought you liked her and you realized he didn't really pay attention to you after all. Not the way you did with him.

Bless his heart.

You didn't kiss him that night because he wouldn't shut up about you and Yeri.

“I mean, why couldn't it be you? She clearly liked you if you two were hooking up for over a year” and when his hand came to rest on your back, under your shirt, you breath hitched enough for him to notice it but not enough for him to just don't do anything about it except trace the curve of your silhouette with the pad of his thumb “I don't understand why anyone would pass the opportunity to be with you.”

Huh. Maybe he did have feelings for you.

No. He's just being a great best friend. Don't take that for granted.

But it was impossible for you not to take Yeri’s words seriously as time went on.

You didn't want to think he was giving you mixed signals, but yet again there was that one time when you reached behind your passenger seat in your mothers car to pinch his leg playfully after he pulled on your hair a little bit from behind, only to end up holding his hand the rest of the car trip to his house.

His fingers slowly caressing the back of your hand were just too much for you not to get everything mixed up.

Or that other time when your school held a Woman's Day event, and your class president decided that all the boys in the class were going to give roses to the girls.

When it was your turn to get a rose, you knew no one would give you one. But Yeri stood in line and collected a rose from the bin before the class president had the opportunity to say anything else.

“I'll take that, thank you very much.” She turned to you, smiling. San blocked her way to you a second after.

“And just what do you think you're doing?”

“Giving my best girl a rose, of course.” She peeked around him, giving you a wink that you could only roll your eyes to.

San turned to you, the fondness in his eyes making you question the decision of not pretending to be sick that day. It was too much for you to handle.

“To the back of the line, then. I already called dibs on her,” he turned to your friend, snatching the rose from her hand in one swift move “I'll take that, thank you very much.”

He had no idea what that meant to you back then. It was true that, at school, he behaved a little differently than when you two were alone.

He was athletic, so he had some friends that you were sure used to ask him what the fuck was he doing wasting his time with a girl like you instead of getting a new girlfriend.

He had a family that didn't approve of yours, too. You felt it the first time you met his mom and, even though she was nice to you and your mom, you could feel the judgemental stare she gave both of you when your mom told her she was a single parent.

San told you that it didn't really matter, that his mom didn't have to like you because you weren't her friend, you were his.

He played with your feelings a little too well. Wanting him, adoring him and letting yourself be consumed by the thought of him loving you back was enough to keep it going. To ignore the fluttering way your heart kept beating whenever he talked to you which was all the time.

You assumed the way he behaved with you in private was the real him. The one who didn't care about appearances or his family approval.

The one who cared about you.

It was dizzying and fantastic and you thought he just might've been the love of your life.

But then he would tell you how much it hurted when he saw Arin at school and how much he missed her, the intimacy they shared before, and reality would come crashing down and setting your delusions on fire again.

He had sex with Arin. You would never stand a chance.

Or so you thought he did. Except when you overheard Arin speaking to her friends and that was the first time you ever got mad at Choi San.

“And, you know, me and San were never intimate like that so I wouldn't know but I think boys have no idea how to please a woman if they tried to.”

What?

Oh. So he lied to you.

And you were so upset by the thought of him making up stories of their intimate time together that it didn't even cross your mind that Arin might've been lying to save face.

So when he came back from the bathroom and sat at his usual desk in front of you, you didn't even think about his feelings when you decided to treat him like shit for lying about something so important like sex to your face.

“Leave me alone, San! I don't want to fucking talk to you right now!”

The hurt expression he gave you after that is one you would never be able to forget.

But you grew to be stubborn and a little overprotective of your own feelings, so you thought him playing the part of your best friend all these months and sweet talking to you was just another one of his lies.

“You guys not being friends right now doesn't make any fucking sense, sweetheart.” Wooyoung's tone is careful and laced with affection, but you knew he was playing the devil's advocate on behalf of San. With his arm around Gyuri’s shoulder (by that point, they were a thing for over two months) you could swear you saw him smirk when the nickname brought a scowl to your face.

He might've been worried, but he was also a little shit.

“You really are going to let Arin ruin what you two have?” Your best friend was, of course, on your side. But she was your best friend for a reason and her love included pointing out when you were behaving like an infant at the age of seventeen and a half.

“You two are practically dating and you're going to let the evil ex-girlfriend get in the way? Over something you weren't even supposed to hear in the first place? Come on.”

Again, Wooyoung was a little shit. And you were so upset about everything that you shyness couldn't even help the fury behind your reply:

“Stop saying that! We are not practically dating, he's in love with Arin and I'm not sure I even like him like that anymore!” Getting tired of everyone and their mother (your mother) feeding your delusions, you came to the conclusion that putting a stop to your friendship with Choi San was for the best.

And, in doing so, you ended up breaking your own heart for the second time in your life.

But he didn't put up an easy fight at all. You remember the feeling of pure joy when he grabbed your hand on the way to the cafeteria one day, pulling you so hard you almost ended up sitting in his lap, and the way his pleading eyes begged you to listen to him one last time.

“Us not being friends doesn't feel right, Y/N…” he said and the word he used to categorize what both of you had hurted you, but you pushed the feeling away “Please, let's not fight anymore. I don't even know what happened, but I forgive you for yelling at me and I hope you forgive me for whatever it is you think I did.”

Of course, you forgave him the next second without thinking too much about it. And for a while, everything went back to normal. You Skyped as usual and occasionally you let your other friends join the call even though it didn't really feel like it used to before.

The next thing you knew, your feelings were in full bloom again and when you realized it, it was too late.

Because by then, you had already let your childhood friend, Sunhee, join a few Skype calls and by the fourth one she invited her friend, Minseo, to them as well.

Terrible, terrible mistake. Because even through the screen, you could see that Minseo looked a lot like Arin with the added bonus that she was down to earth and cool and liked the same things San liked.

You liked the same things San liked as well, but it never seemed to matter.

Because not even two months after you decided to stop talking to San over a lie you weren't supposed to find out in the first place and then became friends one more time, he gets together with Minseo and you're sick to your stomach all over again.

You hated her. Not because she was, suddenly, his girlfriend (not girlfriend girlfriend, but in a friends with benefits arrangement you never even knew why he agreed on in the first place) but because suddenly she was so fucking obnoxious and didn't seem to like you either.

Was it not painfully obvious San didn't have feelings for you? Why was she mad at you then? You literally brought them together!

And all you got in return was her telling him she didn't feel comfortable with him having a girl best friend. That ungrateful bitch.

He stopped calling. He stopped texting, he stopped carpooling with you and your mom after school and he stopped caring whether your math assignment was done or not.

He stared pulling away more and more and it didn't matter how hard you tried to get him to talk to you, it seemed like he never really fucking cared about you in the first place.

And by may that year, you didn't speak to San anymore. Granted, the only person he did speak to was Wooyoung, but even their friendship was falling apart.

For the first time ever, San broke your heart firsthand. And it felt really, really fucking bad.

You cried to your mom about it, she reminded you that you were nothing but a great friend to him and that, if he didn't take the time to appreciate that, that was his loss not yours.

And she started hating him from that moment on. But you couldn't hate San, not even a little bit.

Why would you hate him for not liking you back? For not loving you the way you loved hi—

Your laptop closes down right in front of you and when you try to look up to find out who's responsible for interrupting your writing time, you get interrupted again.

“Ouch! What the fuck, Gyuri?” The slap to the back of your head is quick and filled with rage.

“What the fuck are you even writing. I can read from here, you know?”

“I'm just laying my feelings down and— Ouch! Stop that!” You try to hit her back but she turns away quickly when your hands almost knock her coffee mug out of hers.

“You can't possibly still have love for San, Y/N. It's been years.”

It's been four and a half, to be precise. But who's counting, right?

“And why are you writing it in third person? You don't usually do that.”

“I don't really know, Gyuri!”

“I’m telling you, this celebratory dinner bullshit it's affecting you way more than it should,” she sighs, plopping down on the couch of your shared living room, and you leave your seat at the table to join her “He might not even show up. He has that thing with Kyungmi.”

Kyungmi.

You couldn't get to that part on your open document, but San left Minseo when he met Kyungmi at one of the frat parties they love to attend. Wooyoung told you that he said that it was love at first sight and you even met her briefly when you picked Gyuri up from the apartment he and San got when they started college together.

She’s gorgeous and doesn't look like Arin or Minseo at all. It’s a different type of gorgeous. She's a year older than San and went to the same school as them and Gyuri.

You think you might even like her better than him.

You tried to be happy for San when you found out, but you two barely even speak a word to each other and you convinced yourself a while ago that you couldn't care less if he sees right through you and your fake smiles.

You gathered, after everything happened, that San knew you liked him and took advantage of that. Unintentionally, but he did anyway.

You sigh, resting your head on your best friend's shoulder. “It’s his best friend's celebratory dinner, though, he needs to be there.”

Two seconds pass and then you both say it at the same time: “He’s in love.”

And when San is in love, he has a one track mind with the name of his lover as the goal.

You nod, but you can't help but to be insistent “It's Wooyoung's celebratory dinner, he needs to show up, right?”

“I might not even show up, he's a pain in the ass.” She replies but you can tell her annoyance is not genuine and it makes you smile.

Gyuri and Wooyoung broke up towards the end of your first year of college but you all stayed close friends. A one year relationship was not enough to fuck up the friendship they had and they decided to stay civil until, eventually, they became close friends again.

To this day, you wonder why you and San couldn't rekindle your friendship when it became clear to you that you missed your friend and not the guy that you liked.

Because San was always your friend first and your first love second.

But it doesn't really matter anymore, because Gyuri is forcing you to shower and reminding you that you two need to keep Wooyoung on his best behavior tonight.

“That girl he used to like before me is going, he said. I looked her up, she's single and he needs to get together with her because I can't take him whining about it anymore.”

They keep things with each other way too civil, you think.

“I'm telling you, if we don't show up he's going to do that thing where he gets drunk and makes a fool of himself. I can't have that, I'm on a mission.”

“A mission to get your ex laid?” You ask, shampooing your hair.

“A mission to get him a girlfriend so he can stop crying to me about feeling lonely.”

“Maybe he wants you guys to—” The shower curtain opens and you see your best friend’s scowl before covering yourself up with your hands.

“Gyuri!”

“Don't you dare say what you were about to say or I'm divorcing you.”

You chuckle “Sure you are.”

You're left alone again with the water stream and she goes back to do her makeup “I told you back in ninth grade that we weren't a great fit and I was right. We can't get back together,” she sighs “It'll ruin everything.”

“I doubt it will but you guys have been friends longer than you were boyfriend and girlfriend, so I'll just have to deal with my parents being divorced and civil.”

“God, don't ever refer to us like that again— Oh! Speaking of parents,” you see her beam at her phone when you move the shower curtain to search for your towel and then she shows it to you “Mingi and Love just celebrated their one year anniversary!”

Love being Mingi’s best friend. Gyuri talks to you about her college friend group all the time. The drama fuels your dinner conversations, you even follow a few of them on social media.

“What does that have to do with parents?”

“They're the mom and dad of the group.”

San is in that friend group, you can see him in the back of the picture and you recognize his apartment layout too. He's not the main focus of it but he's all you can see until you notice the couple sitting near him on the couch.

The picture shows both of them, her in his lap and Mingi looking at her with stars in his eyes.

Good for them.

“Is that the girl he was friends with forever before they finally realized that they were in love?”

“Yeah,” she sighs in contempt, looking down at the picture again “I was there the day it happened. I mean, not physically with them, but they left Yunho's party together and I told Wooyoung that it was finally about to happen!”

Gyuri is not a romantic person at all. Her excitement shows you that she really loves them and so you soften at the news that would usually give you and your dry love life a headache “It was the day before you called me to get you out of that awful date.”

Ah, that also happened back then. You shudder at the memory.

“Tell them I say congrats, babe.”

“I'm bringing you as my plus one.”

You laugh, confused “To where?”

“Their wedding, duh.”

“They practically just got together,” you remind her, a year is not enough time to propose “And I don't really know them, Gyuri!”

“They love you,” she assures you as you step out of the shower “I have been speaking about your antisocial ass for years. They can't wait to meet you.”

“So you've been shit talking behind my back for years? Is that what I'm hearing?”

She laughs “No, babe, that's Wooyoung's job.”

Clearing your throat and looking at your friend through the mirror, you try to be as nonchalant as you can when you ask: “Has he… Did he tell you if…”

“No, Y/N, I have no clue if San is going or not and Wooyoung is actually mad at him at the moment.”

“Why?”

She looks at you, sighing “He's been lacking as a friend lately.”

“Hm.”

“I hope you're not planning on swooning if you see him. Fuck him, Y/N.”

“I know…”

“And by fuck him I mean he doesn't deserve you or your forgiveness.”

“He didn't do anything to me, Gyuri,” you remind her, shrugging “Not reciprocating my feelings is not a crime so I don't have to forgive him for anything.”

You can practically feel her starting the San hate train engine, so you step out of the bathroom but her voice follows you.

“And what about that time he ditched you for Minseo when you asked him to go with you to that medical appointment, huh?”

“Cut it out, Gyuri…”

But her head peaks around the corner, into the hall where you're rushing towards your room “Or that time when—”

“Can't hear you!” Turning to look at her, she gives you an affectionate middle finger and heads back to the bathroom.

Closing the door, you lean into the thin wood and sigh, getting San’s face out of your mind so you can focus on getting ready and actually show up for Wooyoung and Wooyoung only.

He just got a permanent position after completing his internship at a company that's your company's rival. He's going to crush you and steal clients from you but you are genuinely so happy for him.

You should've guessed he enjoyed books as much as you did back in highschool. The debates he used to have with Gyuri were not all about flirting with her but also because he has a passion for books.

And now he's going to work in the same field as you.

You're so proud of your friend.

As you get ready, you remember the excitement cruising through your body when your boss trusted you enough to give you the first manuscript of a new client so you could edit it. You're sure Wooyoung is going to do better than you, taking into account that he actually went to college for this.

You didn't.

You met your boss at the part-time job you got in senior year, when you were trying to distract yourself from all the pain and the horrors of becoming a grown up. She was chatty, got a little too drunk on soju and told you she was starting her own book publishing company.

When she returned months later after remembering that you told her you loved books and would love to work for as a publisher one day, she offered you a job in her company right after graduating highschool.

You took it because you didn't think an opportunity like this would show up ever again.

She was truly a blessing, the kind of person you never really believed in until she taught you all you needed to know about publishing and editing and encouraged you to take online classes during the nights so you could get, at least, a certification on what you do.

You're proud of yourself too. The opportunity found you in a specific moment of your life where both your heart and your self esteem were destroyed and now you're not the person you used to be.

Maybe that's why the possibility of facing San makes you so nervous. Collective memories are dangerous because the details never match the ones on the other person's head.

You know who you were back then but… Are you the same person in San’s head?

You don't even want to find out.

Scanning your outfit in the mirror for the last time, you take the shoes you're wearing tonight out of your closet and walk over to the living room.

Only to find Gyuri laying on the carpet under the coffee table, half dressed and on her phone.

“You're going to mess up your hair.”

“I don't care, I'm not going.”

Sighing, you sit down on the couch and staring at the wood of the table covering her face.

“What happened now?”

“The bitch canceled!”

“Wooyoung?”

Poking her head out, she frowns at you “No, his first love.”

“You were his first love.”

“You know what I'm talking about, Y/N!”

Laughing at her, you offer her your hand “Get dressed. Who cares if she's not going? He's not going to sulk because he's going to have you and his best friends there.”

She whines like a child when you pull her up from the floor “I had a plan!”

“Then make a new one, babe. We're going to be late.”

She starts to whine again but then stops mid-groan to give you a once over. You shift uncomfortably on your feet, suddenly self-conscious about your appearance for the first time in years.

“You look really hot…” she tells you and you fake gag at her words “Really pretty. Like a fairy and a smoke show at the same time.”

You can't possibly look like that when you have such a simple outfit on, floor length high waist black pants and a flowy sleeve top that ties in the middle. It's barely formal but now you're thinking too hard about it.

Blushing, you wave your hand to dismiss her compliment “Oh, my god. Go and change!”

She rushes to her room on the opposite end of the hall and you finally breathe, looking down at your choice of fit and wondering if it's too much.

Gyuri would've told you if that's the case, but either way it haunts your mind in the car on the way there, leg bouncing up and down under your best friend's judging gaze that only softens when you pout at her.

“They are going to love you, babe. I'm so serious, they've been waiting years to meet you.”

You nod because, yes, you're concerned that her friend group is not all as welcoming as she paints them to be.

And you wish your doubts would go away but you're really, really not good at making friends. You're cautious, extremely closed off to new people and not as good with conversation no matter how much confidence you gained over the past years.

When you walk to the loudest table at the laid back restaurant their friend Seonghwa made the reservation at, you think you won't be able to fit in with everyone else. You feel like an intruder, like Gyuri is supposed to enjoy this part of her life without you here.

That's why you rejected every invitation they ever made.

You celebrate birthdays with her, with Woo as well, but it's all very intimate and separate from their social circle, the one that includes the man you haven't fully faced in years.

But you can't exactly back out now, not when one of them turns to you and seems to light up when they see you.

“Oh? Is this her?” you recognize Hongjoong from pictures, he's the only one facing you when you approach the table, lowkey hiding behind Gyuri like a child.

“Who?”

“Huh?”

San is nowhere to be seen. Thank god.

Slowly, everyone turns around and you see their faces light up with both delight and surprise. Your heart is pounding, you feel it in your throat, in your eyes, in the heat that colors your cheeks.

But Gyuri just steps aside and presents you with a smile “This is her!”

“Oh, Y/N!” Wooyoung gets up, rushing towards you and crashing into your frame with a crushing hug “I'm so glad you're here,” he murmurs into your hair and then turns to his friends, quiet them down “Everyone, this is Y/N, one of my best friends in the entire world.”

He's such a dramatic human being.

You love him so much.

Raising your hand, you shyly wave at them “Hi.”

The entire table erupts with joy. Some of them greet you, some of them are saying that they are happy to be finally meeting you and Wooyoung grabs your arm and plops you down into the seat next to Gyuri, at the edge of the table.

Laughing, you apologize for not meeting them sooner and then you feel a pair of hands on your shoulders.

Panic raising, you quickly turn around to see who it is before releasing a shuddering, but calmer, breath.

“She's a very busy woman, guys. She works for the competition, my competition,” everyone gasps at that but Wooyoung is smiling at you “and she's very good at what she does. Which means she's busy, get off her case,” he puts a glass and a can of beer in front of you “Drink, babe.”

“Thanks, babe.” You whisper back and he leans in to peck your head before going away.

Gyuri groans “Stop stealing that from us! It's our thing, Y/N, don't indulge him.”

“It's his celebratory dinner…” you argue with a laugh that Hongjoong and Mingi follow.

“Yeah! Can you get off my case tonight, Gyuri?”

She huffs, wrapping her arms around you “I hate you all.”

“No you don't!”

The table laughs and everyone returns to their individual conversations when Woo sits down on his spot.

There's a few seats left, one besides Mingi and one right in front of you but you don't think too much about it because soon Gyuri gets up to ask Yeosang something and Seonghwa occupies her seat right beside you.

You think he can sense that you're more shy than you let on, because he doesn't include you in whatever he and Yunho were talking about and waits until he stops talking to him to turn to you.

“So, you work for a publishing company?”

The question catches you off guard and you swallow the beer quickly before nodding “Y-yeah, I… Yeah.”

He chuckles “You're nervous.”

“I'm just not as good at meeting people as Gyuri is. She usually does the job and I tag along.”

“I feel like I know you already, though.” He says, leaning back on his chair.

“Because she talks a lot about me?” he nods “Yeah, she tends to do that.”

“Wooyoung also talks a lot about you, San too… Sometimes,” your cheeks heat up and he misinterprets what it means “All good things, I promise.”

You doubt that.

Your brain gives you a hundred and one possible things San could've said about you.

For some reason, none of them are good. But you choose to believe the gorgeous, long haired guy in front of you.

“Well that's good to hear,” you take another sip of your drink before smiling at him “I was sure Woo was trash talking about me.”

He shakes his head with a smile “He wouldn't dare, he has Gyuri on his ass all the time and I'm sure she would kill him.”

“I'm sure she would kill him even if he didn't do it.”

His smile grows wider “That's true,” he says, looking over at them who are, very coincidentally, fighting about something. You let out a sigh and he laughs again before clearing his throat “So, the publishing company. What kind of books do you like to edit the most?”

Your smile grows wider too.

For the next hour, you talk to Seonghwa about your job and how you started in it. He asks you about your classes and the challenges that you face on a daily basis and Wooyoung overhears and ends up joining the conversation as well.

You don't even hear footsteps nearing until a voice cuts everyone off.

“I'm sorry I'm late!”

“Baby!” Mingi gets up from his seat, but no one else does so he's stuck between the table and his girlfriend.

“Oh, that's Love, huh?” you ask Seonghwa, Wooyoung too entertained messing with the couple to hear you anyways.

“Yeah… Is that how Gyuri refers to her?” He frowns.

“Mhm,” you answer, leaning into him like you're about to tell him an important secret “I'm not supposed to call her that, don't tell her.”

Seonghwa leans in too, pretending to zip his mouth shut and you laugh.

The girl wiggles her way into the seat reserved for her and everyone lets out a groan when they smooch each other. You can only giggle and the sound draws her attention to you “Y/N?”

You quickly nod “Yeah, hi, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you! Finally, I thought Wooyoung and Gyuri had an imaginary friend,” you laugh, shrugging at the joke “Love your outfit, by the way, are those— Oh, San, hi— Are those jellyfish?”

You want to answer. You truly do, the yes right at the tip of your tongue, but words leave you when you turn your head around and find San already looking at you with wide eyes.

He looks great, he's a bit more muscular than what the pictures show and than the last time that you saw him, his arms hugging the fabric of the dress shirt he's wearing like it was tailored for him and everything.

How dare he.

You wonder if his heart is beating as loud as yours is right now. If he's surprised, disappointed or happy to see you at all.

“Her favorite animal.” He answers for you “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi…” you whisper back and it feels like you're in a trance. He doesn't look away but the table quieting down once again snaps you out of it and you turn to the girl with a wide smile that you hope conceals whatever the fuck you're feeling at the moment “I love jellyfishes. Had a phase as a child when I would exclusively talk about them, too,” you chuckle, nervously, reaching for your earrings instinctively “Gyuri gave them to me as a present last Christmas.”

You definitely overshared just now. From the corner of your eye you catch your best friend getting ready to step in if needed.

Love looks at you, then at San (who's just standing next to you without uttering a word) and then back at you again, smiling like she just figured something out “Well, I love them.”

“Thanks…”

Coughing unnecessarily loud, Wooyoung gets up from his seat “You're late.”

It takes a second but San tears his gaze away from you to look at his best friend and you take the opportunity to chug down the rest of your beer “Sorry, something came up.”

Seonghwa turns at that and looks at him as well “You good?”

“I am. Did you guys already eat? I'm starving.”

“Nope. We're about to order. Let me get you a drink, come here.” And just like that, he disappears from your view and you almost sigh in relief.

“Are you good?” Seonghwa asks you next and you reckon he's very observant. But then again, you're not the most gracious human being when you're in San’s presence, so, you figure everyone else noticed your change of mood as well.

“Yeah, I just… I haven't seen him in a while and I didn't think he was coming. I was surprised, that's all.”

“I can see that,” his eyes move around your face for some reason, frowning a little bit but then he seems to let it go, getting the menu closer to you “Okay, good, um… I actually made the reservation here because they have the best samgyeopsal in town.”

“Do they?”

“Mhm, so…”

He helps you pick your food and when it's time to order, he moves back to his seat. Gyuri asks you with her eyes if you're okay, you nod and grab her hand under the table with a tiny smile and then everyone is moving around to make space for San and Woo once they return.

He doesn't sit in front of you.

Relief floods you and you can finally feel your muscles relax as he is so far away, at the other end of the table and in the same row of seats, so you don't really see him unless you really try.

Which you don't, so your food goes down easy and the rest of the night as well.

Until everyone but you and Seonghwa move around their seats and he ends up right in your point of view as you do your best to ignore him and focus on his friend.

Seonghwa asks you about your hobbies, you tell him that you love to write movie essays on websites no one even cares to read and he asks you to show it to him so he can look it up when he gets home.

“And you've always done this? Since highschool?”

You nod and he beams “I read like the first three lines and it looks really good, Y/N. Is that why you love books so much? Because you're a writer?”

“I wouldn't consider myself a writer but… Sure, I love to write.”

“Did you know this?” he turns to San and your smile drops a little.

“Know what?”

“Your friend is an excellent writer.”

“Oh, I know. She, uh… Used to write stories on her notebook instead of paying attention in math class,” he sips on his drink and at the detail you didn't know he knew, you turn to him fully “I used to read over her shoulder sometimes.”

“She's really good.” Seonghwa is looking at your phone, still reading “Really smart, too.”

San’s jaw tenses a little and you can't understand why “I know.” He says again.

His friend is none the wiser, blocking your phone and returning it to you “I like it,” he says, smiling and you blush “The essay.” He clarifies after a second, prompting a laugh out of you that he joins.

San doesn't laugh, but you don't pay attention to him because Seonghwa is asking you something else.

When it's time to leave the restaurant, Wooyoung suggests going back to his apartment to milk the get-together as much as you all can.

You all throw your napkins at him in feign disgust at the choice of words but you all accept his proposal either way.

So now you're sitting on the couch, legs crossed and head on Gyuri’s shoulder while you listen to all of them talk (more like argue) about something that happened at their university last week, their voices drowning the soft music playing out of the tiny speaker resting on the counter.

San is on the floor, to your right. It's hard to keep your eyes off him when you feel him looking at you when you close your eyes and let the noise fade into the background. It's not like you're able to add something to the conversation anyway and Gyuri seems to be drinking her sorrows (not being able to hook Woo up with the girl she told you about) away.

Your best friend is slurring her words already, drink in hand and index finger pointing at Jongho accusatively because, apparently, the fight they're talking about was his fault.

“You don't—” she hiccups “You don't even know why it was your fault and it pisses me off even more, you know?”

“Okay, let me take that.” Taking the drink from her hand and before she starts complaining you stand up to make your way into the kitchen.

The sink is full and a mess, so you pour the liquid into it and leave the glass sitting right beside it. Distracted by the dilemma of helping Woo out with the dishes or not, you don't notice someone else also entering the space.

That's why you jump a little when you turn and catch Seonghwa leaning on the wall by the entrance. It startles you enough to laugh the nerves out afterwards and he shakes his head, smiling.

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. They're boring me to death with the fight story.”

You nod, realizing that maybe that's because he doesn't attend the university anymore. He told you he graduated last year “They're too drunk to let it go.”

“Too drunk to dance to this amazing song, too. Who's playlist is that?” he frowns and you rest your back into the sink, rolling your eyes because he's pretending he doesn't know “Oh! Right, it's mine.”

“And they just don't know how to appreciate it, huh?” he shrugs and you click your tongue “They're such bad friends, Seonghwa, I truly don't know why you keep them around.”

“You appreciate it,” it's your turn to frown and he leaves his spot at the wall to walk towards you “You were singing along to it,” he explains and you let out an ah, nodding as he extends his palm to you, clearly inviting you to dance.

“Oh, I don't… I don't really know how to—”

“I'll show you.”

His kind eyes are asking you to trust him. You really, really shouldn't.

No matter how hard you try to bury the hopeless romantic little girl who decided to have a crush on a guy back in ninth grade, she's still there, begging you to let loose and live a little.

When you grab Seonghwa’s hand, you think the smile he gives you was worth listening to her.

You can't even tell the song that's softly playing anymore, a mellow r&b melody reaches your ear but you are not listening. You're focused on him, on the way he spins you around even if it doesn't fit the bit, on the way he laughs softly against your ear when he pulls you close by your hand and then pulls away just as quickly.

Laughing as well, the spell of this beautiful stranger (because you remind yourself you don't really know him that well) is hard to break.

Until it does.

Someone clearing their throat behind you stops you and Seonghwa's feet from moving any further. When the tall, older guy turns you around, you're face to face with San and his scowl.

“Sorry to interrupt but I need to get started on the dishes. Everyone else is heading out too,” he looks behind you, at the man who's still standing close to you and grabbing your hand “In case you want to ask Mingi for a ride.”

“They finally stopped fighting!” he fakes excitement, finally letting go of your hand and walking in front of you, blocking San with his body. You chuckle, barely clapping your hands to join the pretense as he's pulling up his phone “Can I ask for your number, Y/N?”

Blinking a few times, you're not sure if your heart speeds up because he's asking or because you hear San sigh exasperated behind him “S-sure.”

When you put your information on his phone, he bids you goodbye with a pat on your head and hugs San on his way out the kitchen.

Now that you two are alone, you suddenly want to run and join Seonghwa. You were doing so, so well.

Avoiding San like the plague it's much easier when you're safe hiding behind your two best friends.

Ignoring his stare would be much easier if you weren't stuck into place.

“I—”

“You—”

You both speak over each other and you force out an uncomfortable laugh that he doesn't return. Instead, he motions you to go first while he occupies the space in front of the sink, turning the faucet on. In doing so, he has to grab your waist and move you out of the way which makes you short circuit for a second “I was going to help you with that.” You finally stammer out.

He lets out what you take as an annoyed chuckle.

“You seemed busy, I don't know how you would've done it.”

Ouch.

Why do you allow his words to cut so deep when you stopped caring about what he does a long time ago?

The band aid rips, the stitches come undone and all it took him were five seconds to melt your resolve away like it was never there in the first place.

“I'll… I go get Gyuri so we can leave Woo and you to get to it, then.”

“Bathroom.” You hear him mutter under his breath as you are taking the final step to leave.

“Huh?”

“She's in the bathroom, probably puking her breakfast out,” he looks up at you to give you a tiny smile “You left her alone with Jongho and Woo for five minutes so she got ahold of another drink.”

“God damnit.”

Rushing out, you run into everyone else at the door and Mingi has to let go of his very intoxicated girlfriend when she reaches you to give you a hug “Don't be a stranger, Y/N! It was lovely to be around you, hm?”

The sudden physical contact almost makes you gasp but you cover it up with a shy giggle “O-oh. Yeah, um, lovely to meet you too. All of you.”

“Sorry about that,” her boyfriend grabs her arms and breaks the hug “She's right, though. Don't be a stranger.”

You nod once, smiling a little more sincerely now and everyone says bye to you, including Seonghwa, who grabs your hand one last time and gives it a squeeze before closing the front door of the apartment.

You think you feel your heart skip a tiny bit under all the shit San’s words pulled up to the surface a minute ago. But there's no time to dwell in that: you hear Gyuri opening up the bathroom door before gagging and closing it again with a slam.

Jesus Christ.

You two are really getting old. You stopped drinking like an hour ago, when you were starting to feel tipsy after your second beer, and you know she didn't drink as much as she used to maybe four years ago, but the visage that welcomes you when you open the door and find her crouched down in front of the toilet certainly brings back memories of those times.

“I left you alone for like… five minutes.” Sighing, you lean in to hold her flimsy ponytail and pat her back.

“I'm good,” she gags again and then holds up her hand to stop you from saying anything else “I'm fine.”

Smiling, you help her up and she grabs the counter as she's washing away the taste of whatever she ate earlier today and alcohol “Me when I lie…”

“Y/N!” she hits your arm but the movement somehow almost makes her trip.

“You want to lay down?”

“Is she okay?” Woo’s head peaks into the bathroom and when he sees his ex, he makes a face.

“Does she look like she's okay?” you help her out of the bathroom and start heading for Wooyoung's room.

“Wow, wow— Where do you think you're taking her?”

“To your room, dumbass!”

“Why mine? San's is literally right there.” He whines, pointing at the door you pass by without a second thought. You don't want to know where his room is or what it looks like at all.

“Yeah, well, did San get her this drunk?”

“How was I supposed to know that she was at her almost black-out phase? She never drinks that much in front of me!” he complains again but you're already tugging Gyuri in, who mumbles something incoherent and then flips Wooyoung off “Na Gyuri if you puke on my bed I swear to God!”

If you didn't know Wooyoung so much, the whining and the attitude would probably make you think he didn't care for her at all. But he's brushing her hair out of her forehead, securing the blanket around her and moving to take her socks off when you reach the door.

“I'm guessing you're okay with her staying the night?”

“Of course you guys can stay the night, Y/N.” He says and he stumbles a little to get to you, so you smile and shake your head, about to let him know that you're not staying anywhere near his roommate when he continues “You can come over whenever you like. You know that, right?”

“I know, Woo.”

“I barely even see you these days, I… Oh! I forgot!” he points to the end of the hall, towards the kitchen “You guys don't really like each other so maybe don't come over when he's here because I don't want to see you sad!”

“Lower your voice,” you whisper to him, bringing a hand to his face and patting his cheek a few times to wake him up “Did the alcohol suddenly hit you or something?” you sigh for the umpteenth time “Anyways, you should lay down and I'll get going. I'll come pick her up tomorrow and—”

“That's such a great idea! Oh, I'm a genius.”

“You didn't come up with it, Wooyoung.”

“San!” he calls all of the sudden and you wish he was sober enough to read the panic on your features. He seems much, much sober when his best friend starts walking down the hall and stops right beside you “Take Y/N home, please, she's going to give you a bag that you must protect with your life.”

Said best friend looks at you, his eyebrow arched in a silent question “Gyuri’s stuff.”

“Ah.”

“Go, go. It's getting late, I'll just… I'll cuddle with my ex until you get home.”

And she has the nerve to say he doesn't want her back.

When the door to Wooyoung's room closes and you're left with San on the poorly lit hallway, you make a mental note to never step foot on this place or allow your friends to drink ever again.

You don't even look at the guy before practically running down the hallway and reaching for your bag. You make sure your phone is secured in your pocket as you slip your shoes on and soon you're grabbing the front door knob and twisting it.

Keys jingle next to you but, again, you don't spare San a glance.

“So—”

“I'll get out of your hair, you don't have to… walk me home or whatever he said.”

“Y/N, it's late.”

Turning to him, your smile is as fake as the ones you've been giving him the past couple of years “And I'm a grown up, San, I can walk myself home.”

“What about Gyuri’s stuff?”

“She can wear Wooyoung's clothes, it's not like they never shared before. Anyway… Thank you for having me, it was nice to see you. Goodnight.” Your response comes out fast and it sounds as planned out as it actually is, kinda robotic and devoid of actual emotion.

San can't see through you the way you see through him. It's okay, he won't mind it.

He probably won't mind that you close his own door on his face either.

If that door is what you hear when you're making your way down the stairs in order to make a fast escape, you choose to ignore it.

You have to stop mid-way to compose yourself. You don't know why you feel like crying or why your heart is beating so fast.

You knew going in that there was a possibility of seeing him tonight. You know how San affects you, so effortless and seemingly like no time has passed at all in between senior year and present day.

You know all of this already, it's an endless loop that will keep repeating until you either move away or decide to stop agreeing to Wooyoung's plans all together.

So why is your chest heaving with emotion? Why is nostalgia playing mind tricks with you? Why do you want to turn back and hug him and beg him to turn back time so you can do it all differently now that you know how to look like and what to say to make him love you back?

Ah, you're definitely not sleeping tonight. So you start distracting yourself while walking down the stairs again. You remind yourself to tell a much sober Wooyoung how proud you are of him. You think about Seonghwa, about his kind eyes and the way he grabbed your hand to dance with him just half an hour ago. You wonder how long it will take you to get home if you jog all the way there. You—

Why the fuck is San outside when you get there?

In a comedic way, you can see your attempt to distract your mind off of him slipping through your fingers and evaporating in the warm summer night breeze.

In a realistic way, you're fucking pissed at him for taking the opportunity of a good night sleep away from you.

You pass him and start jogging like you planned a minute ago. Footsteps follow you until his arm brushes yours and you take a step to the side to stop it from happening again.

“Go home, Choi San.”

“Stop fighting it, Y/N. I'm walking you home.”

“It's a twenty minute walk—”

“Drop it.”

You do. And for the first ten minutes, no one utters a word even if the tension feels electric and the street is so quiet so you can hear when his breath accelerates when he jogs to catch up to you whenever you try to leave him behind.

Isn't that ironic. He was the one who left you behind all those years ago.

“I didn't know that you danced.”

He breaks the uncomfortable but safe silence to say that?

“Well, you saw me dance so I clearly dance when I want to.”

“You never danced with me.”

“You never asked me to.”

He laughs “I'm pretty sure I did on several occasions, Y/N.”

“Well, you're wrong,” you're getting annoyed. How dare he think he remembers better than you? “It doesn't matter anyway, what's past is past and—”

“You also gave Hwa your number,” he interrupts, his long legs taking two strides to get in front of you, still walking, facing your direction with his hands on his pockets.

It's dangerous and stupid, even if the streets are practically empty and the sidewalk barely has any bumps.

You hope he falls on his pretty face.

“I did.*

“I don't have your number.”

“Well, I changed it and you never asked for it, so…”

“You could've called me or texted me to let me know you did it.”

He's getting on your nerves.

“San,” you start, taking in a deep breath you hope calms you down “We don't even text anymore, why would you want my number?”

“Do you like him?”

“Seonghwa?” you ask, frowning and he nods “Like… As a person?”

“As a potential love interest.” He clarifies matter-of-factly and you roll your eyes.

“I met him today, San. Why do you want my number?”

“Because we're friends?” he offers after a second, shifting so he's walking by your side again.

“Are we?” you ask, laughing bitterly at that “Because we haven't spoken a word to each other in years.”

“That's not true.”

“It is, San.”

“You… You don't speak to me anymore, so…”

“Well your girlfriend at the time told me she didn't feel comfortable with me speaking to you anymore,” you sigh “so I didn't and you didn't try to talk to me either.”

“Well, I want to talk to you now.”

“And is your new girlfriend aware of that? Is she comfortable with that? Because I don't want anyone telling me what to do anymore and—”

“Why wouldn't she be comfortable? We're friends, Y/N.”

“Are we?” you insist, petty, bitter and overall very, very hurt.

He looks offended at that “I assumed we were?”

He's getting on your fucking nerves.

“We stopped being friends the second Minseo asked me to stay away from you because she didn't like me, San.”

“She’s not in my life anymore—”

The words are coming out of your mouth without even thinking it through. His demeanor, the way he's somehow reproaching you for whatever he saw between you and his friend, the way he pretends nothing happened between you and him, thinking that you two are still friends.

“We stopped being friends when you pulled away from me, saw me do the same and did nothing to stop it from happening, San.”

He stops in his tracks at that. You don't, pushing forward and quickening your step even if your calves burn.

“Either way,” you speak up “Make sure you tell your girlfriend about wanting my number and then you can ask Seonghwa for it if you want—”

“She's not my girlfriend anymore!”

Now that stops you, just a few buildings down from yours, you turn around just to find San closer that you thought he'll be.

“O-oh. I… I didn't know that. I'm sorry.”

“You didn't do anything to be sorry for.”

“Still, it must suck so I'm sorry you're going through that.”

“We didn't want the same things and so we ended it. It is what it is.”

You nod.

He walks the few steps separating you and you have to raise your chin a little to look him in the eye for the first time since you left his apartment “I wanted to tell you.”

“That you broke up with your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, I don't know why. It happened when I broke up with Minseo too, I just… You're the first person that I thought of calling when it happened. I texted you, too, but the messages didn't go through.”

You hum at that.

Why would he even say that?

You resume your step, not really knowing what to say until you reach the stairs that lead to your building’s entrance.

“And you didn't ask Woo for my number?”

He follows you up.

“I don't think he would've given it to me if I asked.”

That sounds like an excuse, so you don't let it slide as you enter the code to your building and let yourself inside, San holding the door so he can get in as well “Why would he do that?”

“Because he…” San sighs, pressing the elevator button “Nevermind. He just wouldn't.”

Frowning, you turn to him “No, now you have to tell me.”

“It doesn't matter, really—”

“Tell me, San.”

He stares for a second and then looks away, like a child, vulnerable and you can't help but soften at that “He didn't like the way I treated you.”

Eating your words from before, you shake your head “You didn't treat me like anything.”

The elevator dings and you get inside.

San follows you.

“Exactly,” he says, resting his shoulder on the metal “Like you said I just did nothing and—”

“Well, sometimes that's just what happens,” you want to end this. You want to pack Gyuri’s bag, give it to him and never see him again.

This conversation hurts, it reopens barely closed wounds and it creates new ones you don't really need when it comes to whatever happened between you two.

There's only so much a person can handle and it really doesn't help that you're a fool for San. He takes advantage of it, of the fact you can't really push him away at this point and the fact that he wants to have this conversation now instead of four and half years ago?

Mean.

He's mean. He's evil. He's… He's staring at you with a spark in his eyes that you recognize too well.

Hope.

When you get to your floor, you try to wipe the image away while busying yourself with your keys. Your hands tremble a little but you're able to open the door of your apartment and get in without inviting him.

He gets in anyway. You take off your shoes as he closes the front door.

He stays silent as he follows you around the apartment and you don't worry about turning the lights on. You get into Gyuri’s room and start picking out a comfy hangover outfit for your friend. Some clean underwear, sweatpants, two shirts and socks.

When you drop to the floor, in front of the closet, to look for a bag to stash all of it in, San silently clutches beside you.

“It shouldn't have happened to us. Never us.”

You can't take it anymore.

“San, what is this? What are you doing? I mean, why are we—”

“I know.”

“It's been years…”

“I miss you.”

He's so mean. But the softness in his tone resembles the one he used all the way back in highschool, when he told you that not being friends with you didn't feel right and you want to cave in right there and then.

Your heart screams at you to do it, your reason warns you that you both have been through this before and it never ends right.

You simply can't stay friends with Choi San.

Your love for him must run too deep, your resentment claws at it and tries to hurt it but it's an immovable force that won't budge even if you try to bury it under the years that have passed, the things he has done.

Tears gather in your eyes and you try to blink them away as you stare at your best friend's clothes on your lap and try to come up with something to close this path up again, reconstruct the picket fence you built around it the second he broke your heart for the first time.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, letting the walls fall a little “I miss you too but I don't think I miss whatever version of you you are right now, San.”

“W-what?”

His shaky voice makes the walls crumble and crash.

Turning to him, your hand shakes as you place it on top of his “And you don't miss the version of me I am right now. You miss what I was back then, the comfort and the shoulder to cry on I offered you when Arin and you broke up. You miss my availability and the way I didn't press my feelings on you because it didn't matter if I liked you or not, you were my friend first and the guy that I had a crush second but—” you choke up, tears falling down your cheeks even if you don't want them to “I can't do it anymore. I'm not that girl anymore and I won't be there for you now that you and Kyungmi broke up because I can't handle it. I can't, I'm sorry.”

He doesn't deny any of it.

He stares at you, tears wetting his cheeks as well and it hurts even more this way. You wish you had the strength to hold it together, to treat him like you did on the street a few minutes ago, but you can't.

There's no way you could ever hate him like you want to.

“You know…” he starts in a whisper, letting out a humorless chuckle “That's what I used to tell myself too.”

“Hm?”

“That you were my friend first and the girl that I had a crush on second.”

How dare he mutter the words you always wanted to hear, the ones you picture being said in a different setting, the ones that haunted your every waking thought that period of time you doubted your friends, your mom, yourself for even believing Choi San could ever have a crush on you.

He doesn't get to say them. You want to tell him but the words die on your throat and form a lump that you can't swallow down.

You don't get to say that. You don't get to say that.

Your hand drops from his and you look away again only to grab the first bag you find on the closet floor and shove Gyuri’s stuff in it.

If the lack of response it's what prompts the hurt in his voice the next time he speaks, you don't want to think about it.

“I wish I didn't. Now it's too late to do something about it, huh?”

This time the rage comes back with a mask on. Feing settlement for all the what if’s covers you like a blanket on a really hot summer night: unwanted, unnecessary.

But you can't sleep without it, so you do nothing to push it away.

“I guess it is.”

You get up from the floor, leaving the room and wiping your face with bitterness coating your movements as you wait by the door for him to get out.

When he does and he steps in front of you, you extend the bag and he takes it without missing a beat.

Voice robotic and words premeditated, you open the front door for him “Thanks for walking me home and taking this back.”

He leans a little into your space and you don't move away. But just as he did in highschool, he takes in your hitched breath and does nothing more.

“Thanks for letting me talk to you.”

He didn't give you much of a choice there but it's okay. This is closure, this is the end of your story with Choi San and you convince yourself you're glad that it is.

“Sure,” you whisper back and he steps outside, turning around to watch you slowly close the door “goodnight, San.”

He doesn't say it back.

When the darkness of your apartment engulfs you, that's when you let yourself breakdown. Covering your mouth with your palm, you descend until your knees are against the wood on the floor and closing your eyes you make it a point to let it all out.

You'll let it all out, drink some water, text Wooyoung and Gyuri to let them know you're safe and go to bed.

And tomorrow you'll begin your day with the freedom of finally knowing what would've happened if you or San ever took the next step.

This is fine. This is moving on. This is—

The doorbell rings.

Opening the door again, you crease your eyebrows in a silent question that San doesn't care to answer, so you look around the floor in case he forgot something you're missing. You wipe your cheeks and under your eyes as you turn to him again “Did you—”

Time slows down when he makes it past the threshold and you can't move an inch, gaping at who you once thought was the love of your life “What are you doing, San?”

“Something about it.”

“What?”

“Forgive me,” he asks, breathless and in a murmur, fueling your confusion. And then he's closing the distance, dropping Gyuri’s bag and cupping your face so gently that it hurts “but I'm doing something about it.”

You stopped dreaming about the possibility of San kissing you that one time you two were on your bed and, another time, you told yourself that, if it ever happened, you wouldn't kiss him back.

It's too late to kiss him back.

But sparks fly when he crushes you against the wall and takes in a breath before slothing his mouth against yours like he's been waiting to do this every single day for the past nine years you've known each other.

There's nothing you can do to conceal the way yearning takes over you, pours out of you, making you breathe into his open mouth and kiss him back like you always wanted to.

You already know it is a mistake by the time you grab his shirt to keep him in place but does it really matter when this is all you ever wanted?

Feeling warmth leave your face, you notice the way he desperately crowds your space as his chest bumps into yours, leg claiming its place in between yours, the palm that leaves you pressing against the wall, next to your head.

The kiss is filled with emotion, with longing and desire and it steals the air out of your lungs tragically and beautifully at the same time. Before, you used to dream about his lips making everything feel right, making you fit in in a world you didn't feel like you belonged to.

But this kiss drops you into uncharted territory, drags you into the depths of something that should be buried by now, after all this time. It brings the flame back to life and it's dangerous.

The fact that it feels this way, both marvelous and catastrophic at the same time, makes you so sad.

Sorrow descends down your face until your mouth is picking it up and your tongue is mixing it with whatever emotion is cruising through San right now.

You have to know.

He spent your entire youth and early adulthood keeping it to himself, knowing when to show his true colors and when to hide them, choosing who to do it with and you realize the San that lives in your head is nothing but a figment of what you wanted him to be.

Because him holding to your waist like it's his only lifeline doesn't fit the San you remember, him telling you he liked you back then doesn't fit the guy who was just your best friend.

You need to know.

“San,” brokenly, you speak into his mouth and he pulls away just enough to see your face. Your eyes remain closed, your chest heaving and your lips trembling “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want you, Y/N.”

You push him away, weakly, almost like you don't really mean it because deep down you don't but he steps away like you're asking to.

Because, of course, your mind scraps the bottom of your resentment to give his words a completely new meaning.

“You can find another girl to fuck and be your rebound, San,” more tears spill down and you wipe them away in anger but more threat to fall down so you cover your face with your hands and groan, desperate “I can't do this, especially not when I know that you know how bad I wanted you. Y-you know what you do to me San so stop—”

“I want you in my life. I don't— What? I don't want you like a rebound, I… Can we sit down and turn on a light so I can look at you when I say this?”

His words should be reassuring but they're not, the way you tend to feel unlovable around him coming up to the surface, preventing you from thinking clearly.

You can also feel his lips on yours still. It's dizzying but you manage to push yourself off the wall and pad around until you hit the switch of the warm light lamp near the couch and the apartment comes to life just like that.

He takes in the space he's never seen before, walking slowly towards the living room and looking over the bookshelf that screams your name all over it. He smiles a bit as he looks over the book titles and you look away before your heart starts acting up again.

You can't stay mad at him for long if he's looking through something so personal to you and smiling that fondly at it. It feels even more intimate than the kiss you two just shared.

Wiping your cheeks once more, you are sure you look a mess but he doesn't seem to mind it once he comes into your point of view, sitting down on the couch, in front of your standing form. He grabs you by your hands until you're sitting next to him, close to him, cologne intoxicating your senses.

“I told you I liked you when we were in highschool, right?”

You nod.

“You seemed surprised but it was dark so I'm not really sure. I thought you knew, everyone knew.”

Oh, he's a comedian.

“How would I have known, San? I… Yeri told me you liked me one time, in senior year, but I denied it. Then, my mom told me you seemed to want me in a non-platonic way and I dismissed her as well,” you take in a deep, shaky breath “For me, the thought of you liking me just didn't make sense. You loved Arin and she's… She doesn't look or act like I did back then at all, so how would I have known?”

You didn't need clues and puzzles and what if’s, you needed words and actions that weren't confusing. You needed him to tell you back then, because telling you right now and kissing you senseless after he broke up with a girl he supposedly was very in love with means nothing but pain.

“I didn't realize you liked me too,” you make a face, about to tell him off, but he interrupts “I didn't! I thought you liked Yeri and I thought you saw me as the annoying guy who wouldn't leave you alone. I only just realized it a couple years ago, because Woo told me.”

You raise your eyebrows and mutter under your breath “I'm murdering him tomorrow.”

The corner of his lips twitch before he shakes his head in dismissal of what you said “I liked you. I really, really liked you and never told a soul because… Well, it's scary when you fall in love, right?”

“San, you had no problem telling Arin, Minseo or Kyungmi that you liked them.”

He looks down to the floor, lost in thought and you want to open your mouth to take what you just said into a new direction, but you don't “Maybe that's because I didn't love them the way I love you.”

Oh.

Love you? As in… He loves you right now too?

No way.

“You didn't love me, San. You don't love me right now either, you… Maybe we both were in love with the idea of love? Maybe that's what happened and—”

“Quit telling me what I'm feeling, Y/N. You always do that, you always assume you know what I'm feeling but you don't!”

Raising your voice a little more, you try to get your point across in the worst way possible: by being stubborn “You don't know me! How can you possibly—”

“I knew you back then, Y/N! And I loved you back then, too!” He looks like wants to say something more but he doesn't, instead, he takes a calming breath and then leans into your space for the third time tonight “And I might not know you now but I want to. That's what I meant when I said that I want you. I want you in my life, I want to know the person you became when we stopped talking, I want to talk to you every single day and I want to hold you and kiss you and be by your side however you want me to, I just… I can't lose you again.”

His confession renders you speechless and you notice his chest is heaving, going up and down in sync with yours.

But the way he pulled away from you senior year still hurts, it paints a picture of what's going to happen if you accept this.

You can't believe his words.

He must feel lonely and confused, like he did when Arin broke up with him. He must be looking for a shelter you can't provide.

“And when you find another girl that's more to your liking? What then, San?”

“There's no one that I love more than you, Y/N and I'm sorry I was shit at proving it back then and I'm sorry that it took so many years for me to come to my senses.”

He's tearing up and your heart pangs absurdly loud at that.

“I saw you with Seonghwa earlier today, laughing and dancing and flirting and I thought: Oh, maybe if I didn't waste that much time pretending I'm someone I'm not, that would be me.”

You stare for a second, you watch a single tear drop down his cheek and then look away.

“Is that what you were doing? Is that why you pulled away?”

“Maybe?” he offers and you turn to him again. Is not enough and maybe he can see it in your expression, because he goes on “I mean, I… I thought I wanted Arin. I thought I wanted Minseo. I had people in my life who were really happy to see me with them and I just…”

“Wanted to keep them happy,” you nod, understanding. He doesn't have to say his mothers name for you to know he's referring to her and maybe his other highschool friends outside of Wooyoung “Were you pretending with me as well?”

“No,” he answers right away “You and Woo were the only ones who saw me for who I really was back then.”

“And why do you think you love me now, San?” you ask, deflating against the couch and ignoring the way your heart soars at his quick response.

“Because I never stopped,” he stammers out and then clears his throat “Because I looked for you in Minseo and Kyungmi and I wondered for years why they couldn't make me feel the same way. And I told myself I didn't need to feel the same way and that I deserved to wonder for the rest of my days but seeing you tonight? I can't.”

Straightening your spine, the pained look you sent in his direction is not intentional but it prompts him to lean closer and closer until he's cupping your cheek again.

“I can't keep wondering.” His voice is a sweet whisper, a siren song that draws you in until your forehead is resting against his.

All these years, you were so self-focused on changing to a better version of who he used to know, learning from your mistakes and closing off to the opportunity of letting him prove himself a better man, you forgot that time passed for him too. He’s telling you he changed, too.

Imagination is a safe space. Is where you hide, where desire can take its wings and fly high without hurting you too much. Make belief has rescued you before but this? The way his nose nuzzles softly into yours and your breaths tangle? This is very real. And reality is prone to hurt you.

But the want you feel is undeniable. The way your entire being wants to cave in and give him an opportunity is suffocating, it makes you choke out a sob that he follows with one of his own.

You kiss him, softly at the beginning, but his hands on you tighten and you let yourself get lost in the way they go down your neck and your arms, caressing you softly until they reach your waist and pull you into his lap.

Pulling away, you grab his chin with two fingers and force his teary eyes to snap open, searching for an answer on yours.

“If you hurt me,” you start, breathless “If you're mocking me, if you're using me to get over Kyungmi, if you are pulling me back in to break my heart again, Choi San, I swear to God I will kill you.”

“I won't do that to you ever again, Y/N,” he returns softly “I love you, I'm sorry if I ever hurt you but I love you.”

Others would argue that it is pathetic how quickly you forgive him. But then again, you could never be mad at San.

You were only mad at yourself for how everything turned out.

“I love you too, Sannie.”

Saying something never felt so freeing before.

“Oh, Y/N…” you can see the way relief washes his worries away “Y/N…” he starts to say but then leans in to kiss you again and never finishes his words.

You don't mind it.

Pouring out all the pent up affection you pretended to bury for years, you explore his mouth and carve into your memory the way he feels. The way he sighs into it when your tongue brushes his, the way he pulls you in closer when your fingers reach the nape of his neck and pull on his hair there, hands splayed on your back so he can keep you in place as he leans down and places you against the worn out couch.

He maps you out, hands going down your waist in a familiar feeling that brings back that memory of you two laying down on your bed. Only this time, he's actually touching you with a purpose. This time, you two have made up your minds and your limbs are tangled in a way you can feel all of him pressing up against you.

It starts to get stuffy, the space on the couch not nearly enough to have him the way you want to. Soon, you're both standing up, mouths still moving against each other and hands roaming everywhere until you're undoing the buttons on his shirt.

He pulls away to fully take it off, eyes never leaving yours, dropping the shirt to the ground, next to the couch and then he's on you again, making your back crash into the wall as he works the knots keeping your blouse together.

He walks you through the hall, stopping only to take your top off and then he's walking you to a room that has a familiar scent that doesn't belong to you.

“Wrong room, wrong room,” you say into his lips and he laughs, looking to your surroundings “Mine’s over there.” you point to the other end of the hall, taking his hand and pulling him towards it.

You don't make it far before he's yanking you towards him again. He looks down, taking your body in and you do the same, his firm and defined stomach a sight you never thought you would be able to see.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispers, backing you against the wall again and kissing your cheek “So, so beautiful.”

Turning your head to chase his mouth, he lets out a heavy sigh when his lips trail a path to your neck and murmurs against the skin there “I never told you how beautiful I found you before but you're so perfect, baby.”

“I always thought I wasn't your type, San,” you let out a noise when he grabs your hips and pulls you forward, crashing his into yours “Fuck.”

“And I always thought you were too much for me, too smart,” he kisses his way back up, focusing on your jaw and chin until he's kissing your cheek again “too pretty,” he moves to your ear, pecking right under it and you hold him closer “too good for me.”

It doesn't really matter that this is all new to you, the way he's speaking, the tenor of his voice, the things he's saying… It sparks something familiar in you. You're pulling his hair back to make him look at you, a moan slipping out of his lips at that.

You want to hear it again.

He's smiling at your reaction, hand tightening on his locks.

However, that smile drops when he seems to recognize the gleam in your eyes.

You gather up courage, feeling empowered by the way his hooded eyes darken but wait patiently for you to speak your mind.

“Maybe I'm too good for you now, too,” you lean in, your lips softly tracing his “Maybe you should prove to me that you deserve me, San.”

It's a dare. One that he seems to like a lot because his eyes sparkle with the same fire they used to back in the day.

“Oh, I'll prove it to you, alright.” He whispers, panting when you let go of his hair and he leans into you to kiss your lips briefly before pulling away again.

His hand tilts your head back and you rest it against the cold wall, his fingers touch your bottom lip before going down and down and down until they rest against the seam of your pants, unbuttoning them in one swift movement.

Going back up, his nails softly dig into your skin and you preen, taking the soft sting of his ministrations like you two have done this a million times before.

His mouth is on yours again, his hands are pulling you off the wall and into your room until you two land on your mattress, a moan spilling out of your lips when he sloths his knee in between your legs and pulls them apart with expertise.

You don't have the mind to break down what that means.

Opening your eyes when he kisses down your neck again, you notice your room is barely lit by the street lights outside, curtains pulled open and windows closed but, this way, you can see the way San kisses between your breasts and your belly, catching his eyes when he looks up to measure your reaction.

You sigh, already feeling some sort of build up going on down there and he hasn't even touched you properly yet.

You don't even want to think about how wet you actually are.

He leans back, open palms going down your legs slowly until they reach your feet. It tickles and you can't help but let out a giggle that he joins short after, his gaze never losing the edge because of it, though.

“San…”

He guides your hips up so he can take off your pants and you sigh when his hands return, raising your leg up “I missed your laugh,” he says low, attaching his lips to your calf “I miss being the one making you laugh too.”

You feel like crying again but then he's letting your leg down and grabbing the other one to give it the same treatment, so your tears can wait.

This time, he moves upwards till his mouth nears your clothed center and your breath hitches.

Yeah, you can definitely cry later.

“You want me to prove to you how much I want you, Y/N?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting your mound now “How much I love you?”

“San, p-please…”

“Fuck, look at you.” He sounds like he's too lost in the heat of the moment and you're kind of grateful, because the moan you let out when his fingers hook on your underwear and pull them to the side to expose your pussy to his hungry eyes is loud.

When he kisses you right where you need him, you let out another moan. And when he parts your folds to lick a stripe up to your clit, you curse him under your breath until he's laughing against you softly, the vibrations accumulating heat on your belly.

He doesn't tease you much longer and you look down at him just to catch the moment his self control slips, eating you out like a man starved while his hand stays on your hip to hold you down and keep you underwear from interrupting his feast.

“This is like,” he dives in again for a few seconds and you grab the sheets beneath you “All my fantasies coming to life but better.”

He's so chatty during this and the only thing you can do is stammer a yeah? and pray for it to reach his ears.

“Mhm,” He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue and your legs shake “It tastes even better than what I dreamed, too.”

The heat of his mouth leaves you, lips spreading your wetness through your stomach until he fully reaches your face, your eyes closed and lips already waiting for him.

Tongue caressing yours, your hands trail down his torso and focus on getting his pants off. You're shaking with excitement so it proves to be more difficult than you imagined at first but he helps you in unbuckling his belt.

Once the piece of clothing is on the floor (or the bed, you're not really paying attention to where it lands), you don't waste time in feeling him up through his boxers.

The hiss you get in return makes you smile.

Bringing your lips to his neck, you suckle on this pulse point and gain another pleased noise before grazing your teeth against skin and moving to his collarbone next.

In a way, you get what he means. If he truly was pining over you the way you were pining over him, the thought of exploring his tan skin and making him moan feels like a dream.

So you kiss him again in order to make it all last longer.

The minutes pass between the both of you, softly making out and figuring out what gets both of you going, discarding your underwear in the process.

You realize your moans make San’s cock twitch against your leg and he seems to notice the way your hips buck up everytime his hands handle you more roughly.

After a few minutes of just this, you feel his hand making its way down again and the pads of his fingers circle your clit until you're grasping the sheets again. He gathers your arousal and then enters one finger slowly and when it slides in and out with ease, he enters the next one.

There's really not much prepping he needs to do, already soft and compliant under him, you relax into his comfortable touch before you're aching for something else. And your mouth is preoccupied with his, so you do something else to catch his attention.

Hands caressing his back, you let them drop to his ass with a soft smack that wins you a soft huff on amusement and then a whine when you move his hips towards yours.

“Condom?”

You shake your head “I'm clean and I have an implant.”

“Oh?” he smirks, about to tease you but you squeeze his butt again and he moans “Fuck. I'm clean too.”

“Good,” you whisper against his cheek, laughing as he arranges his position.

And he might've been touching you all this time, kissing you until your mind emptied and your lips are all swollen up, but the look on his eyes when he slowly enters you is what might drive you over the edge.

Grabbing your hands, he pins them on the side of your head as he moves, dropping his head down with a groan as you take him in, nose touching yours and moth whispering sweet things you can't quite pick up.

He feels so good.

This all feels way too good to be real.

In the cloud you're at, you allow yourself to dream a little more before the reality of what your confessions mean dawns on you.

For now, you allow San to make love to you. Sweetly, slowly and with a passion you never were lucky enough to encounter before.

Maybe it's because your previous lovers didn't have your heart the way San does.

He rams his hips into yours hard, closing his eyes and resting his warm cheek against yours, kissing your face inch by inch when you accompany his movements with your own.

When his pace picks up, you hug him close and secure your legs around his hips as you moan.

“Y-yes, fuck.”

“Like that?” he repeats the movement from before, pulling out and then in with such force it rocks the entire bed.

“Just like that, baby, fuck.”

“God, you sound so good,” you smile a little, forehead resting on his shoulder before your head falls down against your pillow again “I love you,” he repeats against your lips, letting your hands go to cup your face with both of his again “I love you so much.”

Teetering over the edge, you feel happy tears stinging in your eyes. Though closed, you can feel San’s stare on you, on your face, on the way you react to his sweet words and relentless pace.

You say it back in a whisper and he repeats it again and again and again until you're both coming and tears are spilling down your cheeks.

He kisses them away.

You wipe his with trembling fingers as you come down, having trouble breathing from everything that just happened.

You don't feel suffocated anymore, you feel like you've been freed. Like this was supposed to happen at some point and you two finally got around to it.

“I love you,” he says once more before slipping out of you with a parting kiss.

Holy shit.

When San gets up from the bed and you point him to the bathroom, down the hallway, you're left with a sticky mess in between your legs and a lot to think about but you settle on four things.

San just made love to you. There's no way that was just sex.

There's also no way you're coming back from this.

Gyuri is probably going to kill you.

And that, obviously, your feelings for San never left. You feel the familiar warmth of them spreading through your post-orgasmic state. They're there, mocking you, asking you who the fuck you thought you were for pushing them away.

He returns, toilet paper in his hands before leaning in and cleaning you up, lips immediately finding home on your skin as he does.

You both giggle at that.

You probably need to shower but you've been crying and there's no way you're leaving this bed tonight. He throws the paper away on your bedroom’s trashcan and then crashes into the bed next to you, still naked, still looking at you with so much love you're wondering what stopped you from seeing it was there before.

Taking his hand, you bring it to his lip and give his knuckles a peck “That was really good.”

“It was.”

“I can't believe we actually just did that…”

He smiles and what he says next shocks you even more than his confession “I want to take you out.”

“San… You just came inside me not even ten minutes ago.”

“And?” you laugh and he shakes his head, leaning into your space again “I spent many years doing everything wrong, let me do it the right way.”

“Making love to me one time and then taking me out on a date is not the right way, sir.”

He nuzzles your cheek with his nose and you let out a pleased sigh “Who said it was just one time, huh?” Attacking your neck with his lips again, you push him away with a laugh.

“Oh, come on!”

He laughs as well “Give me ten minutes and I'll make it two!”

San makes love to you two more times. And by four in the morning, you're snuggled into his arms and sleeping soundly.

When you wake up and find the space next to you empty, you think it was all a dream. Your naked form begs to differ and you quickly put the t-shirt you usually wear to bed on and your panties underneath it to go out and face the feelings of your actions fighting with the blender in the kitchen.

“How do you two live with this stupid thing?”

“We don't,” you answer, startling him “We don't use it. What are you trying to make?”

San’s shirtless, wearing his pants and his hair messy. Looking back at the living room clock, you see it's just five past ten.

Smiling as he approaches you, you forget you must look a mess too when he pecks your lips and barely pulls away “Good morning, beautiful.”

You pretend to cringe at that, pulling away “Oh, God. Morning, dumbass.”

“You like it, you're blushing,” he points out and the pink on your cheek deepens as he's going back to the blender “Does anything work here?”

“The microwave,” you shrug “And the stove. Were you trying to make yourself a…” you look over the ingredients he has pulled out of your fridge “Green juice?”

“I was trying to make both of us a green juice,” he corrects and your heart skips at the immediate domestic attitude he has with you “But now I can tell neither of you drink anything like it, hm? I'm buying you a blender.”

“Please don't.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think that one is broken?”

He hums, huffing out a laugh seconds later and you walk over to him, unsure on how to approach him even though what you did yesterday night and earlier this morning didn't allow your shyness to step in.

Now you're feeling it.

He can tell, because he stops fighting with the steel appliances to grab your waist and pull you close “I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“We can make breakfast together and I can order your green juice,” you compromise and he nods, but he doesn't let you go “And later we can go out on that date you promised me yesterday and we can go over what we're going to tell the two idiots.”

His smile drops.

“Oh, fuck.”

Grimacing, you nod “It was the second thing I thought about after waking up.”

“What was the first?”

“Oh, I was trying to remember if you ever asked me to dance before,” he nods with a smile “Guess what? You didn't.”

He fake gasps at that “I did!”

“No, you didn't!”

“Babe, yes I did,” he insists and you laugh, which prompts him to wrap his hands around you tighter when you try to get away from him “It was when—”

“Oh. My. God. I'm going to be sick again.”

Now when the fuck did Gyuri come back.

And why is Wooyoung with her too, jaw slack as he watches both of you pull away from each other and create a safe distance that doesn't help whatever your best friends just saw.

“It worked?” he asks and you can barely hear him until he hollers like a crazy person “Oh, it worked! I am a genius!”

“Wooyoung, hold me! I'm going to kill them!” Gyuri looks like she's about to launch towards you at any second now, so you close your eyes and accept your fate. But nothing happens “Wait— What worked?”

When you open them again, San is hiding behind you and Gyuri’s back is to both of you as she looks at Wooyoung with, what you assume, murderous intentions.

“Gyuri, let's talk about this,” the black haired guy puts his hands up “You were too drunk to discuss it so I made the choice of— Gyuri, no!”

You burst into laughter when she starts chasing him around the apartment and San giggles as well, only more nervous than delighted by their little cat and mouse game.

He's probably sensing he's next on her hit list.

As if you would let anything happen to him in the first place.

“Stop, stop! I'm sorry, please leave me alone!” you hear Wooyoung’s voice echoing through your hall and in a second he's entering the kitchen, rounding you and San “I'm so happy for you guys, really, this was meant to happ— Stop!” He cries when Gyur catches onto him and yanks his hair to stop him from running.

“Y/N,” she starts, chest heaving and you take a step back, crashing into San’s chest. He holds onto you only to push you a little and protect himself from the fury of your best friend “When I told you fuck him I didn't meant this!”

“I know.”

Wooyoung whines but he can't get away from her grasp so he just accepts it and pouts like a child.

“A-and you!” She points towards the guy resting his chin on your shoulder “How dare you! If this is something casual for you then—”

“I love her.” He defends himself quickly and your heart all but stops at that.

“You do?” Wooyoung coos, amazed at his best friend’s confession.

Gyuri's anger falters at that.

“You… You do?”

“And I love him,” you let out in a shy whisper, smiling a bit “But you already knew that.”

“Of course I already knew that, bitch, I am your other half,” she makes a point to stare at San as she says it, letting Wooyoung go and he massages the part of his scalp that was targeted by his ex “Don't forget that.”

“Y-yes ma'am.”

You laugh again and Woo joins the embrace, eyeing you both expectantly and rolling his eyes when neither of you say anything to him “Well, you are so welcome guys. What are we having for breakfast?”

You and San don't get to go out on that date.

But when you do, he asks you to be his girlfriend the next day.

And when you say yes he almost breaks down in excited tears.

Eventually, even Gyuri comes around and threatens him into treating you right, which means he earned her seal of approval.

You delete the document on your laptop when you find it a month into being his girlfriend and, instead, start drafting your new beginning on it, in first person this time because the story doesn't feel like it belongs to someone else now.

The first line read as it follows:

How did I ever think San and I could be just friends?

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez hard hours #ateez reactions #ateez smut #choi san #choi san x reader #choi san smut #san smut #san x reader #san #san imagines #ateez x you #ateez x y/n #san x you #san x y/n #fic; wcbf.

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tsukisrants · 28 days ago

Text

The Help

pairing: choi san x afab! reader

word count: 11k

warnings: smut (i mean,,, it’s me), d/s undertones, reader is kind of a brat, brat tamer choi san (yes), unprotected sex, rough sex, manhandling, hair pulling, oral sex (female receiving), spit kink and play, spanking, praise, name calling, possessive sex, kind of a breeding kink?, creampie, past abusive relationship (so if that’s a trigger skip the first few paragraphs), reader is a badass (i love women), lots of teasing.

summary: you’re tired of your ex trying to control your life, and as you’re once again faced with him, you know you’ll have to rely on yourself to make it. but… things don’t go as planned, and for once, someone steps in, and helps you. instead of going home, you decide to give the stranger a chance at making your night memorable. and fuck, he does.

A part of you is scared. But more than fear, the emotion burning and growing in your chest is anger. Maybe even humiliation? So many feelings flicker incessantly through your body, and even when you try to reach out and grab hold of some, they mock you, swirling away, resuming their constant motion: their circus dance.

“Please, let me go,” you plead again. Because even though you’re angry, you’re trying to be clever. Trying to find a way out, trying to escape quickly and painlessly.

But he doesn’t seem to care. Jaewon grips your wrist with force, with arrogance. You’d like to say it’s something you’re not used to, but you’d be lying. Still, you swallow your tears. Even though too many have already fallen, and even though you wish you could push them back, you know it’s impossible.

“I told you to fucking listen to me!” he shouts. His eyes are bloodshot and god knows what else. His hair is disheveled, dark circles etched under his eyes. So far from the image you once had of him.

Jaewon was your boyfriend. He was, for a while. Nothing too serious, at least not for you. You ended things when he started becoming more aggressive, more inclined to control you. You ended things when you found pictures of other girls on his phone, and the undeniable proof that besides you, others had also warmed his bed.

He didn’t take it well. Constant messages, sometimes calls. He showed up under your apartment more than once, and now—now he waited for you outside the club you were heading to. He probably followed you from home or used whatever other insane method he thought of to keep tabs on you.

The fact is, you can’t do anything now. He’s gripping you tight, and he looks desperate. Nothing about this promises anything good.

People are ignoring it: some too afraid, others utterly indifferent. You’d like to blame them, but you don’t. Maybe you’ve always been used to indifference. It doesn’t surprise you at all. In fact, for you, it’s the norm. You’ve always had to take care of yourself. No one else ever did.

“I don’t want to! No… we’ve already said everything there was to say. We’re done, Jaewon. I’m done. Let me go and leave. Can’t you see you’re only making things worse?”

He doesn’t like you talking back. He doesn’t like you standing above him. And you are, fuck. You are, and pretty much anyone would be, compared to the scum you have in front of you. A small, petty, useless man. A coward.

“Y/n, watch your mouth, you hear me? Don’t piss me off more than you already have,” he growls, yanking you closer to him. With the boots you’re wearing, tripping is almost impossible. You hate being so close to him and try to push him away. But he takes advantage of it, and now he’s gripping both of your wrists, moving your body like it’s made of rags and forcing you to look him in the face.

“Look at how the fuck you’re dressed! Don’t you have a shred of respect for me? Don’t you feel ashamed?”

You’re exhausted. You want to scream, you want to shove him away and kick him until he feels the pain he’s causing you. And you hate it, hate that he’s trying to make you feel this way. You even hate that a tiny part of your brain is pushing you to feel guilty. But you don’t listen to it. You swallow your emotions and try to stay sharp because he deserves nothing. He doesn’t deserve your suffering, your reverence. He’s just a self-centered lunatic who wants something he knows he can’t have.

“I’ll dress however I want, I always have. I owe you nothing, Jaewon. And you’re hurting me, I told you. Go home before you do something you’ll regret.”

Despite everything, you can’t swallow down your own nature. As if some part of you still wants to protect him, too used to taking care of everyone and everything. But you’re at your limit. You just want some peace. You just want to enjoy your night. Better yet, your life.

“What’s this, are you threatening me?” he snaps back, a twisted laugh escaping from his lips bitten raw. He misunderstood because he always misunderstands everything—every word, every thought.

You don’t know how to get out of this. You don’t know what to do. It all keeps getting worse, second by second. You feel like you’re suffocating. You feel small, crushed under the weight of something far too big. But you want to be strong. Really, you desperately want to be. But more than anything, you wish you didn’t have to be. You wish you could be small, fragile. But safe.

You open your mouth to respond, even though resignation is already growing within you.

Something — someone — interrupts you.

“She’s not threatening you. But I am. Get your hands off her, buddy.”

You’re confused. This… this shouldn’t be happening. It never has before. No one has ever tried to help you, and it feels so surreal. But when you raise your eyes, you realize you’re wrong.

Your first thought, absurdly, is that the guy — the man — who spoke is one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen. Black hair, feline and intense eyes, broad shoulders. Jaewon’s jaw clenches. He’s not used to being interrupted, either.

But the nameless man has a hand gripping his arm, and he seems to be holding tight. And yet, his face shows little emotion. A stern gaze, but one that seems to soften slightly when it lands on you.

“Who the fuck is this? Someone you’re screwing, Y/n?”

The coward doesn’t have the guts to talk directly to him, so he keeps trying to belittle you, who are gasping, confused and scared, panic slowly growing in your chest. “No. But I am someone who’s about to hurt you really bad if you don’t let her go. You’re a pathetic worm, and I crush worms like you, buddy.”

Jaewon hesitates, his grip on your wrists loosening just a fraction. He looks at the guy up and down, a flash of doubt crossing his eyes. But then, like the pathetic creature he is, he tries to recover by puffing out his chest and snarling, “Mind your own fucking business, buddy. This is between me and her. Isn’t it, Y/n?”

The man’s gaze turns icier, his hand still gripping Jaewon’s arm like a steel vice. His expression remains calm, unsettlingly so, like he’s not even remotely threatened by the man in front of him. If anything, he looks vaguely irritated. Especially due to the fact that Jaewon tried to use you as a support for his own fucking tantrum.

“I don’t think you understand,” the man begins, his voice cutting through the night like a beacon. It’s something tangible where there was only darkness before. Maybe even a shred of hope. Salvation. “I’ve been polite up until now. Leave her alone.”

Jaewon seems stuck. Confused, maybe. You know him well enough to tell he’s seething with rage far beyond what he’s showing. But like the coward he is, he only targets those who seem defenseless, weaker than him. Jaewon doesn’t fight battles he knows he can’t win. “Fine,” he growls. It’s almost animalistic. His hands release your wrists with the same violence he used to grab them. He shoves you away, and you stumble a bit.

He doesn’t let go out of remorse or a guilty conscience. He lets go because he’s a coward.

The man next to you takes a step forward, steadying you. But before he can move any further, you find yourself clutching at the fabric of his shirt, desperate to keep him from leaving you alone.

Jaewon stalks off, radiating fury.

“Don’t leave me alone,” you whisper. You’re shocked by your own words because you never ask for help. It’s just not you. But now? Now you feel drained, overwhelmed, lost in a whirlwind of emotions you can’t fully process. And you don’t want this guy — this stranger who actually dared to intervene — to end up getting hurt because of someone as worthless as Jaewon. It wouldn’t be fair.

“No, hey, it’s okay. Everything’s fine now,” the man reassures you, his voice softer this time, actually addressing you directly. His gaze is completely different now: gentle, comforting. Still feline, yes, but more like a cat’s rather than a fierce predator’s.

“My name’s San,” he murmurs, and there’s a hint of shyness there, like he’s not used to introducing himself under these kinds of circumstances.

“I’m Y/n. Thank you, San. I didn’t think anyone… that anyone would help. You didn’t have to, but thank you. Really.”

San shakes his head, a tiny, dismissive smile curving his lips. But there’s something sad beneath that smile, something that looks almost like frustration. “No one was doing anything. I couldn’t just stand there and watch,” he mutters, his eyes casting sharp, judgmental looks at the bystanders — those who chose to do nothing yet couldn’t resist gawking at the scene.

“I’m used to it, don’t worry,” you reply with a sad smile of your own. Your body feels sluggish now, adrenaline bleeding away and leaving you with a mess of feelings you can’t quite untangle.

“Doesn’t make it right,” he counters, and the firmness of his words feels like a reminder, one you almost needed to hear. He gives you a little space, stepping back just enough to make sure you’re not uncomfortable. And that’s when you realize your hands are still clutching his shirt. You pull away as if you’ve been burned, embarrassment heating your cheeks. You mumble some kind of apology, but he quickly brushes it off.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to get you some water or something?” he asks, concern lacing his tone.

You shake your head. The ghost of Jaewon’s touch still lingers on your skin. “I’m fine, really. I just… I just need a minute.”

San doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push. You’re grateful for that, and grateful that he stays nearby, radiating a sense of security that feels so strange and new. “Take all the time you need,” he says, his eyes darting around as if making sure Jaewon’s really gone.

As your breathing steadies, you notice your whole body is trembling. You were planning to drink yourself into a carefree night at the club, not get stranded in the cold, fighting off the ghost of someone you never wanted to see again. You rub your arms, trying to warm yourself. The thin blouse and mini skirt you’re wearing do nothing to protect you from the chill.

“I owe you. Really,” you murmur, hating how weak your voice sounds. San shakes his head, almost annoyed by the thought of you owing him anything.

“You don’t owe me a thing. That guy’s a piece of shit, and you shouldn’t have to deal with his crap. No one should. I just did what was right,” he explains, and even as he speaks, he’s already shrugging off his leather jacket. Underneath, he’s wearing a simple black t-shirt that clings to him with an obsessive, almost painful elegance.

“Here, put this on,” he says, draping the jacket over your shoulders before you can even protest. Its weight is immediate and comforting, the warmth sinking into your skin and chasing away the last of your chills. It smells like him. Intense. Overwhelming. Alluring. And you hate that your first instinct is to bury your face in the collar and breathe him in like he’s the oxygen you’ve been starved of.

“Is that better?” he asks, his voice a little gentler now. And you can’t help but be thrown by how genuine he sounds, how every word feels like it’s meant just for you.

You nod, offering him a shy smile as you pull the jacket tighter around yourself. Your body’s finally starting to feel warm again. “Yeah, much better,” you reassure him, shrinking into the comfort of his jacket, trying to make yourself as small as possible within its safety.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" San asks, his gaze lingering on how your body all but vanishes within his jacket. His smile is soft, disarming, and you can’t help but notice how the delicate dimples decorating his face only enhance his allure. They’re a subtle charm, something that both fascinates and entices you in a way you can’t quite place.

You hesitate. Part of you wants to say yes. To go home, hide away, retreat to the safety of your four walls where everything is quiet and predictable. But you don’t want that. Not really. You refuse to hand Jaewon that satisfaction, to let him force you to abandon something you had planned for yourself. He's not worth it. And you've always promised yourself you wouldn’t sacrifice any part of who you are for anyone, especially not a man. And if that man is that sleazy idiot Jaewon, then your resolve is all the more unshakable.

So, you shake your head. And while your decision feels uncertain at first, the moment you take a long, grounding breath, you know you’re making the right choice.

“No,” you murmur, your shoulders tightening slightly before relaxing again. “I still want to drink and have fun. If I go home now, then he wins, right?”

Something flickers in San’s expression, a curious mixture of pride and admiration. His head bobs in an immediate nod, that dimple of his still very much present. “Exactly. Good. You shouldn’t let him think he has any power over you.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, a trace of hesitation lacing your movements. San is gorgeous. One of the most beautiful men you’ve ever laid eyes on, if not the most beautiful, period. Maybe it’s irrational, maybe it’s reckless, but who could blame you for trying to salvage something good out of an otherwise disastrous night?

“But if you want…” you begin, and his whole face seems to light up, feline eyes glittering with something rich and deliciously intense. “If you want, you could still keep me company? I was thinking of having a drink, clearing my head... But I don’t know if you had plans or needed to meet up with someone.”

San’s response is immediate, as if he’s been waiting to hear those words. His hand moves to brush back a rebellious lock of pitch-black hair that frames his face just so, making him look even more captivating. “Gladly. No, I... just some friends, but nothing important. I’ll send them a message. Mingi’s probably already out cold, anyway,” he explains with a casual shrug, as if you have any clue who the hell Mingi is.

But that’s not the point. The point is that San is here, offering his time and attention like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And maybe, just maybe, tonight doesn’t have to end as badly as it started. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. His answer comes so easily, so naturally, like being here with you is exactly where he wants to be. And that thought alone makes your heart stutter a little.

“Okay,” you say, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I hope your friends don’t get too mad at you for ditching them.”

San’s laugh is low, rich, with an edge of something playful that tugs at your nerves. “If anything, they’ll be relieved. Especially if Mingi’s already passed out somewhere. He’s a lot to handle, believe me.”

You chuckle, the tension easing from your shoulders bit by bit. “Sounds like a wild group.”

“You have no idea.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting under the dim lights as he studies you. Not just looks at you, but really studies you, like you’re something worth figuring out. You don’t miss the way his eyes seem to flicker down to your exposed legs, nor the way his ears get red when he notices you caught him staring. “But right now, I’d much rather get to know you,” he adds, a boldness to his tone that you don’t know whether it’s genuine or fake.

You take a breath. The umpteenth one of the night. You smile, because even when courage feels distant, you force yourself to embody it. You force yourself to give everything you have, no matter the cost. Even when it feels like you have nothing left to give.

You take a step. Timid, maybe, but determined. The next one feels almost scorching. You reach out and take San’s hand. Your fingers slip between his, intertwining so naturally it’s like they were always meant to fit. San’s eyes widen, surprise flickering across his face as a gorgeous flush blooms along his cheeks. The sight leaves your own skin blazing, but even through the embarrassment, you push forward, daring to claim what you want.

Heat rushes through you, sweet sparks dancing across your skin—tiny, glowing constellations sparking to life wherever your bodies connect. You lift your gaze to his, and it’s like he’s already wrapping himself around you, his presence both sheltering and electric. That intoxicating sense of protection lingers, and you already feel yourself starting to get addicted to it.

Your lashes flutter, but your eyes remain locked on his, a magnetic pull neither of you seems willing to break. His breathing has quickened, his grip tightening around your hand like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

“So, are you coming with me?” you whisper, your voice low and daring, trembling with all the possibilities hanging between you. His lips part, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that threatens to unravel you. But that’s fine. Because something about this moment feels real. Raw. Undeniably yours.

San licks his lips, and the he pulls you closer, his grip possessive and protective all at once. “Lead the way,” he murmurs, voice roughened by something you can’t quite name.

The club looms ahead, lights spilling out from the entrance, throbbing with bass-heavy music and the echo of laughter. You hesitate, but only for a moment, before tugging San forward, your fingers never breaking from his. As you step inside the club that was on other side of the street, the atmosphere swallows you both whole. You don’t usually go out clubbing, but when you do, you easily lose yourself to the feeling.

Neon lights slash through the darkness, painting everything in shades of electric blue and crimson. Bodies move and sway to the music’s hypnotic pulse, but it’s the warmth of San’s hand entwined with yours that makes your pulse stutter.

He leans in, his lips dangerously close to your ear, his voice low and tempting. “So, was this part of your plan? Dragging me in here just to keep me close?” The playful accusation sends heat spiraling through your chest. You meet his gaze, your smile taunting.

Despite the music, all you can hear it’s him.

“Maybe. But I wouldn’t call it dragging if you’re the one holding on so tightly.”

He chuckles, the sound dark and smooth, his dimple flashing as he looks at you like you’re the most captivating thing in the room. “Touché. Guess I’m not letting go anytime soon, then.”

“Is that promise?” you answer, tongue darting out of your mouth to wet your lips, his face following the way your lipstick stained lips shine under the lights of the club. “Maybe. Or a threat. It depends.”

You shake your head, but your answer gets lost when someone bumps against your shoulder as they pass by. San is quick: he tugs at your wrist, making you fall against his chest.

“Got you,” he says, looking proud of himself from doing so.

“Seems like it,” you answer, and he looks extremely pleased with the way you two seem to be playing the same game.

“You’re good at this,” you murmur, trying to sound nonchalant despite the way your heart is racing. He raises an eyebrow. “At what?”

“At making me forget about everything else,” you admit, softer than you intended.

San’s gaze softens, and his smile turns almost tender, though there’s still that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” he replies. “Never said it was,” you say, your body starting to tremble with the way the music dances around you two.

“Drinks?” he asks, titling his head towards the bar and pointing at it with his chin. You nod immediately, and San takes the lead, making you follow him as he makes room for the both of you in the endless sea of bodies that fill the space around you guys.

You reach the counter, and San leans over the bar with confidence, catching the bartender’s attention with a wave and ordering something you vaguely recognize as potent and smooth. Strawberry flavored, for the both of you. You like it, that that’s what he would choose for himself. He does indeed own a sweet vibe that you can’t quite capture.

When the drinks arrive, he slides yours toward you, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment—enough to make your breath hitch. He watches you intently as you take a sip, his own glass untouched.

“Good?” he asks, and instead of answering with words you decide to chug the drink down in one go, the alcohol immediately flooding your body and making your mind foggy enough to make the air thicken around you. “That’s my girl!” he says, laughing as he mirrors your gesture, a droplet of the drink spilling from his lips and leaving a sweet trace on his chin that he quickly dries with a flick of his thumb.

You’re momentarily stunned, your heart caught between beats. San doesn’t break eye contact, and suddenly the air between you feels charged, like a wire pulled too tight. Your instincts scream at you to look away, to break the tension before it swallows you whole—but you don’t. You can’t. You wouldn’t even dream of it.

“Let’s dance,” you say, the words slipping from your lips with more confidence than you feel. San’s smile blooms, wicked and beautiful, and before you can second-guess yourself, he’s leading you into the crowd, his fingers still interlaced with yours.

Once you reach the center of the floor, San doesn’t hesitate. His hands find your waist, fingers curling around you with a firmness that sends a fresh rush of heat through your skin. The music thrums low and sensual, and without needing any more invitation, you start to move.

At first, it’s just you finding your own rhythm, letting the beat guide your hips. But San matches you with ease, his body moving against yours with a grace that leaves you breathless. It’s like he’s made for this, the way his touch seems to melt into you, every subtle shift bringing you closer until there’s barely any space left between you.

His body is a dream. And on top of that, he knows how to use it. Your brain really has a hard time processing all that it’s happening, but you don’t find it in yourself to care. You keep moving, your bodies swaying in perfect sync, the music’s rhythm melting into the charged heat between you. San’s hands roam over your body like he’s memorizing every curve, every line, as if he’s known them all along. And you let him. You let him touch and explore, your defenses slipping away with each lingering brush of his fingers.

Your hands find their place behind his neck, your fingers pressing against the warm, feverish skin there. It feels like fire, a burn that leaves you craving more instead of pulling away.

Your fingertips glide through his hair, slow and testing, and you catch the way his eyes flutter shut the moment you touch him. His breath stumbles, just for a second, and it’s enough to make something wild unfurl in your chest.

Taking it as encouragement, you let your hands dive deeper into his hair, threading through the silky strands with a confidence you didn’t realize you had. The delicate texture brushes against your skin, soft but electric, feeding your courage. Then, with deliberate pressure, you tug at a few strands, savoring the sensation of his hair tightening against your grip.

The reaction is immediate. A deep, guttural sound vibrates from San’s chest, spilling into the air between you with a rawness that makes your own pulse stutter. His eyes snap open, dark and molten, searching yours.

But you don’t back down. You hold his gaze, your hands still tangled in his hair, daring him to show you more of that unguarded desire simmering beneath the surface. You want him to break. You need him to.

“Was that on purpose, Y/n?” he rasps, his voice thick and unsteady, the sound of it rumbling from deep within his chest. His lips are so close to your ear that his breath fans over your skin, hot and tantalizing.

“I don’t know, was it?” you bite back, mischievous and sweet, teasing him. You love the way your name sounds as it leaves his mouth. He smirks, and you can’t help but do the same.

“Looks like I found myself a little brat,” he comments, clearly amused by your antics. “Think you can handle it?” you ask, and just to prove your point, you tug again, just a little harder, and the way his jaw clenches makes your head spin.

His eyes flash, that competitive spark flaring to life. “Oh, I know I can, little one. But now you’ve got me curious. Just how far are you planning to push me tonight? Just how much you think you can take?” As he talks, San’s hands never stray far from you, his touch alternating between gentle and possessive, like he’s trying to figure out exactly how much of you he can claim. Little does he know, he already has it all. But, to be honest, you like the idea of him working for it a little bit.

“Sannie,” you start, smiling at him and enjoying the way the nickname seems to get through his skin, “I can take it all. And more.”

“Fuck,” he groans, eyes closing for a second. You’re making him lose his composure, and you couldn’t be more proud of yourself. “You’re impossible,” he murmurs, but the way his eyes roam over your face, lingering on your lips, makes it clear he wouldn’t have you any other way. “I should’ve known you’d be trouble from the moment I saw you.”

“Yeah, maybe you should have. But it’s too late now,” you tease, your nails digging into the skin of his neck, probably leaving tiny red marks as you keep on touching him.

Before you can think better of it, your fingers trail down his neck, brushing against his collarbone before settling on his chest. His heartbeat thunders beneath your touch, matching the wild rhythm of your own. “San…” His name falls from your lips like a plea, and you don’t even know what you’re asking for.

But he knows. Somehow, despite not even knowing you, San seems to know exactly what you need, like he’s reading you with a precision that leaves you breathless. Maybe it’s because it’s what he needs, too. You like to think so.

His hands tighten around your hips with a bruising force, and you gasp, the blend of pain and pleasure coiling hot and restless in your chest. His grip is possessive, commanding, and the way he handles your body leaves your legs trembling.

“I could make you say it out loud,” he whispers, his voice thick and dripping with wickedness. “Make you ask for it. Maybe even beg for what you want.” His face is so close to yours, his words brushing against your skin like a scorching caress. Your heart slams against your ribcage, your pulse a frantic beat under his ruthless attention.

“But maybe later, yeah? Right now, I think you deserve a little reward.”

And then he kisses you.

There’s nothing gentle about it: just pure, unfiltered hunger and greed crashing into you violently. His mouth claims yours, desperate and demanding, and it feels like everything suddenly clicks into place. His lips are rough and consuming, his tongue sliding against yours with a skill that leaves you reeling. And you try, you really do, to seize control of the kiss, to meet his intensity with your own. But it’s useless. He overpowers you effortlessly, his dominance written in every movement, every searing touch.

He tastes like everything you’ve been craving and everything you’re afraid to lose yourself to. He tastes like danger. Like hope.

You claw at his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscle beneath his shirt, but it only seems to encourage him. He loves how desperate you are. His grip on you tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin with a force that leaves you aching and dizzy.

“You’re trying so hard to fight it, aren’t you?” he taunts against your lips, his voice a low, sinful rasp. “Pretending you’re not dying to give in. Pretending it doesn’t make you wet that I’m so much stronger than you. That I’m in control.”

His words sting, but you can’t deny the truth tangled within them. The way your body trembles under his touch, the way your pulse races at the sound of his voice, it all betrays you. Your own body.

“I’m not pretending anything,” you bite back, but even you can hear the waver in your voice. It doesn’t matter. Not really.

“No?” His lips trail along your jaw, leaving a trail of sinful kisses over your skin. “Good girls don’t lie.”

Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a ragged groan from him. You want to claw back some control, to make him feel even a fraction of the desperation he’s stirring in you.

“Never said I was one” you manage to say, breath heavy and tone not convincing at all.

“Oh, princess.” His laughter is low, charged with an amusing darkness. “Then I’ll just have to turn you into one.” A promise, a threat. The middle point, the perfect balance, the unbreakable intertwining of the two. Your chest rises and falls quickly, each breath you take feels almost solid, tangible.

In the whole room, there’s only one thing: San. San. San.

“I’ll have fun watching you try, then,” you reply, your tongue darting out to wet your lips just a bit. San loves the way you challenge him; it’s more than obvious by now. His excitement is as palpable as yours, and in the surrealism of what’s unfolding between you two, everything feels perfectly right.

“Come home with me, then. So I can prove you wrong.” San’s words cut through everything. He looks at you with something you’re not sure you can read. His eyes are dark, determined, but you catch a hint of hesitation and sweetness. Yours probably look the same.

It’s not like his request surprises you all that much, and yet, you feel completely caught off guard.

San’s hands don’t leave you, their warmth keeping you anchored to reality. His grip is firm, certain.

“I’m never wrong,” you say to him. It’s not a yes, not yet. San waits, patiently. You love that he doesn’t push, not even a little. “But maybe you’ve earned a little sympathy from me, Sannie. So I’ll give you a chance.”

He smiles. The reaction is immediate. His face lights up, and a soft giggle escapes your chest, too.

“You should be grateful we’re in a public place and your skirt is short, or I would’ve already thrown you over my shoulder,” he explains. You rise onto your toes and, with all the naturalness in the world, press your lips to his for just an instant. He’s caught off guard but clearly pleased by your boldness.

“Already feeling jealous, San?”

He rolls his eyes. Bingo.

He leans in, just enough that his breath grazes your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Keep talking like that and we won’t even make it to my place.”

Your laugh is soft, a little breathless. “And here I thought you had more self-control, San.”

“Self-control, y/n?” His smile is sharp, eyes darkening as they trace over you with an unapologetic hunger. “I have just enough to get us out of here without breaking all the rules. After that...” His gaze drifts down your body, then back to your eyes, voice low. “...I make no promises.”

You don’t bother hiding your smirk. “Then what are you waiting for, Sannie?”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s like he was waiting for you to say those exact words. His hand finds yours once again, grip firm and impatient as he leads you through the crowd, the thrum of music and conversation fading to nothing.

Outside, the air is cooler, but it does nothing to dampen the heat sparking off of San. His fingers are still tangled with yours, and when he looks at you, you swear the city lights reflect his grin, sharp and electric. The moon touches his face gently, kissing his beautiful honey skin. Unreal. That’s how you’d describe him.

Then… it’s all hurried. He calls for a taxi, and you guys fight yourselves to keep your hands in place, trying hardly not to make a mess in the backseat of the car as a complete stranger drives you home. It’s- comforting. He tells you a little about himself: he dances. Teaches a class to kids to earn some money between his jobs as a dancer. Tells you you probably have seen him in some music videos in the past. Promises he’ll sing for you one day.

One day. The promise of a tomorrow.

Once you reach his place, though, there’s no time left for pleasantries. He holds your hands as he guides you to his door, and once inside his apartment the small talk dies.

Flames arise, and you’re ready to run through hell with him. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, San’s hands are on you, pressing you back against the wall with a hunger that’s only grown since that first playful exchange.

“I’ve been waiting for this all night,” he murmurs, voice thick and heavy. His eyes search yours, still checking, still giving you room to pull away. “Well,” you whisper, breathless and smiling. “Good things come to those who wait, right?”

The jacket he landed you falls on the ground, and he mutters a curse under his breath as he looks at you.

His lips are on yours before you even finish the sentence, though, all heat and intensity, the kind that leaves you dizzy and clutching at his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping you upright. And maybe he is. So strong and perfectly built, his body is towering over yours, making you feel small and helpless in the most delicious way.

The kiss you share is ravenous, a desperate clash of tongues and teeth. His mouth claims yours with an urgency that leaves you breathless. His tongue and yours twist and tangle, battling for dominance, as his teeth nip at your swollen lips. The small, unbidden moans slipping from your mouth only spur him on, his own growls of pleasure vibrating against you.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he groans against your lips, his voice thick and ragged. His breath fans over your skin, hot and impatient.

He doesn’t hesitate. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you from the ground like it’s nothing, pressing your body flush against his. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, your hips grinding against his without thought or restraint. You can feel how hard he is, the strained bulge of his pants rubbing between your legs, igniting heat that leaves you trembling. Your skirt rides up, leaving you scandalously exposed to him, and you catch the wicked glint in his eyes as he notices.

“Impatient,” you murmur, but your voice is breathless, betraying your own eagerness. His mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before sucking hard enough to leave you shivering. His grip tightens, his fingers digging possessively into your thighs as he carries you with firm, determined strides. You cling to his shoulders, the world around you a blur of shadows and heat. The only thing that matters is him.

He pushes the door open with his shoulder, his eyes never leaving you as he kicks it shut behind him. His bedroom is dim, but you barely register the surroundings. All you feel are his hands on your skin, his mouth teasing and tasting wherever he pleases.

“You have no idea,” he growls, his lips tracing along your jaw before his tongue flicks over your lower lip, drawing a shiver from you. “I don’t know how I stopped myself from lifting your skirt and fucking you on the dance floor in front of everyone.”

“You should have,” you moan, hands rubbing at his shoulders. “I would have let you.”

“You can’t just say shit like that, fuck,” he groans, his desperation palpable.

“Look at you,” he murmurs against your lips, voice low and filled with something almost primal. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You swallow, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as his mouth moves to your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His teeth scrape over your pulse point, a wicked smirk playing at his lips when he feels the way your body arches into him.

“San…” his name falls from your lips, a needy plea. It only seems to drive him further. You’d say more, but the words die in your throat, leaving space only to desperate little sounds that would make you blush in any other occasion.

“Say it again,” he growls, his hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin with infuriating gentleness. “Let me hear you. Say my name.”

“San,” you whisper, your voice trembling with desire, your nails digging into his shoulders as you press yourself even closer, arching your back to try and get some friction, your core pulsing and your panties getting wetter by the second.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and then he’s moving again, carrying you effortlessly until you reach the edge of his bed. You fall onto the mattress, and he’s on top of you in an instant, his weight pressing you down, his body fitting perfectly against yours.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve been wanting this,” he murmurs, his voice rough and drenched in heat. “Every time I looked at you tonight, all I could think about was this. You. Spread out beneath me, exactly where you belong.”

“Show me,” you whisper, hands moving to grab his shirt and pull at it, working with the fabric to ask him to take the useless piece of clothing off. “Show me what you wanted to do to me, Sannie. You promised. You said you’d make me good. Fucking do it already.”

It was the right thing to say. “Watch your mouth, brat,” he bites back, looking at you like he wants to devour you whole.

San finally takes his shirt off, and what you see almost takes your breath away.

He’s perfect, so much that looking at him is almost painful. His skin shines like honey, his muscles are defined and imposing, and his body honestly looks like a wet dream come true.

San licks his lips. His smirk makes your head spin. He grabs your legs, moving your body around like one would do with a doll. He takes your boots off, and as he does that he kisses your ankles, looking at you in the eyes and sending shivers through your whole body. Your boots are soon forgotten as they fall on the ground with a loud noise.

You play with the buttons of your blouse, teasing him. One. Then the other. You espose yourself to his hungry gaze, anticipation mounting into you and making your hands tremble.

When it finally falls open, San almost rips it off of you. “No bra?” he asks, hands moving from your sides up to your breasts, grabbing them and squeezing, making you hiss in pain. “Dirty girl,” he comments, thumbs rubbing against your sensitive nipples.

You fight your own body, and force yourself to keep your eyes open as your hips move to meet his, your aching pussy begging for attention as you try and rub it against his clothed cock.

“Want it that bad?” he asks, pinching one of you nipples and making you almost cry out in pain. Tears pool at your eyes, and his hips are finally being pushed against your core, too. The length of his cock rubbing over your soaked panties.

You feel helpless, really. You want— you need him to touch you. You need to touch him. So your hands move frantically, trying to reach his pants and their button, your fingers rubbing against his bulge and making him hiss at the feeling. He lets go of your breasts, reaching for your wrists instead and stopping you from getting his pants off of him. “Good girls ask for permission,” he says.

Your eyes roll at the back of your head in frustration, and you try to escape his grip, but to no avail. He’s way stronger than you.

“Fuck, fuck, San, take them off. Please, wanna see you, wanna feel you,” you beg, way too impatient to get his cock inside of you to keep teasing him about it.

San smiles, “you can do better than that, can’t you? But this will have to do for now.”

You really wanna cuss him out, but you stop yourself when he starts to finally take those useless pants off, showing not only his bulge, but those sinful, strong legs of his. The sight is too much for you to take, so as you spread your legs wider, you decide to tease him some more.

You shift your hips, pulling up your skirt up until it’s resting all crumbled against your belly, exposing your wet panties to him. Your fingers start to rub against your own pussy with hunger, your clit begging to be touched and relieved.

San’s eyes go wide at the sight, and you watch as he grabs his own bulge in return, hips moving forward as he fucks into his own hand as he watches your pitiful attempts at pleasuring yourself.

“I’m so wet for you, Sannie,” you whisper, moans escaping your lips as you arch you back to get more friction against your cunt.

“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you? Fuck, look at that, Y/n… Pull those panties to the side. Show me that pretty little hole, yeah?”

“It’s all yours, Sannie,” you whisper, eyelashes fluttering as you grab the fabric of your panties and pull them to the side. Air hits your core, and the cold makes you shiver all over. Your hole pulses with the need to be filled, and your lips are glistening with the thickness of your arousal.

San’s eyes burn your skin. He seems completely lost in the sight of your pussy exposed to him. Enough that impatient starts to show off on him, too. He pulls his boxers down, and reveals his cock to you. “Fuck,” you moan, cause you just can’t help yourself. It’s long. Thick, with veins running through the length. The tip is such a pretty shade of pink, shiny with droplets of his pleasure. Your mouth waters at the sight, and your mouth starts to feel empty, too.

What you’re feeling is so intense it’s overwhelming. It leaves you stunned, breathless, your body feverish and desperate for relief.

For a fleeting moment, you think of Jaewon and everyone who came before him—how utterly insignificant they seem now, more than ever. How San is beyond their reach, and maybe even beyond the rest of the world’s.

Standing naked before you, San looks like a dream. Even you can barely believe it, as if he’s nothing but a mirage. But he’s not, because his breath matches yours, its warmth colliding with your skin.

A delicious reminder that, tonight, the most beautiful man in the world is yours. And if you have any say in it, you’ll do everything to keep him close.

But what you don’t see is how San’s eyes drink you in, reverent and hungry all at once. To him, you are the very thing dreams are made of—something precious, fragile, yet burning with a fire that matches his own. San’s world narrows to the space between you, his thoughts muddled and clear all at once: he wants to be yours just as fiercely as you want him to be.

It’s your resolve that breaks first, and you find yourself taking your panties off, throwing them at his face. He laughs, and you do the same thing. But his eyes never cease to hide darkness.

His hand grabs the fabric, and you see him mouth at your panties, lips running through the wet cotton. It’s so fucking dirty, that you can’t help but raise on your hips and pull yourself up, your hands reaching for his neck.

You pull him down with you, making him fall on top of your body. You kiss him through your own fucking panties in what has to be the most desperate, nasty kiss of your own life.

Spit mixed with your own juices, the texture of it all fucked up and weird in a way that makes you even more desperate. San growls against your mouth, his hands going back to your breasts first, before one leaves to trace your body up to your neck. You freeze as the loudest moan of the night leaves your throat, and the panties finally fall on the bed, now forgotten.

“You like that?” he asks, testing the waters. “What do you think?” you reply, forcing yourself to be a brat just a little longer.

“I think you like it. I think you want me to be rough, and that’s why you keep being a brat. You want me to make it hurt, baby? You just had to fucking ask.”

And then- then his grip gets tighter. Just as he pushes down his hips, your pussy welcoming his hard cock. The tip slides easily against your abused clit, and as breathing becomes harder, you find yourself spreading your legs even wider than before. “Look at you,” he whispers, laughing softly. “So pathetic, huh? Cock makes you stupid, little one. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You want to deny, really. But I’d be useless. You both know it. So you do what you do best: you take. You take and moan and feel.

San seems pretty satisfied, and while he never lets go of the grip he has on your neck, his other hand reaches your face. “Open,” he orders, tapping on your chin. Your mouth falls open almost immediately. “Tongue out,” he adds. You obey.

“Good girl,” he praises, making you moan.

“If it’s too much- anything. If anything is too much, you tell me, okay?” Softness. His tone caressing you. You nod, you voice it out. “Yes,” you say. He nods, then he spits. He spits in your mouth, and you feel the thickness of it as the juice slides on your tongue.

“Make them wet,” he says. Then he pushes two of his fingers inside your mouth. His skin is both soft and rough: hjs body must require hours in the gym, and you don’t have to wonder why his hands have that weight to them.

“You like it, don’t you? Having your little mouth full. I can see it. You’re humping me like a bitch in heat, princess.”

His fingers get more rough: he rubs them inside your mouth, pushes them down your throat and makes you choke a little, the passage tight from the grip he still has on your neck. “W-wish t’was your cock,” you manage to blurt out, words slurred as your mouth gets filled up.

“Yeah, baby? Fuck, you’d feel so good choking on it. A little cock sleeve for me, your head empty as you only have to fucking suck and get messy for me.”

You nod, moaning desperately. He chuckles, and then your mouth is empty. But- but then your pussy isn’t. He takes those wet, shiny fingers down, and pushes them between your legs. He finds your hole easily, and those two fingers are pushed inside your pussy without care. It drags a loud moan from you, and San starts to fuck you with them immediately, curling them up just the way you love, his thumb rubbing at your clit.

“So tight, fuck,” he groans, leaving your neck. He raises a little, cause he wants to fucking look at the ways your pussy swallows his fingers hungrily. They disappear inside of you and your walls clench over them, trying to get them as deep as possible.

“More, more, please,” you moan, your hands replacing his as you touch your breasts before his eyes. “Shit,” he whispers. “You’re gonna kill me, baby,” he groans, the slide of his fingers loud as squelching sounds come from your hungry core. You raise a little and look down, too, desperate enough to want to have the sight of his hand glistening with your wetness engraved into your mind forever.

Pleasure builds up from all the arousal you’ve felt during the night, and you almost feel like crying as San takes pity on you and decides to rub more constantly at your puffed clit, his thumb making circular movements to help you reach your climax.

“G-gonna… you’re gonna make me cum,” you groan, fighting your own body to keep your eyes open. You want to see: him, his body, his face. Everything. “Ask. Be good, Y/n. Ask for fucking permission, or else.”

It’s too much. His tone, his stern voice, the threat lingering behind his words. You can’t take it anymore, and your whole body starts to tense up as your legs being to tremble uncontrollably.

“Let me- let me, please. Sannie, m’gonna cum, let me, please, please, can I? I can’t- I’m going to…”

“Cum. Fucking cum over my fingers, princess. Be a good little slut and make a mess for me.”

That’s all you needed. You fall back onto the mattress, pitiful moans leaving your mouth as you hiccup through your own pleasure. San keeps fucking his fingers into you, your orgasm seeming to never end as you comply to his orders and make a huge mess of the sheets and of his fingers, wetness gushing out of your reddened pussy as you clench hardly over his hand, sucking in his fingers as they own you from the inside.

He guides you as you try and gather some control over yourself. Your hair is a mess, your skin flushed red and nipples so hard it hurts. A thin layer of sweat covers your skin, and you can see that the same thing goes for him.

He pats you, fingers leaving your body: he gives your overwhelmed pussy a few light slaps, a weak scream leaving your mouth as pleasure and pain seem to electrify you all of a sudden, making you take deep hurried breaths to keep yourself grounded. “Made me so proud,” he praises, and as he does that he brings his own hand to his face, tongue moving sinfully as he licks his fingers before your eyes, moaning as you juices invade and dominate his tastebuds. “Such a sweet pussy,” he comments, and something seems to flash before his eyes like a sudden realization.

He bends over, folding you in a half as he moves you around by the back of you thighs, face disappearing in between your legs as he attacks your cunt, licking at the skin to clean your own mess up.

You grab onto his hair, pulling at it in the way he so clearly likes, and the tip of his tongue fucks into you a few times, making your head spin.

“Gonna… Sannie, you’re gonna make me cum again if you keep doing that,” you warn him, legs closing around his head as you can’t help but ride his tongue which is now torturing your clit. You’re all puffy and wet, and San shows you no mercy, moaning loudly against your pussy. You see that he’s basically humping the bed under him, and the sight is so dirty that it brings you painfully close to the edge.

“Do it,” he groans, “give me another one, princess. Squirt your juices on my face, wanna taste you.”

How could you deny him? You scream his name: both because he loves it when you do it and because there’s nothing else your mind knows apart from that right now. Just: San. San. San. And his fucking magical tongue, apparently.

The second orgasm of the night is as powerful as the first, if not more due to the extreme overstimulation. Despite the pain, it’s still insane. Your body trembles all over, and your eyes roll at the back of your head until San slows down, lazily lapping at your lips and at your thighs, cleaning them up. “Fuck, you’re so hot when you cum, wish I could stay trapped between your legs all fucking night.”

He keeps kissing your legs, allowing you some time to regain control over yourself. He bites, too. Sucks on the skin to leave what surely are gonna be pretty marks. He rubs his cheek over the inside of your thighs, and then he helps you out of your skirt, which was still all ruffled over your waist.

San looks almost possessed, chin wet with a mixture of spit and of your pleasure, a satisfied smile on his face that makes him look like the happiest man in the whole world.

“Kiss me, please,” you ask, eyes heavy as you make grabby hands at San, feeling vulnerable yet safe. He doesn’t make you wait, kissing you immediately. Your lips meet once again, and you don’t dwell too much on the reason why it feels so right to be kissing him, rather focusing on the way you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

“Please, Sannie,” you whisper against his lips, “Fuck me. Wanna get fucked so bad, please. Wanna make you feel good,” you add, moaning as you let out all the begging you had been keeping down.

“Precious, you’re so precious,” he grunts, licking inside your mouth as he takes your legs and forces them open. You lick your hand, spit covering your skin.

You’re touching his cock now, having it into your hand and tugging at it, hand sliding over his length and rubbing at the tip, making him moan and whimper. It’s a delicious sound.

“So big,” you comment, guiding San’s cock to your pussy. “Such a big cock, Sannie. Biggest cock i’ve ever had, baby. You’re gonna split me in a half. Gonna have to make it fit, Sa-“. He interrupts you, probably going crazy at the thought of any other man ever coming close to you.

He just— pushes inside. In one sinful stroke. No condom, just raw skin against raw skin, all thanks to you mentioning being on the pill on your taxi ride back home.

It’s insane, cause yours weren’t lies. He really has the biggest dick you’ve ever had, and it’s stretching you open beautifully. You feel it all the way inside your belly, and even to the point in which you could feel in your fucking throat.

“Take it,” he says, looking down at where your bodies meet, “take it all. Take my fucking cock, baby. Gonna be the last cock you ever fucking take. Gonna keep you, yeah? Gonna keep you all to myself.”

Should it scare you? You don’t know. But it doesn’t, cause that’s what you’re thinking too. You want no one else. After this, it has to be him. He has to be yours. You have to be his.

“Gonna- my cock. It’s my cock now, Sannie,” you reply, smiling happily as you get stretched over him, the tip of his cock reaching so deep inside of your body you can feel it hit your fucking cervix. It’s so good, you already feel yourself getting dumb from it. “It’s mine, all mine. And m’yours. Fuck me like I’m yours, Sannie. Ruin me, hurt me, anything, please.”

He won, after all. He won and you’re happy he did, cause you wanted to lose to him ever since the start of the night.

“You’re mine. My pretty princess. My beautiful little slut. I found you, huh? Not gonna let you go.”

And now he’s fucking you. His cock slides in and out of your body, balls hitting you as he hurriedly moves inside of your throbbing cunt.

His forehead glistens with sweat, and you move your head to slide your tongue over the skin of his neck, the taste salty yet sweet. You suck on the skin, feeling something primal that shouts at you to mark him up. He must like it, cause he buries himself deeper inside of you as you lap and bite at his neck.

“Harder, please… fuck me harder,” you beg as your nails run through his back, leaving pretty red marks on his skin. “Yeah? Harder, baby?” he asks, smirk appearing in his face alongside his pretty dimple, feline eyes burning into your skin.

While you nod, he leaves. He leaves you empty and begging, and you feel yourself on the verge of tears as soon as he does. But he’s quick to take care of it, and he manhandles you around, moving you around until you’re face down ass up on the bed, all spread open for him as your pussy spasms with the need of being filled up again.

San spanks you a few times, ass moving with the force of his hits. You moan out each time, pushing back against him cause you seem to never have enough of it. Grabbing you by the hips, San finally sinks down back inside your cunt, balls hitting your clit now, adding yet another feeling to the overwhelming mixture of sensations you’re feeling now.

“Let’s see,” he murmurs, and you bend your neck to be able to see the wicked expression he’s showing now. He grabs you by the hair and fucking yanks, making you cry out in pain as he practically bends you in a half, “you like it, doll? huh? pulling my hair at the club and thinking you could fucking get away with it?” he growls into your ear, tongue lapping at your earlobe and sucking it into his mouth.

“Say you’re sorry, whore. Say sorry for being a fucking brat, be a good girl.”

For a moment, everything spirals into madness: a fierce, unrelenting overload of emotions and sensations. Tears stream from your glossy, reddened eyes, your face a wreck of smudged makeup, ruined and raw. Your mouth hangs open, a thin trail of saliva connecting your parted lips to your chin. You are the very image of desperate slut.

And yet, it’s time to confess.So you nod, crying beautifully through the wreckage. “Sorry, sorry, San, I’m sorry,” you babble, a frantic litany of apologies spilling from your trembling lips, earning an amused grunt from him, who hasn’t stopped fucking you.

He’s rough with it, touching your body all over. Holding you up by the hair and making it hurt just like you asked, fucking his cock into you over and over again, the sound of it nasty and loud. He pushes you closer to your limit, stuffing your mouth full of his fingers and commenting on how debauched you look. “Filled up from both ends just like you deserve, baby. Happy? Yeah, look at that pretty smile of yours, princess. You just love getting stuffed, it’s so hot.” His words are filthy, humiliating, and they burn at the pit of your stomach, making your arousal grow bigger than your own self.

You can’t answer, cause your mouth is getting pulled open by his fingers. He’s fucking them inside, holding your mouth open and making you make a mess of yourself as spit falls from your lips and reaches your neck.

Right before it gets too much, he lets go, using the hand that was in your hair to push your face back into the mattress, pushing you down using his strength and making you feel extremely overpowered.

“Stay fucking there. You stay there and take it, you hear me? Take my cock, Y/n, you were made for it,” he orders, and you feel how he’s starting to lose control, too. His cock feels even bigger now, and as crazy as it sounds you can feel it pulse inside of you, rubbing against your abused walls.

He’s just using you at this point, using your body, your cunt— turning you into his personal flashlight as he chases his own release.

You want it so bad, and the thought of him finally dumping his load into you has you getting closer and closer to the third orgasm of the night. You’re drooling over yourself like a dog, moaning so loudly you’re probably gonna have do deal with a sore throat in the morning, but it feels so good that you don’t care at all.

San takes and takes. Gives and gives. Hurts you and destroys you and puts you back together all at once, owning your mind and body completely.

“I’m so close,” he warns, shoving himself inside of you without care, hands coming down to hit your ass, probably leaving red marks resembling his hands all over your skin. You nod, over and over again, begging him to give it to you.

“Cum inside, Sannie, inside of me please,” you start, and you get interrupted by him blurting out a “fuck,” so loud that it makes you smile with pride.

“You want me to fill you up, princess? Want me to blow my load inside your pussy? Breed you full?” he asks, running his fingers and nails over your back, using your hips as leverage to fuck inside your cunt deeper, your walls convulsing over his cock as if begging to have it as deep as possible.

“Yes, please, want you to cum inside, want to be full of it, want your cum… i’ve been so good, Sannie, give me my reward, please,” you beg, crying freely and using your own hands to hold your cheeks open, moaning loudly as it only makes his cock slide deeper.

You don’t even need to touch yourself this time, because the thought of him filling you up would be enough on its own to make you cum.

You feel the orgasm approach and you surrender to it when he grits his teeth and blurts out a series of curses, calling you names and praising you all at once as his movements become more erratic and violent. You feel your stomach bulging with it, the tip of his cock poking at your belly from the inside, and your eyes roll back as he fucking spits on you- droplets of it hitting your ass.

“Here it comes,” he warns you, chest rising fast as his legs tremble. “Take my fucking load. Don’t fucking spill it, baby. All inside this pussy, I’m- I’m coming inside of you, pretty. Fuck!”

His last strokes are languid and dirty, deep and full of ownership. He shoves his dick as deep as possible inside of you, and your spasming pussy welcomes it and milks it. Your own juices gush out as you cum all over his dick, your orgasm strong and powerful, and he pumps his load so deep inside your cunt you can fill every drop of it as it paints your insides white. Thick and hot, his cum gets pumped inside of you, claiming your pussy and marking it up as his once and for all. Staining you, messing you up, breeding you full.

He stills, staying inside of you for a little longer, feeling every second of his orgasm as you clench over him, enhancing his pleasure.

Your breaths are both heavy and ragged, bodies hypersensitive and buzzing with lingering warmth. San’s body collapses against yours, but even then, he’s careful not to crush you under his weight. Despite his own exhaustion, he moves you across the bed with ridiculous ease, still making sure to handle you gently.

He holds you close like he’s afraid you might slip away, and, truthfully, you find yourself doing the same.

Eventually, he gets you both where he wants: him lying on his back, and you curled up against his chest, which is still heaving with every fierce breath. San’s fingers slide through your hair, playing absently with a few strands, while you leave tiny kisses along his chest, your cheek brushing against his skin.

“That was…” you start, biting your lip and blushing a little, “…incredible,” you both finish at the same time, laughing softly as you cling even tighter to each other.

You feel his hand trail down your back, fingertips tracing random patterns on your skin. He tilts your chin up with his other hand, smirking just enough to make your heart skip.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he teases, eyes glinting with mischief. “I might just have to keep you all to myself from now on.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but your cheeks burn, and he catches it immediately. His smirk softens into a fond smile as he pulls you even closer, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead. You nuzzle into his chest, feeling his heartbeat still racing beneath your touch. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you whisper, half-challenging, half-reassuring. A promise and a threat, both interlaced with hope.

“Oh, I know,” he replies, voice dropping just enough to make a shiver run through you. “You’re mine now. Not letting you go.”

He kisses the top of your head, then leans down to murmur against your ear, tone both teasing and affectionate. “Better get used to it, princess. You’re stuck with me.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

notes: thank you for reading this! this is my first san fic… can you believe it? since he’s my bias and all. i hope you liked it, really. let me know in the comments your thoughts (the dirtier, the better). i hope you had fun! see you next time <3

#oneshot #y/n #smut #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #choi san #ateez san #choi san x reader #choi san x y/n #choi san x you #san x reader #san x y/n #san x you #kpop #ateez x y/n #ateez smut #ateez x female reader #sannie

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arilevenatz · 3 months ago

Text

Royally Bound

Pairing: Prince!Seonghwa x reader

Genre: Arranged marriage au, fluff (omg so much of it)

Word count: 10k

Warnings: none :)

AN: Get ready to be bombarded with the most gentleman of gentleman Seonghwa. Omg he is so sweet to mc. I wrote this solely because I had a thought of ONE scene from this and I wrote an entire fic based on it. And don't forget to like and reblog pls it motivates me to write more!!!

Masterlist

In the heart of the flourishing kingdom of Eryndor stood a grand castle, its towering spires reaching toward the heavens as if to touch the very stars. Within its walls resided the royal family: King Park, a wise and benevolent ruler; Queen Park, a graceful and compassionate woman; and their only son, Crown Prince Park Seonghwa.

Prince Seonghwa was the embodiment of strength and discipline. His cold, straightforward demeanor had earned him a reputation as a strict and unyielding leader. While some whispered of his severity, the majority of Eryndor’s people revered him. For though his words were sharp and his judgments firm, his actions always spoke of his deep love for the kingdom.

Each morning, as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the castle windows, Seonghwa would rise, his mind already set on the day’s duties. From overseeing military drills to attending council meetings, his meticulous nature allowed no room for error. He walked the castle halls with a commanding presence, his dark eyes scanning every corner, every detail, ensuring that everything was in its rightful place.

Despite his stern exterior, Seonghwa’s heart was one of quiet devotion. He spent hours in the castle library studying the histories of past kings and queens, seeking wisdom to guide his future rule. He visited the kingdom's towns and villages, speaking to the people not with flowery words but with a genuine desire to understand their struggles.

Even in the grand halls of the castle, where the kingdom’s most influential figures gathered for meetings and important events, Crown Prince Seonghwa was a figure of quiet authority. Draped in royal attire that reflected his status, he sat at the long, ornate table, his posture impeccable, his expression unreadable.

Unlike many who sought to fill the air with their voices, Seonghwa remained silent, his sharp eyes observing every gesture, every word exchanged. He spoke only when addressed directly, and even then, his responses were concise and precise, like arrows hitting their mark.

At times, his silence unnerved those around him. Ministers and advisors would glance at him nervously, uncertain of what he might be thinking. Yet, when he did speak, his words carried such weight and clarity that they often silenced the entire room.

During a particularly heated council meeting, where arguments about the kingdom’s trade policies had reached a crescendo, Seonghwa had remained still, his gaze shifting between the quarreling parties. Finally, when the king himself turned to him for his opinion, Seonghwa’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“Trade benefits the kingdom only when it is fair and sustainable,” he stated coldly. “If you cannot negotiate terms that protect Eryndor’s interests while maintaining alliances, then perhaps someone more capable should handle the matter.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone present. Though his tone was devoid of anger, his bluntness left no room for misinterpretation. The advisors exchanged uneasy glances, while the king nodded, a faint smile of approval gracing his lips.

At royal banquets and celebrations, Seonghwa’s presence was equally commanding, even though he rarely indulged in pleasantries. While others mingled and exchanged smiles, he stood by the sidelines, his watchful eyes scanning the room for anything amiss. When addressed, he responded with the same measured calm, his words carrying a sense of purpose that few could match.

The people of Eryndor often whispered about his reserved nature, some calling it aloofness, others seeing it as strength. But whether feared or admired, there was no denying that Crown Prince Park Seonghwa was a man of unwavering discipline and control, a leader who valued action over words and results over empty promises.

The grand dining hall of the castle was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, its high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of Eryndor’s storied history. The royal family dined in silence, the clinking of silverware the only sound until Queen Park, with her ever-graceful demeanor, broke the silence.

“Seonghwa,” she began, her voice gentle but firm, “your father and I have been discussing a matter of great importance.”

The Crown Prince, seated at the head of the table, set his goblet down with practiced precision. His dark eyes lifted to meet hers, his expression as composed as ever. “Pray, speak your mind, Mother.”

The queen exchanged a brief glance with the king before continuing. “It is time, my son, for you to consider a union. The kingdom requires a future queen, someone to stand by your side and share the burdens of rule.”

Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, his posture unyielding as his gaze shifted between his parents. “Is that so?” His tone was measured, devoid of enthusiasm. “I was under the impression that my duties as Crown Prince were quite sufficient without the added endeavor of courtship.”

King Park sighed, his deep voice resonating through the room. “It is not merely about duty, Seonghwa. A union strengthens alliances, fortifies the kingdom’s position, and, dare I say, may bring you some measure of solace in the years to come.”

“Solace,” Seonghwa repeated, a faint trace of irony in his voice. “How poetic. Yet I see no such necessity. The kingdom flourishes, the council obeys, and the people prosper. What more is required?”

Queen Park’s serene expression faltered ever so slightly. “A ruler cannot stand alone forever. You may not see the need now, but in time, you will.”

For days thereafter, the subject lingered like an unwelcome guest, the queen and king broaching the topic at every opportunity. Seonghwa, however, remained steadfast in his reluctance, deflecting their attempts with a mastery born of his disciplined nature.

But even the most resolute walls crumble under relentless tides. On the morning of the seventh day, Seonghwa finally relented, though his disinterest was plain for all to see.

“Very well,” he said, his voice as cold as the winter wind. “If it shall grant me relief from your incessant nagging, I shall meet this woman you have selected. But let it be known, I do this not out of desire, but out of obligation.”

Queen Park’s face lit up with a hopeful smile, though she knew better than to voice her triumph aloud. “You shall not regret it, my son. We have known the Hwang household for a while now.”

Seonghwa rose from his chair, his movements deliberate and measured. “We shall see, Mother,” he replied, his tone carrying the faintest edge of skepticism. “Though I pray you do not expect me to feign interest where there is none.”

With that, he left the room, his long cloak trailing behind him, the echo of his boots fading into the distance. The queen sighed, her heart a mixture of relief and concern. For while her son had agreed, his heart remained as untouchable as ever.

The Hwang household was one of great renown in the kingdom, its name carrying a legacy of loyalty and service to the royal family. Your grandfather, Hwang Taejin, had been the closest confidant of King Park when he ascended the throne, forging a bond that still tied the two families together.

As the youngest daughter, you were the quiet shadow amidst your lively siblings. Your eldest sister, Hwang Seoyoon, was the pride of the family—a graceful woman of charm and poise, admired by many. Your brothers, Hwang Jinhyuk, Hwang Minseok, and Hwang Daehyun, were no less impressive: boisterous, ambitious, and ever eager to showcase the family’s brilliance to the world.

And then there was you.

While Seoyoon spent hours selecting gowns and jewels, and your brothers busied themselves with their social engagements, you preferred the solace of your room or the quiet corners of the garden. Your straightforward nature often set you apart; you had no patience for flowery words or pointless chatter. When spoken to, you answered with blunt honesty, a trait that earned you both admiration and exasperation in equal measure.

“Honestly, you’re hopeless,” Seoyoon often sighed, fussing over her reflection in a gilded mirror. “How can you expect to make a good match if you refuse to step outside?”

“Who says I expect to make a match at all?” you would reply, your tone calm but unyielding.

Jinhyuk, the eldest of your brothers, was no less persistent. “You’re the youngest. People expect you to be lively and charming, not... whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely in your direction.

“Then people are fools for expecting anything at all,” you would counter, much to his chagrin.

Minseok and Daehyun, the middle brothers, often tried to coax you out of the house with promises of excitement. “Come, little sister,” Minseok would say, his grin infectious. “There’s a festival in the town square. You’ll love it!”

“No,” you replied curtly, not even glancing up from your book.

“Just once,” Daehyun chimed in, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re wasting your youth locked away in here.”

“Better to waste it in peace than to squander it in nonsense,” you retorted.

Your parents, while loving, were equally puzzled by your reluctance to engage in the vibrant social life your family cherished. “You are a Hwang,” your mother reminded you one evening. “With that name comes responsibility. You cannot hide away forever.”

But you didn’t see it as hiding. To you, the world beyond your home was a noisy, chaotic place, and you found no joy in it. The garden, the library, the quiet evenings by the fire—these were your treasures, and you saw no reason to trade them for the fleeting pleasures your siblings pursued.

Unbeknownst to you, however, your life was about to be entangled with the royal family in a way you could never have anticipated.

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow through the windows of your room as you sat in your favorite corner, a thick book resting in your lap. The quiet rustle of pages was soothing, a rare moment of peace in a household that was anything but.

Your eldest sister, Seoyoon, had made herself comfortable on the chaise near the window. She was in the midst of a long-winded tale about the latest fashions in court, her voice animated and full of excitement. You, however, barely glanced up, too engrossed in the intricate story unfolding in your book.

“And then Lady Eunhwa had the audacity to wear the same gown twice in one week!” Seoyoon exclaimed, placing a dramatic hand on her chest. When you failed to respond, she huffed, her voice turning teasing. “Are you even listening? Or is that book more interesting than my tales?”

“Far more interesting,” you replied bluntly, not looking up.

She clicked her tongue in exasperation but continued regardless. “Oh, by the way, two of the king’s guards came by today.”

At that, your eyes flickered up from the page, though only briefly. It wasn’t unusual for members of the royal household to visit. After all, the king favored your father greatly, treating him almost like a younger brother. The king, slightly younger than your late grandfather, had become close to your family over the years, especially as your father had grown into a trusted confidant.

“It’s hardly news, unnie,” you said, turning a page. “The king’s guards have been here countless times before.”

“Yes, but they don’t usually come with such a formal air,” she replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I overheard Father speaking with them. It seems they were delivering a message about... well, something rather important.”

You raised an eyebrow, finally giving her your full attention. “Important how?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to spoil the mystery,” she said coyly, though you could tell she was itching to share. “But I will say this—it has something to do with Prince Seonghwa.”

At the mention of the Crown Prince, you frowned. “Why would anything involving him concern us?”

Seoyoon leaned closer, lowering her voice as if she were sharing a secret. “The relationships are a bit tangled, don’t you think? The king was close to Grandfather, but he had Prince Seonghwa later in life. Meanwhile, Father had us all when he was still quite young. It makes the royal family feel less like distant rulers and more like... well, extended relatives.”

“Relatives who happen to rule the kingdom,” you muttered, shutting your book with a quiet thud. “What exactly are you trying to say, unnie?”

She smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “I’m saying, little sister, that perhaps this visit wasn’t as routine as it seemed. Perhaps you should start paying more attention to the world outside your books. You never know what might be coming your way.”

You stared at her for a moment, trying to decipher her meaning. But when she simply rose from her seat with a graceful shrug and left the room, you couldn’t help but feel a nagging sense of unease. Whatever the king’s guards had come for, you had a sinking feeling it would disrupt the quiet life you so fiercely cherished.

When Crown Prince Seonghwa learned of the arrangements his parents had made, he stood in the vast study of the royal palace, his arms crossed behind his back as he gazed out of the towering windows. The distant sound of the bustling kingdom below barely registered in his mind.

“So, it is the youngest daughter of the Hwang household,” he said aloud, his tone carefully neutral, though there was a faint trace of hesitation in his voice.

Queen Park, seated gracefully by the hearth, nodded with a small smile. “Indeed. Youngest of Hwang. A quiet young lady, from what I have gathered. She is much unlike her siblings, preferring solitude to society. A curious match, I admit, but one worth considering.”

Seonghwa turned to face his mother, his expression calm but his thoughts clearly at war. “The connections between our families are... unusual, to put it plainly,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Her grandfather, as you know, he and Father shared a bond that went beyond mere loyalty. But then there’s her father—he’s younger than father, yet he married and had children before he did. My father married late and had me even later. That’s a strange difference in timing and position, don’t you think?”

He sighed, pacing slowly as he spoke, his thoughts almost unraveling as he considered the oddities of the situation. “The generations between us are not just tangled—they’re almost mismatched. It’s a contrast of decisions, timing, and expectations that’s hard to ignore.”

He glanced at his mother, the faintest trace of doubt in his eyes. “I understand the deep affection for the Hwang family, especially given the history with my father and her grandfather. But I wonder if that admiration has made him overlook how strange these connections really are. It’s a lot to consider in something as important as marriage.”

The queen chuckled softly, though her gaze was steady. “You speak as though this is of great consequence. The ties between our families have always been strong. Surely you understand why your father holds them in such high regard.”

Seonghwa exhaled, his brow furrowing slightly. He did understand. The Hwang family had been pillars of loyalty and wisdom for decades, their contributions to the crown invaluable. The late Hwang Taejin had been more than a counselor to King Park—he had been a brother in spirit, if not in blood. And even now, the king's fondness for the Hwang household was evident in every interaction.

Still, the prince could not shake his reservations. “I do not question their loyalty or merit,” he replied, his voice calm but firm. “But I see little reason to entangle myself in such matters simply because of sentiment.”

“You agreed to meet her, Seonghwa,” the queen reminded him gently. “It would do you well to approach this with an open mind. Who knows? Perhaps you will find her company agreeable.”

Seonghwa gave a faint, almost imperceptible scoff. “Agreeable,” he echoed. “I have little need for agreeable company, Mother. What I require is a partner of intellect, strength, and understanding. If she possesses these qualities, then perhaps this meeting will not be entirely futile.”

“Fate has a way of surprising us,” the queen said softly, rising to her feet. She placed a hand on her son’s arm, her expression a mixture of hope and fondness. “Give her a chance, Seonghwa. That is all we ask of you.”

The prince nodded curtly, though his mind remained conflicted. He was no stranger to duty, but this arrangement felt... complicated. And yet, as much as he might resist, he could not entirely ignore the deep respect his father held for the Hwang family. If nothing else, he owed it to the king to see this through.

As he returned to his chambers later that evening, Seonghwa allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. Her name lingered in his thoughts, an enigma wrapped in his family’s history. He resolved to meet her with the same quiet strength and scrutiny he approached all things—but he would not let sentiment cloud his judgment.

For a man as steadfast as Seonghwa, the prospect of meeting someone new, especially under such circumstances, was a challenge. But little did he know, the meeting would test him in ways he had never anticipated.

The soft afternoon light filtered through the window beside you, casting warm patterns on the wooden floor. You were curled up in a small nook by the window, a quiet corner of the house that you had claimed as your own. The garden beyond the glass was lush and vibrant, its blooms swaying gently in the breeze. It was a peaceful sight, one you often sought solace in.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence, and you sighed quietly, already bracing yourself for the disruption. Moments later, Seoyoon and Minseok burst into the room, their faces alight with a mixture of excitement and intrigue.

“Y/N,” Seoyoon began, her voice sing-song as she made her way toward you. “Have you heard what Father’s been planning?”

You didn’t look up from your book, your tone flat as you replied, “I’m sure you’ll tell me regardless of whether I have or not.”

Minseok laughed, plopping down onto a nearby chair. “She’s as blunt as ever,” he said, shaking his head. “But you’ll want to hear this, little sister. It’s about the royal family.”

That caught your attention, though you didn’t let it show. Keeping your eyes on the page, you said evenly, “What about them?”

Seoyoon perched herself on the edge of the table, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Apparently, Father has been talking with the king. And do you know what they’ve decided?”

You glanced up at her, your expression unreadable. “I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.”

“They’re planning for you to meet the Crown Prince,” she said, her voice dripping with glee.

You blinked, the words hanging in the air for a moment before you set your book down. “Why?”

Minseok leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? The king and Father have always been close. And with the prince needing a bride, it seems Father thinks you might be a good match.”

Your gaze shifted between your siblings, your mind working to process this sudden revelation. “And no one thought to ask me what I think about this?”

Seoyoon laughed, a melodic sound that made your irritation spike. “Oh, Y/N, you always act as though you have a choice in these matters. This is about duty, about family. You should feel honored.”

“Honored,” you echoed, your tone dry. “To be paraded in front of a man I’ve never met, all for the sake of politics? Forgive me if I fail to see the appeal.”

Minseok held up his hands in mock surrender. “We’re just the messengers, little sister. If you have complaints, take them to Father. But I doubt it’ll change anything.”

You turned your gaze back to the garden, your thoughts swirling. The idea of meeting the Crown Prince—a man whose reputation for coldness preceded him—was far from appealing. But you knew your father well enough to know that his mind was likely already made up.

“Lovely,” you muttered under your breath, picking up your book once more. “This is exactly how I wanted to spend my time.”

Seoyoon grinned, patting your shoulder as she stood. “Cheer up, Y/N. Who knows? Maybe you’ll surprise yourself.”

As Seoyoon leaned in closer, her grin widening, you sighed and finally closed your book, resting it on your lap. You turned to her, your tone as dry as ever. “Aren’t you married, Seoyoon? Why are you here, meddling in things that don’t concern you? Shouldn’t you be at your own home, managing your household?”

Seoyoon gasped, placing a hand over her chest as though you’d struck her. “How cruel, Y/N! Is this how you speak to your poor elder sister who only wants the best for you?”

“You’re hardly poor, and your meddling is far from helpful,” you retorted, arching an eyebrow. “Go home, Seoyoon. Surely your husband must be wondering where you’ve disappeared to.”

Seoyoon pouted theatrically, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. “For your information,” she said, drawing herself up with mock dignity, “my work at home is complete. Everything is running perfectly, and my husband is away on business for a while. So, I’ve decided to grace this house with my presence for a couple of weeks.”

You groaned quietly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Wonderful,” you muttered under your breath. “Just what we all needed.”

Minseok laughed from his seat, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “You should be glad, Y/N. Seoyoon’s here to keep you company. Isn’t that nice?”

“Thrilling,” you deadpanned, leaning back against the nook. “Exactly what I wanted—unsolicited company and unsolicited plans for my life.”

Seoyoon reached out and ruffled your hair in a way that only an older sibling could get away with. “Oh, come now, Y/N. You’ll thank me someday for my wisdom and guidance. Just wait and see.”

You swatted her hand away, glaring at her half-heartedly. “I highly doubt that.”

As she and Minseok shared another laugh, you sighed and picked up your book again, silently bracing yourself for the chaos her extended stay would undoubtedly bring.

The warm glow of the evening lanterns filled the dining hall as your family gathered for the evening meal. The atmosphere was lively, with Seoyoon chatting away about her plans for the week, Minseok teasing her, and your other brothers laughing at their antics. You sat quietly at your usual spot, focused on your plate, letting the noise of the room wash over you.

As the meal was nearing its end, your father cleared his throat, a sure sign that he had something important to say. The room quieted almost instantly, everyone turning their attention to him.

“I have news to share,” he began, his tone steady but carrying a weight that made your stomach sink slightly. “The king and queen, along with the Crown Prince, will be visiting our household in three days’ time.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before they fully registered. Your siblings exchanged surprised glances, and Seoyoon’s face lit up with excitement. You, however, frowned, your grip tightening on your utensils.

“To what purpose?” you asked, your voice calm but edged with suspicion.

Your father met your gaze, his expression firm yet warm. “They are coming to formally meet you, Y/N, and to discuss the arrangements for your marriage to the Crown Prince.”

The room erupted in chatter—your brothers asking further questions, Seoyoon clapping her hands in delight—but you felt as though the ground had shifted beneath you.

“Marriage?” you repeated, your tone sharper now. “And when, exactly, were you planning to inform me of this?”

Your mother, who had been quiet until now, placed a gentle hand on your father’s arm and smiled at you. “Y/N, we knew you’d react this way, and we didn’t want to burden you with unnecessary worries before everything was set.”

“Unnecessary worries?” you echoed incredulously, setting down your utensils with a clatter. “You’re discussing my marriage—my future—and you didn’t think I should have a say in the matter? Or even be informed before decisions were made?”

Your father waved a hand dismissively, his tone remaining calm but final. “This is not something for you to worry about, Y/N. The king himself has chosen you, and this is a great honor for our family. Everything has been decided with the best intentions for you and for us all.”

“But—” you tried to protest, only for Seoyoon to cut in, her voice bright and eager.

“Oh, Y/N, stop being so dramatic! It’s the Crown Prince we’re talking about! What more could you possibly want?”

You shot her a glare but bit back your retort, knowing it would be futile. Looking back at your father, you tried one last time. “I only wish I had been told sooner. Surely I deserve that much.”

“Y/N,” your father said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are my daughter, and as part of this family, you must trust that we have made the right choice for you. The matter is settled.”

You sank back in your chair, the weight of their words pressing down on you. Around you, the conversation quickly shifted to the preparations for the royal visit, your family buzzing with excitement. But you couldn’t shake the frustration and unease bubbling within you.

You sat quietly, your appetite gone, staring down at your untouched plate as their voices grew distant in your mind. The life you cherished—the quiet, predictable solitude—was slipping away, and no one seemed to care.

The day the royals arrived, the Hwang household was bustling with activity. The servants had been working tirelessly to prepare the house, and your family was dressed in their finest attire. You stood near the back of the receiving room, watching as your parents greeted the king, queen, and the Crown Prince with warm smiles and formal bows.

When they entered, Prince Seonghwa's presence was immediately commanding. Dressed in a perfectly tailored royal suit, his sharp features and cold demeanor matched everything you had heard about him. He was polite but distant, exchanging pleasantries with your father and siblings, his tone measured and precise.

You, however, remained quiet, answering only when directly addressed, and even then, your responses were curt and to the point. The rest of your family, particularly Seoyoon, made up for your lack of enthusiasm with their excitement and chatter.

After a lengthy discussion between your father and the king about the arrangements, your mother approached you with a pointed look and said softly, “Y/N, why don’t you and the prince have a private conversation? Get to know each other.”

You wanted to protest, but before you could, Seoyoon nudged you forward with a teasing smile. Reluctantly, you followed the prince to the garden, where the air was cooler, and the faint scent of blooming flowers lingered.

Seonghwa walked a step ahead of you, his hands clasped behind his back. When you reached the center of the garden, he turned to face you, his dark eyes scanning your face for a moment before he spoke.

“I trust you find this arrangement agreeable?” he asked, his tone formal and detached.

You gave a polite nod. “If it pleases my family, then it pleases me.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “That is... an expected answer. You speak of duty rather than choice.”

“It seems choice was never part of the discussion,” you replied evenly, your gaze meeting his without flinching.

For a moment, there was silence between you, the distant hum of conversation from the house filling the space. Seonghwa tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You hesitated for a moment before answering. “I speak when there’s something worth saying.”

A faint flicker of amusement crossed his face, so brief you almost missed it. “An admirable philosophy,” he said. “Though it makes conversations rather... challenging.”

“That depends on who I’m speaking to,” you replied, your tone calm but not unkind.

He seemed to consider your words, his expression softening just slightly. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I suppose I am not accustomed to people who value silence over unnecessary chatter.”

You didn’t respond immediately, instead letting the silence stretch between you. The weight of his gaze was palpable, but you refused to shrink under it. Finally, you said, “I’m sure the prince has little need for idle conversation, either.”

This time, his lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile. “Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But I find myself curious about you, Miss Hwang. You are... different.”

You inclined your head slightly. “Different isn’t always favorable, Your Highness.”

“Not always,” he agreed, his voice thoughtful. “But sometimes it is necessary.”

The two of you stood there for a moment longer, the quiet garden suddenly feeling more intimate than before. You couldn’t quite read the prince, his every word and movement calculated, but there was a strange sense of understanding in his tone.

Before either of you could say more, a servant appeared in the garden, bowing deeply. “Your Highness, the king has requested your presence.”

Seonghwa nodded once, then turned back to you. “Until next time, Miss Hwang.”

You offered a polite nod in return. “Your Highness.”

As he walked away, you exhaled softly, unsure of what to make of the exchange. Something about the prince unsettled you—not in an unpleasant way, but in a way that left you wondering.

It had been a week since the royals left, and life at the Hwang household had returned to its usual rhythm—at least on the surface. Beneath the calm, preparations for your upcoming marriage were already in full swing, much to your quiet displeasure. You found solace in your little routines, but even that was short-lived.

One crisp morning, as you sat in your usual nook by the window with a book in hand, a servant hurried in with a message. “Miss, the Crown Prince has arrived. He wishes to take you on an outing.”

You froze, the words sinking in. Closing the book slowly, you looked up. “Did he say why?”

The servant hesitated. “No, miss. But your father has already given his approval.”

Of course, you thought grimly. Rising reluctantly, you made your way to the front of the house, where the prince stood waiting. He was dressed impeccably, as always, and his expression was as composed as you remembered.

“Miss Hwang,” he greeted with a slight bow.

“Your Highness,” you replied, offering a polite nod.

“I trust you are ready?” he asked, though his tone made it clear that readiness was not optional.

With no room to argue, you stepped forward, and the two of you were soon seated in a carriage heading toward the nearby town. The ride was silent, save for the occasional creak of the wheels. You glanced out of the window, unsure of what to say—or if you should say anything at all.

Finally, Seonghwa broke the silence. “I take it this arrangement was not your idea either.”

You turned to him, surprised by his bluntness. “No, it wasn’t. But I assume it wasn’t yours, either.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You assume correctly. It seems our families are quite determined to ensure we... bond.”

“Bonding is difficult when both parties are here against their will,” you said, your tone matter-of-fact.

His smirk grew just slightly. “Indeed. Though I must admit, it is refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t mask their opinions with pleasantries.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. “I could say the same, Your Highness. Most people would not dare admit to disliking an arrangement like this.”

“Most people are not in my position,” he replied simply.

The carriage came to a stop, and the footman opened the door. Seonghwa stepped out first, offering you his hand. Reluctantly, you took it, allowing him to help you down. The two of you stood at the entrance to the bustling town square, the lively atmosphere a stark contrast to the tense silence between you.

“This town is known for its markets,” Seonghwa said, gesturing to the colorful stalls ahead. “I thought it might be... suitable for an outing.”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Was that your idea, or your family’s?”

He paused, his gaze steady. “Does it matter?”

You didn’t answer, instead turning your attention to the market. The two of you walked side by side, the chatter and laughter of the townsfolk filling the air. Occasionally, Seonghwa would point out a stall or comment on a vendor’s goods, but your responses were short and polite.

At one point, he stopped in front of a flower vendor, his eyes scanning the vibrant array of blooms. “Do you have a favorite flower, Miss Hwang?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Not particularly.”

He picked up a small bouquet of white lilies, studying them for a moment before handing them to the vendor. “Then allow me to choose,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

You accepted the bouquet hesitantly, unsure of what to say. The gesture felt oddly personal, and you couldn’t decide whether to be flattered or annoyed.

As the outing continued, the initial stiffness between you began to ease—just slightly. By the time the sun began to set, the carriage ride back was not as silent as before. Though your exchanges were still brief, there was a newfound understanding between you, however faint it might have been.

When you arrived back at the Hwang household, Seonghwa escorted you to the door, his expression as composed as ever. “Thank you for indulging this outing, Miss Hwang. I hope it was not entirely unpleasant.”

You glanced at him, clutching the bouquet of lilies. “It was... tolerable,” you said, a hint of dry humor in your tone.

He inclined his head slightly, the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. “I shall take that as a success. Until next time.”

With that, he turned and left, leaving you standing at the door with the flowers in hand. As you watched the carriage disappear down the path, you couldn’t help but wonder what the next “arranged” meeting would bring.

You retreated to your room, eager for solitude. You placed the bouquet of white lilies on a small table near the window, their subtle fragrance filling the air as you sat on the edge of your bed.

Moments later, your door creaked open without so much as a knock. Seoyoon stepped in, her eyes immediately landing on the bouquet. A mischievous grin spread across her face.

“Well, well,” she began, closing the door behind her. “It seems the Crown Prince is quite the gentleman, isn’t he?”

You didn’t look up, reaching for the book on your bedside table. “If you’re here to tease me, save your breath. I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, come now,” she said, flopping onto the chair near the window and picking up one of the lilies. “A prince gives you flowers, and you sit here sulking as if it were some great tragedy. Most girls would be over the moon!”

“You’re welcome to them if you’re so envious,” you replied dryly, flipping a page.

Seoyoon gasped theatrically, holding the lily to her chest. “How heartless! And here I thought you might finally soften up a little. Tell me, how did it go? Did he say anything romantic? Or was it all as cold and stiff as you?”

You shot her a glare over the top of your book. “It was... fine. He talked. I listened. That’s all there is to it.”

“‘Fine,’” she echoed, rolling her eyes. “You’re impossible, you know that? Most people would kill for a chance to speak with him, let alone be courted by him.”

“I’m not ‘most people,’” you replied, your voice flat.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “You didn’t thank him for the flowers, did you?”

Your silence was enough.

Seoyoon groaned, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re hopeless, truly. The least you could do is try to show some interest. He’s the Crown Prince, for goodness’ sake!”

Closing your book with a snap, you fixed her with a level stare. “I didn’t ask for any of this, Seoyoon. I didn’t ask for the flowers, the outing, or the marriage. If he wants to court someone, he can find someone who actually cares.”

Seoyoon sighed, her teasing demeanor softening slightly. “I know you didn’t ask for this, Y/N. But it’s happening, whether you like it or not. You could at least give him a chance. Who knows? He might surprise you.”

You, staring at the lilies with a faint frown, replied bluntly, “He looks like he doesn’t enjoy company himself. This whole arrangement is just as forced on him as it is on me.” You paused, your voice lowering. “I’ve been a burden to all of you long enough. Now, I’ll just be a burden to the royal family instead.”

Her brows knit together, and she crossed her arms, stepping closer to you. “Y/N, don’t say that. You’re not a burden.”

You let out a humorless laugh, finally looking up at her. “Am I not? Everyone in this house pushes me to be someone I’m not. To go out, to socialize, to act the part. And now, I’m being married off to a prince who probably thinks I’m as much of a nuisance as I think this whole situation is.”

Seoyoon crouched slightly so she could look directly into your eyes, her expression unusually serious. “You’re not a nuisance, and you’re not a burden. You’re just... different. And that’s not a bad thing.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter what I think, does it? I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it for Father, for the family, for appearances. Isn’t that all I’ve ever done?”

Seoyoon’s lips parted as if she wanted to argue, but no words came out. She knew you were right, at least in part. Finally, she placed a hand on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I won’t pretend to understand how you feel, but I do know this—whatever the reason for this marriage, it’s not because you’re a burden. You’re marrying a prince, Y/N. That means, whether you like it or not, someone sees your worth.”

You scoffed, but your gaze softened slightly. “Or they just see what’s convenient.”

Seoyoon straightened up and shook her head with a faint smile. “You’ll see, Y/N. Maybe he doesn’t look like the warmest person, but I doubt he’s as indifferent as you think. People like him don’t show their cards right away.”

“Or ever,” you muttered under your breath.

“Give him a chance,” she urged one last time, heading for the door. “And give yourself one too.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, you turned back to the lilies, their delicate beauty contrasting sharply with the heaviness in your chest. A burden or not, the path before you had been set. All that remained now was to walk it, whether you liked it or not.

The royal wedding was a grand affair, filled with splendor and elegance that you could hardly process. The intricate decorations, the endless sea of nobles in fine clothing, and the constant hum of polite conversation all blurred together in your mind. Through it all, you remained stoic, performing each ritual with quiet precision.

Seonghwa, as expected, was composed and regal throughout, his every action calculated and perfect. Yet there was something in his demeanor—something almost... softer than you’d expected.

When the final ritual was completed, and the two of you were officially declared husband and wife, the grand hall erupted into applause. You stood there, holding his hand lightly as tradition demanded, your expression unreadable.

It wasn’t until the two of you were seated at the head of the banquet table that Seonghwa’s façade shifted ever so slightly. Leaning closer, he asked in a low voice, “Are you comfortable, Miss Hwang?”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “It’s Lady Park now,” you replied, your tone calm.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Ah, yes. My apologies. Are you comfortable... Lady Park?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I am fine, Your Highness.”

He glanced at the feast before you, his voice quiet but insistent. “And the food? Is it to your liking?”

“It’s... more than sufficient,” you replied, unsure how else to respond.

For a moment, silence hung between you as you both turned your attention to the crowd of nobles mingling below. Then, out of nowhere, Seonghwa leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours. “See that man in the green coat near the pillar?” he whispered, his tone conspiratorial.

Your eyes followed his gaze to a portly man with a large mustache. “Yes?”

“That’s Lord Baek. He prides himself on his wine collection, yet he can’t tell the difference between a rare vintage and a common bottle of grape juice. It’s quite the running joke among the court.”

You glanced at him, unsure whether to laugh or remain indifferent. “And you’re telling me this because...?”

“Because,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, “you’ll hear him mention his wine at least three times tonight. Consider it a test of your patience.”

Despite yourself, a small smile ghosted across your lips. “Noted.”

He nodded, his expression still unreadable but his tone oddly warm. “And over there, by the orchestra—that’s Lady Seo. She once petitioned the court to create a holiday celebrating her dog’s birthday.”

This time, you couldn’t suppress a quiet chuckle. “You’re joking.”

“I assure you, I am not,” he said, his lips quirking into the faintest smile. “The petition was, of course, denied.”

As the evening progressed, Seonghwa continued his whispered commentary, pointing out various nobles and sharing tidbits about them. His tone remained calm and steady, but there was a subtle playfulness in his words that made it feel almost like a private game between the two of you.

For the first time, the weight of the occasion felt a little less suffocating. While you remained stoic, you couldn’t deny that his unexpected warmth and attentiveness were... surprising.

When the banquet finally began to wind down, he leaned closer once more, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. “I know this is overwhelming, Lady Park, but if it is any consolation, you’ve handled it with grace.”

You turned to him, meeting his steady gaze. “Thank you, Your Highness. Though I suspect you’ve handled it far more times than I ever will.”

He inclined his head slightly, his faint smile returning. “Perhaps. But it seems we’ll be handling it together now.”

The weight of his words lingered as the evening drew to a close, leaving you with an unexpected sense of companionship—however fragile it might have been.

The grand festivities had finally come to an end, and the palace halls grew quiet as the guests dispersed. Servants had escorted you and Seonghwa to the newly prepared royal chamber, its luxurious décor only adding to the weight of the day.

The large room was lit softly by golden sconces and candles, the warmth of the light contrasting with the coolness of your nerves. You stood in the center of the room, unsure what to do or say, your hands fidgeting slightly with the heavy jewelry draped over you.

Seonghwa, ever composed, closed the door behind him. For a moment, he stood silently, observing you with his usual unreadable expression. Then, stepping closer, he spoke in a tone that was softer than you expected.

“May I help you?”

You looked at him, startled. “With...?”

He gestured toward the intricate outer layers of your wedding dress and the heavy ornaments adorning your neck and wrists. “With this. I imagine it has been a long day for you.”

You hesitated, unsure whether to agree, but the weight of the jewelry was becoming unbearable. Finally, you gave him a small nod. “If you wish, Your Highness.”

A faint smile ghosted across his lips as he stepped behind you. “Turn around,” he instructed gently.

You complied, feeling his presence close behind you as his hands moved to unclasp the elaborate necklace around your neck. His movements were careful, precise, as though he feared hurting you.

“This must be heavier than it looks,” he murmured, setting the necklace aside on a nearby table.

“It is,” you replied quietly, your voice barely audible.

He moved to the bracelets next, unfastening them with ease. “I imagine it wasn’t easy to wear all this through the day.”

“It wasn’t, but I managed,” you said, your tone as stoic as ever.

“Of course you did,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

Next, his hands reached for the ties of your outer gown, his fingers working deftly to loosen them. You felt the fabric lighten as he removed the outer layer, draping it neatly over a chair.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, stepping back slightly. “It felt inappropriate to summon a maid for this.”

You turned to face him, surprised by his consideration. “It’s fine,” you said softly, meeting his gaze briefly before looking away.

He inclined his head slightly, his dark eyes studying you for a moment. “You must be tired. You should rest.”

“And you, Your Highness?” you asked, your tone polite but distant.

He smiled faintly, the expression barely reaching his eyes. “I’ll manage, as I always do.”

With that, he stepped away, giving you space to prepare for bed. Though the room was large and luxurious, the atmosphere between you was quiet, almost delicate. As you finally lay down, your mind swirled with thoughts of the day, of the marriage, and of the man who had, against your expectations, shown you an unexpected gentleness.

When Seonghwa finally settled into the space beside you, he didn’t say a word. Yet, the calmness in his demeanor seemed to ease some of the tension in the room. And though you still felt like strangers, for the first time, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

The room was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. You lay on the grand bed, staring at the ornate canopy above, trying to will yourself to sleep. The day had been exhausting, yet your mind refused to settle. Beside you, Seonghwa’s steady breathing suggested he was equally restless.

Minutes passed in silence before his voice broke through the stillness, low and steady. “You’re not asleep either, are you?”

You turned your head slightly, catching the faint outline of his face in the dim light. “No,” you admitted. “Too much on my mind.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Understandable. Today was... a lot, even by royal standards.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it clearly. “Do you ever get used to it? The expectations, the attention, the... weight of it all?”

“Not entirely,” he replied honestly. “But you learn to carry it differently over time.”

There was a pause, and then he added, “Though I imagine this is harder for you. You didn’t grow up with it.”

You let out a soft sigh, your voice quieter now. “It’s overwhelming. I feel like I don’t belong here.”

He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. “You’ll find your place. It may take time, but you will.”

You turned to face him, his face now more visible in the faint glow of the firelight. “Why are you being so gentle with me?” you asked, your tone a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.

His lips curved into the faintest smile, one corner quirking up. “I’m introverted, not heartless.”

The unexpected honesty in his reply caught you off guard, and for the first time that day, a small, genuine smile tugged at your lips. “Fair point.”

He lay back down, his voice softer now. “I don’t see the point in making this harder than it has to be. We’re both here because of duty, not choice. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find a way to make it bearable.”

You considered his words, the tension in your chest easing just slightly. “I suppose that makes sense.”

After you murmured your agreement, Seonghwa shifted slightly, turning onto his side to face you. His dark eyes, steady and calm, met yours in the dim light.

“You should sleep,” he said softly, his tone carrying a hint of finality. “It’s been a long day, and tomorrow will bring its own demands.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the subtle warmth in his voice despite his usual reserved demeanor. “I could say the same to you,” you replied, your tone quieter now.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, barely visible in the low light. “I’ll sleep when you do. Consider it... a gesture of fairness.”

You didn’t argue, though you couldn’t quite bring yourself to look away from him. The firelight cast faint shadows on his face, softening the sharpness of his features. For a moment, you wondered if the man who had seemed so cold and distant all day might have more to him than you had assumed.

“Goodnight, Lady Park,” he said, his voice low and steady, his eyes lingering on yours for a beat longer than necessary before he closed them.

You hesitated, then finally replied, “Goodnight, Your Highness.”

Turning onto your back, you stared up at the canopy once more. But this time, the weight of the day felt a little lighter, and though your thoughts still swirled, the warmth of his words lingered, eventually lulling you into a restless, yet strangely comforting sleep.

The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains as you rose, the events of the previous day still weighing on your mind. After breakfast, you were introduced to your lady-in-waiting, a young woman named Eunji. She was polite and cheerful, eager to assist as she began organizing your dresses and jewelry in the royal wardrobe.

As she carefully laid out a selection of necklaces, her eyes lingered on one in particular—a delicate piece adorned with shimmering pearls and intricate goldwork.

“This one is especially beautiful,” she said softly, almost as though she hadn’t meant to voice her thoughts aloud.

You glanced at the necklace, then at her. “Do you like it?”

Her cheeks flushed as she quickly shook her head. “Oh, no, My Lady. It’s not my place to—”

You cut her off gently. “If you like it, you can keep it.”

Eunji froze, her eyes wide. “What? No, My Lady, I couldn’t possibly—His Highness would be furious if he found out—”

“He won’t,” you interrupted, your tone calm but firm. “And even if he does, I’ll deal with him.”

She hesitated, wringing her hands as she looked from you to the necklace. “But it’s too valuable... it wouldn’t be right.”

You sighed lightly, picking up the necklace and placing it in her hands. “Eunji, if I say it’s yours, then it’s yours. Consider it a gift.”

Her eyes filled with hesitation, but also gratitude. “My Lady, you’re too kind...”

“I insist,” you said, giving her a faint smile. “Besides, what’s the point of having all of this if it can’t bring someone a little happiness?”

After a moment of silence, she finally nodded, her fingers curling around the necklace. “Thank you, My Lady. I’ll treasure it.”

You gave her a small nod and returned to sorting through the rest of the items. Though you didn’t say it aloud, her joy over something so simple felt strangely fulfilling, a brief reprieve from the unfamiliar world you now found yourself navigating.

Later that afternoon, Seonghwa approached you as you sat in the study, quietly reading through a book. His footsteps were soft, but his presence was impossible to miss. Without preamble, he spoke, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of curiosity.

“I see you’ve gifted something to one of the servants.”

You looked up from your book, meeting his gaze. His face, as usual, betrayed little emotion, but there was no trace of anger there. “Yes,” you admitted evenly. “Are you mad?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. “It’s your belongings. Do whatever you wish with them.”

His words were simple, yet they carried an air of reassurance that you hadn’t expected.

He paused briefly, glancing toward the window before continuing. “By the way, I noticed you’ve organized your belongings in my room quite efficiently. Impressive.”

You blinked, your calm exterior faltering just slightly. “Should I... remove them?” you asked hesitantly, unsure if he found the arrangement intrusive.

Seonghwa turned his gaze back to you, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “No,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “This room, this house—they’re yours now. You can do whatever you want here.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He wasn’t just giving you permission to arrange your belongings; he was offering you a sense of ownership, of belonging, in a world that still felt foreign to you.

You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. “Thank you,” you murmured, returning your attention to your book, though your thoughts now lingered on his unexpected generosity.

Seonghwa didn’t say anything more. He simply gave a faint nod and walked away, leaving you with a strange sense of comfort and the quiet realization that, perhaps, this new life wouldn’t be as lonely as you had feared.

The days in the palace continued, a quiet routine settling between you and Seonghwa, interrupted only by the occasional royal event or meeting. You had grown accustomed to the rhythms of royal life, though the sense of unfamiliarity still lingered in the corners of your mind. The grand halls, the soft whispers of servants, the unspoken expectations—they all seemed so far removed from the life you had once known.

One afternoon, as you sorted through your tasks, you hesitated for a moment before turning to Seonghwa, who was seated at his desk, reading through a pile of royal documents.

“Seonghwa,” you began, your voice tentative, “I was wondering if I could have a little money. I need it for... something.”

He glanced up from his papers, his gaze sharp as always, but this time, there was a trace of something softer behind his eyes. He studied you for a moment, and then, it hit him—the realization that you still seemed uncertain, still hesitant when it came to making decisions, even small ones.

He set down his papers, his voice quieter, almost gentle as he addressed you.

“You still ask for permission, don’t you?” he said, a subtle sadness creeping into his words.

You froze, not quite understanding what he meant. “I... I just don’t want to overstep.”

Seonghwa shook his head, standing up from his desk. “This is your house now. It’s your life, your choices. And,” he paused, walking over to you with a soft expression, “my money is your money. You don’t need permission for anything.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight of sincerity, as though he were explaining something basic to a child. And for a brief moment, you felt a warmth in your chest—a quiet understanding that perhaps, in his own way, Seonghwa was offering you a sense of freedom, something you had never truly known in this new world.

“You can do whatever you want,” he continued, his voice softer now. “The money, the house, everything. It’s yours. Don’t ask for permission again.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the softness in his tone, the genuine care that laced his words. Slowly, you nodded, the nervous tension in your shoulders easing. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seonghwa gave you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but still held a certain warmth. “You don’t need to thank me for that. I’m just reminding you of something you’ve already earned.”

You felt a strange comfort in his words, the weight of them sinking into your heart. It was a small moment, a simple exchange, but somehow it made this life, this strange new world you were trying to navigate, feel just a little more like home.

For the first time since childhood, since stepping into the palace and the unfamiliar life it held, you felt something you hadn’t realized you were missing: importance. You were no longer just a piece in someone else’s game, a mere addition to a royal family that was bound by duty and expectation. Seonghwa’s words—his reminder that this house, this life, was as much yours as it was his—had cracked open something inside you.

Without thinking, your arms moved instinctively, wrapping tightly around him. His presence, his warmth, and the unexpected kindness of his words had unraveled something deep inside you, something you hadn’t let yourself feel before: a sense of belonging.

Seonghwa froze for a moment, clearly startled by the sudden embrace. His body stiffened, unsure of how to react to the closeness, the softness in your hold. You could feel his breath catch slightly, his posture rigid as though he were trying to figure out whether to push you away or to let the moment pass. But you held on, the need to feel this sense of connection overwhelming any reservations you had.

“I... I’m sorry,” you muttered, realizing only then that you were clinging to him, your face pressed against his chest.

For a long, tense moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you felt thick, as though both of you were holding your breath. Then, slowly, you felt Seonghwa’s arms move around you—hesitant at first, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to the warmth of your embrace. But when he did finally wrap his arms around you, the touch was gentle, almost tender, as though he was grounding himself in this unspoken moment.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he murmured quietly into your hair, his voice low and steady. There was an unfamiliar softness in it, a rare vulnerability that he seldom allowed to show. “You’re not a burden, you know.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the knot in your chest loosening. His words, so simple yet so profound, made your heart flutter. You had been carrying the weight of so many expectations for so long, always trying to be what was needed, always trying to do what was right. But here, in his arms, you felt for the first time like you mattered—not for what you could offer, but for who you were.

“I just... I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, as though you were afraid to speak the truth out loud. “I don’t know how to navigate this life. It feels... so different.”

Seonghwa’s grip on you tightened slightly, not out of necessity but of understanding. “You’re not alone in this, you know. I’m here. I’ll help you find your way.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. You didn’t need to say anything more. You simply held on, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade. There were no royal expectations, no duty or obligations weighing down on you. There was just Seonghwa, just the feeling of being held, of being seen.

When he finally pulled back, his hands lingered at your sides, a hesitant gesture as if he weren’t ready to completely release the closeness you had just shared. His gaze met yours, and for the first time, you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of care, an unspoken connection between the two of you that neither of you had acknowledged until now.

“You’re important,” he said softly, his voice unwavering. “More than you know.”

And in that moment, you loved this feeling, you believed him.

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minkieater · 5 months ago

Text

when another member walks in on you ateez ot8 x fem!reader

silly little thing i wrote between clients today

smut below the cut! mdni ↓ dom/sub dynamics, exhibitionism, oral sex, p in v lol, lmk if i missed anything !!

hongjoong ☄️

“shut up slut, they’ll hear you. i bet you want that, don’t you?” he had your face buried in your mattress, drool slipping from your mouth, your ass up in the air where he was relentlessly drilling into you.

you moaned, you had stopped caring about your volume long ago, they would hear hongjoong’s thrusts before your moans anyhow. you clenched around him, only making him hiss out and reach over to push your head impossibly farther into the mattress.

you pissed him off— you got a little too close to wooyoung, talked for a little too long and hongjoong was livid.

“you want him to hear you, don’t you? want him to hear all the pretty sounds you make? showing off, huh? attention whore,” his words were venom, his lips inches from your ear with how he bent over you, foot planted on the mattress beside your shoulder.

“are you guys oka— oh shit, i’m so sorry,” hongjoong lets go of your head only for the two of you to snap your faces up to the intruder, hongjoong stilling inside of you.

“what the fuck?” was all hongjoong could get out, a stunned wooyoung in the doorway, his jaw on the floor at the sight in front of him. “wooyoung! get out!”

“it didn’t sound like you were fucking! i got scared,” you heard wooyoung yell as he closed the door behind him, leaving hongjoong to pick right back up where he left off.

“don’t think i missed how you clenched around me, whore.”

seonghwa 🫧

seonghwa had you on your knees while he sat on the bed, leaned back on one arm with the other around your ponytail, guiding you up and down his length.

in a black tank top and gray sweatpants he looked so fucking sexy in the living room, you couldn’t help but pull him into his bedroom for a minute alone — you needed to taste him, show him how much he affected you.

“fuck, you’re so good at that,” his words were quiet, a low rasp to his voice as he tugged on your hair a little harder. your mouth slipped off of him with a pop, batting your eyelashes up at him with a knowingly coy smile.

he groaned, a little louder this time, his head falling back. “don’t look at me like that or your throat’s getting fucked.”

you giggled, mouth attaching to him again, bobbing your head up and down a little faster now. he bucked his hips up little by little, using more force with each stroke and you took him proudly, small gags and noises of nasty wetness leaving your lips.

the door opened without either of you noticing, only catching a head of brown hair leaving seonghwa’s bedroom with a shriek of surprise. this wasn’t the first time yeosang had walked in on you, but it still made you laugh every damn time.

you looked up to seonghwa with a giggle on your lips after popping off him again, seonghwa wearing a smile himself.

“how many times do you think we’ll scar him before he stops coming in here?” seonghwa asks, letting go of your ponytail.

“if he was going to catch on, he would’ve by now,” you readjusted yourself on your knees during the pause, shaking your head before bringing your focus back on his delicious length before you. “you said something about fucking my throat right?”

yunho 🧍🏻‍♂️

you and yunho had been waiting for a day alone for weeks. for too long had you been silenced in the hours from one to three, his fingers clamped over your lips or stuffed between them in an attempt to keep you quiet. comeback season was busy, and when there was time off everyone lazed around the dorms and didn’t fucking leave.

now, on your third consecutive day off, the dorms were empty and yunho took advantage. he had your hands pinned under your back with a belt he had just taken off, hips snapping into you so hard the sound was sure to be heard outside.

“sloppy little cunt sucking me right the fuck in,” he hissed, hips cracking into your thighs, his fingers keeping you still.

you were wailing at this point, tears streaming down your face, begging for reprieve while also thinking if he stopped you’d die.

“don’t stop,” you repeated, a mantra on your tongue, from your hips being slanted upward his cock was hitting that spongy spot in your walls that drove you fucking insane.

you were so close, mere thrusts away from hitting your peak, and the door busted open, an out of breath mingi stood at the door.

“the rest of the guys are walking in right behind me,” mingi’s words were panicked in a warning, but yunho didn’t stop. he ignored his friend, knowing you were so close, wanting your high to crash over you so he could follow.

you screamed — mingi couldn’t move. yunho fucked you through it, thrusts only quickening to meet his own end, until he doubled on top of you with two large hands landing right beside your head.

yunho turned to look at mingi, a smirk playing on his lips with heaving breaths, “enjoyed the show?”

yeosang 👥

everyday yeosang woke you up the same way: his fingers or his head between your thighs until you were creaming around him, then he replaced it with his cock. it wasn’t a good morning until you had at least one, if not two orgasms.

this morning he was greedy— it seemed he didn’t want to let you go. you came on his face once, his fingers a second time, and he was working you up to a third on his lap. if yeosang could do anything it was last, his stamina was like no other, he could go for hours if you let him.

you had your knees planted on the mattress beside his hips, his cock hitting your cervix continuously as you grind your hips back and forth against him, your nails clawing at his shoulders. his head was leaning against the headboard, leaving his throat open to you, where you licked and sucked pretty little bruises across the base of his neck, little whines leaving his throat.

“yes, baby, ‘m so close,” he croaked out, his voice raspy and deep, his abs clenching with every grind of your hips.

“cum for me then yeo, fill me up,” your hand moved from his shoulder to wrap your fingers around his neck, pulling him towards you to connect your chest to his.

your mornings weren’t usually so filthy, never downright nasty, bringing your skin to touch his brought a sense of intimacy back to your morning.

his head fell onto your shoulder with a groan, filling you up just as you told him to, thighs twitching beneath you. you moaned at the feeling, letting your head rest atop his, bringing your hands to tangle in his hair.

“you guys awake yet?” seonghwa popped into your room, making you twist your body around to look at him, eyes wide.

“definitely awake,” he pulled his lips into a line, bidding you a singular nod before closing the door again. a huff of amusement left your lips as you looked back down to the boy laying on your shoulder, patting his head, giving him a moment to come back before you’d take your morning shower together.

san 🚪

san couldn’t wait. you were at your favorite club, both tipsy and horny, dancing to the beat of the song before san’s fingers dipped below your dress. you looked up to him with wide eyes, met with a filthy smirk and a pair of dimples that ushered you towards the men’s bathroom.

“san, anyone could walk in,” you were uneasy, san was never so impatient that he needed you then and there. he’d never portrayed signs of exhibitionism before today, your sex life had always been private — you liked it that way, yet the hunger in his eyes and the spark left in the wake of his fingers on your skin made you excited.

“let them see how good i fuck you then,” he hummed, fingers flipping up your dress, plunging into your core that was so wet he slipped in. the squelch of his fingers was deafening, you thanked god the bathroom was empty.

he stuffed you into a stall, fingers still curling into you before he slipped your panties to the side, replacing his fingers with his cock. the pace he set was brutal, your hands bracing the wall above the toilet as he fucked into you from behind, hips slapping into your ass.

you fought to keep your moans inside, pointless as the sound of skin slapping would overpower them anyway. san groaned, “knew you’d be wet, naughty girl. you were basically begging me to fuck you on the dance floor for everyone to see.”

a whine escaped you, nails clawing against the tile of the wall. he slipped a hand around your hips, coming between your legs, rubbing your clit at a pace he knew would have you coming in seconds

“fuck, san, harder please,” you breathed out, head dipping below your arms, hanging between them.

he listened, quickening his pace, fucking you somehow harder than he was before. his fingers worked in a quick rhythm, making the pit in your stomach grow until you were overflowing on his dick.

“yeah, that’s it, baby. cum all over my cock,” he was drunk off your pussy, words slurring together, keeping his pace on your clit to ride you through it.

when you were twitching from overstimulation he emptied himself inside you, head falling to the center of your spine. there was nothing but the sound of heavy breaths in the public restroom, you and san catching your breath and your sanity before he flipped your dress back down and zippered himself back up.

when you left the stall, jongho was washing his hands at the sink, barely giving you a glance as you stepped into view.

“how long have you been in here?” san asked, a pink rising to his cheeks, looking like a completely different person than he had moments ago.

“unfortunately, long enough. broke the seal so i had no choice,” jongho shrugs as he grabs paper towels, drying off his palms. “make sure you two wash your hands.”

mingi 🫶

the say my name stage always fucked you up, it never failed. being on stage period always fucked mingi up, that never failed either. it was safe to say that your post-show routine was always fucking backstage, it happened every stop, every show, you lost count of how many dressing rooms in foreign countries you’ve been fucked within an inch of your life in.

what was abnormal was mingi not waiting until the show was over. always professional, mingi waited until everyone was no longer sprinting around backstage with mini-fans and makeup brushes to touch up the eight boys before they had to head back out onstage.

as he came off the stage, his walk was fast paced, precise. it would’ve scared you if you didn’t know what it meant. his fingers hooked around your arm, dragged you further backstage, and had you in a random closet in a stadium completely foreign to you.

he was quick to split you open, granted say my name was within their first set so you were already dripping by the time he made it between your legs.

“always so ready for me,” he mumbled out, zeroed in on your center but eyes still not fully clear. in his post performance haze he was always rougher, selfish, not a care in the world for you. it was your favorite.

“put it in,” you barked out, hips bucking toward him and he was sheathed within seconds. giving you no time to get used to the stretch you wheezed, head lolling onto his shoulder, and he let loose.

he fucked you stupid, you joined him in whatever haze his brain was under as he pounded into you, hips clapping into the silence of the dark storage room. you heard footsteps outside but mingi made no moves to halt his thrusts, only focused on one thing, getting the two of you off before he had to go back onstage.

“are you fucking?” yunho’s voice wasn’t clear until he had the door open, light cascading into the storage room, yours and mingi’s necks snapping to look at the intruder.

he was smirking — he knew what he was walking into yet he did it anyway. you and mingi both smiled cheshire grins as yunho stepped inside the storage room, quickly slamming the door shut behind him.

“why didn’t you invite me?”

wooyoung 🐈‍⬛

wooyoung had you splayed out on the bed, legs bent up with his head between them. eating you out was adjacent to your meditation time, as he calls it, it's his favorite way to wind down. after a long day, after a short day, during his day, it didn’t matter when. wooyoung was always down to eat you out, eager even — he is a man not above begging.

your chin was shot back, eyes screwed tight, wooyoung had made you cum on his tongue twice so far and he was nowhere near finished.

after eating you through your second orgasm his licks had slowed down, easing up his pressure, making his tongue soft and pliable instead of hard and pointed.

soft moans left your lips, he knew by now how to work you through overstimulation, lazily licking at your clit until your moans turned to whines once more.

“taste so fucking good, could eat this pussy all night,” his eyes were fully closed, he was in a dream. between your legs was his happy place, he’d die there a happy man, he’d admitted it more than once. more than ten times, at least.

when he noticed your breaths getting shorter and your moans shifting to a higher pitch he was sharp with his movements, picking up his pace, licking up your folds and sucking on your clit with swollen lips.

hongjoong bounced through the door, “hey wooyo, you- jesus fucking christ!”

your legs snapped shut, closing over wooyoung’s head and he pried himself out of your cage with painted fingertips, jumping up to face hongjoong at the door.

“what?” wooyoung asked, palm swiping at his chin.

“i’m scarred,” hongjoong muttered, voice horrified with hands covering his eyes. your hands fled for the blankets, pulling them over your body with a speed you weren’t expecting to have to use.

“what do you want, joong?” wooyoung asked, rushed yet still casual, sitting on his knees. his abdomen was clenched, muscles on display as he twisted backward, you didn’t even care that hongjoong was in the room.

“i was going to ask if you had a spare pair of headphones,” his voice was barely above a squeak, hands still covering his eyes.

“oh, yeah i do, here, they’re my sony 1000MX—”

“i don’t give a fuck wooyoung, give them to me so i can leave.”

jongho 🧸

you were hanging out with jongho in the dance practice room as he practiced the same routine again, the fifth time tonight.

he groaned in frustration after missing a step again, the same step he’s missed the past four times he’s gone through the routine. his hands cover his face, dragging down his cheeks.

you get up from your spot on the floor, making your way in front of him, grabbing his hands to hold in yours.

“why don’t you stop for the night?” you tilt your head, nothing but warmth in your eyes as you stare into his, cold and irritated.

“i need to get this fucking right,” his lips are pursed, his eyebrows are knit together as he barks, “i need to clear my head.”

within minutes he had you on your hands and knees atop the hardwood floor, bodies facing the mirror that spread across the wall, forcing you to watch yourself as he fucked you stupid.

“see that?” he smirked at you through the mirror, fingers tight on your hips, “nothing but a cocksleeve whenever i want it, so willing for me.”

his words were cool and calm, almost a threat on his lips as he abused your core. your eyebrows were tangled and your mouth hung open, knees and palms burning from the pressure against the harsh wood.

“yes, just for you,” you manage to choke out between thrusts, body jolting forward with each thrust.

“that’s right baby,” he nods, his smile turning villainous, only fucking into you harder as he spits, “such a fucking whore, letting me fuck you in public like this.”

you nod, eyes screwed shut, “d-don’t fucking stop.”

his chuckle is deep, his thrusts losing their rhythm, “you want it? want me to fill this filthy pussy up?”

the door to the practice room opens, san strolls inside with a smile on his face before he sees the two of you — he shrieked. “what the fuck!?”

jongho stilled, laying himself atop your body, trying to cover you as best he could. his words come out nervous, “get the fuck out!”

san slips back out of the door, then peeks his head back in, “wait, when are you gonna be done? i want to practice.”

“san!”

masterlist

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tangerineastronaut · 2 months ago

Note

can you do how they would be when your pregnant ot8

ATEEZ during your pregnancy ❤︎ ot8

Pairing: ot8 headcanons Genre: fluff, mentions of smut Requested: Yes w.c. 2.5k Warnings: pregnancy discussion, talk, sexual bits (not a whole lot of smut I promise) A/N: This took a surprisingly long amount of time I'm sorry!! I'm not sure if you meant ateez or not, I assumed so since that's what I've been posting recently. If not please send me an ask and I will do this for another group! Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

Taglist: @baby-stay92 @cozypaint If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please DM me or click here.

🔞Content Below the Break🔞

Hongjoong

The absolute worst (best)

Scolds you for "doing too much" aka walking up the stairs or picking up a gallon of milk.

Buys you the most expensive brand of prenatal vitamins despite your doctor insisting the cheap ones are fine

Checks on you via text every hour when he's not with you

^ and when he is with you

Is lowkey afraid of failure as a father, reads parenting articles

Sends you decaf coffee at work

Wants to feel your belly but won't unless you invite him to

Teary eyed when he feels the baby kick for the first time

Sampled the heartbeat at the ultrasound visit to use in a song

Writes letters to you and the baby and keeps them in a memory book for you to read later (but you don't know this)

Nursery is fully decked out and the baby already has a full wardrobe

Your crying makes him panic, he hates seeing you cry and will frantically try to soothe you every time

Is grossed out by your cravings but will get them for you anyway—why do you have to crave vegetables?

Sex is soft and lazy in the best way

Side sex (think sunday morning sex except any day) >>>

Like imagine his chest against your back, his cheek against yours, one of his hands keeping your leg up so he has room to fuck you, asking if it feels good and if you're comfortable, except he's kind of whining and breathless ~

No pregnancy kink but thinks you're breathtaking, as always

^ even when you haven't showered, your legs are hairy, etc. He thinks you're a work of art

Plays music for you and the baby, asks what he/she responds to and makes note of it

Overprotective, does not like it when people touch you in general, let alone when you're pregnant

Visibly dies inside every time someone's hand goes to your belly without asking you first—would scold people if you'd let him

Posts photos of you each month documenting your pregnancy and leaving a words of appreciation for you

Keeps a copy of the ultrasound photo with him

May not have his hands on you 24/7, but he makes sure you know you're loved as well as the baby

Seonghwa

So freaking soft for you both

Loves babies anyway but your baby??

Him leaning against the headboard so you can lean against him, he'll curl his arms around you and rub your belly while you talk

Talks to the baby, even when you're asleep

"I can feel you kicking in there. Let's let mommy sleep, hm? She gets cranky at daddy when she's tired."

Watches parenting videos

Loves showering with you since you can't take baths

When you joke that there's not much room anymore he'll say he knows that and pulls you closer

Shaves your legs for you when it gets too difficult, even if you're too shy to ask him

Buys you gifts every time he gets something for the baby

"The mom group says it's important for me to make you feel as loved and wanted as the baby."

^ has joined mom groups on social media, because "dad groups are just full of men complaining"

Calls him/her 'the little one'

"How are you? How was the little one today?"

Isn't overprotective but has moments when he hovers

You don't mind

Sex is always slow and full of giggles and him reassuring you when you're out of breath

He likes you on your back so he can kiss you and keep pressure off of you, arms on either side of you to support his weight

Likes taking naps with you even though you're always napping due to exhaustion

^ rarely actually sleeps, just wants to be near you and the baby

Knows your cravings by heart

"Pickle juice and french fries? That's a new one."

His nesting is as bad as yours if not worse; you both frantically clean the house months before the baby arrives

Loves when you send him selfies/belly pics

Isn't fazed by your emotions, helps you work through them and validates you

"Being pregnant doesn't mean you aren't allowed to have feelings, pretty girl. I'm here."

Yunho

Probably the most excited externally

Loves rubbing your belly and watching the baby kick his hand

Unironically purchased the "I'm proof daddy doesn't play video games all the time" onesie

Brings you ice cream even if you don't ask for it

"I'm telepathically linked with our baby, he/she said they want ice cream. I don't make the rules, y/n."

p r e g n a n c y k i n k

"Look at you, so fucking pretty and full."

Sex is unbelievably gentle despite his filthy words

Won't put you on your back, likes to have you in his lap so he can do all the work

Likes taking you out and showing you off, even when you feel like a mess

Posts pictures of you constantly to the point where people joke he's running a y/n maternity account

Foot rubs

Sympathy pains

"Our heartburn is bad today. I want a cinnamon roll. With sprinkles."

Teases you relentlessly

"I'll race you to the kitchen—oh yeah."

Handsy af but you don't mind

Walks up behind you to hold your belly

Sits up at night to rub it when the baby won't settle

He/she loves Yunho's voice and they begin kicking when he speaks

^ he uses this to his advantage

"Mommy's calling herself ugly again, I'm gonna need some backup from my internal ally."

Already 2 v 1 and the thing isn't even here yet

His google search history is worse than yours

^ "can pregnant women eat carrots"

"how long does pregnancy really last"

"how to make pregnant woman stop crying"

"why is my pregnant girlfriend crying"

"why am I crying"

"how to stop crying when your pregnant girlfriend cries"

Loves when people ooh and awe over you; beams and grins like an idiot bc you're his and he put the baby in you.

Yeosang

Seems calm

Is not calm

Is just as protective/concerned as Hongjoong but is so quiet about it you don't even notice

You haven't lifted a grocery bag since he found out about your pregnancy

Has the dates of your appointments memorized

No one touches the belly. He doesn't even say anything to anyone. They just don't.

Does little things to make sure you're extra comfortable, bought you a pregnancy pillow

Whispers to your belly

^ "I'm afraid my voice will scare the baby. I'll just whisper."

Pouts if the baby won't kick for him

You: "Please, Yeosang, for the millionth time fetuses cannot choose favorites! Our baby loves you, I promise!"

King of pregnancy cravings

2 a.m. runs to the convenience store because you want some strawberry milk

Forehead kisses with a hand on your belly >>>

Will literally get on his knees for a chat with him/her

Like imagine looking down and seeing this man smiling up at you, both hands on your tummy with so much love in his eyes I just—

His calm facade dissolves when you cry

It physically hurts him to see you break down and he will do all he can to help you

Talks about you nonstop and your symptoms, experiences, etc literally to anyone with ears

Signs you both up for a parenting class

Cannot believe how horny you are, but is happy to help

^ a little afraid of you tbh but still very much in love

Like Hongjoong, prefers side sex so he can still be close to you

Also loves foreplay/eating you out even more now because of how sensitive you are

Ultrasound visits/pics make him choked up though he tries to hide it

His brain has not processed the fact that his baby is literally inside of you

It isn't going to fully sink in until there's a baby in his arms

^ is never going to put him/her down

San

Proud Dad™

Is excited, but calm

Similar to Yeosang but not as intense

^ still protective, but doesn't mind when people touch your belly as long as they ask first

Buys two copies of baby books for you both to read at the same time

Posts pictures of your pregnancy journey with quotes or long paragraphs about how beautiful you are

lowkey pregnancy kink?

Cautious

Armchair sex/you in his lap - super slow and soft

Loves showering with you after to hold you and massage your back/shoulders

Doesn't necessarily treat you like you'll break but is still very gentle with you

Hugs are softer, he doesn't squeeze as tight, likes to hug you from behind and look over you to see what you're doing

Touches your belly in a reassuring way, likes to brush his hand against it and feel the baby's reaction

Does it in public probably the most of the members, though it's not really intentional

His hands used to go to your waist and now they go to your bump ~

Doesn't talk to the baby as much as he sings to him/her

Is way too excited to take maternity photos

Gets caught staring at you by literally everyone

Does not care

Thinks you hung the stars

Loooooves being snuggled in bed with you with your bump between you, rubbing your belly and whispering as though the baby is sleeping

Is very expressive about his fears/doubts and wants you to be as well

Blushes when people call him daddy

Blushes harder when you call him daddy

Pretty calm when it comes to your emotions, will just go with the flow and give you what you need, whether that's space, affection, or food

secretly hopes you want another one

Mingi

When I tell you this man is terrified

Does not think he can care for a baby despite your reassurance

Asks all the questions

"I mean, how do we know when it's done? You know, like, cooked all the way?"

Oddly protective despite his fears

Does not like anyone touching your belly

Any time someone comments on your size/roundness/etc he's ready to throw hands, does not care if it's the ajumma two doors down from you

You: "Mingi for the love of god, I have told you, you cannot threaten people."

"She threatened you first!"

You: "She just said I look ready to pop??"

Horny af and has a pregnancy kink but will not initiate sex

You have to beg, and even then it's like ~

"No I mean just stand there, and I'll hold you and put it in. Yeah don't move at all."

Will still eat you out daily

Treats you like a glass doll

Belly kisses >>>>>

Buys baby books, gets one page in and declares this is too much to remember and you both should get a refund

^ shrugs at your look of horror "obviously I meant a refund for the books..."

Raps??? at your belly? Like nursery rhyme raps????

Also talks. A lot. Not cooing or baby talk

"Today at practice I slipped and it sucked, kinda hurt my knee. I'm still a good dancer, definitely better than Yunho. I'll show you. But I mean like after you can walk and stuff, or maybe you'll dance before you can walk and we can win money or something. Do they have baby dance competitions?"

Doesn't post the pictures he takes of you and your belly, looks at them when he misses you and won't let anyone else see them

Unironically refers to himself as your baby daddy and changes his contact in your phone [proudly]

When you cry, he cries, so please don't cry

Asks if he can attend his own child's birth

^ is excited when you say "...yes, Mingi. You can attend the birth of our child."

Wooyoung

Knows all there is to know about babies??

Is not concerned at all

Reassures you constantly

You ask him questions

Will lay on your thighs and absentmindedly rub your belly while watching tv or scrolling on his phone

Actually, will rub your belly anywhere, and usually does it without realizing it

Refers to you as mama and himself as dada even out of context

"Do you want a drink, mama?"

Is completely unfazed by your weird cravings and will get them for you as long as it's not harmful

"No, y/n, you cannot have sushi with your oreos. Mercury levels..."

Not overprotective in the slightest

Your biggest advocate

The only member who would fuck you properly while pregnant, as he knows it's safe within reason

Does not have a pregnancy kink, but loves how sensitive you are, the changes to your body, etc and thinks you're a goddess

Loves going shopping with you

Will absolutely argue with you over nursery themes

Finds you adorable when you're emotional, but will still try to calm you down and comfort you

Loves talking about you nonstop

May not praise you to your face as much as the others but tells everyone else he's so incredibly lucky to have you as the mother of his child

He was so clingy before

It's worse

His camera roll is full of selfies with him and your bump

Imagine woo making bunny ears over your belly (and telling your unborn child to say cheese)

Has full on conversations with him/her

Baby talks and coos and informs them they have the best parents ever

Jongho

Probably the most genuinely calm member when it comes to your pregnancy

Still very excited

Does not know as much as wooyoung but is fairly confident, not terrified or anxious like some of the others

Touches your belly from day 1, even without a bump

Sings and hums to it

The baby LOVES his voice and always kicks when he's near

He finds this adorable and loves talking to him/her while touching your stomach

Massages >>>>

Your pregnancy aches are afraid of him

Is a little shaken by your emotions but handles them well

Not too overprotective but really hates it when people touch you

Won't say anything though unless you're uncomfy

Sex?

Dear god

2ho breeding/pregnancy kink is my headcanon and I am sticking with it

Do not make eye contact for more than a few seconds

Is unbelievably horny for you

Doggy style with pillows underneath you >>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Is extra gentle despite how badly he wants you

Takes care of you first also ^ he knows it helps you relax so that's always his end goal

Loves the way you look while pregnant

Thinks you're beautiful anyway but something about the fact that you're literally creating a brand new human being

When you wear his t-shirts and nothing else because your clothes don't fit anymore it makes him melt ~

^ he complains for the fun of it but would probably cry if you stopped

Brings you snacks/drinks/whatever without you having to ask

Is willing to try your cravings with you as long as it's nothing vile (frito chips + peanut butter)

Wants to do every social media pregnancy trend with you

*buys your unborn child soccer cleats*

Doesn't post photos of you often but when he does, they're tearjerkers

Wants more kids but knows how difficult pregnancy/motherhood is so ultimately it's up to you

He's the cutest - kissing your temple while snuggling on the couch and rubbing your belly

"Our baby bear"

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domm1etae · 5 months ago

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bf!san, who just wanted to have you right there on the bathroom counter, pressed you up against it

Imagine San getting worked up at a family gathering. You’d caught him glancing at you all night, eyes darkening with every subtle brush of your skin against his as you passed by in the crowded space. The way you laughed, the casual touch of your hand on his arm—each little thing seemed to fuel a fire he was barely containing. When his hand finally found yours, tugging you discreetly towards the bathroom, you knew he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Once inside, he closed the door quietly, pressing you against it, his breath heavy as he looked you over, a smirk playing on his lips. His hands were already roaming, sliding down your waist and gripping firmly at your hips, pulling you close enough to feel the heat and hardness pressing into you. “You have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, eyes gleaming as he leaned in.

With a gentle but insistent grip, San guided you to face the mirror, making sure you saw the look in his eyes—full of need and possessiveness. He lifted your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his reflection, as he slid a hand down to your thigh, slipping it between your legs. His fingers moved with urgency, and he grinned, loving how your breath caught, your eyes widening in response.

“Look at yourself” he whispered, his hand now slipping to unbutton his pants as he pressed himself against you. He nudged your legs apart, leaning in close enough for his lips to graze your ear. “I want you to see what you do to me.” His words sent a shiver down your spine, the heat between you both intensifying as he finally sank into you, groaning as he filled you completely.

His pace was rough, desperate, hands gripping your hips as he pulled you back against him with each thrust, each movement stifled but no less intense, given the risky setting. The tension of keeping quiet only heightened every sensation, every slow drag of his length inside you, as he whispered praise and teasing words in your ear.

He kept your gaze locked with his in the mirror, relishing the way your expression shifted with every thrust. “You slut” he growled softly, possessively, his fingers digging into your hips as he quickened his pace, driving you both closer to the edge. When he finally came, his grip on you tightened, keeping you steady as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathless and completely satisfied.

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from-izzy · 1 month ago

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[00:35] | ateez choi san

“And if I do?”

pairing » ateez choi san x fem!reader

trope/au » established relationship au, non-idol au

genre » very fluffy, falling asleep during studying and boyfriend san who is worried for you because you don't take the greatest care of yourself, (it really was supposed to be fluff all through the end) turns suggestive towards the last quarter of the story, reader is a bit playful, san is very in love with you, of course you are super in love with him too

word count; estimated reading time » 1032; ~4 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » quite suggestive at the end, indeed...a suggestive sentence at the very end, san lifts the reader up, reader wears glasses, reader implied to be smaller than san, san restrains reader's hands, pet names (bubs, baby girl)

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 the boyz lee juyeon ver.

my ateez debut! here it is @jaehunnyy !! i really wanted to post smth for your bday so please take this as a late bday present 😭 thanks for proofreading a bit of this one and finding the pictures for the banners 🥰 you saved me a bunch of tears fr 😀 have fun with the second one (even though it's the same...😭)

It’s not an unusual occurrence for you to be staying up late at night and for San to find you draped over your books and worksheets when he gets home. In fact, it’s becoming such a usual occurrence that San is making it a habit to open the front door with such gentleness that the click of the door opening would be too loud for his liking. In reality, your study desk at your shared apartment is quite a distance from the entrance of the apartment, so if San wanted to, he could enter in the same way as if you were awake.

But he didn’t want to.

In the rare case that you decide to snooze off on the couch, he doesn’t want to be the one to ruin your precious, peaceful sleeping time. Unfortunately for him, he would still be needing to do it one way or another if he ever finds you asleep on the couch or anywhere but your shared bed. The victorious smile from closing the front door quietly soon turns upside down, frowning at the sight of your head lying on your stack of handouts in the study room. The stack acted as your pillow, your arms around the rectangular pile. You look like you have been resting your body for some time now, given that San’s soft head pat didn’t faze you at all. With a slightly heavy sigh, San makes his way to the other side of the desk to get a better look at your face. He kneels on the floor, content with being more at eye level with you.

He’s surprised to see that you must’ve been so exhausted that taking your glasses off might have been too much effort for you. The side frame completely rests on the paper, the nose pad of the glasses no longer resting properly on your nose. San hisses at how the hard plastic pushes against your nose, already imagining the pain when you wake up and realise tomorrow.

“Bubs,” he tests your consciousness with a whisper. “Your whole body is going to hurt when you wake up, you know?” Your breathing is still as even as before, and the no response from you deepens his frown. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to move you, okay?”

San rises to his feet once again, grabbing the blanket drapped on your study desk that he has prepared. He’s told you multiple times to at least cover your body if you don’t plan to take a nap on the bed, but he should have known that when tiredness kicks in, all a person wants to do is to close their eyes. San spreads the light cotton across your back, kissing the side of your head and humming sweet melodies to avoid surprising you too much with his movement.

“San?” You slur sleepily, still unable to fully wake up. San clicks your desk light off and soon sees your content smile at his little gesture. “When did you get home?”

“Just a few seconds ago. When did you fall asleep?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” A raised eyebrow from your boyfriend is what prompts you to tell him the truth. “A little longer than that.”

San tuts disapprovingly, “You can’t keep slouching off on the table. It’s not good for your body. And this,” he takes your glasses off by the hinges, “it’s not comfortable for you.”

You hum at his loving lecture for you, beginning to straighten your back from the long nap. Truthfully, if San weren’t beside you right now, you would be sending complaints to your past self for dozing off at the table, your back cramping and sore. But Choi San knows you too well, and the creases between your eyebrows tell him everything.

“See?” He reprimands.

You’re not given another chance to rebut when he swivels the chair around for you to face him. In a second, you’re in his arms, the back of your knee and back supported securely with his arms, and your shoulder pressed against his chest. San looks down at you, pressing a quick kiss on your forehead that you respond to by pressing yours along his jawline. Along the short walk to the adjacent room, you plant kisses all over his face, giggling at the way his cheeks grow red with every second.

Just a few seconds before San would rest you gently on the mattress, you steal a kiss from his plump lips, arms wrapped around his nape and threading your fingers into the strands of his hair. San almost stumbles but soon regains balance when he registers the way you delicately take his lips. Along with the giggles and fabric rustling against each other in the small room, it’s not long until your head properly lays on a pillow. San doesn’t let you breathe after, climbing on top of your figure with his palms beside your head to support himself. His knees sink to the mattress beside your thighs, and you’re left breathless with the man before you. The remnants of his cologne are clearer now, and the proximity leaves you curling up a side of your lips.

Your boyfriend knows the meaning of your expression well from experience. “Don’t rile me up, baby girl…”

Just like he did a second ago, your eyebrow rises. Your pointer traces along the center of his exposed neck, feeling the gulp and his intense stare on you. You glide across his skin, tracing along his collarbones slowly, making sure that your touch lingers on his skin. When your finger slides down to the neckline of his fabric, it curls around his shirt to pull his tense expression closer to you. A quick touch of your lips is all you spare him before regaining eye contact with him.

“And if I do?”

Those words are enough for San to lose control, pulling the sheets to his palms as he fists them tightly. One hand leaves the bed, restraining both your wrists under his hold above your head. He dives closer to the crook of your neck, ragged breathing and warm breath against your skin.

“I’ll make sure you’ll sleep peacefully for days.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 the boyz lee juyeon ver.

tags: @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet @blossomnet

@haneul-and-clouds @jaehunnyy @mars101

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crimsonbubble · 7 months ago

Text

YALL LOOK AT THIS FUCK ASS VIDEO SAN POSTED WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM LIKE ACTUALLY IS HE INSANE BC I AM

#bubbly speaks <3 #ateez #ateez san #ateez choi san #choi san #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez x female reader #ateez smut #san x reader #san x you #san x y/n #san smut #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #san hard thoughts #san hard hours

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i-like-loserz · 3 months ago

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mommy & daddy

synopsis: you come home from a girl's night out feeling extra needy for your boyfriend

pairing: san x afab!reader

warnings: SMUT, tipsy!reader, dom!san, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cockwarming, size kink, usage of mommy/daddy, choking, pet-names, degrading words (slut, whore), hair-pulling, somnophilia elements at the end (but it's sweet)

word count: 2.7k

masterlist

Calming classical music hums in the background as his eyes scan down the page. His slightly calloused fingers idly rub at the folded corner at the top of the book, gently smoothing it out before bending it once more. His motion to flip to the next page is interrupted by the muffled sound of jingling keys and the creak of the front door opening.

San looks up from his book and spots you as you walk in, coat and purse hanging over your arm with your heels in hand. His eyes darken as you hang up your coat, appreciating the little outfit you went out in.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His husky voice rumbles through the room, deep and luxurious, dripping from his lips like molten chocolate.

When you turn around, your eyes find him under the soft glow of the reading lamp. He looks so handsome in the armchair, sitting so magnetically with his legs invitingly spread open.

“…Hi, Sannie.” You say sweetly, already enamored by his stupidly gorgeous face. You place your bag on the counter behind you before shuffling over to him with bashful steps. San can tell by the adorable flush on your cheeks that you’ve had a few drinks already.

An amused smirk rests on his lips as you innocently approach him with a certain sway in your hips. Obviously you have something on your mind.

His smile reveals those adorable dimples that have your eyes glazed with lust and lips bitten to a delicious shade of pink. Based on your obedient silence, you’re already halfway there for him.

He’s noticed that you get especially needy when you’re drunk. Something about your fruity cocktails pushes you to give in to every shielded thought and desire – to give into him without hesitation.

Usually you’re shy when it comes to sex, rarely initiating anything without a little bit of help, but god it spurs him on when you try.

—

“Have a good time?”

You hum dreamily as you climb onto his lap, feeling small as you wrap your arms around his neck to pull you on top of him.

You’ve always had an insatiable appetite for your boyfriend, but after the few cocktails you treated yourself to this evening, your body indecently craves him. Thoughts of his hand wrapped around your neck as he ruts into you have been streaming through your mind all night.

You need to feel him stretching you out as he presses your thighs to your chest, locking you in a mating press to force you to feel all of him slipping into you. You need to feel the warmth of him filling you up when he’s done, marking you as his before watching it all drip out between your hot bodies.

Your hands brush over his jaw as you cradle his face, eyes locked on the small smile quirked at the corners of his mouth.

“You look real pretty in this dress, sweetheart.” His voice is low as his thumb lightly skims over the warm skin of your thigh. You attempt to pull him in by his neck, eyes fluttering closed as you anticipate a kiss, but he pulls away before your lips could meet. San’s head tilts to the side teasingly, expression feigning ignorance. “What do you think you’re doing, baby?”

You can only stare back as the heat of embarrassment pricks at the back of your neck.

“Wha–I just want a kiss…” You mumble, shifting your body to nuzzle deeper into his warmth. You try again, this time trailing soft kisses up his neck and over his jaw. But once again, as soon as your lips start to graze his, he pulls back with a glimmer in his eyes.

Your eyebrows furrow in frustration, “Sannie!”

You can feel the warmth of his breath tease at the sensitive skin of your throat.

“You're drunk, baby, I can’t take advantage of you like this…” His actions contradict his whispered words as he plants a few sparse kisses along your collarbone.

“No, please, I’m not! Just two drinks, daddy. I promise.” His breathing gets heavier when you whine out his special name and you feel the air change between you.

You desperately grab at his wrists, attempting to entice him by placing his hands on your hips, but he barely reacts and lets them fall to his side.

Fine, you’ll have to take this into your own hands.

“I want you to, uhm,” Your tongue glides over your bottom lip as your eyes nervously wander down over his chest, “be inside of me—please.”

“And why would I do that, sweet girl?”

You sputter, not expecting him to show any resistance, especially because of the way he’s been looking at you for the last ten minutes.

“I need you...” There’s an intensity in your eyes that he has rarely seen, there’s something you've been keeping from him. Something you need.

He decides to push you a little harder, and figure out exactly what it is.

He pushes a large hand up your thighs and under your dress. The fabric bunches against his wrist as he feels over your stomach and squeezes over your tits.

“What’s making my little baby act all pathetic and needy, hm?”

You cower under his arrogant stare as your cunt pulses at his degrading words. You lean into him as his thumb swipes over your hardened nub, trembling as he sends jolts of pleasure to your center.

An eyebrow lifts with impatience as he captures your nipple in between his fingers and gives it a harsh pinch, “Spit it out.”

“I-I want you to fill me up, daddy.” He hums in response, letting go of your bud to soothe it with his thumb. Your breath stutters when you feel the roughness of his hand drag over your chest to caress your other tit. With a quieter voice you continue, “Want you to make me a mommy…”

There’s an instant tightness in his pants as his cock twitches excitedly against the material. How can he refuse an offer like that?

He could only imagine how you’d look all swollen and soft–for his eyes only. It’s no secret that San wants to fuck a baby into you, but you’ve never specifically asked for it before. Not like this.

He runs his nails down the softness of your stomach, watching as your back arches against his touch. He nuzzles his face into your covered chest as it’s pushed against him, breathing in your mouth-watering scent.

His erection pulses against your butt as he imagines how big they’ll get, all leaky and tender as your body adjusts to feed his baby. You sigh as he dots small nips over your exposed skin, pausing to suck at the edge of your jaw until you start whimpering.

His hand lightly skims over your hips before dipping into your panties. He groans at the feeling, “Such a naughty little pussy, mommy.” Your eyes threaten to roll to the back of your head when you hear the name drip from his tongue. Your walls clench around nothing, sending another flood of slick over his hand. “Slutty little girl, soaking my fingers just at the thought of being bred.”

You can hear the squelching noise of your wet heat as he dips into you. He plunges his fingers deep inside of you, hitting your sweet spot with thrusts that are too gentle to even start to placate you.

He pulls his fingers out and spreads your slick over your folds, uncaring of the way it drips down your thighs, his pants, and the seat of the armchair.

“You’re making a damn mess, baby. Gonna ruin my pants.” A firm press to your pulsing clit makes you jolt in surprise, body already hypersensitized from his touch.

He slowly slips his hand out of your underwear, watching as his fingers trail slick along with them. He traces over your lips with the glistening fingertips, admiring your mouth as he spreads your heat over your face.

“Open up.” San lets out a growled sigh as your lips obediently wrap around his fingers, sucking in the heady taste of your lust.

You roll your hips over him, feeling the thickness of his cock straining under his pants. You whimper around his fingers as you angle yourself to nudge perfectly against your clit, hips speeding up as heat quickly begins to build in your stomach.

You’re beautiful as you work yourself over him, tongue cleaning up your mess as you rut your covered cunt against him.

His hand drops from your lips, shiny with spit, to firmly grip your jaw and pull you in. His nose briefly bumps into you before he smashes his lips against yours. You respond instantly, kissing him with desperation, lips easily slotting against his.

The sweetness of your fruity cocktails meet his spiced whiskey as your tongues glide against each other. The kiss draws your breath away from its immediate intensity as you move sloppily to taste each other as deeply as possible.

When you pull away for a short breath, he pushes you down his lap to shove his clothes off, making haste to unbutton and discard his pants and boxers in one go.

He takes a bit more time to shuck off his shirt, making you watch patiently as his perfectly sculpted body is exposed to the room. He’s built like a god, muscular and lithe. You’d spend the rest of your life worshiping his body with faint touches and kisses if you could.

His breath is labored, chest rising deeply under you as his cock rests against his toned stomach, throbbing handsomely under your hungry gaze. Your mouth waters and you’re sure you’ve never wanted to taste something more.

But before you can crawl off his lap to kneel under him, he pulls you back over him with a hand on your waist before capturing your mouth with another kiss.

You rest your weight on his bare lap, savoring the feeling of his body heat against yours. You finally feel him start to melt against you, kiss you back with just as much fervor and love.

His tongue teasingly runs over the edge of your bottom lip, trailing a line over the delicate skin before pushing further against your mouth. He boldly licks into your mouth to taste you, tickling the roof of your mouth before laving passionately against yours.

You drag your hips over his lap, barely covered, and press flush against his hard cock. You can feel him throbbing under you, insistently pressing against the wetness of your panties.

His hands tighten around your waist when you run your nails over his broad chest and up the back of his neck, tenderly threading them through his hair.

With a swift motion, he shoves the top of your dress down enough to bare your chest to him. You tug feverishly on the ends of his hair as he dips down to lave his tongue against your puckered nipple. The wet heat of his lips captures your bud and suckles harshly until your back arches in ecstasy.

You shove your underwear to the side and position him at your entrance, stroking his tip through your dripping folds to get him nice and slick. Slowly, you sit yourself on his cock, gasping at the feeling of him stretching you open. “Mm…San-“

You yelp as his hand comes up behind you and grips your hair, roughly pulling your head back with a quick tug, “Hm…What was that?” His voice is gruff as your body trembles over him, legs shaking as you struggle to take all of him in one go.

“D-Daddy.”

“That's what I thought.” Your cunt is already fluttering around him as you preen at how full you feel. As his grip loosens, you experimentally start to roll against him, letting your cunt try to suck him in as you rise before pushing back down on him with a quick drop of your hips.

He feels so good in this position, nudging right against your g-spot with every bounce of your ass. You ride him slowly and delicately, legs already shaking from the intensity of having him buried inside of you. Your hands grip harshly over his shoulders as you’re forced to stutter out every breath with each drag of his cock. He’s just so big.

Quiet moans spill from your lips as you attempt to speed up. Your eyes squeeze shut as you desperately try to chase the heat bubbling up in your stomach.

Another tug to your hair makes your hips stutter, but the pain is washed out by the exquisite feeling of his cock prodding against the deepest part of you.

You gently open your eyes and he’s staring right back, gaze half-lidded as he watches you ride him. You hold the stare as you continue to grind against him, admiring the way his body tenses as he tries to control himself.

You whine as the slick sound of your connection fills the living room, “Ahh–I need your cum, daddy.”

Suddenly, his hand moves to wrap around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you squeal as he roughly shoves his hips upward to bury himself even deeper inside of you. A pathetic moan is pounded out of you as he pushes you harder onto his cock.

“Fuck—you want me to put a baby in you? Y’wanna be a mommy, hm?” Your hands wrap around his wrist as he continues to hold you by the neck, partially using it for support as your back arches to alter the angle of his thrusts.

“Please—“ You choke back a sob as he starts to vigorously pound up into you, hitting a breathless spot in you until you go boneless. Your vision blurs as your eyes well up with tears at the intensity, “—Ahhh”

His jaw is clenched tight as he watches you lose control above him, “like that baby? You gonna cum for me?”

Your mind is frantic as you rapidly reach the edge, “Yes daddy, please, breed me…make me yours.” Your voice rasps out as his grip tightens, throat struggling to swallow down breaths.

Built up tears spill down your face as warmth spreads over your body from your center. All your senses numb as your body is slammed with pleasure and stimulation. You vaguely feel the warmth of his body against yours as you tremble over him.

San lets out a strangled groan as you flutter around him, his cock pulsates against your walls as you fall apart. Your cunt milks every drop of him as he fucks a few more thrusts up into your tired body. You hum as he comes down from his high, soothing a hand over his bare chest as he softens inside of you.

—

You slouch over him, snuggling your face into the crook of his neck as your breaths slow down. He’s still inside of you as he patiently waits for you to fall asleep. He holds you protectively against him, chest against yours, running a hand over your mussed hair and sweat-sticked neck.

He carefully picks you up with your arms wrapped around his shoulders and walks to your bedroom, leaving the pile of clothes in the living room to clean up tomorrow. He turns on his bedside lamp after he delicately places you on the bed, lighting the room with a soft glow.

San fully removes your dress and sticky panties to make you more comfortable as you sleep, ensuring to go slow so you don’t wake up. He lovingly pushes your hair out of your face as you snooze peacefully over the covers, caressing your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

With a soft sigh, you push your face further into the pillow and stretch your legs out. He doesn’t mean to look, but he notices that you’re dripping onto the sheets, leaving a dark mark of slickened material under your legs.

With a gentle motion, he pushes your legs apart and gingerly brushes two fingers against you, collecting the leaking cum before pushing it back in. You moan at his tender touch, legs squeezing around him as you unconsciously whine for more.

He ignores your wanton reaction and pulls his hand away. He slides into bed behind you with a sigh and reaches over to place his hand protectively against your stomach.

Gently, he nudges his nose against the back of your neck and whispers against your skin, “You’re gonna be the best mommy, sweetheart.”

He can only hope you meant what you said because it really is his dream.

Sometime during the night, your smaller hand finds its way over his, cradling instinctively over your stomach.

#san x reader #choi san x reader #san choi x reader #san smut #choi san smut #san choi smut #ateez smut #san x y/n #san x you

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k-hotchoisan · 8 months ago

Text

coming home with me

under the dim lights, Choi San realises that he just can’t keep this casual when it comes to you.

genre/warnings: pwp, smut, furcoat!San, is San being toxic??? I guess we’ll never know!, jealous dom! San, unprotected sex, reader is commando, car sex, fingering riding, breeding kink, spanking

a/n: ahoy!! y’alls gotta thank @bro-atz & @skteezcursed for the fic concept 😘 have been overwhelmed with life so I’m presenting this as my compensation ~

w/c: 3.1K

Under the dim lights, your eyes slowly adjust, and much to your delight, you spot the man you’ve been eye candying at a booth. Of course, you knew he was gonna be there considering you’ve been stalking his socials, and casually asking your mutual friends about his favourite hang-out spots.

He’s cute, you think, stealing glances at him from afar, wondering how you should approach him. A coincidence? Maybe stage an accident?

“And what’s the end goal for you with him?” You hear your friend’s voice piercing into your thoughts.

Well, initially, it was mostly a light-hearted flirty thing. You just thought he was cute. All romance sparks started off with the thrill of liking someone. It just hadn’t reached to that point with him yet.

“Maybe play around? I don’t know”, you reply.

Or maybe it was just a farce to keep a certain guy off your mind.

“You know, you don’t have to force yourself”, your friend reminds you, her palm on your hand comfortingly. “You should be direct with him.”

You force a smile back to assure her.

“It’s fine. I’m not gonna do anything foolish.”

You don’t notice the confused expression she’s making at your answer because now you’re thinking if you should just let things unfold naturally. Amidst your pondering, your friend’s elbow nudges you.

“And he’s looking at you”, she says. Your eyes glance up—and she’s right—your little eye candy has seemed to catch your gaze. He smiles even though he’s on the other side of the room. You give him a small wave and he waves back. Then he gestures for you to go down to the dance floor. You’re wondering if you should too as you watch him leave his booth and down the stairs to the crowded floor.

Unfortunately, you let the thought sit for a little too long because when you decide to leave the booth to the floor, you’ve lost him.

Letting the flashing lights and lasers with the decent music from the DJ doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

Soon enough, your eyes filter through the people and you catch your prey. He seems to be talking to someone but he also seems to have noticed your stare before he fully turns to you.

But as you’re steadily maneuvering the crowd to reach him, your eyes meet another man’s—sharp and all too familiar—and it seems as though he’s caught you too.

Your eyes widen and you immediately turn away, fishing your phone from your chest, opening your phone book to speed dial.

You bring your phone up to your ear, turning away from the approaching male deliciously styled in a black fur coat walking towards you, panic obvious in your tone while your friend picks up. You look up at her from the dance floor, eyes wide.

“Babe, you did not tell me that he was here?!” You whisper-shout. You watch your friend’s face widen her eyes before she shrugs.

“Who the hell did you think I was referring to just now? I was talking about Choi San!”

Choi San has had his eyes on you since you settled in your booth. He never thought he would see you out of all the clubs that existed in this town. But despite the slight scowl present on his face when he realises you’re flirting with someone else at the same level booth he is on, there’s a seed of desire that’s lodged in his heart, that maybe he has a chance.

But first, he has to get rid of your little eye candy.

San’s eyes trail your movements carefully—from the way you bat your eyelashes at the other male from the other booth, then to the way you stare after him as he walks down to the floor.

How have you not noticed him yet?

He stays put on the sofa, silently counting down how much longer it’d take for your eyes to rake over the rest of the booths to reach him.

Unfortunately, it only leaves him frustrated, and even tenfold when you leave your seat while your eyes search for him on the dance floor.

Guess he has to do it his way then.

He pushes past the wave of people, still locked onto you under the dim lights

The satisfaction that floods into his brain when your eyes meet his, his ears slowly tuning out the music, and he watches the way you eyes widen when you finally take notice of him from a distance.

And then you turn away. San cocks his eyebrow in confusion and irritation, and his footsteps towards you quicken.

Then he stops in his tracks once more.

Dear god, something might break today if he gets interrupted one more fucking time.

Your attention is stolen by your little eye candy. He got to you before San could.

You’re well-aware that you’re being stared down by a certain male from your peripherals, and that certainly wasn’t stopping you from pretending that he’s part of the air molecules, although not the easiest task when he’s boring a hole into your head.

You look back at your eye candy, plastering a pretty smile.

The both of you sink into small talk, leaning in closer in an attempt to hear each other over the music. You’re listening to him, but your attention remains on someone else. Someone who’s not hiding that he’s stealing glances at you.

“Do you wanna go somewhere private?” You hear him ask into your ear. His arm is snaking around your waist, and your interest is waning.

You’re ready to reject him, and you jolt slightly when you feel a bigger pair of hands slide across your back replacing the unfamiliar warmth.

“She’s got afterparty plans”, San answers curtly. It’s an automatic response that you swallow hard when let your eyes rake over San. His hair is slicked back, letting a couple strands fall past his eyes. He’s smug with the corner of his lips curled up. Maybe it’s the confidence that you hate about him, but like a moth drawn to a flame, you can’t seem to stay away from him.

You see the way the male tuts, then force a smile. “No worries. We’ll see each other soon, yeah?”

You nod, already losing him in the crowd, mostly because Choi San has your full attention.

Even under the dim lights, Choi San looks stunning. You realise you’re royally fucked when your eyes trail to the star of the show—the fact that San isn’t wearing anything underneath his fur coat. That piece of apparel somehow makes him look bigger, and it’s driving you insane. Well, if the tension escalates, he might get a surprise if you’re feeling generous enough. But right now, he’s eyeing you down like a predator, and it’s making you fall into his spell.

His arm isn’t leaving your back. He’s leaning in closer, making sure you hear his words loud and clear in your ear.

“That’s your type?”

You do your best to hide the effects he’s having on you—ignoring heat pooling between your thighs.

Your fingers play with the soft fur as he leans in and waits for your answer. He smells so fucking good.

You shrug, and that only bubbles his irritation further. His grip on your waist tightens slightly.

“Answer me, darling”, he pushes, his palm sliding lower down.

“Maybe. We had a nice chat before you cut in. Seemed like a decent person.”

San furrows his eyebrows.

“What if he’s not a good person? Does that mean any guy that has a nice conversation with you a good person?”

His other arm is snaking around the back of your neck and he definitely feels your goosebumps. He’s forcing you to look at him.

“San”, you huff, mentally bracing yourself from falling for his charms again. “And on what grounds do you have to be saying all of this?”

“As your best friend?”

You scoff, with a roll of your eyes. Painful to tear away from his chiseled body just peeking out.

San can’t seem to pinpoint it—for some reason, the interaction you had with your eye candy pricked him so much. But why? You and he have always been fooling around, leaving feelings at bay so it wouldn’t “complicate things”. But obviously after tonight, something clicked, and San is very sure he doesn’t like you to be around other men that aren’t him.

“I’m leaving, Choi San. It’s hard to hear you with all these people around”, you make up the excuse, smacking his arm away with much reluctance, only for him to snatch you back once more. San makes sure you hear him loud and fucking clear when he leans into your ears.

“We should go somewhere private then.”

Your moan in the kiss sets him off. Your hands trail up his bare body, and his hands are on your thighs.

Fucking you in his car wasn’t San’s preference—he prefers a little more space— but he’s not complaining when he has you slowly unravel right before him, forced to press yourself against him even with the seat reclined and his thick erection is just shameless pressing against your body con dress.

His fingers slip under your dress, and he groans when he feels your bare pussy—wet, puffy and just ready.

And for some reason, it pisses him off when thought of your eye candy being the one to discover this instead of him.

“Just how much of my buttons are you gonna push tonight, princess?” He asks rhetorically, his sharp eyes locked onto yours, trying not to snap from how wet you are.

You steady yourself on his lap, your mind slowly growing blank whenever his thick fingers graze your clit and past your sopping hole.

“You were just begging to be fucked, huh?” San asks with his fingers circling so close to your pussy.

“San!-“

“Tell me then: who were you hoping to fuck you stupid tonight?”

Your begs come in the forms of soft whimpers, and a sob rips from you when he plunges two thick fingers in, filling you up so fucking full.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

His fingers fucking your cunt isn’t helping you think.

You know there’s no way around this. As much as you hated to admit, San always seemed to have the upper hand. Nonetheless, your unintentional plan had roused a side of him you’ve never seen before.

“I’m waiting.”

It takes almost all of your strength to focus on answering him, and it’s making you frustrated because he’s intentionally missing the spot that he knows can send you seeing the stars.

“You”, you answer meekly.

“Can’t hear you, sweetie.” His fingers press against your g-spot, and you lean closer to his body on reflex, your hands gripping his fur coat. You could just smack the smug look off Choi San if he didn’t have two fingers stuffed in you.

“You! Oh, fuck-” You cry out when he misses your g-spot on purpose once more.

“Right answer, sweetie. You deserve a reward for being a good girl, hm?”

You can’t even answer. His thumb is rubbing on your clit, it sends electricity all over in the best way possible on top of his fingers hitting your sweet spots over and over again. The wet sounds of your pussy squelching only bring up the thick tension.

“Look at you, tightening up like this. Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice drops an octave, lulling you closer to your impending orgasm. You hate the way he knows every nook and cranny of your body as if it’s his. You just really cannot escape him.

His words continue to edge you closer.

“Oh, that’s a good fucking girl. Keep squeezing my fingers like that. I’m the only one who makes you feel this fucking tight, right?”

You fucking hate Choi San.

Cream seeps past his fingers from your hole when your orgasm brings your vision to white. Your moans fill up the car when it wrecks your body in waves, your nerves flooding with pleasure over and over.

And San isn’t letting you leave the damn car, not until you’re screaming his name.

He’s not faring any better himself and he could just get off just by watching you cum all over him like that.

His fingers leave your soaking cunt, slightly pruning with strings of your cum in between his fingers. While you catch your breath, San forces you to watch him lick his sticky fingers clean while his free hand shifts your fingers to his bulging erection that’s just begging to be let out. He’s grown so fucking hard that you wonder if it hurts.

You unbutton and unzip his trousers, then push yourself to the side towards the car door to give him enough space so he’s able to fully remove his trousers. You can’t help but worry if the both of you would be caught, even though San assured you that he parked at a secluded spot. Your eyes dart to the windows, noticing how it’s beginning to grow foggy.

Oh. It’s about to get a lot more foggy.

San’s touch pulls you out of your thoughts. Although you’ve fucked many times, the sheer fucking size of his cock never fails to make you swallow hard.

Your hands wander up his tits as you settle back down onto his thighs. The realisation hits you then—the only clothing article Choi San has on right now is his fucking fur coat.

He catches onto your stare and smiles in response.

“Why? Is the thought of getting fucked by your favourite person wearing a fur coat getting you excited?”

You narrow your eyes at him, and you palm his bare, thick, and sticky cock, making San groan in reply.

“Favourite? What makes you think you’re my favourite?”

He chuckles and makes your heart flutter.

“Many things, sweetheart. Just as you’re mine.”

You’re really gonna end up losing to him, huh?

You lift your hips instead, lining up to his cockhead, and then letting San guide your hips down his fat cock, making you take him inch by inch. You bite your lip at the feeling of his cock filling you up so disgustingly good, and San has his eyes screwed shut, a strained groan leaving his lips when your warmth envelops him so fucking good.

“That’s it. You’re so fucking warm and tight for me”, San mutters in pleasure through half-lidded eyes.

Riding San sometimes feels too much for you, in the best fucking ways possible because he’s all the way in, and he knows that very well—how easily you get sensitive and squirmy just from sitting on his cock.

You slowly bounce off his cock, grabbing his shoulders for leverage. He likes that you have to lean into him while he fucks you from below so he can whisper the most dirty things into your ear just to make you clench around him.

His palms slide down your ass, following the momentum of you bouncing off his cock, then landing a tight slap against your skin to hear your gasp and feel you tighten on his cock.

The sting feels so fucking good that another slap has your pussy leaking cream all over his cock once more.

“S-San! If you keep doing that-“ you cry, another slap to your ass making you jolt, sinking even deeper into his cock.

“That’s your punishment for flirting with another man in front of me like that”, his voice buzzing in your ear.

Another smack.

Your thighs are trembling from the overstimulation.

One more smack.

Your mind is about to shut off. San’s cock is pressing against your g-spot with even more pressure than his fingers.

The windows have completely fogged up.

“San, please. Oh my fucking god. Gonna fucking cum”, you whine, arms tight around his neck, intoxicated with the smell of his musk mixed with his cologne.

San’s grunts fill your ears when your second orgasm drowns you again, your cunt pulsing uncontrollably around him, cream just pooling at the base of his cock. He groans and buries his nose into your neck, his mind fuzzy from how close his orgasm is.

“I’m gonna cum in you. Wanna plug your pussy hole full of my cum.

And you’re gonna take all of it like a good girl.”

“Yes, please”, you reply, much to his pleasant surprise. So his large hands hold your legs down, listening to you whine while his cock fills you up endlessly with warm and thick cum with moans escaping his lips every few seconds from how fucking good he feels.

He pushes you off his body gently, his eyes reflecting the hearts in your glazed-out eyes. His thumb brushes against the corner of your lips and he pushes his thumb past your lips.

“Such a good fucking girl, letting me fill you up with my load. Does it feel good?”

You nod, twitching slightly from the overstimulation since he still has you stuffed full of both dick and cum. San wants to keep this sight of you in his brain forever—sucking on his finger, sweating with him post-orgasm, staring down at him with watery eyes while his cum just leaks past your puffy pussy hole even though his cock is plugging your cunt.

San pulls you into a deep kiss, and you reciprocate it in between breathless pants and sighs.

“Fuck. I think I’m in love”, he mutters loud enough for you to hear.

You don’t know how to answer to that, but you feel your face flushing. He grabs the tissues stowed in the storage compartment and quickly cleans the both of you up after he lifts you off his softening cock.

You instinctively shift to the passenger seat, and San removes his fur coat to cover you. You watch him grab a black tank top from the back seat, then fit his trousers over his thighs.

He rolls down the windows despite the air-con running, just to rid the smell of sex.

You wrap his coat closer to you when the night breeze kisses your cheeks.

“So, are you gonna send me home?” There’s a strange tint of hope you have that he’d decline.

San stares at you with an expression that confuses you—one that makes you wonder if you had said something weird. Then he smiles after that.

“You’re coming home with me, sweetheart”, San tells you as he loops his tank top over his head before he switches gear to move out.

“It’s gonna be a long night for the both of us.”

taglist:

@bro-atz @skteezcursed @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify @miss-fallon @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @haleyjoy @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn @vic0921 @sanhwajoong @bitejoongie @no1likevie @jwnghyuns @everythingboutkpop @skz1-4-3 @minalizasworld @seomisaho @tunafishyfishylike @woojirang @yuyusgirl

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kathaelipwse · 6 days ago

Text

The Moment I Saw You || C.San

Pairing: Rookie.Idol!Reader x Idol!San

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 10,495 words ; Reading Time: 40-ish mins

Synopsis: They called you the "guitar rookie" — cool, mysterious, and unforgettable on stage. But for San, it only took one performance to fall completely under your spell. What starts as quiet glances and backstage banter slowly turns into secret texting, emotional confessions, and late-night comfort. But fame is cruel, and love in the spotlight even more so. When the hate gets brutal, San does something no one expects — he fights for you.

Author’s Note: This story’s a love letter to that electric spark between two people who meet in the whirlwind of fame and find peace in each other. I adore writing flustered San, loyal San, "ride-or-die" San — so this fic gave me life. Hope you enjoy the slow burn, tension, and soft chaos.

The air in the practice room always smelled faintly of sweat and ambition, a potent cocktail that you had grown accustomed to. Just six months into your solo debut, the buzz around you was a low hum, a quiet acknowledgment of the raw talent that crackled through your live performances. In a sea of perfectly synchronized dance routines and polished pop anthems, you offered something different: grit. Authenticity. And a damn good electric guitar.

Your company, a smaller label that had taken a gamble on your unique blend of idol charm and rockstar edge, was cautiously optimistic. Your digital single had performed respectably, earning you a small but fiercely loyal fanbase who appreciated your self-composed tracks and the way your fingers danced across the fretboard during live stages – a genuine rarity in the current idol landscape.

You yourself preferred the quiet hum of anticipation to the deafening roar of immediate fame. It gave you space to breathe, to hone your craft, to let the music speak for itself. Your stage presence was a carefully constructed paradox: cool and composed, almost aloof, yet undeniably magnetic. There was a mysterious charm about the way you’d offer a fleeting smirk after a particularly sharp riff, the way your dark eyes would scan the crowd with an unreadable intensity.

Tonight, however, the quiet hum was about to be amplified to a deafening roar. Tonight was the culmination of a year’s worth of relentless work: the prestigious Gayo Daejun. The air backstage thrummed with nervous energy, a chaotic symphony of hurried footsteps, last-minute mic checks, and the hushed excitement of idols from every corner of the industry.

Your own dressing room felt like a small island of calm amidst the storm. Your black custom guitar, affectionately nicknamed 'Shadow', leaned against the wall, its sleek body gleaming under the soft lighting. Your stylist fussed with the subtle silver chains adorning your black leather jacket, while your makeup artist dabbed at your already flawless smoky eye.

“Ready, Y/N-ah?” your manager, a kind but perpetually stressed man named Mr. Kim, poked his head in.

You offered a small, confident nod. Inside, however, a familiar flutter of nerves danced in your stomach. This was the biggest stage you’d ever performed on. The audience wasn’t just your fans; it was the entire Korean entertainment industry, fellow idols you admired, and millions watching at home.

As the minutes ticked by, the tension backstage thickened. Snippets of other performances drifted into your room – the booming bass of a powerful dance track, the soaring vocals of a ballad. Then, Mr. Kim gave you the signal. It was time.

Walking towards the stage felt surreal. The backstage area was a blur of glittering costumes and anxious faces. You took a deep breath, the scent of hairspray and expensive perfume filling your lungs. The roar of the crowd beyond the heavy curtains was a tangible thing, a wave of sound that promised both exhilaration and potential disaster.

Your name flashed on the monitor, and a surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins. This was it.

The lights dimmed, and a single spotlight pierced the darkness, landing squarely on your silhouette as you stood center stage, Shadow slung low across your hips. A hush fell over the arena, a pregnant silence that amplified the frantic beating of your own heart.

Then, you raised your hand, your fingers hovering over the strings. A single, clean note rang out, cutting through the silence. It was the opening of your self-composed track, a raw and edgy anthem about breaking free. The crowd responded with a wave of cheers, but you barely registered it. Your focus narrowed, your world shrinking to the six strings beneath your fingertips.

The first chord hit like a punch to the gut – a gritty, distorted power chord that reverberated through the stadium. The stage lights pulsed in time with the music, casting sharp shadows that danced around you. Your cool composure settled over you like a second skin. Head tilted slightly, you launched into the opening riff, your fingers a blur of practiced precision.

From the side of the stage, hidden in the shadows after the explosive finale of his own group’s performance, Choi San stood catching his breath. Ateez had just delivered a high-octane set, leaving the crowd in a frenzy. He was about to grab a water bottle when a lone figure walked onto the stage. He barely glanced up, expecting another flashy dance number.

But then, the first chord struck.

San froze. The plastic water bottle slipped from his suddenly numb fingers, clattering unnoticed on the floor. His jaw went slack, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn’t just the sound – though the raw, live tone of the electric guitar was a shock in itself – it was the sheer confidence emanating from the figure bathed in the spotlight.

His heart, which had been pounding from Ateez’s intense performance, now seemed to have vanished entirely, replaced by a strange, hollow ache.

He watched, unblinking, as you moved with a fluid grace that belied the aggressive energy of your music and your soft voice blending well. The way your head would snap back with a flick of your dark hair during a particularly powerful strum, the fleeting smirk that would play on your lips as you effortlessly shredded a solo – it was captivating.

The music surged, a tidal wave of sound washing over the arena. San was oblivious to the cheers of the crowd, the flashing lights, the murmurs of his own members nearby. His entire world had narrowed to the figure on stage, the girl with the guitar, the raw talent that seemed to bleed from her fingertips.

He watched as you stepped closer to the edge of the stage during a particularly intricate solo, your eyes locking with unseen members of the audience. There was a fire in them, a fierce passion that resonated deep within him.

The final chord crashed, echoing through the stadium before fading into a sudden, profound silence. Then, the arena erupted. The cheers were deafening, a testament to the captivating performance they had just witnessed.

You offered a small bow, the corner of your lips tilting into that enigmatic smirk one last time before you turned and walked off stage, disappearing behind the curtain.

San remained rooted to the spot, his mind a complete blank. The echoes of the music still vibrated in his chest. It wasn't just that you were talented; there was something else, something that had resonated with him on a visceral level.

Finally, as his members started to nudge him, concern etched on their faces, San managed a single, breathless utterance, his voice barely a whisper amidst the lingering roar of the crowd.

“…who is she?”

The adrenaline from Ateez’s performance had long since faded, replaced by a persistent, almost unsettling hum within San. Back in their dorm, the usual boisterous energy of the members felt muted, a backdrop to the insistent replay echoing in his mind. He’d excused himself shortly after they’d arrived, claiming exhaustion, but instead, he’d retreated to his bunk, phone clutched tightly in his hand.

The YouTube video title glowed on the screen: “Y/N - Iconic Solo Debut Stage @ Gayo Daejun” He’d found it within minutes of searching, the algorithm already attuned to the sudden spike in interest surrounding the mysterious guitarist.

He pressed play.

The opening chord of ‘[Your Song Title]’ reverberated through his earbuds, sending a familiar jolt through him. He watched, his eyes glued to the screen, as you stepped into the spotlight. Every subtle movement, every confident strum, every flick of your hair was magnified, imbued with a significance he couldn’t quite articulate.

He watched the entire performance again, and then again. A strange tension coiled in his stomach, a feeling he hadn’t experienced before. It wasn’t just admiration for your talent; it was something deeper, something that felt intensely personal.

On the fourth viewing, he paused the video. It was a fleeting moment, almost imperceptible – a small, genuine smile that flickered across your lips after nailing a particularly challenging riff. It wasn’t a practiced idol smile for the cameras; it was a flash of pure, unadulterated joy, a glimpse behind the cool facade. San’s thumb hovered over the screen, tracing the curve of your smile as if he could somehow capture the feeling it evoked within him. His chest tightened.

He replayed the solo, the intricate melody and the raw energy of your playing sending shivers down his spine. He’d always appreciated good musicianship, but this… this was different. It wasn't just skill; it was soul. It was like the music was an extension of you, a direct line to something honest and captivating.

A restless energy began to build within him. He needed to know more.

He exited YouTube and opened his browser, typing in your stage name. Information flooded the screen: your full name, your company, the name of your debut single, even a few interviews where you spoke shyly about your music and your unconventional path as a guitar-playing idol. He clicked on every link, devouring every piece of information, piecing together a fragmented image of the person behind the captivating performer.

He learned you were a soloist, which surprised him. Your stage presence felt like it could command an entire band. He scrolled through fan forums, reading comments that echoed his own fascination: “Who is this girl?”, “That guitar solo was insane!”, “Her vibe is so cool.”

Later, when a few of the members had gathered in the common room, their post-show buzz slowly dissipating into comfortable exhaustion, San couldn’t contain it any longer. He wandered in, his phone still clutched in his hand.

“Do you guys know the rookie guitarist from tonight?” he asked, his voice a little too eager.

Wooyoung, sprawled on the couch scrolling through his own phone, looked up, a playful smirk already forming on his lips. “You mean the one you haven’t stopped watching on your phone?”

San flushed slightly, trying to appear nonchalant. “I was just… impressed. Her live playing was really something.”

Jongho, ever the straightforward one, nodded. “She was good. Definitely stood out.”

Hongjoong, who had been quietly sketching in a notebook, looked up, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Bro. You’ve watched that clip six times since we got back.”

San’s ears burned. He hadn’t realized he’d been that obvious. He mumbled something about needing to analyze different performance styles.

Hongjoong leaned back, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Analyzing, huh? Or maybe… admiring?” He tapped his pen against his chin thoughtfully. “She did have a certain… je ne sais quoi.”

San avoided his leader’s gaze, suddenly finding the pattern on the rug intensely interesting.

“Just ask her out already, Romeo,” Hongjoong added, his voice laced with playful teasing.

San’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Hyung! What? No! I just… I was curious about her music.”

The other members exchanged knowing glances, a chorus of suppressed chuckles filling the room. San knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. The image of you on stage, bathed in that single spotlight, the raw sound of your guitar echoing in his ears, was firmly imprinted in his mind. The quiet hum of curiosity had morphed into something far more insistent, a burgeoning fascination that felt dangerously close to… obsession. And he had a feeling this was just the beginning.

The fluorescent lights of the music show backstage buzzed with a familiar, almost sterile energy. A few days had passed since the Gayo Daejun, and the memory of your performance still lingered in San’s mind like a favorite song he couldn’t stop humming. He’d tried to play it cool around his members, deflecting their teasing with awkward jokes and feigned disinterest. But the truth was, he’d spent a significant amount of his downtime rewatching your stage and scrolling through any new information he could find about you. He even found a few fan-made compilation videos of your live guitar moments, each one further solidifying his initial captivated impression.

Fate, or perhaps his own carefully orchestrated movements, had brought them both to the same music show today. Ateez had an early performance slot, and San had been surprisingly subdued throughout their pre-show preparations, his usual playful energy noticeably absent. His mind was elsewhere, a nervous anticipation thrumming beneath his skin. He kept replaying Hongjoong’s teasing words – “Just ask her out already, Romeo” – and a ridiculous scenario where he tripped over his own feet while trying to introduce himself.

He’d subtly inquired about your schedule from one of the staff members he knew, feigning general interest in the lineup. When he learned your dressing room was on the same floor, a few doors down from Ateez’s, a plan began to form – a flimsy, transparent excuse to be in your vicinity. He’d even rehearsed a few potential opening lines in his head, ranging from a simple “Hello” to a more elaborate (and probably disastrous) compliment about your guitar tone.

Now, his heart hammered against his ribs as he stood outside your dressing room, a half-empty water bottle clutched in his hand. He’d “coincidentally” run out of water just as Ateez’s segment wrapped up, and this hallway, he’d reasoned, was the most logical place to find a water dispenser. He leaned against the cool wall, trying to project an air of casual nonchalance, taking slow, deliberate sips. Every distant footstep echoing down the corridor sent a jolt of nervous energy through him. He silently berated himself for his lack of composure. He was Choi San, for crying out loud. He commanded stages filled with roaring fans. Why was this one potential interaction turning him into a stammering mess?

Then, the door to your dressing room opened.

San’s breath hitched. You stepped out, your manager, a slightly harried-looking man in a crisp suit, a few paces behind you, both seemingly engrossed in a quiet conversation. You were dressed in a stylishly understated outfit for your post-performance interviews – dark wash jeans, a slightly oversized band tee, and a delicate silver necklace peeking out from beneath the collar. Your dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that accentuated the sharp angles of your jawline and the delicate curve of your neck. San’s gaze lingered for a fraction too long.

For a split second, your eyes met his. Your expression was neutral, a polite acknowledgment of a familiar face in the industry. But for San, it felt like a spotlight had suddenly illuminated him. He froze, his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance crumbling into a jumbled mess of nerves and a sudden, intense awareness of his own slightly sweaty post-performance state.

He hadn’t planned what to say, hadn’t rehearsed any smooth lines that could possibly convey the impact your performance had had on him. All the witty remarks and carefully crafted compliments he’d mentally conjured vanished from his brain, leaving him with a single, overwhelming thought: it’s really her. Up close, the intensity he’d witnessed on stage was somehow both amplified and softened.

As you drew closer, his throat suddenly felt incredibly dry. He pushed himself off the wall, his legs feeling strangely unsteady, like he’d just finished a particularly grueling choreography session. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but all that came out was a strangled, almost bird-like sound. He winced internally.

“You were…” he finally managed, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, the sound echoing awkwardly in the relatively quiet hallway, and tried again, his gaze fixed somewhere around your shoulder, unable to meet your eyes directly. “You were… amazing. At the Gayo… the guitar part? Insane.” He cringed internally at his utterly inadequate delivery. Insane? Really, San? That’s the best you could come up with?

You stopped walking, a genuine hint of surprise flickering in your dark eyes. You shyly tucked a loose strand of hair that had escaped your ponytail behind your ear, a delicate, almost unconscious gesture that San found inexplicably endearing. A faint blush, barely perceptible, dusted your cheeks. You lowered your gaze slightly.

“Thank you,” you replied softly, your voice even more melodic and nuanced than he’d expected from your powerful yet soft singing voice. “I… I didn’t think anyone noticed. It felt a little… out of place, maybe, amidst all the other amazing performances.” You offered a small, self-deprecating smile.

San’s internal monologue was a chaotic scream of flailing limbs and incoherent noises. She doesn’t think anyone noticed?! It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen! Tell her! Tell her how it made you feel! Tell her you haven’t stopped thinking about it!

But outwardly, he could only manage a slightly wider, albeit still awkward, smile and a more emphatic nod. “Noticed? Are you kidding? It was… captivating. The way you played, the energy… it was completely different. In a really, really good way.” He finally managed to meet your eyes, and the intensity he felt seemed to momentarily surprise you. He quickly looked away again, suddenly feeling like he was staring.

He wanted to say so much more – to tell you how the rawness of your sound had cut through the usual polished perfection, how your confidence with the guitar had been incredibly inspiring, how he’d rewatched your solo countless times. But the words seemed trapped in his throat, choked by a sudden wave of self-consciousness and the unexpected reality of you standing right in front of him.

He offered another small, slightly less awkward smile, hoping it conveyed at least a fraction of the genuine admiration and burgeoning fascination he felt. You returned the smile, a brief, shy curve of your lips that sent another unexpected jolt through him, settling somewhere warm and unfamiliar in his chest.

Then, your manager, who had been patiently observing the exchange, gently placed a hand on your arm. “We should probably get going, Y/N-ah. The interview with Star News is starting soon, and they’re waiting.”

“Right,” you said, nodding apologetically. You offered San another quick, polite nod, your eyes briefly meeting his again with a hint of something he couldn’t quite decipher before continuing down the hallway with your manager.

San watched you walk away, your ponytail swaying gently with each step, his mind still reeling from the brief but impactful interaction. He’d actually spoken to you. He’d sounded like a complete idiot, but he’d spoken to you. He replayed the exchange in his head, dissecting every word, every glance, the shy tuck of your hair, the soft melody of your voice.

He took a long, shaky gulp of water, the coolness doing little to quell the heat rising in his cheeks. He leaned back against the wall again, a goofy, starstruck grin slowly spreading across his face. Choi San, the charismatic performer known for his powerful stage presence and confident charm, was officially a flustered mess. And he had a distinct feeling that this brief backstage run-in was just the beginning of a much more complicated – and potentially exhilarating – chapter.

The weeks that followed the music show took on a surreal quality for both you and San. For you, the unexpected compliment from a senior idol, especially one as charismatic as San of Ateez, had been a pleasant surprise. You’d replayed the brief interaction in your mind a few times, a faint warmth spreading through you at the memory of his earnest, if slightly stammering, praise. You’d even found yourself looking up Ateez’s performances afterwards, a newfound curiosity piqued by his intense stage presence and the powerful dynamic of his group.

Then, the “bump-ins” began.

It started subtly. At the company cafeteria, you’d be mid-bite into your kimbap when you’d glance up to find Ateez at a nearby table, their usual boisterous energy filling the space. More often than not, your eyes would meet San’s, and he’d offer a quick, friendly smile, sometimes accompanied by a small wave. You’d offer a shy nod in return, a blush creeping up your neck.

At music show waiting rooms, their paths seemed to intersect with increasing frequency. He’d always find a reason to approach – a casual “Hey, Y/N-ssi, your performance today was great,” or a lighthearted comment about the chaos backstage. Once, he’d even complimented the unique design on your guitar strap, sparking a brief, slightly awkward but undeniably pleasant conversation about your musical influences.

You tried to rationalize it as coincidence, the inevitable overlap of schedules in the relatively small and interconnected idol world. But a persistent feeling, a delicate dance of anticipation and nervousness, began to bloom in your chest. Every time his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at you, a little spark ignited within you.

You found yourself paying more attention to your appearance on days you knew Ateez would be at the same events, and a nervous flutter would erupt in your stomach whenever you heard their distinct laughter echoing down the hallway.

San, on his end, was far from relying on mere chance. He’d become a surprisingly adept strategist, his internal radar constantly pinging for any sign of your presence. He’d casually inquire about your schedule from friendly staff members, linger a little longer near common areas he knew you sometimes frequented, like the practice room hallways or the studio lounges, and even subtly enlist the help of Wooyoung and Seonghwa to “casually” scout ahead.

His members, initially amused by his sudden, laser-like focus, were now exchanging knowing glances and offering increasingly unsubtle teases. “Looking for your sunshine again, San-ah?” Hongjoong had quipped one afternoon, earning him a playful shove.

Then came the official announcement that sent a genuine tremor of excitement through the industry: a special collaboration stage for the upcoming Golden Disc Awards. And your name was listed alongside Ateez. Specifically, the press release detailed a duet and a joint performance piece that would culminate in a powerful instrumental break featuring your guitar playing alongside Ateez’s signature dynamic energy. And the duet partner? Choi San.

A wave of surprise, quickly followed by a surge of nervous excitement that made your palms sweat, washed over you when your manager relayed the news. A collaboration with a group as globally recognized and incredibly talented as Ateez was a monumental opportunity, a chance to reach a wider audience. But the thought of working so intimately with San, the idol who had sparked this unexpected and rather persistent flutter in your heart, sent a different kind of thrill, a more personal and slightly dizzying sensation, through you.

Rehearsals began a week later, a whirlwind of choreography practices with Ateez’s formidable dance line, vocal run-throughs where your voices surprisingly blended with a unique harmony, and meticulous stage blocking sessions. The song was a powerful, emotionally charged ballad that built to an explosive instrumental bridge, perfectly designed to showcase both Ateez’s dramatic performance skills and your raw, emotive guitar prowess.

During these rehearsals, San’s attention was often, though not always overtly, fixed on you. It wasn’t the intense, unwavering gaze from the Gayo stage, but a softer, more curious observation. When you were carefully tuning Shadow before a run-through, the delicate movements of your fingers across the fretboard seemed to captivate him.

He’d lean against the wall, his usual playful banter momentarily silenced, his eyes following your every adjustment. Once, he’d even asked, his voice genuinely curious, “What tuning are you using for this song? It sounds… different.” You’d explained the drop-D tuning and how it lent a heavier feel to the lower register, and he’d listened intently, nodding thoughtfully.

Between takes, as you’d often hum the melody to yourself, lost in the intricacies of the arrangement, his gaze would linger on you, a soft, almost fond smile playing on his lips. Sometimes, he’d even hum along quietly, and you’d catch his eye, a shared moment of musical connection passing between you.

From his perspective, every small detail about you seemed to be etching itself into his memory. The way your brow would furrow in intense concentration as you worked out a particularly complex chord progression, the way you’d tap your foot rhythmically even when you weren’t playing, the small, almost imperceptible sigh you’d let out after a particularly demanding vocal section.

Even the subtle scent that seemed to perpetually surround you – a delicate blend of warm vanilla and a bright, refreshing citrus – became a comforting and uniquely yours sensory detail that he’d subconsciously started to associate with moments of quiet focus and unexpected smiles.

He started calling you “sunshine.” It began innocently enough, a casual remark during a particularly grueling rehearsal when you’d offered a quiet but encouraging word to a visibly tired Wooyoung. “You’re like sunshine, Y/N -ssi,” he’d said with a genuine smile, and the nickname had stuck.

He used it sparingly, mostly during lighter moments or when he wanted to offer encouragement. But the way your cheeks would instantly flush a delicate pink every time the nickname escaped his lips, the way your gaze would momentarily soften and then quickly dart away, told him it had a deeper, more personal impact.

You tried your best to maintain your professional composure, focusing intently on the intricate vocal harmonies you shared with San and the precise timing required for your guitar solo within Ateez’s powerful choreography. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the warmth that spread through you every time San’s gaze lingered a little too long, or the way your heart did a little flip-flop whenever he offered you a genuine, encouraging smile, often accompanied by that endearing nickname.

His presence was a constant, gentle distraction, a warm current that made it harder to maintain your focus but also made the often-stressful rehearsal process feel surprisingly lighter, filled with stolen glances and unspoken understandings.

The tension between you was building, an invisible thread stretching taut with each shared rehearsal and fleeting interaction. It wasn’t just the pressure of the highly anticipated Golden Disc performance; it was the undeniable pull of mutual attraction, a silent conversation conducted through lingering glances, shy smiles, and the shared language of music.

You both knew something was subtly shifting, a delicate connection forming beneath the surface of polite professional interactions. The Golden Disc stage was looming, and with it, the tantalizing promise of a closer collaboration, and perhaps, something significantly more.

The exchange of phone numbers had been a purely practical affair, orchestrated with the efficiency of a military operation by your respective managers under the guise of “seamless rehearsal coordination” for the Golden Disc collaboration. Your contact list now held a new, somewhat official-sounding entry: “San (Ateez) 🎤.” You’d sent a polite introductory text confirming your number, a brief “Hi San-ssi, it’s Y/N. Got your number,” and he’d replied with a simple but friendly, “Got it! Looking forward to working with you, Y/N-ssi :)”. The initial exchange felt formal, almost anticlimactic, leaving you wondering if that would be the extent of your direct communication outside of rehearsals.

However, as the intense rehearsal schedule for the Golden Disc Awards kicked into high gear, the need for direct communication occasionally and organically arose. A last-minute change in the choreography blocking that affected your stage positioning, a question from San about the specific tone you were aiming for during the instrumental break, a quick confirmation needed on shared wardrobe elements to ensure visual harmony on stage.

These exchanges were usually brief and strictly professional, yet each notification that popped up on your screen displaying San’s name still elicited a subtle, almost involuntary quickening of your pulse, a tiny flutter of anticipation that you tried to suppress.

Then came the night after a particularly grueling full dress rehearsal that had stretched late into the evening. You were finally back in the quiet solitude of your dorm room, the distant hum of the city lights painting faint, blurry streaks across your ceiling.

Your body ached in places you didn’t even know existed, your mind still buzzing with the complex choreography, the intricate vocal harmonies you shared with San, and the soaring melody of the collaboration song that had been looping in your head for hours. You’d changed into comfortable pajamas and were mindlessly scrolling through social media on your phone, a familiar and usually effective way to unwind before sleep claimed you, when your phone vibrated with a new message.

The contact name displayed brightly on your screen read “San (Ateez) 🎤.” Your thumb hovered over the notification for a long moment, a strange and unfamiliar mix of anticipation, nervousness, and a touch of something akin to excitement swirling within you. It was late; you hadn’t expected to hear from him.

San (1:03 am): Were you nervous that night? At the Gayo. You didn’t look it at all. Like you owned that stage from the moment you stepped on it.

A small, genuine smile touched your lips. He was thinking about your debut stage again. It felt like a lifetime ago in the whirlwind of the past few months, yet the memory of the intense spotlight, the roar of the crowd, and the raw, unfiltered energy of your music was still incredibly vivid. You hesitated for a moment before replying, carefully considering your words, unsure of how much vulnerability to reveal.

You (1:04 am): Terrified. Honestly. My palms were sweating so much I thought I might drop Shadow. I just didn’t want to screw up on such a big stage, especially as a relatively new face.

Your reply felt honest, stripped of the cool, composed confidence you consciously projected on stage. You wondered if he’d find it surprising, perhaps even disappointing, that the seemingly fearless guitarist had been battling a storm of nerves underneath.

His response came almost immediately, the speed of it making you smile again.

San (1:04 am): Seriously? You were incredible. You commanded that stage like it was your own. The way you moved, the way you connected with the music… and that guitar solo… still gives me chills every time I watch it. You have such a unique energy.

A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through your chest at his words. It was different from the polite, often generic compliments you usually received from industry colleagues. There was a genuine enthusiasm and a keen observation in his message that felt… real and deeply validating.

San (1:05 am): Next time you’re on a big stage like that, I’m cheering for you from the front row. Promise. I’ll even bring a giant banner with your name on it!! :}

Your heart did a little unexpected flutter at that playful promise. A promise from Choi San, delivered in the quiet intimacy of a late-night text message. You typed out a simple “Thank you :]” but deleted it, feeling it was far too inadequate to express the warmth that was blossoming within you.

You (1:06 am): That means a lot, San-ssi. Really. It’s… reassuring to hear that.

The late-night texts slowly but surely became a more regular, almost anticipated occurrence. They were often initiated by San, usually after both of your demanding schedules had finally wound down for the day, when the rest of the bustling idol world seemed to have finally fallen silent.

They talked about everything and nothing – the unique pressures and unexpected joys of being an idol, their individual musical tastes and surprising shared interests in obscure indie artists, funny and sometimes slightly embarrassing anecdotes from their respective days.

You found yourself genuinely looking forward to these digital exchanges, the quiet intimacy of sharing your thoughts and feelings with someone who seemed to genuinely understand the unique and often isolating pressures you faced in the industry.

San was surprisingly easy to talk to, his digital persona mirroring the warm and playful energy he exuded in person, but with an added layer of thoughtful curiosity. His texts were often punctuated with a liberal use of playful emojis and genuine, insightful questions.

He’d delve into your songwriting process, asking about your lyrical inspirations and the emotions you aimed to convey through your music. He even remembered the name of your guitar, Shadow, and would occasionally ask about it, curious about its history and your connection to it.

You found yourself opening up to him in a way you hadn’t with many others in the industry, the relative anonymity and unspoken understanding of the late-night messages creating a safe and comfortable space for vulnerability.

One particularly hectic afternoon, in the midst of a chaotic day of back-to-back schedules that included a radio interview and a photoshoot, your phone buzzed with a picture message from San. Your initial thought was that it was probably another funny meme his members had sent him.

But when you opened it, your breath hitched slightly. It was a selfie of him, looking slightly tired but grinning broadly, his dark hair a little tousled, holding up a piece of slightly crumpled white paper. Scrawled on it in playful, slightly uneven lettering, adorned with a few charmingly crooked doodles, were the words: “Team Y/N”. He’d even drawn a little stick figure playing a guitar next to your name, its shape endearingly lopsided.

A genuine, unguarded smile bloomed on your face, chasing away some of the day’s accumulated stress. You quickly saved the picture to a private album in your gallery, tucking it away amongst your personal photos, a secret little treasure.

Every now and then, when the relentless pressures of the industry felt particularly overwhelming or isolating, you’d find yourself subconsciously scrolling through your gallery and stumbling upon that silly, heartfelt selfie, and a wave of unexpected warmth and quiet support would wash over you, a tangible reminder of the connection you were slowly building. The late-night whispers in the digital darkness were undeniably weaving a delicate but strengthening thread of something special and undeniably personal between you and Choi San.

The Golden Disc Awards ceremony was a blur of flashing lights, roaring applause, and the nervous energy that permeated every corner of the massive venue. Your collaboration stage with Ateez had been a resounding success.

The ballad, initially a gentle blend of your vocals and San’s, had built in intensity, culminating in the powerful instrumental break where your guitar solo intertwined seamlessly with Ateez’s dynamic performance. The crowd had been captivated, a sea of glowing lightsticks swaying in unison.

Backstage, the atmosphere was electric with post-performance adrenaline. You exchanged exhausted but exhilarated smiles with the Ateez members, a sense of shared accomplishment hanging in the air. San’s eyes had met yours a few times amidst the congratulatory chaos, a soft, knowing smile passing between you that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.

As the evening progressed, and the awards ceremony moved onto other performances and announcements, the opportunity for a private moment felt increasingly elusive. Yet, a silent understanding seemed to exist between you and San, a shared desire to acknowledge the unspoken feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface of rehearsals and late-night texts.

Finally, during a brief intermission, amidst the flurry of idols heading to the refreshment areas or making quick phone calls, San caught your eye from across the bustling backstage corridor. He offered a subtle nod towards a less-trafficked hallway leading towards the emergency exits, a silent invitation.

Your heart skipped a beat. You made a quick excuse to your manager about needing some fresh air and followed him, your steps light with a mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement.

The hallway was dimly lit and blessedly quiet, a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos you’d just escaped. San was leaning against the cool wall, his hands tucked into the pockets of his stylish stage jacket. He looked up as you approached, his usual playful energy replaced by a soft, almost vulnerable expression.

A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment, the unspoken tension thick in the air. You fiddled with the hem of your dress, your gaze fixed on the patterned carpet.

“That was… incredible,” you murmured, breaking the silence, the adrenaline of the performance still coursing through you. “Thank you for… for everything during rehearsals. It was amazing working with you all.”

San pushed himself off the wall, taking a step closer. His gaze was intense, focused solely on you. “The pleasure was all ours, Y/N-ah. Your playing… it added a whole other dimension to the song.” He paused, then his voice softened. “But you know… tonight… when we were performing…”

You finally lifted your gaze to meet his, a question in your eyes.

You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, the words feeling both inevitable and terrifying to voice, “You weren’t looking at the audience tonight, San-ssi. Not really. You were looking at me.”

A soft, almost shy smile spread across his face, a smile that reached his eyes and made your heart do that familiar little flip. He took another step closer, closing the remaining distance between you.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice low and husky, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, I was. And you’re right.” He took a deep breath, as if gathering his courage. “That’s… that’s when I knew I was in trouble.”

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against your hand, sending a jolt of electricity through you. He didn’t take your hand fully, but the light touch was enough.

“From the moment I saw you on that Gayo stage,” he continued, his voice earnest and sincere, “there was something… I don’t know. Something about your passion, your talent… it just… it hit me. Hard.” He chuckled softly, a nervous sound. “And then getting to know you during rehearsals, those late-night texts… it just confirmed what I was already starting to feel.”

He finally met your gaze fully, his eyes filled with a vulnerability that mirrored your own. “I… I really like you, [Your Stage Name]-ah. A lot. And I know this is probably crazy, especially with our careers and everything… but I wanted to be honest with you. I want to give this a real shot. If… if you’re okay with it.”

The sincerity in his voice, the gentle touch of his fingers, the vulnerability in his eyes – it all washed over you, confirming the feelings that had been quietly blossoming in your own heart. The late-night conversations, the stolen glances during rehearsals, the unexpected warmth of his attention – it had all pointed to this moment.

A soft smile bloomed on your own lips, mirroring his. You finally laced your fingers through his, your touch tentative but firm.

“San-ssi,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, “I… I like you too. A lot more than I probably should.” You took a deep breath, your gaze locked with his. “I was… I was falling too.”

A wave of relief washed over his face, his grip on your hand tightening gently. The quiet hallway suddenly felt like the only place in the world, the hushed silence amplifying the unspoken emotions that hung between you. In that dimly lit space, amidst the whirlwind of the idol world, a new chapter had quietly begun.

The initial secrecy of your relationship with San was a fragile, precious thing. It thrived in the quiet moments, in the stolen glances across crowded rooms, and the coded language of late-night texts. Small, tangible tokens of affection became your secret communication.

Notes, folded into impossibly small squares, would appear nestled amongst the strings of Shadow, San’s playful handwriting a stark contrast to the serious intent of his sweet messages. Bubble teas, delivered with a knowing smile by a staff member who’d clearly been briefed, were a small, sweet rebellion against the demands of your schedules. You, in turn, would leave little gifts in Ateez’s studio, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that was growing stronger with each passing day.

But the digital world offered no true sanctuary. The leaked photo, blurry and taken from a distance, was enough to shatter the illusion of privacy. Two figures, walking hand-in-hand under the dim glow of a streetlamp – San’s unmistakable silhouette, your smaller frame – were all it took to ignite the internet.

The explosion was immediate and brutal. Comment sections became battlegrounds, initial curiosity quickly morphing into a torrent of negativity. Accusations of using San for fame were rampant, your talent dismissed, your worth questioned. “She’s just a leech!” one comment screamed. “Riding on Ateez’s success!”

The rigid expectations of idol life fueled the fire. “A rookie dating? Unbelievable!” another user fumed. “She should be focused on her career, not boys!” The attacks grew increasingly personal, descending into cruel insults about your appearance and unfounded rumors about your character. “She’s so plain,” one anonymous commenter sneered. “No wonder she has to cling to someone famous.”

Yet, in the face of this online onslaught, your fans stood firm. They defended your talent, your hard work, your right to a private life. “Leave her alone! She’s an amazing artist!” their voices echoed across the digital space. Surprisingly, a significant number of ATINYs joined their ranks, their support for San extending to his personal happiness. “If San is happy, we should be happy for him,” one ATINY wrote, a sentiment that resonated with many.

Despite this unwavering support, the sheer volume of hate was overwhelming. The negativity seeped into the real world. Your company’s social media was flooded with abusive messages. Your manager’s phone rang non-stop with angry calls.

Then came the chilling delivery. A stark white box. Inside, funeral flowers – white chrysanthemums. A typed note, its words a venomous threat, a stark warning to stay away from San.

The sight of those flowers, a tangible manifestation of such intense hatred, sent a cold wave of fear through you. The joy of your new relationship was instantly poisoned.

San, who had been watching the online storm with growing fury, finally snapped when he learned about the funeral flowers. The image of those stark white blooms, the direct threat against you, ignited a protective rage. He couldn't stand by while you were subjected to such vicious malice.

The playful, loving man you were falling for was momentarily consumed by a fierce, unwavering determination to shield you from the darkness that had descended upon you.

The notification popped up on countless screens simultaneously: “ATEEZ San is live.” Within seconds, the number of viewers skyrocketed. Fans, still reeling from the leaked photo and the ensuing chaos, flooded the chat with questions and worried emojis. San’s lives were usually energetic, filled with playful banter and updates on Ateez’s activities. This felt different.

The camera focused on San’s face, his expression uncharacteristically serious, his eyes holding a raw intensity that made viewers instantly fall silent. He was in what looked like a quiet corner of their dorm, the usual playful clutter noticeably absent. He took a deep breath, his gaze steady and direct.

“Atinys,” he began, his voice lower than usual, carrying a weight that commanded attention. “And… everyone else who is watching.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the unseen viewers. “Over the past few days, there has been a lot of… speculation and negativity online. Regarding the recent photos that were circulated.”

He didn’t name you directly, but everyone knew who he was talking about. The chat, which had been a torrent of messages moments before, slowed to a crawl, a collective holding of breath.

“I usually try to keep my personal life private,” San continued, his voice firm. “But the level of hate and maliciousness that has been directed towards… someone I care deeply about… it cannot be ignored.”

His jaw tightened. “So, I want to be clear about a few things. Firstly, the hateful comments, the personal attacks, the threats… they have gone too far. My company, KQ Entertainment, is already collecting evidence, and if this does not stop immediately, we will be taking strict legal action against those responsible. This is not a request; it is a warning.”

A hush fell over the internet. The mention of legal action, especially from a company known for its protective stance towards its artists, was a serious deterrent.

San’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes. “Secondly,” he continued, his voice dropping a notch, becoming more personal. “I have seen a lot of unfair accusations being thrown around. Especially towards… her.”

He paused again, taking another deep breath. “So, let me be absolutely clear on this. She did not pursue me. She did not initiate anything. If anyone is to blame for… for us… it is me. I was the one who was captivated from the moment I saw her on stage. I was the one who sought her out. She didn’t confess; I did.”

The impact of his words was palpable. The narrative that had been so viciously constructed online, painting you as an opportunistic rookie, crumbled in an instant.

San’s expression hardened again, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness. “Finally,” he said, his voice ringing with conviction. “The person you are all attacking… she is not some fantasy you have created in your minds. She is not some character in a story. She is a real person. She has feelings, she has dreams, she has worked incredibly hard to get where she is.”

He looked directly into the camera, his gaze unwavering. “And yes,” he stated, his voice firm and resolute, each word carrying weight. “She is mine.”

The internet seemed to hold its breath. The usual rapid-fire commentary in the live chat was replaced by a stunned silence. San’s raw honesty, his direct address of the hate, and his unequivocal declaration had landed like a shockwave.

Slowly, tentatively, the tide began to turn. The sheer force of his statement, coupled with the explicit threat of legal action, had a chilling effect. The most vicious hate comments began to subside, replaced by more cautious and uncertain messages. The fear of facing legal repercussions started to outweigh the anonymity and perceived impunity of online hate.

The narrative had shifted, propelled by San’s unwavering defense of the person he loved. The silence on the internet was heavy, pregnant with the aftermath of his words, and the dawning realization that they had crossed a line they might now have to answer for.

The moment San ended the live stream, the adrenaline that had coursed through him began to recede, leaving behind a raw ache of anxiety. Had he said too much? Had he made things worse for you? The uncertainty gnawed at him as he practically sprinted out of the dorm, his members watching with a mixture of concern and understanding. He didn't offer any explanations, his only focus was getting to you.

The drive to your dorm felt like an eternity. Every red light, every slow-moving car, amplified his fear. He imagined you alone, facing the fallout of the scandal, the weight of the hate, and now, the potential repercussions of his public declaration. He cursed himself for not being there sooner, for not being able to shield you from any of it.

Finally, he reached your building, his heart pounding in his chest. He practically flew up the stairs to your floor, his knuckles rapping urgently against your door. Every second felt like a lifetime.

The door creaked open, and there you stood. Your eyes were red-rimmed, and your face was pale, but the sight of him seemed to bring a flicker of relief. Before either of you could speak, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a fierce protectiveness. He held you so close he could feel the tremor that ran through your body.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so, so sorry for all of this.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne a small anchor in the storm of your emotions. Your own voice was muffled against his jacket as you finally spoke.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, San-ah,” you whispered, your words catching on a sob. “You… you didn’t cause this.”

The dam of your carefully held emotions finally broke. Tears streamed down your face, hot and heavy against his shirt. The fear, the anger, the exhaustion of the past few days – it all poured out in a torrent of silent weeping.

He held you tighter, his hand stroking your hair soothingly. He didn’t try to stop your tears; he simply held you, offering a silent reassurance, a solid presence in your moment of vulnerability. He knew words were inadequate. What you needed was comfort, understanding, and the knowledge that you weren't alone.

He held you like that for a long time, until your sobs gradually subsided, leaving behind a quiet hiccuping. He gently pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own filled with a deep tenderness. He brushed a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“Are you… are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with concern.

You managed a small, shaky nod. “Just… scared.”

“I know,” he whispered, pulling you back into his embrace. “I know. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He stayed with you that night. You didn’t talk much, the silence filled with a comfortable understanding, a shared exhaustion. He held you close on your small couch, his presence a warm and reassuring weight. Sleep eventually claimed you both, a fragile peace found in each other’s arms amidst the wreckage of the scandal.

The aftermath of San’s live stream was a strange mix of relief and lingering tension. The most vitriolic hate comments online did indeed slow down, replaced by a hesitant uncertainty. The fear of legal action had cast a pall over the most aggressive antis. However, the underlying prejudice and negativity hadn’t vanished entirely.

In the days and weeks that followed, healing became a slow, deliberate process. You leaned on each other, finding strength in your shared experience. San was a constant source of support, his presence a quiet reassurance that helped to soothe your frayed nerves. You talked, tentatively at first, then more openly, sharing your fears and anxieties. He listened without judgment, offering comfort and unwavering support.

Your company, emboldened by San’s public stance and the threat of legal action, stepped up their efforts to protect you, increasing security and actively pursuing legal avenues against the most egregious offenders. The storm hadn't completely passed, but the intensity had lessened, a fragile calm beginning to settle in its wake. The healing had begun, nurtured by the quiet strength of your connection.

Eleven months. The memory of the scandal’s harsh glare had begun to soften around the edges, like a photograph left in the sun. In its place bloomed a quiet resilience, a steadfast focus on the music that truly defined you. The songs you’d poured your heart into during those months of healing, each note and lyric a testament to your journey, were finally seeing the light.

Your new album, a collection of melodies that whispered of romance and longing, resonated with a global audience in a way that surpassed all expectations. The vulnerability and emotions in your voice, the delicate arrangements, the raw honesty of your lyrics – they spoke a universal language of the heart. Fans, who had witnessed the subtle shifts in your music and your demeanor, intuitively understood the quiet inspiration woven into each track.

You watched, a profound sense of gratitude washing over you, as your album soared up international charts, your name now synonymous with a unique blend of idol charm and genuine musical artistry. The label of “rookie guitarist” had faded, replaced by the recognition of a rising star, your music captivating hearts across continents.

Throughout this whirlwind of success, San remained your unwavering anchor, your most enthusiastic supporter. His encouragement was a constant, a quiet strength that buoyed you through every demanding schedule and nerve-wracking performance. He’d be the first to text after a show, his messages a flurry of emojis and heartfelt praise. The Ateez dorm often echoed with your new tracks, his members offering good-natured teases while secretly humming along to the catchy melodies.

And when your solo concerts began, San made sure he was there. He’d often slip into the venue unnoticed, a face in the crowd, his gaze never leaving you as you commanded the stage. From the shadows, his phone would capture fleeting moments – the intense concentration etched on your face during a complex guitar solo, the radiant smile that bloomed when the audience sang your lyrics back to you, the sheer joy that radiated from you as you connected with your fans through your music. His phone gallery became a secret testament to your talent and the pride he felt.

One night, after an electrifying concert in Las Vegas, the energy between you and the roaring audience a tangible force, San felt an overwhelming wave of love and admiration. He wanted the world to know the depth of his feelings, the sheer luck he felt in having you in his life.

Back in his hotel room, the glittering cityscape spread out before him, he scrolled through the candid shots he’d taken that night. He selected a few that truly captured your essence – the focused intensity in your eyes as you played, the pure joy in your laughter as you interacted with the crowd, your silhouette a powerful presence against the vibrant stage lights.

He opened his public Instagram account, his thumb hovering over the share button. He wanted to express his feelings honestly, openly, for all to see. Finally, he typed a caption, his heart laid bare:

“Watching you shine so brightly tonight, Y/N, fills me with a happiness I can barely describe. Your talent is breathtaking, your passion is infectious, and the way you connect with everyone who hears your music is truly magical. I feel incredibly lucky, every single day, to have you in my life. You inspire me endlessly. ❤️🎸”

He attached the soft, candid photos, a public declaration of his love and admiration. The post went live, and the internet responded with an outpouring of warmth and support. Fans, who had long sensed the depth of your connection, were touched by his heartfelt words and the genuine pride that shone through.

The image of the charismatic idol so openly celebrating his partner resonated deeply, solidifying their perception of your relationship as a source of strength and inspiration. The rise of your star was no longer just your own triumph; it was a shared journey, a testament to the enduring power of love that had weathered the storm and now shone brightly for the world to witness.

The relentless pace of idol life often blurred into a continuous cycle of performances, recordings, and travel. But tucked away in the quiet corners of their shared apartment, a haven carved out amidst the chaos, existed a different reality – a space where the bright lights faded and the masks came off.

Tonight was one of those nights. You were curled up on the plush couch, a worn paperback novel open in your lap, bathed in the soft glow of a nearby lamp. San’s oversized hoodie swallowed your small frame, the sleeves pulled down over your hands. Your hair was piled messily on top of your head, secured with a stray hair tie, and your glasses rested on the bridge of your nose, your makeup-free skin looking soft and natural. You were completely absorbed in your book, oblivious to the world outside and the adoring gaze fixed upon you.

San, who had been quietly tinkering with some music equipment across the room, paused, his eyes drawn to the picture of domestic bliss you presented. A soft smile touched his lips. He reached for his phone, snapping a quick, candid photo of you, your brow furrowed in concentration as you turned a page.

Without a word, he opened his phone settings and set the photo as his wallpaper, a private reminder of the quiet joy you brought to his life. You remained engrossed in your book, completely unaware of his silent adoration and the new image gracing his phone screen.

A mischievous glint suddenly sparked in San’s eyes. He moved silently towards the couch, a playful grin spreading across his face. In one swift motion, he scooped you up in his arms, lifting you with surprising ease.

“San!” you exclaimed, your eyes widening in surprise as you were suddenly airborne. The book tumbled to the floor, landing with a soft thud.

He carried you the few steps to the bedroom, his grin widening with each flustered protest you made. “Operation: Relocate the Bookworm!” he declared in a mock-heroic voice. With a playful grunt, he gently tossed you onto the soft mattress.

You landed with a soft bounce, your glasses askew, your heart hammering in your chest. You stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless. “Oh my god, San, I’m a virgin I don’t think you’ll fit—”

San froze mid-chuckle, his playful expression instantly morphing into one of utter shock. He stood there, a statue of bewildered surprise, his mouth slightly agape, his eyebrows practically reaching his hairline.

A beat of stunned silence hung in the air, broken only by your slightly panicked breathing. Then, a slow dawning of realization crossed San’s face, followed by a flicker of something akin to amusement struggling to break through the surprise.

“…I was trying to cuddle?” he finally managed, his voice a hesitant whisper, a bewildered question mark hanging in the air. He even gestured vaguely with his hands, as if demonstrating the concept of a platonic embrace.

Another beat of silence. Your eyes widened further, the color rising in your cheeks as the full implication of your utterly mortifying statement hit you. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

San’s eyebrows shot up even higher. “…Wait,” he said slowly, his gaze searching yours with a mixture of disbelief and dawning understanding. “You’ve never—?” He trailed off, a slow, knowing smile starting to play on his lips.

Your face flushed a deep, uncontrollable crimson. You became a flustered mess of tangled limbs and stammered denials. “NO! I mean… I’m waiting… I—ugh! This is so unbelievably embarrassing! Can we just… can we just forget I said anything?” You buried your face in the pillows, mortified beyond words.

A soft chuckle rumbled in San’s chest, a sound that held genuine amusement but also a surprising tenderness. He gently sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to carefully pull you into his arms. You kept your face hidden, your cheeks burning like twin embers.

“Hey, sunshine,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing against your temple. “It’s okay. Really. There’s absolutely no pressure, no expectations. You take all the time you need, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” He held you close, his arms a comforting and reassuring embrace. He kissed your temple again, a lingering, tender gesture.

A playful smirk tugged at his lips, and a mischievous glint returned to his eyes. “But,” he whispered, his voice laced with amusement, “I am definitely teasing you about this forever. You know that, right? Like, for the rest of our lives.”

You groaned into his chest, but a small, reluctant smile finally broke through your embarrassment. “Oh, you wouldn’t dare,” you mumbled, though the lack of conviction in your voice betrayed you.

“Oh, I would dare,” he said, his chuckle deepening. “In fact, I’m already planning the anniversary celebrations for ‘The Night Sunshine Thought I Wouldn’t Fit.’” He punctuated his words with a playful squeeze.

You swatted playfully at his arm, your face still buried in his chest. “It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” he countered, his voice full of mirth. “Especially the look on your face. Priceless. I should have taken a picture.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I still can? For posterity?” He made a mock attempt to reach for his phone.

You tightened your grip on his hoodie. “Don’t you even think about it, Choi San.”

He laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Alright, alright. My lips are sealed… for now. But just so you know, the next time we’re cuddling, and you look even remotely tense…” He trailed off suggestively, raising a playful eyebrow.

You playfully punched his arm again, a giggle escaping despite your lingering embarrassment. “You are the worst.”

“The worst… but you love me,” he finished, nuzzling his face into your hair.

You sighed contentedly, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the last vestiges of your mortification. “Unfortunately,” you mumbled into his chest.

“See? Admitted it,” he teased triumphantly. “Now, about that book you were reading… maybe we can cuddle and just read?” He emphasized the word “just” with a playful wink that you couldn’t see but could definitely feel in his tone.

You finally lifted your head, a genuine smile gracing your lips. “Maybe,” you said, leaning into him. “But if you even think about bringing up the ‘fitting’ thing again…”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Wouldn’t dream of it… for at least five minutes.”

You rolled your eyes, but the laughter bubbling in your chest was a testament to the comfortable, playful love that defined your quiet moments together, even the hilariously awkward ones. In the safe haven of their shared home, amidst the endless teasing and the deep, unwavering affection, their unique and tender story continued to unfold, one laugh, one cuddle, and one mortifyingly iconic misunderstanding at a time.

-- The end <33

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hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf · 1 year ago

Text

Sugar

best friend!san x fem reader

Trigger warnings: none that i can think of

Content warnings: names (sweetheart, baby, sugar), oral (m&f receiving), choking (briefly), breeding, dacryphilia (kinda?), san’s got a big dick (what else is new) and is down horrendous for mc.

Summary: your best friend just can’t keep his hands to himself

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: hey babes! i finally finished it!!! its unpolished as fuck but it’s done!!! it’s only taken me forty-seven years 🥴 not saying this is a full comeback as i’m still dealing with some personal shit but i hope i’ll have something else for you relatively soon. anyways, pls reblog if you enjoy the story!! 🥰🫶🏻

Tags: @bahng-chrizz @foxinnie8

Smut below the cut

Most likely to remain high school sweethearts. That’s the yearbook superlative you and your best friend had been awarded your senior year of high school. The kicker? You had never dated him. The thought had just never crossed your mind. You were content being the hot best friends that everyone either wanted to get with or wanted to be. He wasn’t, but you didn’t know that.

Choi San had harbored the biggest crush on you since the two of you were fifteen. He’d gone through a hard breakup back then, his ex spreading rumors and lies all through school, and despite claiming he was fine because he was a player, he was heartbroken. He had been in love with the girl and she’d broken his heart and tried to ruin his reputation. So when you comforted him and confronted his ex, which ended in a cat fight in the hallway that got both of you suspended, he began to fixate on you. He dated around to keep his mind busy and off you, but he was infatuated with his best friend. With the girl who would throw down with anyone who wronged him.

He’d been heartbroken when he found out you were going away for college instead of staying local, even more so when he realized the school you’d chosen didn’t have the major he wanted. He was distraught at first, thinking you’d be too far apart to visit often. Every school he looked at seemed so far away from yours until he found the school where he was currently enrolled. This one was only an hour drive away from you and he was relieved to find that your schedule at your part time job still allowed for you two to take turns visiting each other every weekend.

You were oblivious to his feelings. You often noticed how he had trouble sleeping at your apartment but whenever you asked, he claimed he’d developed insomnia. He hadn’t, he just couldn’t sleep because of the thoughts that filled his mind from knowing you were in the next room. He felt guilty to be honest. He was constantly having dirty thoughts that normal people didn’t have about their best friend. Your mere presence reduced him to little more than a giddy, horny teenager.

You also noticed that he became more clingy after the two of you left for college but you never addressed that. He was always an affectionate person and adjusting to college life was definitely hard, so you figured it was probably that. That was part of it. But really, he just missed you. It was that simple. He missed his best friend and his heart leapt every time you opened your door or he opened his. Seeing your face made everything so much better.

Today was no different. He lit up like a neon sign when your door swung open to reveal you in a cropped white hoodie and a pair of black yoga pants, a bright smile on your face. “Sannie!” You held your arms open and he immediately stepped inside, wrapping his arms around your waist and hooking his chin over your shoulder. Everything that had been bothering him up until that moment melted away as you hugged him, your grip tightening right before you stepped back. Oh how he loved your hugs.

You led him inside and motioned for him to sit on the sofa as you grabbed the bag of goodies you’d bought the night before. “I got your favorites.” You grinned as you rejoined him, opening the bag to show him the snacks, sodas, and alcohol you’d purchased. “Oh, also, my roommate is staying with her boyfriend this weekend so you can yell at the tv all you want, we don’t have to be quiet.”

He managed to conceal the excitement he felt at your words, knowing you didn’t mean what he was thinking. “Noted.” He hummed as he settled in. “Are we picking back up where we left off on that anime?”

“We can. I think we can finish the next season if we stay glued to the couch all weekend.” You hummed as you began to stage the snacks on the coffee table, only then realizing you’d forgotten glasses for the alcohol. “We can watch something else if you don’t want to watch that though. I’ve got some other streaming services if you wanna watch a drama.” You shrugged as you got up, heading to the kitchenette.

When you came back, he was sprawled out on your couch. His arms were resting on the back and he had the full man spread going on. He kind of resembled a starfish like that and you rolled your eyes as a smile tugged at your lips. You froze when he let out a low groan as he stretched, throwing his head back. Suddenly, images of you getting him off flashed in your mind. “Let’s watch that. We can watch a drama next weekend.”

You cleared your throat a bit and nodded as you recovered. “Okie dokie.” You singsonged as you joined him, sitting close enough that you could feel his body heat but still leaving enough space that you didn’t have those thoughts again. Where the fuck had that come from? You grabbed one of the bags of chips and settled in, his arm sliding down from the back of the couch to rest on your shoulders as you pulled up the show.

The episode started and you opened the bag, offering it up to San, who shook his head. “I’m good right now, sugar.” You shrugged and leaned into him, pulling your legs up underneath you. He tensed when he realized he’d called you something he’d only imagined calling you but you didn’t seem to mind so he forced himself to relax.

What you didn’t address was the surge of arousal that flooded your body. You were a bitch for pet names and he knew that. You weren’t sure why you were turned on by his words, though. It was San. Sure he was beautiful but he had never affected you like this before. Clearly it had been too long since the last time you’d slept with someone.

Your eyes locked on the screen and you focused solely on that for four episodes before you became aware of the ache in your joints. You’d managed to sit perfectly still for two hours straight and now your body was screaming at you to move. You gently shrugged San’s arm off your shoulders and stood as the fifth episode began, letting out a soft groan of appreciation as you stretched your muscles and cracked every joint you could.

The sound of your voice caught San’s attention and his eyes locked on the exposed portion of your back, wondering what it would feel like to press kisses there. Should I try and find out? Absolutely not. Why the fuck would you even think about that? Fucking dumbass. He shook his head and let out a sigh just as you turned to ask him if he needed anything from the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” You asked softly, noticing how irritated and distressed he looked.

“Huh?” His head snapped up and his jaw dropped slightly before he recovered. “Nothing, I’m fine.” He gave you a warm smile and you responded with a confused but playful wrinkle of your nose before heading off to grab a water. That was fucking close.

You opened the bottle and took a big gulp as you reentered the room, finding him sitting up properly now. He patted the spot next to him and you plopped down beside him, leaning back into his side, this time with your back to him. You brought your feet back up on the couch and took his hand, guiding his arm around your neck in a hug and tipping your head back to rest on his shoulder.

As you once again became enthralled with the show, his fingers absentmindedly traced shapes on the side of your neck. You shuddered at his touch every few minutes but didn’t register any of it as you focused on the tv. You whined a little when he moved his arm back to the back of the sofa but didn’t protest further, too invested in the show to care too much. You shifted to rest your head on San’s lap, grabbing one of the throw pillows to lay on.

With you stretched out like this, San was struggling to focus on the show. He was fixated on your exposed belly and began to discreetly drop his arm off the back of the couch towards your waist. He bit his lip as his hand made contact with your warm flesh, trying to appear focused on the show like you. You glanced up at him and took a moment to admire the view of his jawline before poking his chin. He looked startled and almost guilty when his gaze met yours. “What’s up with you today?” You asked in a teasing tone. “You seem extra cuddly and touchy-feely.”

“What, I can’t be touchy-feely with my best friend?” He grinned down at you and something in you shifted. “I just missed you. We used to see each other every day and for the last two years we’ve only been able to see each other on weekends.”

“Simpler times.” You sighed and turned your attention back to the screen, not bothering to move his hand. It felt nice.

He was surprised that you hadn’t swatted him away but he certainly wasn’t about to complain when you were delicately tracing shapes on the back of his hand. His heart was pounding and he was thankful you hadn’t continued with that line of questioning because he wasn’t sure if he could form a coherent sentence at this point. He should’ve known better than to start to get comfortable though. The second his hand wandered a bit higher, you grabbed his wrist and he froze. Fuck.

“That’s more than touchy-feely, San, that was almost my titty.” You didn’t appear to move your attention from the tv but all you could think about was just how close his hand was to your chest. What had gotten into him? And why were you so affected by his touch? You were just friends…right?

“Oh…sorry.” He mumbled, trying to appear nonchalant despite his internal panic. You didn’t buy it though and looked up at him again, taking note of his flaming cheeks. Cute.

“Seriously, San, what’s actually going on with you?” You hated how harsh your voice came out. You hated the way he flinched at your words. You weren’t trying to scold him, you wanted to put out feelers.

“Nothing.” He shook his head and refused to look at you. You thought for a moment before biting your lip. You clearly didn’t buy it and wanted to ask if he was thinking what you were so suddenly thinking. You were about to speak up when he continued. “I’m just tired. Come cuddle.” He opened his arms.

“Tired already?” He nodded. “Must suck to be any woman you fuck.” You snorted.

“I’ll have you know I have excellent stamina, thank you.” He fired back instantly and you laughed. There he was.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, gramps.”

“Is that an invitation, sweetheart?” You were almost taken aback at his tone, as you’d only heard him use it when he was actively trying to bed someone.

“San-” He just laughed and shook his head as if to assure you he was only teasing. Somehow that bothered you more. Desire had already begun to pool between your legs. You gave a little huff and released his wrist, which you’d been holding this whole time, abruptly sitting up as you swatted his hand away. You turned to look at him as the pillow you’d been resting on toppled from his lap, exposing the semi he was rocking. So he actually did want you. “Yeah, actually, it is.” He sat in stunned silence and you bit the inside of your lip to hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, only speaking once you had successfully concealed your grin. “What? Did you think I’d get flustered and back off?” You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head to the side, your tone almost mocking.

“Yeah, kin-”

“Cute.” You cut him off and placed a hand on his thigh as you leaned towards him, your gaze flicking towards his lips for a brief moment before lifting back to his eyes, which still refused to actually look at you. “Tell me, Sannie, how long did it take you to work up the courage to try and feel me up?”

“I wasn’t-”

“Oh come on.” You rolled your eyes, your hand trailing a bit higher on his thigh as your voice dipped a bit. “You’re already half hard, clearly you were trying to get something out of me.” He squirmed at both your words and your touch, suddenly trying to squeeze his thighs together as he avoided eye contact in favor of staring at your hand, which he felt was far too close to his crotch for him to properly think.

He didn’t get a chance to respond before you spoke up again. “It’s never crossed my mind before, but now that I’m thinking about it, there’s so many things I could do to you, Sannie.” You whispered as you moved your hand away from the swell in his gray sweats and moved to straddle his lap. “What do you think? Should I?” You rolled your hips, grinding against his hard on, and he nodded far too quickly for his liking.

“Please do…” He whispered back, finally meeting your eyes. “Anything you want. ‘M all yours.” You got the feeling he wasn’t just referring to the current moment but you weren’t in any state to be asking for clarification.

You weren’t sure if you were prepared for the ramifications of fucking your best friend but you would have to deal with that later. The ache between your legs required immediate attention. You carded your fingers through his hair before turning your hand into a fist and tugging his head back. Your other hand rested on his neck as you caught his lips in a demanding kiss. The whimper that slipped past his lips went straight to your pussy and you shivered, leaning into his touch when his hands moved to your ass.

He was short circuiting. He was finally getting the chance to touch you and you weren’t pushing him away. In fact, you were the one initiating it. He licked over your bottom lip but you refused him entry, taking the chance to nibble on his lip instead. He gasped against your lips and you smirked, subconsciously tightening your grip on his hair.

“I never pegged you as the submissive type, Sannie.” You teased and he frowned against your lips, clearly pouting. Despite being a switch, he was more dominant than submissive. He was just following your lead because he’d dreamt about this for ages and he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. “Don’t worry, I’ll be nice to you. I’ve been told I’m almost too gentle.”

He whined at your ribbing and you chuckled softly as you pulled back, moving to sit on the floor between his legs. His eyes followed your every movement. You sat on your knees and pushed his oversized tee up a bit to admire his toned stomach before hooking your fingers in the waistband of his sweats. You tugged them down, his now-fully-hard cock springing free and slapping against his belly. “No underwear? Must’ve been real confident things would play out like this, huh?”

“No, actually. I just rarely wear them.” He rolled his eyes and you made a face. He seemed to be getting bolder and you weren’t sure how you felt about that. You were having fun with him. If he decided to take over…well, you doubted that would happen but you might have a brat on your hands.

You didn’t respond, just finished pulling his pants to his ankles, took his dick in your hand, and licked the head. His head tipped back as he let out a surprisingly deep groan and your previous visions came rushing back to you. He looked and sounded just as pretty as you imagined when you took him in your mouth.

“Holy fucking shit, y/n…” He groaned, one hand moving to rest on his belly, holding his shirt up while the other curled into a fist on the sofa. You hummed at his reaction and continued, taking him as far as you could manage. You gagged a little around him and he hissed, his hips jerking a fraction of an inch before he could stop himself. “S-sorry. ‘M sorry, y/n. Didn’t mean to.”

You giggled softly at his apology and he bit his lip, looking down at you. You bobbed your head as your gaze met his and he damn near lost his mind. You looked so pretty with his cock in your mouth. He wanted the image burned in his memory for the rest of his life. Who knew when or if he’d get the chance to do this again?

Given how you responded to his accidentally fucking your face, he decided to experimentally roll his hips. He almost met God when the tip slipped down your throat and you gagged around him, swallowing harshly as you tried but failed to relax your throat. You’d never deepthroated before and it showed as you tried to recover, tears filling your eyes and quickly overflowing to your cheeks. He gently pulled you off and wiped your cheeks, cooing at you as you coughed. “Breathe for me, sugar.” You nodded and took a deep breath, letting him dry your face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what possessed me to do that. Are you okay?”

You nodded again and offered a small smile. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna go full send and hurt you or-”

“I’m fine, Sannie. I promise.” He finally nodded after a few beats of silence and you tilted your head, eyes narrowing as you studied him for a moment. “Now, what’s with the name? You said it earlier too.”

He looked panicked at first before a grin crept onto his face. “Well, I would call you honey since you’re so sweet, but I feel like that’s a bit overdone, don’t you agree?” You shrugged in agreement and he leaned down, taking your jaw in his hand and jerking you closer. He was a breath away and you were going haywire. “I wonder if your personality is all that’s sweet.”

“What are you saying?” You asked quietly, surprising both of you at just how quickly you’d folded with a single rough touch. So much for him not taking over.

“I wanna taste you, y/n.” He moved to whisper in your ear and your breath hitched. “Every. Single. Inch.” He punctuated his words by kissing and licking up the side of your neck, then biting down softly on your earlobe and drawing out a tiny whimper.

You squeezed your thighs together and closed your eyes for a moment. You grounded yourself with a deep breath before opting to respond by simply tugging at his cock, teasing the head with your thumb. The groan he let out scratched an itch in your brain you never knew existed and his grip on your jaw grew tighter as he inhaled your scent.

“Get up.” You blindly followed his command, standing when he backed away. He didn’t speak as he kicked his pants the rest of the way off and stood with you, hauling you over his shoulder before starting for your room. You squeaked in surprise but didn’t fight, a smile creeping across your face.

You couldn’t stifle the giggle that slipped out when he kissed your side. It shouldn’t have tickled as much as it did.

San had an idea of the things you liked, you’d both talked about your escapades enough, so it came as no surprise to you when he gently placed you on your feet only to grab you by the throat and push you back onto the bed. Still, a thrill ran through your body as you wrapped your hands around his wrist. You sucked in a gasp just before he began to apply pressure to the sides of your throat, your eyes rolling back.

You felt his breath on your face as he leaned down to crash his lips against yours. Your hands left his arm and moved to his shirt, pulling him as close as possible. As he slipped his tongue into your mouth, he slowly relieved the pressure on your throat, allowing blood flow to return to normal and give you a head rush. You moaned into the kiss and wrapped your legs around his waist in a desperate attempt to keep him close when he started to pull away.

“I’ve always wanted to do that…” His voice was a low rumble that made your panties uncomfortably wet. “Always wanted to try everything you mentioned being into. The choking, the biting, the breeding…everything.”

If you weren’t aware of your panties sticking to your folds before, you were after that. “Please do.” You exhaled, trying to pull him back in even as he righted himself between your legs. “All of it. Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” He raised an eyebrow as his hands moved to rest on your hips and you nodded. “Anything?”

“Anything.” You nodded again and bit down on your bottom lip when he rocked his hips, the blunt head of his cock smearing precum across your yoga pants as he rubbed against you. “Please…”

He didn’t speak as his hands slid up your sides, fingers inching under the hem of your hoodie and ghosting over your cool skin. He reached higher still until his hands cupped your breasts. “No bra? Must've been real confident things would play out like this, huh?”

You rolled your eyes and tried not to laugh as the conversation from only a few minutes prior repeated itself. “No, actually. I just rarely wear one.”

“Take it off.” He groaned in response, pushing your hoodie up so your chest was entirely exposed. You sat up, which took a bit of effort given your legs were draped over his thick thighs, and pulled the surprisingly-thin material over your head. He immediately knocked you back and caught your lips in a feverish kiss, propping on one arm while his free hand wandered along your belly.

Your arms wrapped around him, one hand moving to his back while the other tangled in his faded pink locks. He’d dyed his hair magenta a few weeks back and it had since lost its vibrancy - though not before staining a few towels and his pillowcase. You gave his hair a gentle tug and he groaned into your mouth, sending a wave of electricity down your spine.

He began to trail kisses along your jaw and neck as his hand cupped your breast, his thumb swiping back and forth over your nipple. You pushed your chest into his touch, head tipping back as your back arched. Your breath hitched when he brought his kisses to your chest, lips encasing your nipple as his tongue flicked back and forth. “Sannie-” You gasped, your grip on his hair tightening. His hand gave your other breast equal attention, lightly pinching and rolling your nipple before swapping sides.

You couldn’t say you’d ever been curious about what it would be like to sleep with San but you were certain his skills would exceed his reputation if he already had you drenched with minimal effort. You wondered if he could feel the wet patch between your legs, starting to soak through your yoga pants.

He could. He found himself eager to bury his head between your legs despite being determined to take his time with you. He worried he’d disappoint you if he moved too quickly but he still began his descent, peppering sloppy kisses down your belly as his fingers hooked in your waistband. He took your pants and panties both in one go as he moved off the bed. You didn’t miss his sharp inhale.

“Y/N…” Your face flushed red as he knelt between your legs, gaze locked on your glistening cunt. You wanted to tell him not to stare, to urge him along, but you couldn’t seem to break your silence. Finally, you lifted your head and he met your eyes, his own eyes widening in something akin to adoration, though more intense. “Is this all for me, sugar?” There was that name again. You nodded eagerly but he shook his head. “Words.”

You frowned a bit, annoyed that he was making you speak up when he could just take one look at you and know. Of course, you knew he wouldn’t give in so you gave a soft whine before speaking. “Yes, Sannie, it’s all yours.”

You didn’t know why you were so against speaking up. The sound he made the second you did respond made you clench around nothing. He noticed, of course, and let out a low groan as he hooked your legs over his shoulders and kissed your thigh. “May I touch?”

“Please do.” You whispered and caught your lip between your teeth.

He continued to litter your thighs with messy kisses and soft bites as his fingertips teased their way up to your pussy, never once breaking eye contact. Your head fell back to the sheets as soon as you felt him run a finger through your folds, gathering up some of your arousal. He moved torturously slowly, rubbing feather-light circles on your clit before easing one digit into you.

“You’re drenched, baby…” His voice, though painfully sexy, was full of wonder and amusement.

“Your fault…” You mumbled and he chuckled softly.

One finger wasn’t enough. You needed more. He could tell and you felt him smirk against your skin as he curled his finger. You let out a soft sigh at the action but he wasn’t satisfied and so he added another finger, and another when you still didn’t give him the response he wanted.

“Fuck this cunt’s gonna feel so good-” He sighed.

Now three fingers deep, he began his search for your g-spot. It didn’t take him very long if your embarrassingly loud moan was anything to go by. “So fucking pretty, baby.” He groaned, suppressing another sound when you clenched around his fingers. “You like it when I call you pretty? Or was it ‘baby’?” He teased.

“Both.” It was all you could muster as he leaned in and flicked his tongue over your clit. You immediately brought a hand up to your mouth to stifle your sounds but he pulled back and nipped at your thigh.

“Let me hear.” At that point, you had no fight left in you. You just wanted him to touch you and you’d do anything to get your way. You gave a nod, a small ‘okay’ slipping from your lips, and he slowly leaned back in, lips closing around your clit. He sucked and you let out a soft curse, bringing your hands to your chest to knead at the soft flesh of your breasts. He groaned in appreciation and set a slow pace, working you up with his fingers while his tongue traced different shapes over your clit.

You suddenly felt ridiculous for never having wondered if he truly lived up to his reputation. He was proving to you just how good he was and you were cursing yourself for never having thought about having his head between your legs. “Sannie- oh-” You keened, one hand flying to tangle in his hair once more as he pressed against your g-spot at the same time as he sucked on your clit. You wouldn’t last long like this. He was too good.

Your toes curled as he brought you closer and closer to the edge, his tongue dipping into you occasionally in place of his fingers. Your muscles ached with the tension that was building but you knew you wouldn’t be relaxed until he made you cum. Hoping to encourage him to get you off faster so he’d fuck you, you began babbling praises, only inflating his ego.

He made sure you felt his appreciative groan before pulling back for a quick breath then diving back in, tongue flicking with vigor. His cock throbbed as he inhaled your scent and his eyes rolled back briefly. He wanted more of you. All of you. So when you announced you were close, he backed away entirely and smirked. “Not yet, baby.”

“Sannie, what the fuck?” You whined indignantly, lifting your head when he sat up between your legs.

“Decided I want you to cum on my cock instead.” He shrugged, moving up the bed to catch your lips in a kiss. You were surprised by how sweet the kiss was considering how feral he’d just been acting over your pussy but you welcomed it, tugging him closer with a soft groan as you tasted yourself.

“So fuck me then.” You whispered between kisses, lapping your juices off his lips a moment later. The whole scenario was filthy and intoxicating.

“You mean like this?” He grunted as he slid into you with ease. Your jaw dropped and you gasped at the stretch. He fit perfectly, like you were made for each other - a thought that both terrified and intrigued you. He wasted no time in setting a slow, deep pace, each thrust driving you up the bed with the force.

“Just like that, Sannie.” You nodded furiously, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders while your other hand twisted the sheets by your head.

San was on another planet. He finally had you. You, the girl of his dreams ever since he was fifteen. He was finally fully sheathed inside your warmth and he never wanted to leave. He’d give anything to stay with you.

He hadn’t intended to babble that out loud and realized his error when you responded.

“Yeah? Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Then fuck me harder and treat me like the most precious thing you’ve ever held.”

It was an easy ask. He had no problem cherishing you. Even as his hips began to snap harder and faster, the sound of skin slapping filling the room, he showered you with kisses and words of adoration. “So fucking good, baby. Do you have any clue how long I’ve wanted to feel this perfect little pussy? To make you fall apart on my cock?”

“Tell me, Sannie. Tell me how long you’ve wanted me.”

“God- ever since we were in school. It was so hot the way you fucked her up for hurting me and I’ve wanted you ever since.” His admission sent a thrill rushing through you and you clenched involuntarily, earning a low groan from him.

“And you held it together for that long? Fuck, Sannie, you- oh-” The tip of his cock just barely kissed your cervix but it was enough to make your thighs squeeze his hips.

“Shit, baby, you keep that up and I’ll cum…”

“Then keep fucking me just like that.” You demanded, back arching as he dipped his head down to lick and suck on your chest. He caught your nipple in his mouth and allowed his teeth to graze the stiff peak, grunting against your skin when your walls fluttered in response. “Want you to cum inside as many times as you can until you make me cum.” It wasn’t a demand or a plea, it was just a simple fact but he was eager to comply with your wishes.

“Christ, y/n, you’re killing me…” San groaned, resting his forehead on your chest as his hips pistoned relentlessly. He pulled back just enough to look up at you and you could tell by his expression just how close he was. “You really want that? Want me to breed you like a good little cocksleeve and keep filling you up over and over until you fall apart for me?”

Your nod and whimper were the only convincing he needed. He let go instantly, stars dancing behind his eyes as he pumped you full of cum. This was all he’d wanted for the better part of a decade and he was on cloud nine over finally getting you.

He briefly pulled out and flipped you over, taking a moment to watch a bead of cum drip down your folds before he slammed back into you. He might regret this later given how sensitive he was but he needed to give you anything you asked for.

Your back arched as he hit your sweet spot and you let out a soft cry. “There! Just like that!”

It didn’t take long before he felt another orgasm building. He warned you and you demanded he continue, begging him to give it to you. His cock twitched and he let go at your behest, filling you all over again.

Before he was finished, he reached around to roll your clit between his thumb and forefinger. He delighted in the squeal you let out and did it again, tears welling in his eyes from all the sensation.

“Oh god, Sannie, I’m so close!” You cried, your thighs trembling as your orgasm threatened to wash over you.

“Cum for me, sugar.” His voice was a low rumble in your ear, hoarse with unshed tears, and you couldn’t hold back. You let out another squeal as he toyed with your clit, tipping you over the edge. Your high hit you like a bus and you let out a sob of ecstasy as your pussy clamped down on San’s leaking cock.

You felt a tear fall on your back and gently pushed him back, forcing yourself to roll over. “You okay?” You asked softly as you pulled him to you, still buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“‘M fucking perfect.” He offered a lazy smile as he leaned down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

“Mm then what’s this?” You teased as you pulled back, wiping a tear from his cheek.

“Proof that I’ve met my match.” He chuckled softly and wiped his face dry. “Seriously, that was…fucking amazing.”

“It was. Can someone explain to me why we didn’t do this sooner?”

“Who knows.” He shrugged and flopped down beside you, then pulled you to lay on top of him. “But I say we do this every weekend, sugar.” He laughed deeply when you swatted his chest in response but deep down you knew this was more than a one time occurrence.

#kpop smut #ateez #ateez smut #ateez x reader #choi san #choi san smut #choi san x reader #alura’s works #pls reblog if you enjoy this!!

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