#the number of times he just drank questionable substances like this lol

[chokchokk]

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭, 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 | choi san x fem!reader

PART TWO of : have your way with words, be my people pleaser 

"Why? Am I not allowed to care now?"

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: He usually doesn’t drink this much. No, maybe he does, but it definitely shouldn’t make San act like this.

It must be a trap, you think, but you’ve already fallen for him, so there’s nothing you can do except not getting your heart broken.

"As if you could care."

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: smut, angst, fluff (if you squint)

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 7.1k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): alcohol, san is drunk, reader doesn't fuck drunk people, lack of communication, non-penetrative sex, fingering, squirting, aftercare, showering, sleeping together (in a bed)

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜: prologue + main part, finished

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: please know that i wrote this before ateez drank in their video so any sign of projection is like just ... bad luck LMAO but uhhhhhh yeah here's the start of the A N G S T of it all so enjoy lol !!! <33

𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲

unknown number: sannie i think i left my phone at your place

unknown number: oh wait

unknown number: yeah i’m an idiot

unknown number: how do i delete this message

unknown number: btw is my name still “unknown number”

unknown number: because you should really change that

“That’s our thing,” he laughs, “she’s smart and all, but every time we hook-up, it’s like, I’m seriously fucking her stupid.“

His roommate snickers and looks at the contact name.

“So, uh, what are you two?”

“Hm?”

“You guys have good chemistry! Or are you going to keep up with the whole “sex-buddies” schtick? She seems cool, why not give her a chance?“

“Nah.. You know I can’t get myself involved in that again, Seonghwa. My last relationship.. I get goosebumps just thinking about it, really. I think she wouldn’t even want that, too. It’s all just jokes and fun between us.”

“Really?“

He turns off his phone.

“Okay, only sometimes, I guess.” He smirks. “But I really like that about her, actually. She doesn’t do it as much now, but, uhm.. she compliments me a lot?”

“San, you’re so fucked up.”

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞? 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡.

“Hey, it’s me! Open the door~!", his voice rings and San should be very happy you’re still awake at 3 AM on a Sunday. “Let me in!”, he repeats and it’s not a loud, aggressive shout, but urgent enough to snap you out of your mindlessly scrolling-cycle on your phone and make you question whether you’ve heard correctly or are imagining things.

It’s a very bold move, really, thinking that your home is free for him to come at any given time, and if it wasn’t for the unnecessarily sweet drunken “pretty please?” that follows right after his demand, you would have gladly let him walk all the way to his own residency, but you’re weak, weak for him, so even though you do hesitate, the door is opened with almost no significant time having passed.

“Well, good morning,” you chuckle and watch the man lean against the frame with his head, his legs unable to hold the weight of his upper body. He’s wearing his usual fit of a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans, but his blushed cheeks, the smell of sweet tangy fruits and other sour substances tells you more about his evening than you need to ask for. It’s also not helping that his lips look swollen, smudged with red lipstick that he definitely tried to get rid of with a lot of rubbing on the way here — San's had a long night and he's waiting for it to get longer.

“I can’t drive like this,” San explains and his eyes are barely opening while he tries to keep a serious tone as he speaks in short-cut sentences, “and you were nearby... so now I’m here.”

“Did I ask? Get in here, Sannie.”

You grab his arm, or at least try to get your hand around his thick bicep and drag him inside, the door closing with a thump. “Thank you~,” San giggles and it takes a lot to not make him stumble completely onto you, you managing to put him down on your couch with your whole body-power, his face immediately plunging into one of the pillows.

“Where’s your jacket?”, you ask, as you stare holes into his muscular back and broad shoulders.

“Didn’t wear one,” he lisps through the fabric and his voice is raspy.

“Dumbass."

Trying to help him, you decide you’re going to get him a cup of water, but before you can let loose of him and disappear into the kitchen, San grabs you by your hand, immediately crossing his fingers into yours.

“No, stay,” San begs with a soft-spoken voice, face still planted into the couch, and he doesn’t know what those words are doing to you. Yeah, you guys have been having one or two one-night-stands too many with the unspoken promise to plead no hard feelings, but it’s him. Catching feelings for San hasn’t been something you’ve deliberately made the attempt to avoid.

But maybe you would have, if you’d known how painful it was going to be.

“Your hands are so soft,” he daydreams, a melody accompanying his rambling, “so soft and warm, like- like everything about you. I was actually just thinking about that on the way here! I don’t know if you noticed, but I really like holding your hands. They fit so perfectly around everything, and really everything— it’s amazing, really, really… amazing.”

“Funny of you to say that,” you comment on his drunk sweet-talk with a tired— but still entertained— sigh and stand there, dumbfounded, his hand sweating into yours. Is this the same guy that told you that he was uneasy when someone (namely his girlfriend) held his hand?

“Why funny? It’s my truth! Your hands are one of your best assets, second to.. your lips, maybe?”

“How shameless!”

Of course he’s absolutely boozed right now, but it’s been well-established to you that San only wears his silly loveable himbo-mask only when he’s subconsciously benefitting from it. Once you two had met up enough to have gotten comfortable with each other, San’s “nerdy” personality had magically disappeared, leaving you with one confident, prude-ishly sex-seeking macho. The “Sannie” you were looking for has somehow vanished into small moments and yes, it’s not like you haven’t been the one trying to crack through his shy façade for your own enjoyment in the first place, but you do miss watching the cheeky guy push up his glasses during your studies, glancing over at you from time to time, blushing, when he catches you staring back.

“Shame finds no place between us, does it~?”

Yet, exam season is over, has been over for a longer time now, which only makes it more evident that San is trying to find excuses to come over for reasons that go below bonding emotionally by miles. Sure, the hook-ups have been fun, exhilaratingly so. He’s all yours, San says repeatedly, but once you’d realised that he was still casually seeing other people, and it was just a saying, but worse, had felt an aching sting inside your breast when you had done so, yeah, fuck, that has been the moment you’ve known that having sex with this man isn’t enough: You have fallen in love (or something similar) with San and a serious relationship is the seal to quench your thirst for his affection.

“I guess we’ve got rid of shame a long time ago, huh,” you answer non-chalantly.

His hands are soft too. His lips are like one addictive book you can’t help but stick your face into, breathe in the words they say, inhale the soothing scent and make it your perfume — you’re smitten for him. You can’t begin to fathom the dread you feel when something inside you ever-so enchantingly tickles when San giggles, acknowledging your ways: "That's who we are!"

He knows that it's not who you "are" as he sits there on your couch, fingers interlocking, it’s… well, who you had been.

Two people who didn't have to think before they said anything, be free with their thoughts in order to relieve them from the stress that came from maintaining concentration and quality. Have you been with him enough to say you miss the older San? The sweet, sometimes silly Sannie?

"You’re my stupid whore, don't you forget!”

No, time alone can’t tell that. But even the sweetest strawberries mold when they're not eaten and waiting is a tiring process.

“Yeah.”

For the short time you've known and yearned for San, he’s been in multiple committed relationships, which is one of the reasons why it has taken you two so long to finally fuck, and it hasn’t really bothered you while you hadn’t, since you couldn’t know what you were missing out on.

But now— though you’ve never seen him be with his girlfriends— you have gathered enough information to know that San’s got it in him. He doesn’t like talking about his endeavours and you could only get a little bit of small-talk with Seonghwa about it, yet from what you know now, your college “love”-experiences don’t come even one inch close to the romances he’s been in; you can’t help but find yourself fantasising about his sweet ways of loving.

You have had enough of half-assery, enough of hangovers, and the thing is, you desperately don’t want San to be your next failed situationship. Knowing that he is single, that right now, he is able to be taken— taken by you— but him still not being yours; it makes you question things you haven’t stopped to question about yourself when being with other people. Like, what do you have to do, what do you have to be in order for San to not visit some dumb party in the first place? He hasn’t visited as many parties when you were just “study-buddies”, why is he visiting them now?

It— whatever “it” is— has developed into something like a challenge, making San want you and only you. Turns out though, that stuff is more difficult than anything you've been doing for college. At least when you had to study, San wasn’t going around having fucking other women.

“Were you gonna leave me?”

Yes, of course you feel pathetic thinking about it like this; you know it’s all an error in communication in regards to your “friends with benefits”-lifestyle you and San are carrying out, but if it has gotten you two together the first time around, the manifestation must work the second time: That’s the only trust you have and it’s enough to keep you going and engage in San's unannounced rendezvous.

"No, you sound like you needed water, that’s all.”

For a while, San just breathes heavily into the pillow and you caress his finger. It does remind you a little bit of the movie-nights you've had with him in the past, when you tried to make your hands touch inside the popcorn like some lovesick child. Maybe it has never been about the sex.

His finger twitches as if he's already gone to slumber, but when you scuffle to get him a blanket at least, San yanks you back down.

“No! Noo, I need you, nothing else! Stay here, please,” he thrums, lurking from the pillow to wink at you, though before you can react to this sentence, San mutters, "I'm not going to fall asleep. I'm not tired, I'm just exhausted." That's the same thing, Sannie.

“Where were you, anyways?”, you ask and make yourself comfortable, San’s and your hands placed on the edge of the sofa, while his stomach lays flat over the whole surface, legs extended out.

“Where I was? Good question,” San lulls, laughing a little bit, "Seonghwa brought me as his plus one to one of his friend’s birthday party, that’s where I was!”

“Sounds nice,” you hum. “Didn’t know you were a cocktail-type of person, though.”

“Oh, do I smell?”

“Mhm—“

“But you’re right, actually, I’m not a long drink-drinker,” San falls in. Your eyes still being closed, you feel his soft, heated cheek against the surface of your hand, his swollen lips chafing subtly against your fingers. “But some girls came by with trays of self-made cocktails and… we couldn’t say no, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” you answer to just have answered something to fill in the silence. You can smell the saccarine scent in his T-shirt and you fear it's going to paint off from his saliva he's spreading onto your palm as San places kisses around your hand. "What do you think you're doing?", you ask sarcastically.

"Nothing?", San giggles, becoming a bit more eager with the smooches.

You've experienced him drunk a lot of times already, but usually he only drinks just up until the point where he can keep his “educated” tone to a perceivable level of sobriety. But as of right now, in contrast, he seems to be way loose, swimming somewhere in between of lust and senselessness, which irritates you more than it should.

That is another thing that has changed after a while you two had sex. You are perceiving him differently, more and more differently each time San exits through your door, leaving an emptiness inside you that another person can’t fill, by whatever measure possible. But apparently, the same doesn’t happen for him with you, and you have to convince yourself you can change that every single day.

“We should party together more often,” he inclines, “what do you like to drink?”

“Whatever’s available and does its job, I suppose.”

He giggles, gasping at your answer. “You don’t care about taste?”

“I mean, drink enough and everything is going to taste the same anyway, no?”

"Let's do it."

"Huh?"

"I'm in the mood right now~ Are you in the mood right now?"

You scoff and open your eyes, revealing a San piercing his sunken gaze through you, cupping his cheek with your hand surface like you’re a saint healing him, his nose glazed red, and his lips remain pinkishly stained — in the mood.

This is not Sannie, but your guts still churn in amazement at the sight. The fatigue is wearing off; the sight of the black-haired man caressing himself with you is... "appealing" to say the least. It looks like he’s devoting himself to you, but you’d be a lovelorn fool to think this to be true.

“Or am I too drunk?”, San asks, pouting. “I may sound like this, but I’m really not that drunk anymore, I swear!” He pushes his eyebrows down, seemingly trying to appear serious, but failing to do so.

“You don’t need to swear anything, San.”

Gritting your teeth, you try to maintain a smile towards the drunken man as benevolently as you can. Of course he came for only one thing and one thing only, regardless of how cute he's huffing against your words; here are you, thinking that San was trying to get you as his plus one just like Seonghwa did.

Fuck, he’s still so hot though, there is no way of denying that. The first attraction has never worn off and you’re still head over heels for this man who’s booping your nose tip with his finger on the hand that is intertwined with your own.

“So, what do you say, sweety?”

It only takes one look towards his private area to know that San’s pants are almost exploding from how hard he’s become, his bulge being a face-forward sign inquiring sex.

“San, you know I won’t. It didn’t work the last time, don’t recall?”, you whoop.

He tries to kiss you, but fails to do so, as San misses your lips by an inch and falls to the floor. Your hands finally separate and you rub the inner burning space between your fingers as you remind him of the time when he’d drunk-texted you a message asking for "a quickie". San had made no spelling mistakes, but it had been very clear he had went to a party and returned sexually unsatisfied.

“Yeah, but that was via SMS. Now I’m here, and like, I even found my way to you, and they lived— like three blocks away, so I'm able to orientate myself, see?”, San corrects you.

“Impressive, but it doesn't change anything.”

“Morals?”

“Yes, morals.”

"You know I want to fuck you," he mumbles sulkily. Shuffling around, San sits up straight and looks at you with a saddened expression, his eyes trying to focus on you as he continues to talk you over: “But if you’re also drunk, you would?”

“Don’t even start."

“Which means you would?”

“San.”

��Come on, I’m being— I’m really being serious this time!”

You chuckle and brush his messy hair to the back, approaching his face to a dangerous distance, San’s lips opened by a slit, heavy breathing leaving his mouth while he watches you, his lip corners slightly turned upwards. He’s panting, his penis must be fighting for its life right now, and you’re just petting his head.

“At least watch me do it, then."

��Watch you masturbate?”

“Yep!”, San nods and unbuckles his belt without hesitation. “I bet you’d enjoy that! You would enjoy it, wouldn't you?”

“Maybe. Only if you don’t hold back your moans.”

“Consider it done, baby!”

You let out a laugh and search for a better position for seating to apparently enjoy the view. The drunk man takes a while to get rid of his pants, his legs getting tangled up and all, but once he kneels there, in his underwear, it’s showtime.

Or at least something like showtime. He’s being way too interactive with it for you to just sit back and relax. Whining your name in a needy pitch, he starts to pump his hardened cock inside the boxers, leaving whatever is happening there up to your imagination like a suggestive soft-porn video. However, you’ve seen his penis enough to know what it looks like, so this task is not too difficult for you. You can draw a picture of his cock down to each vein in your mind and you catch yourself drooling a bit, when you see his glistening tip peak from his waistband. You have to keep yourself together.

While letting out low groans, rubbing the head of his erection and creating slick sounds, San searches for your vicinity: “You like what you’re seeing there~?”

“What are you, a camboy?”, you tease and inhale sharply, when San grabs the seam of his T-shirt and bites down on it, revealing all of his abdomen, whining through his teeth. He’s definitely seen the same things as you online and his abs look phenomenal. Those things aren’t necessarily connected, but it’s the two thoughts shooting through your head as he begins to move his lower body to pump himself through his hand, chasing his own high.

“I don’t know!”, he lies, “I just like pleasing you!”

San purrs, his pelvis moving in round circles to accentuate his V-line and muscles flexing and un-flexing as he does so— leaving you quite speechless.

“Ah, really?”, you pant, him answering a very well-behaved “yeah, really~” right after.

“What do you want me to call you when I cum? Mommy?”

“Oh my god, is alcohol bringing out the submissive side out of you?”, you try to defuse the tension (mostly to hold yourself back from going savage towards this man as you always do) and chortle.

“Hmm, I don’t know about submissive~,” San answers, the saliva from his mouth soaking his black shirt, “but I should get naked first, no?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Taken aback by how you're anticipating seeing San jack himself off, you turn a bit too honest too quick like an avid viewer.

He grins and pulls the remaining clothing over his head with both hands, and his tip is still squeezed between his pelvis and waistband. By now, you really want to lick up the precum that’s leaking out, but you try to take your role as the sober audience seriously.

“You know, at the party, there was a girl,” San narrates, throwing his shirt to the side and looking down at his naked torso, “she told me I had nice pecs, so I said thank you, as one should.”

As an attempt to not interfere his performance, you wordlessly follow San’s hand trailing down his chest area down to his pelvis.

“But then someone told me she was flirting,” he continues, theatrically gasping to re-enact the surprise he felt after his friend had lectured him, “oh my god! I didn’t know! So naturally, I made out with her.” Which explains the red-stained lips, okay. Where is this talk going?

“But, the funny thing is,” San laughs, continuously brushing over his skin to give himself goosebumps, finally taking off his boxer-shorts up to his knees, his fully-erect, hardened cock jumping out and slapping against his abdomen as he plays with it, “she was so distracted by them, we didn’t even have sex. Like, she was massaging them and nothing else!”

You gulp at the sight of San lick over his finger and spread the spit on his lip with an opened mouth, making him look very erotic and naughty. His masturbating doesn’t seem to be speeding up any time soon though, San’s little tale isn’t over yet.

“I mean, it didn’t get me frustrated,” San admits, “but it did make me realise that some people can be in it for different reasons~!” That’s where he’s going with it, huh?

Okay, maybe you aren’t being very truthful to yourself, if you think that you've succeeded in hiding your feelings from San.

Let it be the one instance when you told him you were currently only hooking up with him and nobody else, or the other, when you woke up earlier than him and Seonghwa was the one to make you breakfast, San hearing his roommate joke that he should “join you sometime” and you dismissed it by saying you prefer it “private” — San has been presented the picture numerous times now, the picture being you wanting more than this, more than playing around with each other.

Which makes it all worse.

“… And she was in it for my boobs!”, San giggles and you notice you haven’t been listening for some while, staring at his hand installed around his dick, pre-cum dripping onto your living room-floor.

“San, less talking, more making yourself come.”

“Heyy, where'd that come from?”, San wheezes and leans against the couch, propping himself up with one elbow, “I haven’t asked you yet, what you are in it for, my lo—“

“Stop, fucking hell, I wanted to see you cum! Do it, San. I thought you were going to give me a show, not tell me a bedtime-story.”

“Geez, I just wanted to ask you about your kinks~!” Of course.

Grinning, San pumps himself quicker, hissing and whimpering, enjoying having all your attention on him. And even though there's nothing you'd love to do more than sucking him off, you’re still keep your hands to yourself, massaging your own tits as somewhat an homage to his dubious anecdote, but also compensate the vibrating between your legs. You’ve gotten unbearably aroused.

“Shit, keep touching yourself like that,” San responds and hopefully he’s forgotten what he was asking for. Filled with a sudden rush, he sings: “Do you want to masturbate too? With me? Do that, it'll be so hot. I will watch you too! Please, touch yourself with me.”

Too irritated and horny to do anything else about it, you let your hand slide into your pyjamas, and you meet your wet pussy immediately. You drive your fingers over the slickness, silently exhaling.

“That’s so hot,” San admires you and his vocabulary seems to have minimized due to his drunkness. He intensifies his masturbation, the grip around himself becoming tighter, and as he begins to thrust his pelvis through the hole he’s created on his own with his balled fist, San hisses erotically. Still not in control of his body, his arm holding him up folds unintentionally. San trips, and you twitch out of worry which you quickly realise you shouldn’t have. It's just a short moment, dismissable at best and to he honest, San is the one who’s naked, but in this moment, you feel more exposed than you’ve ever been. Fuck.

He doesn’t say anything, thankfully so, but as San moans and laughs simultaneously, almost with a mocking undertone, you don’t know whether the feeling inside your guts is your lust multiplying or your heart dropping. To get rid of bitter thoughts, you hope it’s the first and insert your fingers into yourself, trying to match the pace of San’s movement.

“You sure— that— you don’t need my help?”, San asks with not-so innocent intent, and his voice is strained from letting all the moans out as you told him to. “I really want to eat you out right now, there wasn’t anything to eat at the party… No food and too many cocktails~ Too many— oh, fuck…”

Becoming faster with his hands, it appears San is slowly approaching his orgasm, murmuring drunken words while you just started having fun with your own masturbation.

“Hold it,” you groan, trying to quicken up your pace.

“But,” San whines, working his ass front to back as he’s edged himself, “I even asked you, I— I can make you cum! I can make you cum without penetrating you, so please— just— let me cum! Didn’t you say you wanted to see me do that?”

“Changed my mind,” you say, scoffing at the whimpering man, sweat forming on his chest and dripping down his skin. “Now be a good boy and don’t cum until I say so.”

San is definitely exploring his submissive sides here, his brain almost doing a complete revamp when he hears himself be called "a good boy", a pant leaving his mouth, trying to follow your command. It’s like he’s become even more drunk, bathing in your praise when you hum: “Ohh, yes..”

Eyebrows pushed together, his dazy eyes disappear somewhere into the breaths of arousal in the thick air that’s been created between you two. San is crushed in between the pressure to perform well and his pure desire, the devilish voice inside his head whispering words of profanities to him. The blush accompanying the florid stains on his lip— San looks absolutely, endearingly fuckable.

“Oh my god," you gasp, hoarsely laughing at him, but mostly out of amazement, "you should see yourself right now."

"What? Do I look that good?", he snaps back, thrusting as fast as he tries to keep up with you, almost competing with the pace you're pleasuring yourself. Short of breath, San wheezes: "You sound so wet, and I bet that was all me, wasn't it? Because I look so good? I'm your type, aren't I? Nobody gets you like I do?"

"San—!”

Using your thumb to circle around your clitoris, you fall victim to San's provocative teasing that you’re not comprehending at all. All it takes is his sly, foxy side grin for you to understand that San is asking questions he knows the answers to, knows them a bit too well maybe, but he will not back down.

"Say it! You wouldn't have opened the door if I was someone else, would you?", he asks and you don't notice that he's leaning forward to you the more you fall back so you can reach your g-spot better. “Tell me, tell me what’s on your mind, you stopped doing that! Praise me more, aren’t I your hard-working camboy?”

"Don't act like you'd care!", it sizzles out of your mouth, a light-hearted chuckle following your answer as your finger slides over the spot that gets you moan the loudest, sparks of pleasure forming and exploding in your pants.

"Why? Am I not allowed to care now?"

San is special, but so are you, and for the faint of your own feelings you won't allow this man to destroy your will just yet. You're already struggling to drive yourself to an orgasm all by yourself when San could do it so much better, but you can't afford a drunken confession (even if you're not even the one who's drunk) even for the sake of it.

"As if you could care," you joke with a wheeze and you catch yourself stopping to care about it. There is no inherent shame in liking San, but if there was, you aren't going to be embarrassed within the safe walls of your own home. You need the orgasm first.

"Well, yeah, I don't, but I'd still like to hear it out of your pretty mouth," San gutters huskily with the same grin, approaching you even more so you can see his abs tense up— thighs almost shaking from the withheld orgasm— up-front. “Take your clothes off.”

There's that again, this shift of power that San loves to abuse. Like a fucking metronome switching from one side to another, San changes up, which makes it impossible to get into his head. He's too smart to be sabotaged into submission, he must do it by himself. He's a wild animal that way, preying on you with hungry eyes, waiting for the moment you're too distracted to fight back. "Distracted" meaning wanting his cock in your cunt, that is.

Hurrying the hell up, you hastily pull off your pants and panties over your legs, revealing your pulsating, throbbing pussy that has been rubbed to a numbingly sensitive state.

"Yeah, I knew it, you're so fucking wet, shit, you’re leaking," San sighs in awe, gulping at the sight of your labia be moved around by your fingers, still wanking. "You should know that I’m so mad that I can’t bury my face between your thighs— you're so, fuck, you're so gorgeous, you should be the one who's the camgirl, shit.”

By now, your and his face are mere centimetres from each other, and there’s this heat that drives both of you, his lewd words melting against your skin.

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up," you sneer, flattered by his empty-minded eulogy, "I'm not going to let you fuck me even if you're being nice."

"Can you even make yourself cum with your own fingers?", San hisses pettily, watching them go in and out of you, daring you to go deeper, "I bet it doesn't feel like I do!”

"It doesn't, thank you very much," you quarrel and throw your head back for a moment to moan, accepting his challenge of resisting his soliciting. He’s piercing through you with lusty eyes— glassy from the orgasm he's been fleeing from since the beginning of your dispute, almost crying from being restrained that much.

"Are you close?", he whines, getting a bit impatient. "Please be close."

What? Do you think I'll let you cum?

"I'm so close," you whine back, speedening your fingers inside you, trying to thunder them as forcefully as possible to simulate the thickness and vigour of San.

“Good, that’s so very good.”

Sighs and pants leave through San’s opened lips and he looks for greed inside your irises, as you watch his shaft shimmer under the night-lights, imagining it pulsing through you, all of its girth stretching you out in a way you can’t achieve with your fingers from this angle.

“San,” you whimper, feeling your climax approaching quickly.

“Hmnh?”, the addressed man reacts, and his voice is shivering, waiting for you to say the magic words.

“San,” you moan again.

Tell me that you want me. How bad you want me. That you want to be mine, that you want me to be yours. That you’re thinking of nobody else, that you’ll only think of—

“I’m here, baby,” San answers and swings one hand around your neck, closing the small distance by pulling you closer to him; your lips clash together and his tongue eagerly slicks against yours, him heavily breathing inside your mouth. His saliva tastes of a life on the other side of the globe and as he thrusts into his grip with an unbelievable velocity, orgasming with strings of cum landing on your pyjamas, you feel otherworldly.

But San won’t stop milking himself until you have come to exhaustion as well: When he sees you push your lower body up, San throws his unoccupied hand under yours to take over your onanism, burying his digits inside you immediately. Surprised by his sudden gesture, you back your head away from the kiss, your body spasming together because of the overwhelming pleasure.

“You know you need me, don’tcha?”, San beams.

This is wrong, this is all wrong, this is not how you planned this, you cry, but by itself, your hand rubs over your clitoris repeatedly and because San has become a master in knowing where, when and how to finger you, it is impossible to not cum with him and become a moaning mess under his touch. It’s whirring, it’s sparking, San is trying to send you over the edge of the world and you’ll risk everything for it.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you whimper, feeling like you’re being intoxicated with the poisonous sucking at your neck and the stirring in your pussy; your body is being stimulated at so many points that it can’t catch up anymore. Not missing one beat, you scream out your orgasm, falling into the embrace of the muscular man who is barely any safety, his fingers not leaving your pussy.

“Be happy I’m not gonna shoot my second load into you, because your tiny pussy would feel so fucking perfect around my big cock right now and I could stretch it out so fucking nicely,” San growls intimidatingly, and you notice that his dick has become hard again right after his first orgasm, his stamina continuing to be one ridiculous weapon.

You moan, and apparently you’re not able to say anything except this, swinging your arms around his shoulders to not fall deeper into his fingers that are stirring your insides, “San!”

“What?”, he sneers and bites into your ear, “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

“San, I—,” you start begging and reinforce the clasp to somehow make him slow down, tugging at his hair.

“Hmm? Yes? What are you? Coming? Being stupid for me again? Say it, say it for me, baby.”

“I, o- oh, stop, fuuck—!”, you whimper with the way he’s quaking you through and through, but your request gets lost in the sounds of your squirt meeting the floor. You see a lightning bolt strike in front of your eyes, your consciousness sent into the wide space of otherworldly dimensions: all you can hear his San’s stunned gasping once he realises what he’s achieved and him ejaculating the second time because of it, right on the spots he didn’t get the first time round.

“Holy fuck, mom~my,” he coos, finally letting you free, his own tension being relieved as well. San lets himself relax against the couch, taking you right with him on his bare, sweaty chest, your arms rested on his shoulders. “Didn’t know you could do that.”

You’re too busy catching your breath, the once-gone fatigue coming right back, hitting you like a wall. There’s nothing else on your mind rather than to cuddle into San’s arms and get some well-deserved sleep.

“Do you think you could do that on my dick?”, San asks and you can’t bear to answer. You’re lucky that his penis has gone limp, because you know that this man could continue for hours if he wanted to. “I think that just kicked all the booze out of me,” he pants and you know he’s lying by the way he’s continuing to lull. “I’ve made many girls squirt, but that was really something else. Maybe it’s because I never came with them. And I wasn’t even touching myself, can you believe that? You made me cum untouched, fuck…”

San has forgotten your first time.

And yeah, you want to blame it on the alcohol, you don’t know if he’s just mixing things up, whether his memories are hazy because of the months that have passed since the incident— but it’s the only way his surprised face makes sense. Of course people can forget and get confused, it’s just sex and fun after all, but it still feels… disappointing. Like the first time you found out he wasn’t all that “yours” after all, it’s not like he’s breaking any promise, rather than being a moment of “oh, but I thought— well, never-mind”.

“Hey, you can’t sleep now,” San reminds you, “you got my cum on your shirt.”

“I don’t care,” you mumble and rest your temple at his collarbone, stealing a glimpse of what appears to be San being on his phone that has been stashed inside his pants.

“You sure? ‘Cause I’m gonna go,” San smiles.

“Go?”

“Not home! Did I scare you? You clutched me like there’s no tomorrow.”

You bite into his flesh to get him to shut up and he scrunches his nose.

“You make a very comfortable bed…”

“Yeah?” San puts away his phone and installs his arms around your waist, grabbing your ass in the process. “I’m glad.”

Ignoring that your naked privates are touching, you sigh into his skin. Because the taste has already entered your system, he doesn’t smell like alcohol anymore, he smells sugary sweet, the mild scent of his body leading you to further sleep. “Mhm, it’s the best,” you purr thoughtlessly, feeling safe in his hug.

“You’re only nice to me at times like this~,” San remarks with a pout and stands up with ease, carrying you to your bathroom. “You’re always so... gutsy when we have sex. Are you that dominant?”, he rambles silently, putting you down inside the space of the shower. While he talks, he does a little shimmy to instruct you to get your arms up. “You know I don’t mind, but I’m not lying when I ask you to call me stuff. Like nice stuff. Sexy nice stuff. Gets me on~”

“How are you still drunk?”, you ask, too exhausted to take your top off by yourself, letting San pull it off with his hands.

“Why?”, he asks sassily, throwing your shirt inside the clothing bin, quickly rushing to the living room and back to get his own clothing back, explaining: “It’s just something I noticed! Other girls don’t do it like you can! Like, calling me camboy was something, but then you were so mean with it—“

Returning back to the bathroom, he crosses his arms and leans against the shower door.

“If that’s too mean, you must really not like degradation,” you chuckle, sitting naked in front of him. “And you do dirty talk and call me whore.”

“You know that’s different!”, San argues, taking off his socks and grabbing the shower hose behind you. “I at least keep a balance with pet-names, don’t I, darling~?”

“Quite convincing,” you remark, barely perceiving the whole scene.

“Wait, can you—“

“Here you go.”

You stand up and walk back a step so San can have the same amount space inside the shower. You actually have never showered together before, so this one is a first, but who knows whether San is aware of this or not.

You don’t want to be too grim about it.

San turns on the water only to realise that it’s not going to get warm. “This is bad~!”, he pouts. “It’s too cold…”

“Maybe you’ll sober up with the shock?”

Getting some water in his hand, you fear he’s gonna splash it to you, but San only applies it to his arm which doesn’t even need the water by how sweaty it is. 

“I dunno if I’ll get it on my hair, I just don’t wanna leave the alcohol stink over your bed~!”

… Sweet, angel boy. Don’t you be so nice to me. You’ll mistake it for something else, if he doesn’t stop.

“Hey, you good over there?”

“You,” you stammer, “you still have lipstick stains on your face.”

“What’s that mean, “still”? Did I come here with lipstick on my face?”

Okay, so maybe he hasn’t tried to get rid of them at all before he came in. Ouch? — Ugh, who cares, let’s get you to bed first. Over-thinking is for tomorrow, you’re fucked out of your mind and San will be tomorrow too, if the alcohol stays this long in his body.

A sigh which turns into a scoff leaves your mouth. “Yes, yes, you did.”

“Do you think it’ll leave a stain?”

“It should go away.”

“Help me~”

San lowers himself a little bit so you have better access to his flushed face and turns the pressure low so you can wet your hands with a little bit of water, before you carefully brush them over his lips which feel hot in the cold liquid.

“Thank you,” he whispers and you stare onto his soft lips as you answer, “no need to.”

“No, I should, like a nice ladies’ man is to do, right?”

San throws an award-winning, a bit loose-eyed smile at you and uncontrollably, you smile back at his dimples. It’s a heart-warming moment, though you fear the warmth is not going to last long. These lips aren’t yours, he’s proving to you that they’re not yours— shit, fuck, damn it— you will probably not get over this for the rest of the night, if you don’t change the topic soon.

“Yeah. You.. ladies’ man.”

“You said that!”

“I did?”

“Well, actually, I don’t know, I think it was “people-pleaser” or something, actually, but I like.. Well, I actually like both!”

“You like being called a ladies’ man and people-pleaser?”

Rubbing his lower lip with your thumb, you question San’s understanding of the words he apparently enjoys to be described as. What a San-thing to do, you smirk to yourself.

“Seonghwa agrees!”

“With what, that they’re good words?”

“No, he said that they describe me pretty well.”

“Ah.”

“Do you agree?”

You inhale sharply and bite your lip, meeting his sunken eyes, a bit droopy from the exhaustion finally hitting your black-haired apprentice as well.

“I,” you start to say, “I don’t know. When I said that, … I meant something else, I think.”

“You think so?”

You know so.

“Because it’s, hm, I don’t know. Nice, isn’t it? The thought of being wanted by two groups? The ladies~ The people~ I’m their man, I’m their pleaser, you know?”

“Yeah, you please ‘em very well. There you go. Praise. Are you happy?”

San nods enthusiastically and hugs you, forgetting that he has ice-cold water running inside his hand, getting your whole back stunned.

“SAN!”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so—!” His eyes are big, but he’s laughing, he’s laughing very loudly, getting the shower off and hugging you again, leaving balmy kisses all over your face. “Sorry, oh my god, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing, I’m unforgivable!”

Except maybe he is.

When San tugs you in, waiting until you don’t answer his late-night questions of “who invented the camera” and “who was the first live-streamer” to tell himself goodnight and fall asleep immediately, you feel at ease: Disregarding that it took alcohol, will again take alcohol to have moments like these, there’s hope that there is still a little bit of Sannie that you can salvage.

He may not be yours yet, and for what he ensues it will take a damned long time for him to be, but San is here, laying in bed with you, one hand extended out, perfectly formed for your hand to fit in it and oh, how fit in it does.

part three: “the red he leaves is different [i wish it was]”

[bxthharmon]

Pink Champagne (1) - Benny Watts x Reader

Words: 2154

Series Warnings: Drinking, substance and alcohol abuse, addiction, smoking

Pt. Warnings: implied alcohol abuse, smoking

A/N: idk how regular updates will be and idk where tf this is going but here we are lol

“masterlist”

“You’re a woman.”

The twelve year old looks up at the speaker, her mother, apprehensive. She does not consider herself as a woman, not yet anyway. Besides, the older woman was drunk - but then again, when wasn’t she? 

“Not only that, you’re a pretty woman, with a kind heart. You’re just like I was.” the mother props her head up with her hands, elbows on the table as she faces her only daughter. “Men will use you. They will hurt you and bring you down and they will break you because they can. Don’t let them. Don’t let them hurt you, be strong. You have brothers, and they are strong, but not like me and you are strong. They fight with their fists and think with their dicks. Us? We fight with our words and think with our brains. Keep your head up, don’t let them push you around.” the women, staring at each other in a conflicting sense of understanding and resentment, stay silent. The mother, resenting her child for still having the opportunities that she missed, and adoring that her daughter could still be something. The young girl, resenting being told how to live her life, but adoring the fact that her mother cared enough to tell her things like this. 

The mother, always the first one to break, stands, stretching, then reaching for another bottle.

-

Paris was everything that was expected. Y/N shopped and drank and fucked in that oddly cinematic way that everything in Paris happened, wasting two months of her life partying. She did a photoshoot for a new advertising campaign for a fashion house she is the ambassador for, and as always, got bored. After six weeks, she wound up in the same position she had been in so many times before, stocking up on months worth of wine, then finishing it within two weeks. After two months in Paris, she lay on top of the covers of her bed, wondering if she should have taken Beth up on her offer. She hadn’t spoken to any of her American friends since she left, and of the people she had seen in person, she knew that they had no connections to her American friends, so she felt safe. 

Out of alcohol and cigarettes, she considered sending the door boy to get some, or even going herself, and decided to do neither. It was at this point that she realised that she had eaten a sum total of four things in two weeks, all of which were snacks, and was drinking herself to death. She decided that she wanted French toast and that overly fancy Columbian pressed coffee from the cafe down the road. She would get cigarettes on the way.  So she dressed and left, greeting the surprised door boy on her way out. She bought her cigarettes, ate her French toast, drank her coffee, then considered her next move.

London was out of the question - she’d only just remembered that she’d sold her apartment. That left New York, Los Angeles or Beth’s offer of Kentucky. Los Angeles never ended well, and she didn’t want to get dragged into anything by her manager. Kentucky or New York? She would have to call Beth  to decide. 

So she traipsed back to her glamorous apartment and dialed Beth’s number, letting it ring out a few times before giving up. So Beth wasn’t at home, was she just out, or in New York? She knew the only way to find out would be through Harry or Benny. She chose Harry. Things between her and Benny were… well, she didn’t know what they were.

“Y/N?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I am though - you never call.”

“Phone calls are so much hassle.”

“More hassle than seeing people in person?”

She paused, unable to outwit him, especially given the hangover she could feel creeping up on her. “Is Beth in Kentucky at the moment?”

“Beth? No.” he answered, “Why?”

“Do you know where she is?”

“She doesn’t have any tournaments, so New York, why?”

“I want to see her.”

“Why didn’t you just call Benny?”

“Don’t worry, thanks though.”

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be. Bye.”

“Bye?”

She slammed the phone into its holder, sighing loudly. 

She’d always known she would have to see Benny eventually, but even after over two months since that night, she wasn’t ready. Besides, what was to say he wanted to see her? She slumped down into the armchair next to her phone, surveying her room and realising that he had been right - so had Beth - her drinking was getting out of hand. She stood with determination, picking up clothes from around the room and stuffing them into her wardrobe, which was already overflowing, and picking up all the bottles she could find to fill a couple of large paper bags. When she was done, the room felt cleaner, and she dragged the two paper bags out of her apartment and pushed them down the rubbish chute. She returned to her apartment, rummaging around to find a bag in the depths of her wardrobe. Once she had, she carefully picked out clothes, knowing that once she was back in America, the press would be all over her. She had clothes at Benny’s anyway, but she hated travelling without a suitcase - it made her feel bare. Before she left, she grabbed a pair of sunglasses and straightened herself out, checking that she was definitely wearing shoes and that her outfit all matched.

She carried her suitcase down with a little struggle, gave a couple of euros to the door boy for no reason in particular, and caught a taxi to the airport. The taxi driver, having recognised her instantly, seemed restless and kept telling her about how his twelve-year old-daughter wanted to be a model just like Y/N. She brushed it off, paying him well and buying the next flight she could at the front desk, rushing through customs to catch it. She tried to ignore the looks and comments she got as people realised who she was.

She didn’t sleep on the flight, instead ordering drink after drink, wondering what her mother would say if she could see her only daughter. Or Beth for that matter. She didn’t have to wonder what Benny would say, he had said it plenty of times before. When she left the airport, a crusade of reporters were awaiting her, and she had almost forgotten how the press could be. She persevered to a yellow cab, and let it take her to Benny’s. Standing outside, the harsh cold of autumn pushed her towards the door. She descended the steps, pausing when she reached the door, hearing four or five voices inside. Jesus, the whole gang was here. She steeled herself, knocking sharply and stepping away. The door opened abruptly, Beth appearing, at first confused, and then elated. She launched herself at Y/N, the two clinging to each other. Beth stepped back, scanning her friend over, and glancing towards the door. “You look more put together.”

“I don’t feel it.” Y/N admitted, hating the analytical look everyone seemed to give her these days.

“Why are you back here?” Beth murmured, her words kinder than they sounded, “I thought you were in Paris.”

“Well, I was. Then I ended up spending two weeks drinking myself half to death without leaving the room, and thought maybe it was time for a change of scene.”

“You can’t keep running from yourself, it’ll get you nowhere.”

“I know that.”

“Beth!” the two girls turned, “Are you alright out there? Who is it?” 

Benny’s voice, so recognisable, turned into the actual person. He was standing, jeans, a black top and layered necklaces, shock registering on his face. Y/N, who hadn’t proper registered that she was seeing him until that moment, looked like she wanted a black hole to appear beneath her. Pink tinged her cheeks, embarrassment unfamiliar to her, and she stood up straighter, faking confidence.

“Y/N?”

“Hi Benny.” She glanced back at Beth, who looked away. 

“Wait, is that Y/N?”

Arthur and Hilton appeared, and then Cleo, grinning with a drink in hand.

“You’ve been in Paris, eh?” she said, “Of course, you always seem to be there when I am not.”

“I wish you had been.” Y/N grinned, hugging Cleo tightly.

Benny, having come to his senses after the initial shock, stepped forwards, “A drink?”

Y/N looked at him pointedly, “You never have alcohol in this place.”

“But these three always bring some.” he nodded to the three stood next to her with drinks in hand.

“You not drinking at home really sucks ass.” Y/N groaned, concocting herself a makeshift cocktail with the ingredients she had to hand. 

“You know, most people don’t usually have those in pint glasses.” Arthur raised an eyebrow, and Y/N shrugged.

“I’m not most people.” she took a lengthy sip, ignoring the worried glances that her friends shared.

“So,” she looked up from her drink with a bright expression, “what’s going on in the chess world?”

“Well, we’re training Beth.” Benny explained.

“What for? She’s better than all of you.” Y/N frowned, and Beth smirked.

“Paris.” Hilton clarified, the prideful chess players ignoring your comment.

“Let’s do a simultaneous!” Benny offered. 

“Cleo, Y/N, are you joining?” 

“You know we can’t play.” Cleo reprimanded, the pair of you sitting down near the game and watching with interest.

“All of our friends are nerds.” Y/N sighed, “Look at them!”

-

By the time Beth had beaten the other three chess players eight times, Benny gave up. He had decided that Beth could ‘do it’, but was also getting distracted by the fact that Cleo and Y/N had found his records and were blasting The Doors as loud as they could and dancing around his living room. When the game was finished, the apartment was filled with the sound of Soul Kitchen, and any ability to concentrate on the game was impossible. Y/N was standing on his coffee table, eyes closed, bottle in hand, hips swaying. Cleo had her arms in the air, swaying with the rhythm, and the two girls seemed so lost in the music that the four surveyors were almost scared to interrupt. Y/N, murmuring the familiar lyrics, took a swig of the bottle and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one and taking a drag, only then noticing that her friends had stopped playing. “Join us!” She laughed, reaching over, grabbing Beth’s arm, pulling her up onto the table, and trying to get her to dance. At first, the woman only swayed, but found herself dancing more excessively. Cleo took the task of dragging the boys in, and soon the party of six were all laughing and dancing. The song began to draw to a close, when Alyssa turned to Benny, “Got any of The Beatles?”

He pointed to the stack of records, preoccupied with trying to stop Cleo from spilling her drink. Y/N found the Abbey Road album and the dancing picked up as the apartment began to fill with cigarette smoke and Y/N retrieved some whiskey. She drank straight from the bottle, and continued to dance, pushing off the gently guiding hands that Benny was attempting to provide. At some point, Cleo, Arthur and Hilton took their leave, and Beth turned the music down, leaving Y/N with her bottle and cigs as she joined Benny in surveying the drunken girl.

“I haven’t seen her like this in a long time.” Benny observed, and Beth sighed.

“She tries to hide it from you, she knows how you feel about it.” Beth explained.

“I didn’t realise it was this bad.”

Beth looked back at her friend, “She’s worse than I was.”

Benny scoffed a little, “I don’t know how to help her.”

“Wait,” Beth raised an eyebrow mockingly, “You, Benny Watts, wanting to help someone? That’s never happened before.”

“I’m helping you, aren’t I?”

“That’s different.”

Benny sighed, “Where are you going to sleep now that she’s here?”

“I can find a hotel?” she offered.

“Not this late. I’ll sleep on the blow up, you two sleep in my bed.”

“Okay.”

Beth walked up to Y/N, gently prying the bottle from her hand, Y/N turned to her, taking her in with wide eyes - she was always childlike when she was drunk. She watched curiously as Benny began to pump up the blow up bed, and Beth turned the music off. She let Beth sit her down on Benny’s bed, pulling her own clothes off and replacing them with one of Benny’s shirts while Beth helped Benny get all the leftover bottles in the bin. By the time Beth was back in the room, Alyssa was passed out on the far side of the bed, curled up into a tight fetal position. Beth lay down next to her friend, the familiar scent of alcohol conflicting her in both comfort and disgust.