"Press Record"
you two are home alone. san suggests recording it after a silly game. you say yes. it gets… messy. you stay on top—until he flips it. praise, pressure, laughter, a blinking red light, and the kind of sex that makes you laugh and cry.
wc: 2.1k
tags : explicit content, established relationship, smut, recording sex, praise kink, dom!san, grinding, fingers in mouth, camera kink, established relationship, messy moaning, eye contact, overstimulation, soft power play, aftercare, domestic vibes, kinda hot kinda sweet kinda stupid
a/n: wrote this last year n just never posted it LOL idk why. it’s probably the shortest fic i’ve ever written but i remember giggling the whole time. just pure chaos and nasty eye contact. enjoy
You barely make it up the stairs before San’s already got that look in his eye — boyish, smug, trouble.
The bedroom door clicks shut behind you, and you toss yourself onto the bed with a lazy, satisfied sigh.
San stands at the foot of it, watching you like he’s already undressing you in his head. And maybe he is.
You raise a brow at him. “We doing anything productive today, orrr…?”
He grins. “Define productive.”
You narrow your eyes, suspicious. “San.”
He moves toward the bed, crawling over you with that slow, heavy confidence that always gets your heart jumping. “Let’s play a game.”
You snort. “Is this like the game where I end up naked and mad at you for cheating?”
“No, no,” he smirks. “Not cheating. Just … strategically distracting.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re already smiling.
He settles beside you, lying on his side, propped up on one elbow. “Let’s play Two Truths and a Lie. Freak edition.”
You pause. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
You hum, rolling onto your side to face him. “Fine. You first.”
San grins devilishly. “Alright. Hmm…” He taps his fingers against his lips.
“Okay—
“One: You act all shy, but you like when I talk nasty right in your ear—especially when you’re trying to pretend you’re not turned on.
Two: You think you’re good at hiding when you touch yourself thinking about me.
Three: I’ve never watched you do it without you knowing.” You blink.
Your breath catches.
“…San.”
He just smiles, eyes half-lidded. “Which one’s the lie, baby?”
You stare at him, heart thudding. “…The last one. You’re bluffing.”
His grin sharpens. “Wrong.”
Your jaw drops. “You’re joking—”
“I’m not.” He leans in, lips barely brushing your cheek. “Once. Hotel room mirror. You were so quiet I almost felt bad for watching. Almost.”
You shove at him, flustered. “You’re a menace.”
He laughs, catching your hand. “You liked it.”
“Okay, your turn.”
You groan but think for a second. “Okay. Um…” You smirk. “One: I’ve fantasized about you in public more than once. Two: I’ve kissed one of your friends before we got together. Three: I once had a dream where you were my sugar daddy.”
San stares at you. “...Wow.”
You giggle.
He squints, thinking hard. “Number two has to be the lie. You wouldn’t do that.”
You purse your lips… and then nod. “Correct.”
He exhales in relief. “Thank God.”
You laugh, and he leans in closer, voice low. “Wait… sugar daddy?”
You hum. “Mhm.”
“That dream better have ended with me ruining your bank account and your back.”
You snort, burying your face in the pillow. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Next round,” he says, clearly enjoying this.
“Okay,” you grin. “Go.”
He thinks. One: “I’ve recorded myself moaning your name.. Two: I’ve written a love letter before. Like, actual pen on paper.” Three: I’ve moaned your name in my sleep.”
You gape. “Hold on.”
You frown. “There’s no way you’ve… moaned my name like that. That’s the lie.”
San shakes his head slowly. “Wrong.”
You sit up. “No way.”
He laughs. “You were out of town. I was needy. I wanted to hear how it sounded.”
Your jaw drops. “San!”
He winks. “I can send it to you later.”
You cover your face. “Oh my God. So—wait, the lie was the love letter?”
“Yup.” He grins, all teeth. “Too sappy. I’d rather show you how I feel. With my mouth.”
You grab a pillow and whack him.
“Hey!!”
“You’re nasty,” you laugh.
He grabs the pillow and tosses it aside. “Say that again after I’m done with you.”
You both dissolve into laughter, sprawled out on the bed, faces warm, cheeks flushed.
And then he rolls toward you, nudging your nose with his. “Your turn, sweetheart. One more.”
You grin.
“Alright… One: I’ve thought about recording us. Two: I’ve faked it before. Three: I’ve tried on your hoodie and touched myself in it while you were gone.”
San blinks. Hard.
He sits up slightly. “Okay wait. What the hell kind of answer options are these?”
You hum, smug.
He stares at you for a long, long second.
“…Number two’s the lie.”
You tilt your head. “Why?”
“Because I would’ve known.”
You smirk. “Correct.”
He stares. “So you really wore my hoodie and—?”
You grin slowly, playing innocent. “I missed you.”
He stares for another second. Then exhales, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to stay calm. “You are so not gonna get through this game without consequences.”
“Is that a threat?”
He leans in, kissing your jaw. “It’s a promise.”
He’s kissing you slow—hands under your shirt, palms warm against your waist, body hovering just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy.
And then he mumbles against your skin:
“So… you ever gonna let me record it for real?”
Your breath hitches.
You pull back slightly, eyes narrowing. “You seriously want to?”
He gives you that look—lazy, smug, dangerous.
“Mhm” he says, smiling like he’s got you cornered. “Been thinkin’ about it since you said it.”
You swat at his chest, flustered. “San.”
He catches your wrist, fingers tightening around it as he leans closer, whispering by your ear,
“C’mon. Just for us. No one else’ll ever see it. I’ll even lock it in a folder with some stupid name so no one clicks on it by accident.”
You shoot him a glare. “And what exactly would that folder be named?”
He grins. “Something boring. Like—‘TAXES 2021.’”
You burst out laughing, trying to pull away, but he grabs your hips and pulls you flush against him.
“I’m serious,” he murmurs, softer now. “You’d look so good on camera, baby. Wanna remember it exactly how you sound… how you look when you fall apart for me.”
Your cheeks burn, but you’re still smiling. “That’s so cocky.”
He shrugs. “I’m not wrong, though.”
You bite your lip. “What if I look dumb?”
“You couldn’t even try to look dumb. You look good when you’re messy.” He nudges your nose with his. “Good when you’re breathless. When you can’t even say my name right.”
You hide your face in his chest.
“Mm-mm. Don’t get shy on me now,” he teases, kissing the top of your head. “You started it.”
“You asked the question!”
“You fantasized it first.”
You groan, pushing at his shoulder. “Maybe I did wanna be recorded. Past tense. You’re ruining it.”
He kisses your shoulder with a smug little chuckle. “I’ll bring it back. Let me know when you want me to set up the tripod.”
You cover your ears. “I’m not listening anymore.”
But your grin says otherwise.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
It’s embarrassing how fast you cave.
You try to act unbothered for maybe twenty minutes, maybe thirty.
You scroll on your phone, wander around the room, pretend you’re not still thinking about it—but you are. The thought won’t leave you alone.
The way he said it.
“Wanna remember it exactly how you sound.”
Eventually, you crawl back into bed where he’s lounging like he knew you’d come around.
And when you straddle his lap, all slow and quiet, San doesn’t even pretend to be surprised.
Just looks up at you with those smug eyes, head tilted back against the headboard, arms behind his head like he’s already won.
You don’t say it directly.
You just whisper:
“…If we did it, you’d have to keep it safe. Like—really safe.”
His mouth twitches. “Obviously.”
“No cloud. No air-dropping. No backups. I’m serious.”
“Mm. Just the one copy.”
You narrow your eyes. “One copy. One device. Password protected. Labeled—”
“‘TAXES 2021.’” He grins. “I remember.”
You exhale. “And if anything happens, like ever—you delete it.”
He nods. But then he pulls you down by the waist and murmurs, “You really want it, huh.”
You shiver when his hands slide under your shirt. “Don’t tease.”
“I’m not.” His voice is softer now. “I just.. need to hear you say it.”
He leans in and kisses you—slow and deep—and that’s when he reaches over and opens the drawer beside the bed.
You freeze a little when you hear the soft thunk of his phone stand hitting the nightstand.
You glance over. “…You keep that in there?”
He smirks. “I plan ahead.”
“Of what, exactly?”
He just raises a brow.
You groan, but your heart is pounding now.
He sets it up—phone angled steady, the screen tilted slightly down toward the bed. He checks the lighting.
He adjusts a pillow. And you watch all of it like you’re in a dream, because this is real now. This is actually happening.
And when he finally gets back into bed, pulling you underneath him, his lips against your neck, he asks—
“You sure?”
You nod, already breathless.
“Say it.”
You glance at the screen — not recording yet, but you can see yourself — and you whisper, “I want it.”
His smile is slow. Wicked. “Good girl.”
And then he kisses you like you’re the most expensive thing he’s ever owned.
Like he’s gonna take his time. Like he’s gonna make it unforgettable.
For the camera. For himself. For you.
You're the one in control now.
Then, low—steady, like a challenge—he says, “Press record.”
And you do.
His hands are behind his head, his chest flushed, breath shallow, just watching you.
You hold his cock at the base, lined up and slow—slower than you've ever been—and you sink down onto him with a gasp so soft it doesn’t even sound like it came from you.
You both groan. You stay there. Still. Squeezing. Letting him feel everything. Letting yourself feel it.
Then you move. Just a little. Your hips roll in a slow, deliberate grind and he breathes in through his teeth like it's pain. The pressure. The heat. The way you're taking your time.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
You drag your eyes up to meet his—and God, the look on his face. So full of want. Admiration. Filth.
You can feel his eyes on your chest, your stomach, your thighs, the way your body curves and moves over his like this was exactly how you were built to ride him.
And then he lifts two fingers and brushes them over your lips. “C’mere.”
You part your mouth and let them in. Suck.He groans. Your moans are muffled now—wet and soft around his fingers—as you keep grinding on him, slow and deep, hips rolling in tight, filthy little circles.
His other hand trails down from your mouth… to your chest… your stomach… until it lands heavy on your hip.
“Faster,” he says, voice rough.
You slow it down instead. A teasing sway of your hips.
His brows twitch. “C’mon, baby—go faster.”
You blink down at him, mouth full, and then you shake your head. A soft, defiant: “…No.”
He lets out a breathless laugh.
“No?” he repeats, his voice low, amused. Dangerous.
You look at him, challenge in your eyes. “No.”
He hums. “Hmm?”His fingers slide from your hip to the small of your back, guiding you—but still, you resist. Move just a little faster. Just enough to tease. Just enough to provoke.
“You think you can tell me no?”
You give him a cocky little shrug. “Looks like I just did.”
That’s it.
He sits up—fast—grabs your waist, pulls you forward with a grunt, and your laughter is laced with moans now.
“Wait—no! No, no—” You try to brace yourself, hands on his chest—
But then he shifts under you and thrusts up—sharp and deep—and your next sentence turns into a sobbing moan.
“San, I—fuck—”
He fucks up into you hard.
Once. Twice. Three times. And then the pace is relentless.
Slap slap slap slap slap slap slap slap—
Your head falls back. Your moans fall apart. It’s all too much. So wet. So obscene.
You can hear it. Can feel it.
And you can’t even speak anymore—your voice ragged, whiny, completely gone.
He’s gripping your ass now, slapping skin, watching it bounce, fucking up into you with a rhythm that has no mercy. You’re barely riding—you’re just taking it.
And then—he lets go.Lets your body rise just enough so he can look up at you.
His hands move to your waist and he grips tight, drives into you even harder, and your body arches like instinct. Back bowed, arms shaking, mouth open in a silent moan.
And you can’t look away.
His face is flushed, lips parted, eyes locked on yours.
Your moans go high, then break into shivers as he leans up and sucks on your breast, tongue flicking, groaning into your skin.
His hands don’t stop moving you. His hips don’t stop moving either. It’s overwhelming.
It’s the hardest sex you’ve ever had.
And it’s perfect.
Finally—finally—his pace falters. Slows. He pulls out fast, still holding you by the waist.
You’re left panting on top of him, cunt fluttering empty, gasping at the loss.
“Holy shit,” you whisper, breathless, looking down between you.
His cock is just… resting there, flushed and glossy, right between your thighs, twitching against your skin.
You’re trembling. He’s trembling.
“…What the fuck,” you breathe.
And San — San’s still laying back, one hand gripping your hip like you’ll float away, the other pressed to his own chest as he lets out a soft whimper of relief.
You giggle.
And then both of you start laughing. Exhausted. Wrecked. Warm. Still glowing.
And the camera’s still recording.
Your laughter is breathless. Lazy. Delirious. You collapse forward, cheek against San’s shoulder, still trembling with aftershocks, your thighs sticky where they’re spread over his. His chest is rising and falling fast, the heat from him radiating.
The camera’s still rolling in the corner—red light blinking.
And you lift your head slowly, press a kiss to his neck, then whisper, “We’re deleting that, right?”
San turns his head, eyes half-lidded, smirking. “We’ll see.”
You shove at his shoulder, laughing again—but it’s weaker now, boneless and wrecked. You barely have the strength to sit upright, and he’s not helping either.
His hands are still lazily gripping your waist, thumbs brushing slow, affectionate circles against your skin like he can’t stop touching you.
“You’re insane,” you mumble.
“And you started it.” He grins, still breathless. “Two truths and a lie, huh? That was a trap.”
You grin back. “And you walked right into it.”
“Would again,” he mutters, eyes roaming your body. “Every fucking time.”
You glance at the camera again and groan into your hands. “God, I was so—so loud.”
He’s beaming now. Proud.
“You were perfect. You should hear how good you sound when you’re riding me.” He pretends to think. “Actually—wait. You can.”
“SAN.”
He laughs and grabs you, pulling you back down onto his chest.
His hand slides up and down your spine, calming, warm, while the other rubs your thigh slowly like he’s still in awe of you.
“You were unreal,” he says, quieter now. “Like… you looked down at me, all that control—fuck, I could’ve came right there.”
Your head nuzzles into his chest. “You didn’t, though.”
“…You want a round two?”
You blink.
“…Give me ten minutes.”
He laughs again, soft this time, pressing a kiss into your hair.
“God, I love you.”
Your hand finds his and laces your fingers together. “Even when I tell you no?”
He tilts his head and whispers, right against your temple, “Especially then.”
And somewhere in the corner of the room, the camera catches the slow kiss he gives you after. Gentle. Deep. Different from the rest.
Like he means it.
Because he does.
Masterlist
well that was filthy
