#san

[starcatching]

ATEEZ - IN YOUR FANTASY (2025)

[wooyos]

ok 👍

[guzhufuren]

ATEEZ Being a Safe Haven for Queer Fans (more)

[ceruleanslover]

✞༒𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝༒✞

Summary: Wooyoung is your dealer, you were only meant to pick up the goods but you got more than what you signed up for.

Pairing: Dom!Wooyoung x Fem!reader x Dom!San x Dom!Mingi

Warnings: Drug dealer woosanmin 18+ MDNI, smut, slowburn. porn, foursome, nasty. drug use, cheating, blowjob, menace wooyoung , many more. just proceed at your own risk lol THIS IS PURE FILTH WRITTEN DURING EASTER SUNDAY.

Word count: 7,106 k. (fuck im sorry)

A/N: not proof read but I really just wanted to get this out there. might've switched between 'her' and 'you' im too used to 3rd pov.

Song recommendation: RUNRUNRUN - Dutch Melrose

dividers by : © suupersonic

The Seoul night air was thick with humidity, clinging to your skin like a second layer as you make your way down the narrow, dimly lit alley. This was the part of the city that thrived in the shadows, a place where the neon from the main streets bled into the murky puddles and the only sounds were the distant thrum of bass from the nearby club.

You knocked on the unmarked steel door, the sound echoing slightly. It was a rhythm you knew by heart. Three short taps, a pause then one more. A moment later, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

Wooyoung stood there, a silhouette framed by the warm, low light of his apartment. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair loose-fitting grey sweats that hung dangerously low.

His hair was damp like he just stepped out of the shower, dark strands falling into his eyes. A silver chain rested against his collar bone. and the smell of wood and trouble clinging onto his skin.

You were greeted by a stoic face before changing it into a shit eating grin.

"you're late" Wooyoung smiled, voice sweet it was sickening. You leaned one shoulder against the door frame, face contorted in annoyance. "not like you got anything important to do."

A beat passed between you two. The bass from somewhere deeper in the building pulsed faintly through the walls, slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat. He stepped aside without a word, you slipped past him.

The apartment was dim, lit by the faint LED strip under his couch. His apartment reeked of za and a mixture of something warm- vanilla, maybe. Familiar. Intimate. a mistake waiting to happen.

The door shut behind you with a soft click.

Wooyoung didn't move closer right away. Instead, he leaned back against it. His arms folded loosely across his chest as he watches you walk further inside like you owned the place. His gaze dragged over your figure, slow and almost assessing.

"Could've sworn that I just gave you a cue last week." he said quietly.

You turned with your brow lifted. "I ran out quick"

That earned the fainted twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Wooyoung pushed off the door, walking towards the dining table set in the middle of his apartment. he glanced over his shoulder as he opened the box. Inside, nestled in velvet lining, were several neat little baggies of well preserved buds. "You gotta slow down with this baby" baby.

"I'm starting to think that you just want to see me" He turned around, leaning against the table after he retrieved her usual order. Your face contorted again in annoyance, choosing to not entertain his little games.

"But you know" He began, instead of handing the bag to her. His tone shifted slightly. "You're my best customer, always making sure I'm fed, never any trouble. And I believe in rewarding loyalty."

He set her usual baggie aside and reached deeper into the box, pulling out a smaller, unmarked one filled with tightly packed, dark green buds dusted with crystalline sheen.

"New arrival" He said, holding it up. " 'Starlight' is stronger than what you usually get. Smooth as fuck though, with a little kick to it. I want you to try it. On the house"

You raised a brow in surprise. "Free? Are you feeling generous tonight Woo?"

A small hum escapes from his lips. "Always, when it comes to you" He replied, his smirk returning. "But you gotta try it with me, right now"

Before you could say anything, he was already moving to grab his rolling tray, papers and a grinder. Your heart fluttered in your chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness. You've been alone with him countless times, but for some reason. This felt different.

Wooyoung worked with a focused precision, his long fingers skillfully breaking apart the fragrant buds, grinding them to the perfect consistency. You couldn't tear your eyes away from his hands—the way they moved, the veins that stood out against his skin. God you needed to leave as soon as possible.

He caught you staring, and his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Like what you see?" he teased, not looking up from his task. You scowled and whipped your head to the other direction. "fuck off woo" You breathed out. He chuckled.

"Alright try this" He finished rolling the joint with practiced ease, twisting the end perfectly. He brought it to his lips, eyes locking with yours as he lit it, the flame casting a warm glow on his features. He took a slow, deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling a plume that curled and dissipated into the air.

then, he held it out to you. "Try it"

You leaned forward, your fingers brushing against his as you took the joint from him. The contact was dangerous, electric, and a jolt of awareness that shot through you. You brought it up to your own lips, mimicking his slow drag, the smoke filling your lungs with a sweet potent haze.

As you exhaled, you felt it — a heady rush that your limbs feel heavy and your senses sharpen. The world seemed to slow down, the low hum of the city outside fading into a distant buzz. Wooyoung took the joint back, your fingers brushing again, and this time, his touch lingered.

You both passed it back and forth in silence, the only sounds the soft crackle of burning paper and your quiet breathing. The tension in the room grew thick, palpable , a living thing that coiled in the space between the two of you. Your skin tingled, pulse thrumming in your ears. You could feel Wooyoung's gaze on you, heavy and intent, and when you finally met his eyes, you saw something dark and hungry but he masked it in his boyish grin.

He knew. He knew exactly what it was doing to you, and he was enjoying every second of it. The teasing glances, the subtle brushes of his fingers, the low rumble of his voice — it was all a carefully orchestrated game, and you were willing to play.

"Feeling it?" he asked, his voice husky, the words hanging in the air between the two of you.

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. "Yeah."

"Good" he murmured, leaning back against the couch with eyes on you.

Then, he leaned in closer.

You could feel the heat of him, the slow rise and fall of his chest almost brushing your shoulder. The joint burned low between his fingers, forgotten for a moment as his attention settled entirely on you.

"Your pupils are blown" he laughs lowly, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at your face. "hits fast dont it?"

You swallowed at the proximity, backing away a little. "Y-yeah.. You said it was stronger"

He hummed softly, amused. "Sure did."

he leaned back against the couch again, the low lighting carved shadows along his torso, tracing the defined lines of his abdomen, the V-line dipping beneath the waistband of his sweats. His knees brushed against yours. Too close! need to leave now!

He took another slow drag, eyes never leaving your face this time, then he reached forward. Not with the joint.

With his free hand.

His knuckles brushed lightly along your jaw, tilting your chin upward just enough to hold your gaze. The touch wasn't forceful. It didn't need to be.

"I finally got to smoke with you, been waiting on when you're gonna let me roll for you" He grins.

Your breath felt heavier in your lungs, the room softer around the edges. "You never give free shits before so."

His thumb slid just barely under your chin, warm and steady.

"Well, you never stayed this long before" his voice was slow. A slow smile curved his lips.

You hum softly, then shaking his hold off you.

The air between the two of you felt charged, heavy with smoke and something far more dangerous and risky.

"You're okay. I got you. just relax" Wooyoung exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes dropping.

The high was settling into your bones, a warm, syrupy feeling that made the plush couch feel like it was swallowing you whole. You shifted, the fabric of your dress whispering against your skin. Everything was heightened now, the low thrum of the bass from a distant club.

The silence was killing you.

"So," You spoke, voice a little softer than you intended. "What is this again? Starlight?"

"mm," Wooyoung hummed, taking another slow dragged from the joint that's almost finished. He passed it back to you, fingers deliberately brushing against her palms. "New strain, Supposed to be special"

Your brows rose, feeling a bold curiosity fueled by the haze in your mind. "Special how? what's the side effects?"

Wooyoung leaned back, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. Instead of answering, he picked up his phone next to him, his thumb swiping across the screen. "Let's see what the pot heads says"

he squinted at the bright screen, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he let out a low chuckle, a sound was both amused and dangerous. He looked up from his phone, his eyes locking directly at you. The air crackled.

"Well, first on the list is doozy. check." He said, his voice dropping to that gravelly register that made your thighs clench. "Next is... and the primary effect is.. aroused."

The word hung between the two of you, stark and undeniable. Your breath hitched. A hot flushed crept up your neck, blooming in your cheeks. You blamed the weed, of course its the weed! but you knew it was more than that. It was him. It was the way that he's looking at you, like he knew every dirty thought tracing through your head.

"...Right" You managed, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably. You need a distraction until this shit wears off. Anything to break the intensity of his gaze. You reached out for the remote resting next to the ash tray. Your fingers fumbled with it as you pointed it at the massive , black screen mounted on the wall. You pressed the button.

The screen flickered to life, but it didn't return to a streaming service menu. It resumed exactly where it had left off. On the screen, a woman with her head thrown back in ecstasy was being thoroughly pleasure by a man whose face was mostly buried between her legs. The sound were vivid, slick and unapologetic. A litany of breathy moans and dirty talk filled the stunned silence of the room.

You froze, the remote clutched in your hand like a lifeline. Your face burned with a humiliation so acute it was almost arousing. "Oh my god, I—"

Wooyoung's laughter cut her off. It wasn't mocking; it was deep, genuine and completely unbothered. He didn't even flinch.

"I was watching porn before you arrived, sorry" He admitted with a casual shrug, as if he'd just confessed to leaving a dish in the sink. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, his gaze flicking from the screen to your mortified expression. A slow smile played on his lips before taking the remote from your hands. He pressed play before you could say anything.

"Woo! you're fucking insane" Your mouth hang open as your eyes naturally drifted to the screen. You should've stood up and left but he sank deeper into the couch next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

For a while, You two just watched in silence. The sounds from the TV filled the space, a rhythmic, explicit soundtrack to the tension coiling tighter and tighter between the two of you. You tried to keep your eyes glued to the screen or your phone but you were achingly aware of him beside you.

Then, to the corner of your eye, you saw it. A subtle movement. Wooyoung has shifted, slouching down into the cushions. He wasn't touching himself. Not overtly. But his hand had come to rest on his upper thigh, his long fingers languidly tracing the thick, hard line of his erection straining against the fabric of his sweats. He wasn't hiding it. He wasn't being aggressive. He was just... existing in his arousal, letting it sit there, a silent, powerful invitation. and that made it more dangerous.

Your own body responded instantly. A wave of liquid heat pooled low in your belly, your clit pulsing in time with the moans from the television. You squeezed your thighs together, a futile attempt to alleviate the sudden, desperate ache. You tried not to look, you wanted to leave but your body was heavy. You really tried but your eyes kept betraying you, darting back to the slow teasing circle his thumb was making, so close to where she suddenly, desperately wanted him to touch.

Wooyoung knew. Of course he fucking knew. He could probably smell your arousal from where he is. He let out a soft hum, a sound of deep satisfaction, and finally turned to look at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded.

"See?" he whispered, his voice low.

"Told you it was special"

The porn on the screen faded into distant, irrelevant hum. The only thing in your universe was the man next to you and the thick, pulsing tension that was making it hard to breathe. Your eyes were now glued to the prominent bulge straining against the soft grey cotton of his sweatpants. It was a blatant, confident display, and it was doing things to you that you couldn't control.

You felt his gaze on you , hot and heavy, but you couldn't meet it. You were too caught up in the sight, in the ache throbbing between your legs. Unconsciously, your thighs rubbed together, a desperate, silent plea for friction you knew he could only provide. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest; Got you.

He held out the last of the joint, the paper now short and singed. "Here, finish it" He murmured, his voice thick with smoke and satisfaction.

You took it, you shouldn't have. You should've left. You brought it to your lips, your eyes still fixed on his lap as you inhaled deeply. The smoke was potent, laced with an aphrodisiac quality that melted the last of your inhibitions. It coursed through , a warm, permissive wave that told you to stop fighting, to just take what you wanted.

And what you wanted was right beside you.

As you exhaled a low, unsteady stream of smoke, your hand moved with a will of its own. It dropped from your lap to his thigh, the skin warm and firm beneath your touch. He didn't flinch, didn't move a muscle. He just let you explore, his body a silent, willing canvas.

Your fingers inched higher, tracing the seam of his sweats until they brushed against the hard, thick ridge of his cock. The fabric was soft, but beneath it, he was rigid steel. You curled your fingers, wrapping it around him through the pants. He was bigger than you imagined, thick and heavy in your grasp, and a jolt of pure unadulterated lust shot through you.

Wooyoung let out a soft hiss of air, his head falling back against the couch. He still didn't touch you, his hand resting loosely on his own thighs, offering you complete control. The power was intoxicating.

You tightened your grip, stroking him slowly through the fabric. The friction wasn't enough. It was a frustrating tease. You needed more. You needed to feel him. skin on skin.

Your fingers found the waistband of his sweats. With a soft decisive tug, you hooked your thumb under the elastic and pulled it down just enough. His cock sprang free, slapping heavily against his lower abdomen. The sight stole the air from your lungs. He was perfect— long, thick, and flushed a deep, angry pink, the tip already beaded with pearly precum.

The joint now forgotten, was crushed out in the ash tray. There was only one thing left to do.

Leaning over, you lowered your head. The scent of him, clean and masculine and uniquely Wooyoung, filled your senses. You stuck out your tongue, tracing a slow, deliberate circle around the head, lapping up the salt drop of precum. He tasted as good as he looked.

Wooyoung's sharp intake of breath was the only reaction you needed.

Then, you parted your lips and wrapped them around the head, sinking down slowly, taking him into the heat of your mouth. He groaned, a low guttural sound of pure pleasure that vibrated straight though you, settling deep in your core. You began to move, your tongue swirling, your slips sliding, taking him deeper with each pass, the television moans now a pathetic echo of the real thing happening on this couch.

The world has narrowed to the wet slide of your lips, the heavy weight of him on your tongue, and the deep rumbling groans he was letting out. You lost yourself in the rhythm, in the raw, primal act of pleasuring him. Every flick of your tongue, every hollowing of your cheeks, was met with a sharp intake of breath or a muttered curse from above. You were so focused, so consumed by the taste and feel of him, that you didn't notice the shift in the room's atmosphere.

Wooyoung, however, did. He was a creature of his own environment, always aware. And right now, his environment was about to be breached.

While you were occupied, his hand moved from his own thigh to yours. He didn't ask, didn't hesitate. He simply gripped the hem of your dress, the soft fabric a stark contrast to his rough, assertive touch, and pulled it up, baring your legs and the thin lace of your panties to the cool air. he didn't yank or tear; the motion was dominant but deliberate, claiming.

His fingers ghosted over the soaked fabric, and he chuckled, a low, dark sound of his triumph. "Fuck baby, You're dripping for me, aren't you?" He murmured, his voice a husky caress. He pressed the heel of his palm against your clothed core, the pressure a delicious torment that made you moan around his cock. He was in control, dictating the pleasure even though your mouth was around him.

Just as his fingers hooked the side of your panties, ready to grant you the pleasure you've been desperate to have, the front door clicked open.

You froze, your mouth still full of him. Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the haze of arousal. You tried to pull back, to scramble away, but Wooyoung's hand was suddenly firm on the back of your head, holding you in place. It wasn't a rough gesture, but a silent command: Don't move.

Two figures walked in, their laughter and casual conversation dying mid-sentence as they took in the scene. It was San and Mingi. Wooyoung's friends.

They stopped just inside the doorway. For a split second, there was a stunned silence. San's eyes widened slightly, a slow, appreciative smirk spreading across his face. Mingi just blinked, his gaze flicking from your flushed face, to Wooyoung's relaxed, dominant posture, to the very obvious act happening on the couch.

There was no shock, no outrage. Just mild surprise and amusement.

San was the first to speak, his voice casual as he shrugged off his jacket. "Well, that's fucking hot"

Mingi just snorted, shaking his head with a grin as he toed off his shoes.

They didn't stop and stare. They didn't gawk or make a scene. As if it were the most normal thing in the world to walk in on their friend getting head on the couch, they simply continued their path. They walk right past them, heading for the staircase that leads to the upper floor.

"Hey Woo" Mingi called over his shoulder as he started up the stairs. "Just grabbing Gedd's order. Don't mind us."

"Yeah," San added, following him up. "Carry on. Don't let us interrupt the ... this"

Their footsteps faded away, and then the sound of a door closing upstairs.

The silence that followed was deafening. You were mortified, your entire body rigid with embarrassment. But Wooyoung, still holding you gently but firmly, just tilted his head back and laughed. A real, deep, /pissed/ genuine laugh.

"Those dickheads..." he said, his voice vibrating through his chest and into your mouth. "Has zero fucking boundaries" He finally released his hold on your head, his fingers stroking through your hair softly. He looked down at you, his eyes dark with lust and something else— something like pride.

"Now.. where were we?"

The laughter died in Wooyoung's throat, replaced by a low growl of pure need. The interruption, far from breaking the spell, has only sharpened it, adding a dangerous, thrilling edge to the atmosphere. He looked down at you, your lips swollen and your eyes wide with a mixture of lingering shock and renewed hunger, and a slow dangerous smile spread across his face.

"get up" he commanded, his voice a husky whisper.

Before you could even process the order, he was already moving. His hands were on you, strong and sure, as he effortlessly flipped you over. You landed on your back on the soft plush cushions with a soft gasp, your dress still bunched around your waist. He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and with one fluid decisive motion, pulled them down your legs and tossed them aside.

Now you were completely exposed to him, your glistening cunt open and waiting. he didn't give her a moment to feel self conscious. he lowered his head, not giving any warning before he dove in.

The first touch of his tongue was electric. A broad , flat stroke against your slick folds that made your back arch off the couch. He wasn't gentle or tentative; he was ravenous. He ate you out like a man starved, his tongue swirling and probing, finding your clit with a sickening accuracy that made you see stars. He alternated between sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves and fucking his tongue deep inside you, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you open for his assault.

You were so lost, your fingers tangling in his hair, your hips rolling against his face as he drove you higher and higher. The sounds from the TV were gone, replaced by the wet , lewd sounds of his mouth on you and your own breathy moans.

You were so close, teetering on the edge, when you heard footsteps again.

Your eyes fluttered open, your hazy vision focusing on the figure descending. It was San. He has come back down. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes fixed on the scene on the couch, on Wooyoung's head buried between your shaking thighs.

A fresh wave of heat, potent and dark, washed over you. This was wrong. This was filthy. And it was the hottest thing you have experienced.

San watched for a moment, his own arousal evident in the tight line of his jaw. he walked closer, his movements slow and deliberate, until he was standing right behind the couch. he didn't look at Wooyoung. He looked at you.

"Wooyoung" San's voice was low and rough that vibrated through the room. "You're gonna make her pass out before I get a turn"

Wooyoung lifted his head, his chin and mouth glistening with your arousal. He gave him a menacing grin, a feral possessive thing. 'Fuck off San"

"Just a taste" San bargained, his gaze still locked on you. His eyes were dark and intense, a silent question in their depths. "Come on, she looks so fucking delicious"

The decision wasn't Wooyoung's to make. It was yours. San was asking you. The power shifted back into your hands, and the thrill of it was immense. You looked from San's burning eyes to Wooyoung's challenging smirk. A part of you should've said no, but the weed, the lust and the sheer audacity of it all won.

You gave a slow nod, ashamed and embarrassed.

This was all the permission San needed. Wooyoung surprisingly didn't object. He just shifted to the side, making room. San knelt on the floor by the couch, leaning in. He didn't hesitate either, his head dipping back down.

And then it happened.

Two tongues, two sets of lips, working in tandem. It was a dizzying, overwhelming assault on your senses. Wooyoung was more aggressive, his movements focused and demanding as he lapped at your clit. San's was exploratory, his tongue delving, curling inside you, tasting you deeply. They share you, passing you back and forth between their mouths like a joint, their occasional brushes against each other only adding to the thrill.

Your mind went blank. You could only feel. The dual sensations, the sight of them between your legs, the sound of their shared appreciation. Your orgasm ripped through you with the force of a tidal wave, a blinding, shuddering release that left you gasping and weak, your body twitching with the aftershocks. They didn't stop, drawing out your pleasure until you were a whimpering, oversensitive mess, completely and utterly theirs.

You were still floating in the hazy aftermath, your body limp and pliant, when you heard the heavy footsteps on the stairs again. A third person. Your heart gave a little flutter of anxious anticipation. You didn't have to wait long to see who it was.

Mingi appeared at the bottom of the steps, his tall frame filling the space. He took in the scene instantly; Wooyoung kneeling on the floor, San's head still between your thighs, your legs splayed wide and still trembling. Unlike San's initial pause, Mingi's reaction was one of immediate understanding and a grin that was pure sin.

"Oh That's what we're doing" He announced, his voice a deep, amused rumble. "Let me get a turn"

He strode over, his confidence radiating off him in waves. While San finally lifted his head, his lips shiny and his expression satisfied, Mingi was already hooking his thumb into he waistband of his own sweats. He pushed them down just enough to free himself, and your breath was caught. He was long and thick, a heavy, imposing weight that he held in his fist.

He didn't ask. He didn't wait. He positioned himself by your head, tapping the thick head of his cock against your swollen, sensitive lips. The gesture was both a question and a command. You were caught in a dizzying spiral of submission and lust. You parted your lips willingly, inviting him in.

He slid into your mouth with a low groan, his hand tangling in your hair to guide you. The sensation was overwhelming— the weight of him on your tongue, the musky , clean scent of him filling your senses.

Just as you find the rhythm, you felt Wooyoung shift. He rose from the floor, his body moving over yours, caging you in. His eyes, dark and possessive, bored into yours as he notched the head of his cock against your soaked entrance. He paused for a fraction of a second, a silent moment of connection, and then he pushed inside.

A guttural moan was muffled by Mingi's length as Wooyoung filled you completely. He didn't start fast. He set a punishing, deliberate pace, pulling out almost all the way before sinking back in, deep and hard. Each thrust forced you further onto Mingi's cock, creating a perfect, overwhelming rhythm. You were the centre of their storm, a vessel for their shared pleasure.

San , now a spectator, watched the whole scene with an avid, hungry gaze. his eyes eyes tracked the way Wooyoung's hips snapped against yours, the way your body arched to take him deeper, and the way you hollowed your cheeks moved as you suck off Mingi. He palmed himself through his jeans, a look of intense concentration on his face.

Then, he calmly pulled out his phone, He unlocked it, his thumb moving lazily across the screen. You could hear the faint click of the keyboard as he typed, his eyes still glued on the sinful scene in front of him. He held his phone to his ears.

"Yo Gedd, Yeah listen, I'm gonna have to raincheck tonight.." he said, his voice completely normal, as if he was discussing the weather. He paused, listening. " Nah, I'll deliver tonight or tomorrow.. laters."

He hung up, tossing his phone onto the armchair across with a soft thud. He looked back at you, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face.

"Wouldn't wanna miss this"

The world was a blur of sensation, a symphony of overwhelming pleasure. You were completely at their mercy, caught between the two men using your body, their movements a perfectly timed, intoxicating rhythm. The air was thick with the smell of sex and smoke that made your head spin.

While Mingi's cock filled your mouth and Wooyoung's pounded into you, San was silent, appreciative audience. He moved in a languid grace, completely comfortable in the role of being the observer. He settled on the armchair across, rolling up another joint with practice eased just like Wooyoung. He lit it, taking a slow drag as he watched them, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded.

Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, Wooyoung's thrusts began to slow. With a final, deep groan, he pulled out of you, leaving you achingly empty. Before you could even process the loss, Mingi was already withdrawing from your mouth.

"My turn" Mingi rasped, his voice laced with lust.

He didn't give her a chance to move. With a strength that was both thrilling and a little terrifying, he gripped your hips and flipped you over onto your hands and knees. the position was lewd, exposing you completely. He wasted no time, gripping his cock and sliding it in one swift, powerful stroke.

A sharp cry tore out of your throat. Mingi was rougher than Wooyoung, his thrusts harder, more demanding. He sent a relentless pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. But it wasn't cruel. His hand roamed on your back before finding the lose strands of your hair, he gathered in a pony tail for him to hold.

He reached out one of his arms towards San, who passed him the lit joint without a word. Mingi took it, bringing it to his lips and inhaling deeply as he continued to fuck you from behind. The sight of him, tall and powerful, smoking calmly as he drove into you. It was pushing you over the edge.

But Wooyoung wasn't done either.

he sat back on the couch next to her, his legs spread. His cock, still hard and glistening with your arousal, stood at attention. He tangled his fingers in your hair, guiding your face back towards his lap.

"Open up, Sweetheart" He says with mockery. "We're not done with you yet"

You willingly obliged, your lips wrapping around him once more. The new position was even more intense. Mingi's hard thrusts from behind forced your mouth down onto Wooyoung's length, creating a perfect, synchronised rhythm of being filled from both ends. You were their toy, their plaything, and the thought sent a fresh wave of gushing wetness down your thighs.

That's when the talking started, a low filthy phrase that pushed you to the edge.

"Look at you" San's voice heard from across the couch, thick with smoke and satisfaction. "Taking it so well. Such a good girl.."

"fuck, your mouth feels so good baby" Wooyoung groaned, his hips bucking slightly, pushing deeper. "Just like that, take it all"

Mingi, Holding the joint in one hand, used the other to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to your ass. The sharp smack made you clench around him. "You like that huh?" He growled, his voice rumbling against your back. "Like being fucked by both of us huh? While San watches? Nasty bitch"

The combined stimulation, the relentless pounding, the fullness in your mouth, the stinging pleasure on your ass, and the degrading words that was also praising her. was all too much. Your orgasm crashed through you, violent and consuming. Your body convulsed, your scream muffled by Wooyoung's cock as your walls clenched uncontrollably around Mingi's length.

They didn't stop, riding out your orgasm, drawing it out until you were a trembling, whimpering mess. Yet you craved for more.

You were a limp, quivering mess, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your last orgasm. You were barely conscious, floating in a haze of blissful exhaustion. But the night was far from over.

San had enough of watching.

He stood up from the couch, his patience worn thin. With a possessive growl, he moved to the couch, his eyes burning. He didn't ask, he didn't negotiate. He hooked his hands under your arms, yanking you back from Mingi with a rough, decisive pull that made you gasp.

"My Turn" San snarled, His words raw with declaration of intent.

he manhandled you onto the couch, positioning you so that you were straddling his lap. your back pressed on his chest. He lined up cock against your slick entrance. He didn't give you a moment to prepare before gripping your hips and slamming you down onto him.

A piercing scream tore from your throat, the sound instantly muffled as Mingi stood in front of you again, grabbing the back of your head and guiding your mouth back onto his slicked cock. San's pace was brutal, a ruthless, punishing speed that stole your breath. He used your body like a toy, lifting you up and slamming you back down , each powerful thrust driving you deeper onto Mingi's cock. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on painful , a while hot, blinding force that consumed you.

After a few moments of his merciless assault, San's movements changed, He stilled his hips, his hand gripping on your waist. "Ride me" He commanded. " Show me how much you want it"

Your muscles screamed in protest, but your body was desperate and it obeyed. You planted your hands on Mingi's waist for support and began to roll your hips, bouncing on San at the pace that he wanted.

Your eyes, blurry and hazy, landed on the forgotten joint smoldering on Mingi's hand. You reached for it, you needed the haze, the sweet smoke to dull the edged of this overwhelming feeling that's consuming you. Your movements clumsy as you continue to ride San, you brought the joint to your lips, inhaling a deep, shaky drag as you sank deeper on his length.

The three men watched you, utterly captivated. The sight of you riding one of their cocks while the other is stroking Mingi's, was the single most erotic thing they've ever seen if not experienced. Their gaze was heavy with lust, dark, possessive with pride.

Mingi stroked your cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray tear of overwhelmed pleasure. "So fucking perfect"

Wooyoung took the joint off you from behind the couch, taking a drag off it while reaching to grope one of your tits. You exhaled the thick cloud of smoke, head falling back on San's shoulder as a sudden sharp clarity cut through the fog of lust. You looked at them, a breathless, disbelieving laugh escaped your lips.

"You guys are fucking insane.." you breathed out, voice hoarse from screaming and moaning.

San just chuckled, he nipped at your ear. "You love it"

He tightened his grip, a possessive, final claim. He held you still for a moment, his chest heaving against your back, his cock buried deep inside you. Wooyoung who was watching from behind the couch saw the opportunity, eyes locked at the way you were stretched around San. Your clit swollen and begging for attention. A menacing grin appeared on his lips as he made his way around. 

“Gotta make sure she’s full right?” He spat on his hand, stroking his cock to make it slick, and then moved forward, positioning himself at your already occupied entrance. 

Your eyes widened, a jolt of panicked excitement shooting through you. ‘W-wait! I- I can't!” 

“Yes you fucking can, don’t be weak” San’s voice was low but reassuring, his arms tightening around you to hold you still. “Take a deep breath, I got you baby” 

Wooyoung started to push. The pressure was immense, a burning,  stretching sensation that teetered on the edge of pleasure and pain. You cried out, your hands unsure where to hold, body tensing instinctively. 

“That’s it baby.. You’re doing so well” Wooyoung coaxed, his voice calming you down. 

You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. He looks so fucking good. He pushed again, a slow relentless pressure, and then with a sudden, sharp pop, the head of his cock slid in along San’s 

A scream was torn from your throat, the sensation of being so impossibly, unbelievably full sending your senses into overdrive. It was a feeling of complete and utter surrender, of taking you to your absolute limit and then pushed beyond it. 

They gave you a moment to adjust, a precious second to breathe through the overwhelming stretch. Then, they began to move.

It was a clumsy, perfect rhythm at first, learning to move together. One would pull out slightly as the other pushed in, creating a constant, maddening friction. Then they found their pace, a synchronised, powerful rhythm that stole the air from your lungs.

Two cocks, stretching you, filling you, owning you. The pleasure was immense, a white-hot, all consuming fire that burned away every rational thought. Your head fell back against San’s shoulder. Your body limp and pliant in his arms as they used you, their shared grunts and groans sending you into another world. 

“So fucking perfect” San whispered in your ears, “Such a good little slut” 

“Made to be stuffed full” Wooyoung chimed in, his eyes locked on the sight of your cunt stretched around them. Then, he looked up and straight past your shoulders. He leaned in, over your shoulders where San’s face resides and claimed the older male’s lips. Like, they’ve done this before. 

You could feel the two move their heads as they locked their lips, it was the most erotic thing you have ever witnessed. 

The dirty words, combined with the relentless, dual stimulation, were your undoing. Your orgasm didn’t build; it detonated. A violent, explosive force that ripped through you, your body convulsing and clamping down around them as you screamed their names into the charged air. You were gone, shattered into a million pieces of pure, humiliating ecstasy, lost in the sensation of being filled by two men at once.

The world had dissolved into pure sensation, Your mind went completely blank as Wooyoung and San found a devastating rhythm inside of you. Each twin thrust sent a shockwave through your system, a perfect, agonizing pleasure that was too much and not enough all at once. 

Mingi, who had been stroking himself with a slow, deliberate patience as he watched, finally decided it was his turn to join the symphony. He moved to the couch, his tall frame towering over yours from the side. He tapped his leaking cock against your cheek, no words were needed, your mouth complied. 

You parted your lips, he slid into your mouth that followed a groan from his own lips. The slick heat distracts you from the painful stretch between your legs. Now you were completely full, three cocks, three men all focused on you. 

They all work in tandem, a perfect coordinated machine of pure filth. San’s hips thrust up from below, Wooyoung’s drove down from above, and Mingi slid in and out of your mouth. They moved in a rhythm that was both brutal and beautiful, a shared ecstasy that consumed you whole. Your muffled whimpers and the slick, lewd music of their music of their bodies joining together. 

You could feel it coming. The change in their breathing, the way their movements grew more erratic, more desperate and sloppy. They were all reaching their peak. 

“Fuck I’m gonna cum” Mingi groaned, his hand tightening around your hair as he began to fuck your face in earnest. “Swallow it all– fuck.” 

With final, deep thrust, he buried himself in your throat. His cock pulsed, and hot, thick ropes of cum filled your mouth. You swallowed instinctively, your throat working to take every drop as he groaned his release. 

The sight of it, the feeling of you swallowing around Mingi, was the last straw for the two. 

“Gonna fill you up” San snarled in your ear, his teeth grazing your neck as his hips slammed up into you one last time. 

“Take it” Wooyoung groaned, his eyes wild as he drove deep. 

They came together, a perfect, synchronized explosion. You felt the hot, powerful spurts of their release flooding your insides, two distinct pulses of heat that seemed to merge into one, filling you to the brim until their combined essence trickled down your thighs. The feeling was so intense, so absolute, that it triggered one final, shattering orgasm that ripped through what was left of your consciousness. 

They stilled, the only sounds in the room their heavy, panting breaths. Mingi slowly withdrew from your mouth, a soft, satisfied sigh escaping you. Wooyoung and San remained inside you for a moment longer, their bodies trembling from the aftershocks, before they too pulled out, leaving you empty and dripping with their cum. 

You collapsed forward onto the couch, used, quivering and a satisfied mess. 

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the heavy, sated breathing of four people. The air was thick, saturated with the scent of sex, sweat and smoke. 

Then, a sound cut through the haze. 

It was your phone, buzzing and skittering across the coffee table. The sharp, insistent chirp of your custom ringtone– a cheerful, upbeat pop song– was scarily out of place. The screen lit, illuminating the name in bold, glowing letters Yunho. 

The air turned into ice. Wooyoung who broke the silence, a slow wicked grin spreading across his face. 

“Well, Well” He drawled, his voice a low purr against your ears. 

“Looks like Boyfriend’s checking in” 

You yanked your dress on, grabbing the baggies on the table as panic washes over you. 

I’m fucked. 

[belongjoong]

whiny boyfriend san headcanons

৻ꪆ contains: kissing, cuddling, pouting, touchy san, implied alcohol consumption, very suggestive.

based on this ask .ᐟ

whinybf!san who’s version of asking for a kiss is just - hovering. face very close to yours. waiting. if you don’t notice fast enough he makes a small noise to get your attention.

whinybf!san hates arguments, dissolving into teary apologies the second things heat up. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean it... don't be mad at me, please?" san drops to his knees, hands sliding up your thighs, using his charm to make it up to you. his lips brushing your sensitive spots until forgiveness comes naturally.

whinybf!san who asks for cuddles, but you (knowing that he wants to take a nap) deny him his cuddle time. he whines, eventually convincing you to get in the bed “just for ten minutes.” not even five minutes into it, you start to hear faint snores. his arm is wrapped firmly around your waist, and you successfully fell into his nap trap.

whinybf!san runs warm and always wants to be touching you when he sleeps. throws a leg over you, arm across your hip, face pressed into your neck. if you shift away in your sleep he follows without waking up. every time.

whinybf!san who’s emotional side amps up when he is tipsy, rambling about how much he loves you while pawing at your clothes. "you're the only one who gets me... don't ever leave, okay?" his somewhat slurred whines turn into passionate grips, pulling you into sloppy makeouts that escalate quickly.

whinybf!san holds your hand and squeezes it with a random rhythm that he made up, expecting you to squeeze his hand back. when you don’t, he pulls his hand away and fake pouts until you squeeze him again.

taglist (open) : @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @kisssan @way2jellyous @civeua @stxrrywoo @strhwa  @s0ul1nyah @velvetjoong @klowiishere @eviemae5864 @3nhyxx @pankesitopank

[nayiana0]

"Keep Talking"

choi san. your sweet, obsessed boyfriend. always calling, always craving. you thought it was just a late-night check-in—until you realized what he was doing on the other end of the line. and when he shows up at your door? he’s not holding back. it gets breathless. possessive. messy. and the next morning? he still can’t keep his hands off you.

wc : 5.4k

tags : explicit content, phone masturbation, softdom!san, fingering,oral , praise kink, light degradation, dirty talk, teasing, overstimulation, established relationship intimacy, aftercare, reader is clingy, san is obsessed with you in the softest filthiest way, fluff.

a/n: this man calls you while he’s jerking off, shows up 20 mins later, wrecks you again, and then has the nerve to wipe your makeup off like you’re his entire world??

Your phone buzzes just as you’re settling into bed.

Incoming Call : San 🏔

You smile immediately, warmth blooming in your chest. You put him on speaker and head to the bathroom, voice soft and sleepy.

“Hi” you murmur.

There’s a pause on the other end. A breath.

Then:

“…Hey.” His voice is low. Rough. Just a little hoarse.

You frown softly. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” A sharp inhale, followed by a quiet exhale. “I just… wanted to hear your voice.”

That makes you smile again, soft and unsuspecting. 

You rinse your mouth, crawl back into bed, and tuck the phone against your cheek.

You laugh softly, cheek pressing to the pillow. “You miss me that bad already?”

“So bad,” he murmurs, almost too quiet.

“I missed you too.” You roll onto your side, voice warm. “How was your night?”

Another pause.

“…Fine.”

There’s something in the way he says it. 

It’s not unhappy, just… distracted. 

Like he’s somewhere else entirely. 

You squint, sensing it now — the air between you feels thick. 

Like something is happening, and you haven’t caught up yet.

Your brows knit at how breathless he sounds. “Are you… working out or something?”

“…Sort of.”

“Sort of?” You giggle. “You sound weird,” you tease, voice gentle.

There’s a pause. Long enough to notice.

Then you hear it — the tiniest sound.

A slick sound.

Wet. Rhythmic. Subtle.

Your mouth parts slightly. “San?”

“Keep talking,” he says quickly. Breathlessly. “Don’t stop talking.”

Your heart skips.

Your voice falters. “Wait… are you —”

“I miss you,” he cuts in, voice heavy, strained, and definitely aroused. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“You’re—oh my god, are you touching yourself?”

He groans — low and unfiltered. Like your voice alone is enough to drag him under.

“Yes,” he whispers. “Fuck, I couldn’t wait anymore.”

You blink at the ceiling, suddenly burning everywhere. “You called me… to jerk off?”

“I called you because of you,” he murmurs. 

“Because I kept thinking about your mouth. Your voice. The way you sound when I—” His breath stutters. “When I’m buried deep inside you.”

Your breath catches.

“Tell me something,” he whispers.

“What?” you breathe.

“Remind me how you taste.”

Your thighs press together instinctively.

“San—”

“I’d be on my knees for you right now,” he murmurs. “You don’t even know. Tongue deep in you, hands keeping you open. I miss the way you shake.”

You press a hand to your chest. Your heart’s racing.

“Your voice, baby. I swear.” His breath catches. “You’re so soft when you’re sleepy. It drives me insane.”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“.. Are you close?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.

“Mhm,” he moans. “Keep talking, please. I’m—shit—I’m right there.”

You bite your lip. Then slowly, softly:

“You’d ruin me if you were here, wouldn’t you?”

He lets out a desperate noise.

“I’d take you so slow,” you whisper. “Just to hear you beg.”

He groans again, sharp and broken. His breathing gets faster.

You hear the subtle, unmistakable sound of his release — his moan is raw, whispered, like he’s trying not to be loud. Like he’s completely wrecked.

You lie there, blinking, flushed all over, heat rolling through you.

There’s a silence on the other end. Just the sound of his breathing, finally slowing.

“…I’m coming over,” he mutters eventually, voice low and raspy.

You laugh softly, heart still racing. “San…”

He groans. “I need you.”

And something tells you this night isn’t over yet.

–

You’re still in bed when your doorbell rings.

Your whole body stills.

You climb out of the covers, heart thudding in your chest, and tiptoe barefoot to the door. 

When you open it, the hallway light spills over San — his dark hoodie pulled over his head, eyes shadowed, lips parted. 

His chest rises and falls like he ran here, not drove.

He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at you.

Then?

He steps in, shuts the door behind him, and grabs you.

You gasp as your back hits the wall.

 His mouth crashes against yours, hot and desperate, like he needs to taste you just to breathe.

“You,” he growls between kisses. “You make me lose my mind.”

His hands roam everywhere — under your shirt, across your hips, gripping your ass like it’s his. You’re lifted onto the wall in one smooth motion, legs wrapping around him on instinct.

“San—” you try to catch your breath, but he kisses you again, rough and deep, before pulling back just enough to speak.

“You sounded so fucking sweet on the phone,” he murmurs, dragging his nose along your jaw. 

“That little sleepy voice. All shy. You knew what you were doing.”

“I didn’t,” you whisper, flushed and breathless.

He bites down gently on your neck. “Liar.”

You squirm in his grip, heat pooling between your legs. 

His hands slide up your thighs and you realize — you’re still not wearing underwear.

He realizes it too.

“Of course you’re not,” he mutters, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I didn’t know you were actually coming over—”

“You think I care?” His voice is gravel now, thick with need. “You think I can sit at home after hearing you like that on the phone?”

One of his hands slides between your legs, fingers dragging through your slick folds. 

You cry out, head falling back against the wall.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Already soaked.”

You nod, breathless. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

That’s it. That breaks him.

He carries you towards your bedroom, mouth on your throat the entire way, and you cling to him like your life depends on it.

When he lays you down, it’s with more reverence than you expect — like even in his desperation, he still wants to worship.

He brushes his nose over your clothed nipple and groans low in his throat, like he’s trying to memorize you.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”

You reach for him, and he comes willingly, laying his body over yours, slotting between your legs. 

You can feel how hard he is — straining through his sweatpants — and your hips twitch up, chasing friction. 

He kisses you again, slower this time, deeper. Like he wants to feel how badly he missed you.

Then he pulls back just slightly. His forehead rests on yours. His breathing's still ragged.

“You want me?” he murmurs.

You nod.

“No. Say it.”

“I want you,” you whisper. “I want you so bad it hurts.”

He groans, like the words physically affect him, and his hand trails between your thighs again.

“I’m not gonna be gentle this time,” he mutters. “I can’t be.”

You whimper. “Then don’t be.”

And then he sinks two fingers into you — slow but firm, curling just right — and your whole body arches off the bed.

He watches your face, eyes dark. “This is what you wanted, right? To drive me crazy? To have me aching for you?”

You nod again, mouth open, gasping.

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear.

“Well, baby,” he murmurs, voice like velvet and smoke, “you got me.”

“Take this off,” San growls, tugging at your sleep shirt, not even waiting for you to comply. 

He peels it up and over your head like he owns it — like you’re his — and throws it somewhere behind him without looking.

You’re bare now. Completely.

And he just stares.

Chest heaving, jaw clenched, like he’s trying to hold himself back — but he can’t. Not anymore.

“You drive me so fucking insane,” he mutters, running both hands down your ribs, to your hips, spreading your legs wide with his knee. “You know that?”

You whimper when his fingers return to your center, teasing just barely. Your back arches. His eyes drop to watch every reaction.

“Already soaked for me again,” he whispers. “And I’ve barely even touched you.”

You reach down, grabbing at the waistband of his sweats. 

“Please,” you gasp.

“Please what?”

“San—”

“Tell me,” he snaps, voice low and commanding. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you in me,” you cry, breath shaking. “Please, San. I need you.”

He exhales hard through his nose — then strips. 

His hoodie and shirt go first, then his sweats and boxers in one tug, revealing his hard, leaking cock, already red at the tip. 

Your mouth waters.

He strokes himself once, twice, eyes still locked on you.

“Turn around.”

You blink. “..Huh?”

“I said turn the fuck around.”

The edge in his voice sends shivers down your spine. 

You scramble onto your hands and knees, and he grabs your hips immediately, pulling you back toward him until your ass is pressed to his cock.

He drags the head through your folds, just once — and groans like it physically hurts to hold back.

Then he thrusts in.

Hard.

You cry out, head dropping to the mattress as he bottoms out in one deep, punishing stroke. 

His hand grips your hip, the other tangling in your hair, pulling your head back so he can lean down and growl into your ear.

“This is what you wanted, huh?” His hips slam forward again. “Wanted me so desperate I couldn’t wait another second?”

You moan, hands fisting the sheets. “Yes—”

“Wanted me to ruin you?”

He sets a pace that’s relentless — deep and unrelenting, every thrust dragging across the most sensitive part of you. 

Your body jerks forward with each one, and you swear he’s somehow deeper than ever before.

“San—fuck, yes—” His grip crushes you tighter. “Say my fucking name.”

You sob it again and again, lost in the rhythm, and he keeps pushing. 

Keeps driving into you like he’s chasing something buried inside your core.

Your legs start to shake. You're so close.

“Not yet,” he growls, he growls, yanking you upright so your back presses hard against his chest “I said—not yet.”

He keeps fucking into you while his hand slides between your legs, rubbing your clit in fast, devastating circles.

“Hold it,” he growls. “Hold it until I say.”

You’re gasping now, practically sobbing from how full you feel — how stretched and raw and desperate you are.

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes you can.” He licks the shell of your ear. “You’ll come when I tell you to. Be good for me.”

And somehow… you obey.

He fucks you through it — deeper, harder, his hand still working you mercilessly — and just when you feel like you can’t take it anymore, he growls:

“Now. Let go. Fucking come for me.”

Your orgasm hits like a wave breaking, loud and wet and devastating. Your entire body arches, thighs trembling violently as you convulse around him.

You don’t even hear yourself scream his name — too lost in the pleasure — but he does.

And it snaps something in him.

He pulls out and flips you over, not even giving you time to recover before he thrusts back in — face-to-face now, eyes burning.

“I’m not done,” he whispers

You can barely breathe, so overstimulated, so full. But you take it — you want it — because the way he’s looking at you? Like he needs to own every piece of you?

It’s worth everything.

He chases his own release now, hips slamming into yours at a punishing pace, his mouth all over your throat, jaw, chest.

“I love this fucking pussy,” he grunts. “You’re made for me. You know that?”

You nod, crying out again as he fucks into your oversensitive cunt. “Yes—yes, I’m yours, I’m—”

“That’s right.”

He buries himself deep one last time — so deep you swear he’s in your soul — and groans your name as he spills inside you, his body trembling against yours.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. 

Just breathes. Heavy, ragged, still inside you. One hand on your jaw. The other clutching your waist.

Then?

He kisses you. Deep, slow, reverent.

And when he finally pulls back, eyes soft, he strokes your cheek gently.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod, dazed. “I think you rearranged my spine.”

He laughs softly, presses a kiss to your forehead, and pulls out slowly, careful with your sore body. 

Then he disappears into the bathroom — and comes back with a warm towel.

He wipes between your legs so gently it makes you tear up a little.

Then he crawls back into your bed with a whispered, “C’mere, baby.”

And you fall asleep wrapped in him — ruined, wrecked, and held like something precious.

—

That morning you wake to the smell of butter and maple.

The early morning light is filtering in soft and slow, and the sheets are tangled at your waist, your body sore in all the best ways. 

Your thighs ache. Your neck has faint bite marks. You feel like you were worshipped… and maybe a little destroyed.

You blink sleepily.

And then you hear it — a gentle clatter from the kitchen. Something sizzling. Then a muttered curse.

You smile. San.

When he appears in the doorway — shirtless, sweats low on his hips, hair pushed back from his face — he’s holding a tray. 

Plates stacked, two mugs, something golden and syrupy filling the air behind him.

He’s grinning like he knows he’s being hot about it.

“I made you breakfast,” he says, voice raspy with sleep, setting the tray on your lap. “Don’t freak out.”

You blink at it. Pancakes. Eggs. Fruit. Even whipped cream??

Your brows knit. “…San.”

He’s climbing into bed beside you, already grabbing a strawberry off your plate and popping it into his mouth like he didn’t just cook a five-star brunch.

You narrow your eyes. “How do you even know where my whipped cream is? You’ve literally been here like .. twice.”

He smirks around the bite. “What, you think I don’t pay attention?”

You stare him down.

He leans closer, hands slipping under the blanket over your lap. “I paid attention to a lot last night.”

You swat at him. “San! I’m eating!”

“You’re trying to eat,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder. “But I made the mistake of seeing you like this — hair all messy, no bra, all cute and sore — and now I’m distracted.”

You flush, tugging the blanket up to hide the fact that you are, in fact, still completely naked beneath it.

He feeds you a piece of pancake — literally feeds you — and you groan at the taste.

“This is so good.”

He hums. “Yeah?”

You nod through your bite. “You’re annoyingly good at this. I was prepared to lie to protect your pride.”

San chuckles and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll take that as a win.”

You’re halfway through eating when his hand starts creeping again — under the blanket this time, fingertips grazing the top of your thigh like it’s casual.

You shoot him a look. “Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You are literally touching my thigh right now.”

“I’m admiring it.”

“San.”

“Mhm?”

You squint at him. “You’re obsessed with me.”

“I literally am,” he says, no hesitation, dipping down to kiss your bare shoulder again. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes,” you say. “And it’s so distracting.”

He bites back a smile and leans in close, lips brushing your ear.

“You wanna know what’s distracting?” he whispers, hand slowly sliding higher. “The fact that I spent all night in you — and I’m still hard just thinking about it.”

Your stomach flips.

You grab your fork again with shaky fingers and murmur, “Eat your pancakes.”

But you already know this breakfast-in-bed is about to become a part two of last night — once again… you won’t be finishing your meal.

—

After the breakfast-that-you-did-not-finish (because San decided you were the real meal), he finally lets you rest — for like, ten minutes.

You’re still under the covers, half-limp with sleep and soreness when you feel him climbing out of bed again. You hear the water start in the bathroom.

Then he comes back to the doorway, shirtless, damp towel in one hand.

“Come shower,” he says gently.

You crack one eye open. “You go. I’m dead.”

He smirks. “If you’re dead, then you won’t mind if I carry you.”

You narrow your eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

And then he does. Pulls the blanket off of you and lifts you like it’s nothing, making you yelp as you cling to him.

“SAN!!”

“You left me no choice,” he teases, voice smug in your ear as he carries you into the steam-filled bathroom.

The water’s already perfect — warm, a little hot — and when he steps in with you, he moves so carefully, hands steady at your waist.

You let the water hit your back, sighing at the heat, and close your eyes for just a second — until you feel his fingers in your hair.

Your eyes blink open. “…What are you doing?”

“Washing your hair.”

You eye him skeptically. “Are you washing my hair or do you just want to touch me again?”

San blinks, expression a little too innocent. “Can’t it be both?”

You groan, laughing despite yourself. “I knew it.”

He smiles as he lathers shampoo in his hands and starts working it into your scalp with surprisingly gentle, practiced fingers. 

The way he massages your head, runs his fingers through every strand, careful not to tug — it feels so soothing you actually sway into his chest.

“Mhm… I take it back,” you murmur. “You can do this forever.”

“I plan to,” he says softly, voice near your temple. His hands slow a little, sliding down, rinsing out the shampoo as you lean back.

He keeps going — conditioner, a few more forehead kisses, and now his thumbs are brushing under your eyes, wiping away the faint smudges of leftover makeup.

He does it like it matters. Like he’s memorizing you.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” you ask softly, heart hiccuping.

“Because I’m lucky as hell,” he says without even blinking.

And just like that, you’re melting all over again — but not because of the hot water.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pull him in slow, press your lips to his under the falling spray. 

It's slow, slow — the kind of kiss you sink into with your whole body.

He hums against your mouth.

The kiss deepens, steam curling around you both, and you feel him grip your hips like he might forget what he was doing.

You pull back just enough to whisper, teasingly: “You're getting distracted again.”

San smirks. “You literally taste like vanilla and warm water. How am I supposed to focus?”

You laugh into his shoulder. “Finish rinsing me, San.”

And he does.

But the way his hands keep slipping a little lower? You’re pretty sure you’re not leaving this shower untouched.

—

The shower ends with your back pressed lazily to his chest, both of you reluctant to step out into the cooler air.

You’re the one who finally reaches for the knob, sighing. “We should get out before we start round 2 just from steam.”

San grins behind you, shameless. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You swat his thigh without looking.

He helps you out first, careful with his hands as always — but the moment your feet hit the mat, he’s already reaching for a towel.

“Sit,” he murmurs, patting the bathroom counter like he owns the place.

You arch a brow. “I can dry myself off.”

“Please?,” he says with a glint in his eyes, already kneeling a little to start at your legs.

You give in — because you're sore, and he’s impossibly warm like this. 

Gentle and full of affection. His hands work slowly, drying every inch like he’s mapping you all over again.

He glances up at you, curls damp and stuck to his forehead. “Still mad I carried you in here?”

You give him a small smirk. “No. But only because your massage game is elite.”

“Elite, huh?” He drags the towel up your thigh, fingers lingering too long before he slides it higher. “Do I get a trophy?”

“You’re already trying to earn one,” you mutter.

His only response is to kiss the inside of your knee.

You twitch slightly. “San…”

“Just drying,” he says — entirely unconvincing, because his hand stays exactly where it doesn’t need to be.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, blushing.

But still — you don’t stop him.

He stands slowly, now using the edge of the towel to press soft, careful dabs to your chest, your arms, your neck. 

He trails it up to your face, and your breath hitches at how gentle he gets — like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

His thumbs brush beneath your eyes again, drying what little water clings to your lashes. 

Then he leans in and kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

You're smiling now. You can’t help it. “I thought you were drying me off.”

“I am,” he murmurs against your skin. “But you’re very… distracting.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re the one making this impossible.”

He hums and wraps the towel around your body fully now, pressing it snug at your back like he’s hugging you and drying you at the same time.

You lean into him. “You really can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you — eyes soft, adoring, almost like you’re something rare and glowing. His voice is quiet but honest: “Nope. And I don’t plan to learn how.”

Your chest squeezes, heat curling all the way down your spine.

He presses a kiss to your nose now. Then your lips. Then murmurs: “C’mon. Let me get you into something cozy.”

You smile, letting him lead you — wrapped in his towel, in his arms, in his attention.

And the truth is: You don’t want him to stop touching you, either.

—

That evening, your living room is dim, the only light flickering from the soft glow of your TV — low volume playing some show neither of you are watching.

You’re straddled on San’s lap, facing him, your thighs resting on either side of his hips, one of his old hoodies swallowing you whole. 

The fabric smells like him — faint cologne, detergent, that warm scent you know better than your own by now. 

He’s shirtless beneath you, just lounging in some gray sweats, all tanned skin and quiet muscle, his arms looped loosely around your waist.

Your fingers are tangled in his hair, gently twirling one around your finger as you talk — about nothing, really. 

Something dumb. Something comforting. You don’t even remember how the topic started.

And you’re not really paying attention to your words anyway — not when he looks like this.

His bare face is unfairly beautiful. His jaw is sharp and clean from shaving.

The light catches the slope of his nose, the tiny beauty mark just beside his left eye, the sleepy droop of his lashes as he listens to you — and God, his lips. Full, soft, kiss-bitten from earlier.

You feel like you could cry just from looking at him.

You run your thumb gently across his cheek. He closes his eyes briefly under your touch.

And then — too soon, too cruel — he shifts slightly beneath you and murmurs, 

“I have to leave soon.”

Your smile fades. “What? Why?”

He exhales slowly, rubbing his hand down your back like he’s trying to soften the blow. 

“I have work in the morning. Early.”

Your heart drops a little.

You blink at him, lips parting. “But… can’t you stay tonight?”

“I want to. I really do.” His voice is soft. Regretful. But firm.

You feel your chest tightening already, throat beginning to ache with the heat of unshed frustration.

“I barely get to see you anymore,” you whisper.

“I know.” He brushes his knuckles against your thigh. “I hate it too.”

Your arms slowly wind around his neck, pulling yourself into him, burying your face into the crook between his shoulder and jaw. 

You don’t say anything at first — just hold him there like if you’re quiet enough, he’ll change his mind.

He strokes your back gently.

“I’m not leaving yet,” he says, voice quieter now. “I’ve got a little time.”

You cling tighter. “Can you sleep over again? Just for tonight?”

A pause. It lasts too long.

“I can’t,” he says, and this time it sounds like it hurts him more than you. “If I don’t go home, I’ll be late.”

You nod, but you’re not ready to let go. Your arms stay locked around his neck. You hate how warm he is. How safe. How rare.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you murmur brokenly.

His hand slips under the hoodie, spreading wide across your back. He cradles you there, holds you tighter. 

“Aw, baby…” he whispers, leaning his head into yours. “I’m gonna make time for us. I promise. This isn't always going to be like this.”

You sniff, but you don’t cry. Not yet.

“Don’t promise if you can’t keep it.”

His voice cracks. “I will. Even if it means losing sleep. I’ll be here. I want to be here.”

There’s a long silence between you two. 

Just the sound of his breathing against your neck and the quiet, creaking shift of the couch when he leans back again.

Then you whisper something, voice soft and a little bitter:

“…And stop calling me when you’re jerking off, okay? It makes me want you even more.”

That surprises a low chuckle out of him — hoarse and heartbroken.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, a soft, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“But I love calling you,” he admits. “It’s the only way I feel close to you when I can’t be here.”

You sigh, cupping his jaw, thumb brushing over the faint stubble.

“You don’t need to call me to feel close to me, San. You are close to me. Always.”

He nods once, eyes shimmering just slightly.

Then you both fall into a long, warm silence. He holds you. 

You stay in his lap, hoodie swallowing your bare legs, his fingers tracing soft circles on your thigh like he doesn’t want to let go.

You know he’ll leave soon.

But not yet.

So you press your lips to his cheek. Then his nose. Then his mouth.

You whisper, “I’ll wait for you.”

And he says, “You don’t have to wait long.”

But still — the ache stays.

Because even when love is strong… it still hurts to say goodbye.

—

Masterlist

[holybibly]

𝔄𝔡𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔰 𝔒𝔫𝔩𝔶 || San x reader

♡ 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: Single father San x nanny reader ♡ 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You’ve spent months fighting the undeniable magnetic pull between you and Mr. Choi — the unfairly handsome single father whose house you live in as the nanny for his twins. His heated stares linger longer with each passing day, thickening the air with unspoken desire that makes you blush and touch yourself in bed at night when you think about him. Your twisted game of cat and mouse might have continued indefinitely, if you hadn’t accidentally caught him in the shower one day — hot water streaming over his body as he stroked himself slowly, your dirty panties pressed tightly to his face. A full scene for the unholy hour ♡ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: Smut, Dilf!Au, Domestic! AU, Reader x Single father ♡ ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI ♡ 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.4k ♡ 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: dom!Dilf San, Soft!reader, impregnation kink, breeding kink, cum play, pussy rubbing, pet names, dirty talk, hand job, praise kink, milking, masturbation, size kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cock milking, wet and dirty, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more. ♡ net: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity ♡ 𝔄|𝔑: Well, my sugar bunnies, I didn't plan on writing a full-length, but that's what happened. This is also unedited, so please be gentle with me. I don't usually post rough drafts this rough, but I promised you a full scene for this one, and I really won't be able to edit it anytime soon, at least for the next two weeks, and I don't want my bunnies to get bored. So, I hope you have lots of fun with soft, but perverted dilf San who spends all his free time thinking about how badly he wants to breed his children's nanny. ♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 at the end of the post. ♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 - check for more

𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖉 - Your love makes all this possible

Single fatherhood had been grinding San down to the marrow lately, the weight of it crushing him from the moment the sun clawed over the horizon until it bled out behind the city skyline. Work dragged him out before the twins even stirred and spat him back home long after the house had gone dark, so bone-weary he could barely peel off his suit, let alone chase the kind of filthy, desperate release his body had been screaming for.

And then you stepped into the storm — his quiet miracle, his soft-eyed salvation, the one calm heartbeat in the chaos of his life with two wild toddlers. You’d been here for months now, and San didn’t know how he’d survived without you. The house finally felt like a home again instead of a battlefield, and for the first time in forever he could actually draw a full breath without it catching in his throat.

The change had crept in so gradually he almost missed it at first. Mornings where the twins’ laughter no longer grated against his frayed nerves but instead wrapped around him like something warm and safe. Evenings when he came home to the soft glow of lights and the faint scent of dinner waiting instead of cold silence and scattered toys.

Little by little, the constant knot of exhaustion in his chest began to loosen, replaced by something far more dangerous — a slow, heated awareness of the way you moved through his space with such effortless grace. The gentle curve of your smile when one of the boys reached for you, the way your voice softened into something tender and melodic as you soothed them, the quiet competence that made his once-chaotic world feel steady again. Each small moment settled deeper under his skin, stirring embers he had long since buried beneath layers of fatigue and responsibility.

The hunger started as a low, dangerous thrum beneath his skin, something San almost convinced himself was just exhaustion.

At first he only noticed the safe, practical things: how the twins fell instantly silent the moment you cradled them against the soft swell of your chest, how a steaming meal always waited on the counter no matter how late he dragged himself through the door, how the entire house had shifted from a cold, sterile battlefield into something warm, lived-in, and quietly welcoming. San told himself the way his gaze clung to the generous curve of your ass when you bent to gather a scattered toy was nothing more than bone-deep fatigue. The way his cock gave a slow, heavy throb when your soft, genuine laugh drifted across the room at one of the boys’ babbling nonsense was simply the natural response of a man who hadn’t lost himself inside warm, willing heat in over a year.

But the thrum grew louder. Deeper. Hungrier.

And then San started having dreams. Filthy, sweat-soaked, vividly colored dreams that tore him from sleep with his cock rigid and leaking against his stomach, sheets tangled around his thighs like silken bonds, your name already spilling from his lips in a broken whisper.

In one he had you on your knees beneath his office desk during a late-night video call, those wide, innocent eyes gazing up at him while your plush lips stretched wide around the thick, veined length of his cock. He’d twist his fingers into your hair, continue speaking in that calm, authoritative CEO tone, hips rolling in unhurried, possessive strokes while you drooled and whimpered around him, mascara painting dark, messy trails down your flushed cheeks. He’d empty himself down your throat mid-sentence, thick, copious streams and you’d swallow every drop like the perfect, greedy little slut he knew you could be.

He’d wake with his boxers drenched, heart hammering against his ribs, and barely reach the shower, fisting himself with harsh, desperate strokes that never truly eased the gnawing hunger.

The daytime fantasies were even crueler. They ambushed him when he was least prepared.

During yet another endless conference call he’d find his mind drifting, painting you on your knees beneath the oak table in his home office. Eager fingers would tug down his zipper with practiced hunger, that warm, velvet mouth sinking down until the swollen head nudged the back of your throat. While San fought to keep his voice steady and professional for the camera, your tongue would swirl slowly and obscene around the sensitive tip, cheeks hollowing with each deliberate suck, those soft, needy hums vibrating straight through his heavy sac. He’d grip the edge of the desk until his knuckles paled, biting back the urge to moan your name in front of his entire team.

The mere fantasy was enough to make his cock swell and throb insistently against the tight confines of his slacks; he’d have to mute the call, press his palm firmly over the aching bulge, and sink his teeth into the inside of his cheek until the meeting dragged to its end.

And then there were the real moments — the ones that turned restraint into the sweetest, most exquisite torture.

Watching you with the twins always unraveled the last fragile threads of San’s control.

God, the way you played with them — so gentle, so effortlessly tender, every gesture radiating that soft, glowing maternal warmth that sent his his blood boiling hotter than it should.

You’d sink gracefully to the floor in those tiny sleep shorts that rode high on the smooth, plush stretch of your thighs, letting the boys clamber all over you, their delighted giggles muffled against the soft, tempting curve of your chest. San would linger in the doorway, pretending to check his phone, but his eyes stayed riveted on the way your thin tank top stretched tight across those full, heavy breasts whenever you reached for a toy, the way your nipples would pebble into tight, begging peaks the instant the cool air from the vent whispered over them.

In his mind the scene shifted instantly — you softer, rounder, belly beautifully swollen and radiant with his child, those same breasts full and heavy from milk, dark damp circles blooming across the fabric because you were too lost in caring for his family to notice or care.

San’d imagine you settled on the couch, cradling one of the little ones to your breast while he watched from across the room, his cock straining painfully against his pants at the sight. He was the one who had given you that lush, fertile glow. He was the one who had fucked you so thoroughly the night before that you’d still be walking with that delicious, sated waddle the next day, inner thighs slick with the evidence of how he completely claimed a pretty, sweet nanny.

That particular domestic fantasy slammed into him like a freight train on a random Tuesday.

He’d come home early for once and found you in the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of his old, oversized shirts draped loosely over your shorts, humming softly while you stirred something fragrant on the stove. The twins were napping upstairs. Golden late-afternoon light spilled through the windows, bathing everything in a hazy, golden warmth, and for one dangerous, heart-stopping second San let himself imagine you as his completely — his sweet little wifey, wearing only a tiny apron knotted around your waist, full breasts completely bare and swaying gently with every movement, nipples stiff from the cool air.

That soft, puffy little cunt of yours still glistening and swollen from the thick, creamy load he’d pumped into you that morning, slow, shiny trails of his seed tracing lazy paths down your inner thighs while you cooked dinner for your family like the perfect, depraved little housewife you were born to be.

San’d step up behind you, bend you over the counter, and sink back inside that warm, welcoming heat — deep and unhurried, no rush, no tiny voices to interrupt, just the wet, obscene sounds of your slick walls stretching around every thick inch while he pressed open-mouthed kisses of your neck and whispered how fucking exquisite you looked carrying his baby again.

He’d almost done it that day. Almost pressed the heavy, aching length of his cock against the soft, plush curve of your ass and let you feel exactly how desperately hard the thought made him.

Instead San’d cleared his throat, thanked you for dinner in that low, strained rasp, and vanished into his office to fist his throbbing shaft furiously into a tissue, teeth sunk deep into his knuckles so the broken moan of your name wouldn’t echo through the quiet house.

The tension had been thickening for weeks now, slow and merciless, like warm honey spreading beneath his skin until every breath felt too tight, too heavy.

Every accidental brush of your fingers when you passed him coffee. Every time you breathed “Mr. Choi” in that sweet, slightly breathless voice that shot straight to his balls. Every night he came home to find you curled on the couch with one of the twins fast asleep on your chest, your hand stroking the boy’s back so gently while you scrolled on your phone.

San would freeze in the dark hallway, cock pulsing painfully against the front of his slacks, wondering how it would feel to replace that soft little hand with his own — bigger, rougher, calloused from years of barely holding on, sliding under your shirt to cup the warm, full weight of your breast while he fucked you slow and deep, letting you feel every swollen vein, every heavy throb, every inch of the thick cock you’d been secretly aching for.

He was losing the battle.

And today was his first real day off in forever; he was finished pretending.

The twins had drifted off without a single protest, their soft breathing the only sound left in the house. Blissful silence wrapped around everything like a secret. San stood in his bedroom, towel slung dangerously low on his hips, dark hair still damp and tousled from the light sheen of sweat earned chasing the boys across the yard earlier. His cock was already half-hard, thickening against the soft fabric just from the memory of you laughing on the grass, cheeks flushed a delicate pink, shirt riding up to bare that tempting strip of smooth skin along your stomach.

He needed release. Badly. He needed to curl his fingers around his aching length and stroke himself senseless to thoughts of you until the gnawing hunger finally eased.

He padded barefoot into the bathroom, the heavy glass door clicking shut behind him like a promise sealed in steam. Hot water roared to life beneath his fingertips, thick clouds already curling lazily around the marble walls and turning the air with something heavy, intimate, almost sacred in its sinfulness.

And there they were — draped over the edge of the tub like the universe had decided to gift him the most obscene temptation imaginable.

Your pale pink lace panties from yesterday. Still faintly damp. Still carrying that faint, intoxicating trace of your sweet, musky warmth.

San’s breath caught sharply in his throat. His cock surged to full, rigid hardness so violently his vision blurred at the edges. He didn’t hesitate for a single second.

He stepped beneath the scalding cascade of water, snatched the delicate scrap of lace, and pressed the ruined fabric straight to his face, inhaling like a man starved for weeks. The heady essence of you flooded his senses - creamy-sweet and warm and unmistakably feminine, laced with that soft whisper of laundry detergent, and his mind short-circuited completely.

“Fuck…” A low, broken groan escaped from San's lips, the sound reverberating against the wet fabric.

He curled his fist tightly around the thick, veined length of his cock and began stroking it in long, deliberate movements, which made the ridges of his sculpted abdomen flex and his heavy scrotum draw up tightly against his body. Scorching water poured down the broad expanse of his chest, tracing every defined line of muscle, every sharp cut of his hips, making the veins along his forearm stand proud as he pumped himself harder, slower, savoring the deep, pulsing ache.

San ground the lace more firmly against his nose and mouth, tongue tracing lazy, greedy paths over the spot where your arousal had dried, sucking the delicate fabric between his lips as though he could truly taste the warm, dripping heat of your pretty little pussy for real.

The fantasy slammed into him again, vivid and merciless.

You stood there in nothing but that tiny apron, bent over the kitchen table, back arched like an offering, thighs spread wide and trembling with anticipation. That soft, swollen cunt of yours glistened invitingly, puffy lips parted and already leaking slow, creamy trails from the thick load he’d pumped deep inside you that morning. He’d grip your hips with firm, possessive hands, push in deep and unhurried, letting you feel every heavy, veined inch stretch your fluttering walls open while your full tits swayed heavily beneath you, nipples tight and begging for his mouth, his fingers, his teeth.

The image burned behind his closed eyelids, vivid and merciless, every detail sharpened by weeks of pent-up hunger. San could almost hear the wet, obscene sounds your body would make around him — the slick slide of skin on skin, your soft gasps turning into broken whimpers as he rocked into you with that slow, deliberate rhythm, claiming you right there in the golden afternoon light while dinner simmered forgotten on the stove. He could almost feel the way your walls would clench and flutter around his thick length, milking him, pulling him deeper, your voice whispering his name like the perfect, depraved little wifey you were meant to be.

He was so lost in it, so completely fucking gone in his sweet fantasy, that he didn’t hear the soft creak of the bathroom door opening.

The house was blissfully, dangerously quiet for once.

The twins, those tiny whirlwinds with San’s dimpled smile and endless fire — had finally surrendered to their afternoon nap after tearing through the backyard like miniature storms. You’d tucked them in with their favorite blankets, brushed soft kisses across their foreheads, and slipped from the nursery on silent feet, heart still fluttering from the way Mr. Choi had looked at you over breakfast.

Just a glance, really, those dark feline eyes lingering a heartbeat too long as you leaned down to wipe jam from one little cheek, but it had been enough to make your thighs press together beneath the kitchen table, a treacherous warmth already blooming low in your belly.

Mr. Choi San. Your boss. The single father who somehow balanced being the most devoted dad in the world with the kind of devastating, fuckable presence that ruined your panties every single day. Lately, the air between you had thickened into something electric, something alive and crackling every time your fingers brushed when handing him his coffee or when he thanked you in that low, velvet rasp that always sounded like a filthy promise wrapped in perfect politeness.

The two of you had fallen into an easy, dangerously comfortable rhythm. The twins adored you, Mr. Choi was kind and respectful, the pay was generous, and you could almost convince yourself you were content, if not for the slow, simmering heat that had thickened between you like warm, sticky honey, sweet and impossible to ignore.

It started with stolen glances and grew into something far hungrier. You felt it in the treacherous slickness that bloomed between your thighs whenever he was near: every accidental brush in the narrow hallway when his clean, masculine scent made your breath hitch; the way his gaze dragged slowly over your body a second too long when you bent to gather toys or chased the boys across the living room in those tiny shorts.

You pretended it wasn’t there, but the air always sparked when your hands touched or when you caught yourself staring too hard at the way his gray sweatpants hung obscenely low on his hips in the mornings, the soft fabric doing nothing to hide the heavy outline beneath.

Today was different. His first real day off in forever. No work. No schedule. Just him, finally home, finally able to breathe.

You’d heard the shower start twenty minutes ago, the low, steady rush of water through the old pipes, the faint metallic clink of the glass door sliding shut. You should have stayed downstairs. Folded laundry. Prepped dinner. Anything but what you were doing now: creeping down the upstairs hallway like a thief in your own skin, drawn by some invisible, irresistible thread you couldn’t name and didn’t want to fight.

The bathroom door wasn’t fully closed.

Just a careless crack. A single tempting inch left open because San had been distracted when he stepped inside. You told yourself you were only checking if he needed anything, fresh towels, maybe, or a glass of water. But the second you reached the door, you froze, breath catching in your throat.

Steam curled out in lazy, fragrant tendrils, carrying the rich, woodsy scent of his body wash that always made your head spin whenever he passed you in the narrow hallway. And there, through that narrow gap, was San.

Naked. Gorgeous. Leaning back against the cool tiled wall beneath the scorching spray, one of his broad palms pressed against his face, the other wrapped around the thick, heavy length of his cock. Water cascaded down his body in glistening rivers — tracing the sharp cut of his collarbones, the defined ridges of his abs that flexed with every slow, deliberate stroke, the deep V of his hips melting into to where he was touching himself.

God, he was bigger than you’d ever dared imagine in your filthiest late-night fantasies. Thick, veined, flushed a deep, furious shade at the swollen tip where beads of precum mixed with the falling water. His hand moved with lazy, confident glides, long and firm from base to crown, thumb sweeping over the sensitive slit on every upward pass, twisting just enough at the head to make his powerful thighs tense and quiver.

His head was tipped back, lips parted on a silent breath, dark hair plastered to his forehead in wet strands. A low, guttural groan rumbled from deep in his chest as when he removed his hand from his face and instead slid down to cup the heavy weight of his balls, rolling them slowly, tugging with gentle pressure. The sound shot straight between your legs like a spark to dry tinder.

But it wasn’t just him.

Now, you could see it, draped over his face. pressed tight against his nose and mouth like he was drowning in your scent, were your panties.

Your dirty panties. The pale pink lace pair you’d worn yesterday. The ones you’d peeled off after a long, frustrating day of chasing the twins and trying desperately not to stare at the way Mr. Choi’s work slacks hugged his perfect ass. You’d left them draped over the tub after your own shower last night, meaning to grab them this morning but forgetting in the breakfast rush. Now they were soaked — partly from the shower spray, mostly from the way San was grinding his face into the crotch, eyes squeezed shut, breathing you in like a man on the verge of starvation.

“Fuck… you smell so fucking good.” Mr. Choi muttered, voice wrecked and low, barely audible over the steady rush of water. His tongue dragged a slow, obscene stripe along the ruined fabric where your arousal had dried. “My little nanny’s been soaked for me… haven’t you, chagiya?”

Your knees nearly buckled. Heat flooded your face, your chest, your dripping core. Your hand flew to your mouth to stifle the whimper clawing its way up your throat, but your other hand traitorous, desperate — slid down your stomach, under the waistband of your loose sleep shorts, and straight into your panties. You were drenched. Embarrassingly, shamefully drenched. Two fingers parted your slick, swollen folds and began circling your throbbing clit, matching the lazy rhythm of San’s hand on his cock without you even meaning to.

You could see it in the way his strokes turned faster, sloppier, almost frantic — each slick drag of his fist desperate and uncontrolled. His breathing fractured into broken, ragged gasps that echoed off the wet tiles like a filthy confession. One hand gripped the thick base of his cock hard, squeezing viciously at the root as if he could wring out a few more precious seconds of torment, while his other hand rose to his face again, crushing your panties tighter against it.

His nose buried deep into the soaked fabric, right where your swollen clit would have pulsed hot and needy against his tongue if you were spread open for him — thighs trembling, dripping pussy offered like a gift he was dying to devour. The scent of you filled his lungs with every greedy inhale, driving him closer to the brink, until his hips jerked helplessly and that low, wrecked moan slipped from his lips like a prayer.

You thrust your fingers faster and deeper into your soaked pussy, chasing that blinding edge with shameless hunger. Your thumb rubbed frantic, desperate circles over your throbbing little clit, each slick swirl sending white-hot sparks racing up your spine. The wet, filthy sounds of your own dripping arousal—obscene, greedy, soaked—filled your ears, loud and shameless even over the steady roar of the shower cascading down your trembling body.

Your thighs shook violently, muscles clenching and quivering as pleasure coiled tighter, threatening to shatter you. Your free hand braced hard against the doorframe, nails digging deep into the wood until faint crescent marks bloomed across it, the only thing keeping you upright while your legs threatened to buckle beneath the relentless ache.

San’s head dropped forward, forehead pressing to the cool tile as he fucked his fist with brutal, unrelenting need.

“Gonna come… fuck, gonna paint these pretty little panties and make you wear my mess for the rest of the day…” His voice cracked into a deep, animalistic groan that reverberated off the wet tiles like a filthy promise.

His cock jerked violently in his grip. In one swift, desperate motion he yanked your soaked panties from his face and held the delicate lace open like a filthy offering right in front of his throbbing length. Then he was coming—hard.

Thick, heavy ropes of cum erupted in pulsing jets, splattering the inside of your lace, flooding the delicate fabric with creamy white streaks that dripped slowly down the soaked material, mixing with the shower spray and the faint, lingering trace of your own dried slick.

The sight of Mr. Choi, your perfect golden-hearted boss, marking your dirty little secret with his hot, messy load while he moaned your name like a broken prayer, sent you spiraling over the edge right along with him. Your greedy cunt clenched viciously around your fingers as a silent, shattering orgasm tore through you, so violent your vision whited out for a heartbeat. You rode the waves against the doorframe, biting down hard on your knuckle to choke back the cry, legs shaking like the floor had vanished beneath you.

For one long, suspended moment the only sounds were the shower still pounding and the ragged breathing of two people burning alive on opposite sides of the same cracked door, completely unaware of each other.

San slowly lowered your ruined panties, staring at the obscene, sticky mess he’d made with dark, satisfied eyes. A lazy, wicked little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he thumbed a thick streak of his own cum across the lace, spreading it slowly, deliberately, like he was claiming every single thread.

The house was quiet for once—blissfully, dangerously quiet.

And the tension that had been building for months was finally, finally about to snap.

The shower was still running, hot water beating down like a second, frantic heartbeat against his skin, but San wasn’t finished. Not even close.

His first release had torn through him like lightning—thick ropes of cum painting your panties white and filthy where he’d held them open like a sacred, filthy trophy. He’d growled your name under his breath, hips jerking, heavy sac pulsing as he emptied himself in shuddering waves. But the moment the last drop left him, the ache only sharpened, twisted deeper inside his veins like a drug he couldn’t quit. His cock stayed rock-hard, flushed a dark, furious shade, still twitching against the carved lines of his abs like it refused to be denied.

“Fuck… not enough.” San growled, voice low and shattered, raw with need.

He slid down the slick tiled wall until his knees met the wet floor with a heavy thud. Water streamed over the broad expanse of his shoulders, tracing every deep groove along his spine, pooling around his powerful thighs as he knelt there like a man utterly possessed. One hand slammed against the shower wall for balance, veins standing proud along his forearm, while the other curled back around his oversensitive length—still slick with his own release and the endless spray. He gave one slow, testing glide and hissed sharply at the burning sting of overstimulation, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

He tossed your ruined panties onto the shower floor in front of him. They landed with a wet slap, cum-streaked lace fanned open like an invitation, and San stared at them as if they were you—spread wide, waiting, glistening just for him. His hips rolled forward, driving into the tight tunnel of his fist with long, deliberate strokes.

The motion was pure obscenity: powerful ass clenching and releasing with every thrust, thick muscles in his glutes and thighs rippling beneath glistening skin. Rivulets raced down his back, catching on every sculpted line—broad shoulders, tapered waist, the tempting dimples at the base of his spine that vanished into the cleft of that perfect, firm ass. He looked like living, luxurious depravity, like a private performance crafted to ruin whoever was lucky enough to witness it. Every snap of his hips made his thick cock disappear completely into his fist, only to reappear slick and throbbing, the swollen head angry and already weeping fresh beads of precum.

“Goddamn… look at you.” He muttered, eyes half-lidded and dark, staring at the panties like they could whisper back. His voice dropped lower, that velvet growl turning downright filthy. “Such a pretty little nanny… always so gentle and warm with my boys. Bet you’d feel even sweeter bent over my kitchen table, huh? Tiny apron tied around your waist, nothing else. Tits bare and heavy for me… leaking warm milk while I fuck another baby deep into this fertile little belly.”

His strokes quickened, wet sounds echoing off the tiles—obscene, rhythmic, addictive. He was gone now, hips snapping with increasing force, ass bouncing with every powerful drive into his hand. The fantasy poured from him in a hungry, broken stream, each filthy word dripping with raw, possessive hunger.

“Fuck, yes, just like that, my little wife.” San growled, voice wrecked and dripping with raw hunger. “Spread those soft thighs wider for me. Let Daddy see how swollen and greedy your pretty cunt gets after I’ve filled you so full.”

His free hand left the shower wall just long enough to cup his heavy balls, tugging them downward with a firm, possessive squeeze, rolling the sensitive weight in his palm while his hips kept driving into his fist with long, filthy strokes.

“You’d look so fucking exquisite like that… cooking dinner with my cum still trickling down your smooth thighs. Belly rounded and glowing, tits swaying heavy with every step. I’d take you right there—slow and deep, make you feel every thick, veined inch stretching that tight, fluttering hole wide open.”

You were still frozen outside the cracked door, heart hammering so loudly you were sure it would give you away. Your hand had slipped back inside your shorts, fingers buried deep in your soaked, fluttering heat, pumping in quick, desperate little thrusts that mirrored the sinful roll of his hips. You felt shameless, spying like a desperate little pervert from the shadows, cheeks burning, thighs quivering—but you couldn’t stop. Not when he was painting pictures like that, each word sinking straight into your dripping core.

San’s head tipped forward, water streaming off his dark hair in shining trails, and then the switch happened. His saturi slipped out thick and low, that rough drawl wrapping every syllable in pure, filthy hometown heat.

“Jagiya… my little wif.” He rasped, voice cracking as he fucked his fist faster, the words melting together in that thick, rolling accent. “Your tight little cunt… clenching so fucking perfect around Daddy’s cock.” The syllables blurred into half-moaned, half-growled promises of breeding you deep, claiming you completely, making you his forever. “Cum for me… gonna make you my wife… take every last drop of my cum deep inside that greedy little hole…”

You bit your lip until it bled, fingers curling hard against that spongy spot inside your dripping heat, thumb grinding frantic circles over your swollen clit. The coil inside you wound tighter, tighter—your free hand braced white-knuckled on the doorframe, knees shaking so violently you were sure they’d give out.

San’s thrusts turned wild and erratic, hips snapping with raw power, ass flexing in tight, powerful waves that sent water spraying across the tiles. Every muscle in his body gleamed—abs contracting sharply, veins bulging along his forearms as he braced and fucked and completely lost himself.

“Fuck…gonna cum again, gonna fill you up, wife…gonna…ah, shit!”

His head snapped back against the tile with a wet thud, eyes rolling white as a long, broken moan tore from his throat and echoed off the walls like a dark, possessive claim. His cock jerked violently in his grip, shooting thick, creamy ropes of cum across your discarded panties again — splattering the delicate lace, the wet floor, even the tiled wall in heavy, pulsing jets while he kept stroking through every last spurt, milking himself mercilessly until his powerful body shuddered and trembled with the raw force of it.

At the exact same moment, you shattered too — hard, silent, devastating. Your cunt clamped down around your fingers like a vice, a hot gush of wetness soaking straight through your shorts as your vision whited out completely. You biting down hard on your knuckle until it throbbed, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming, shattering intensity.

The second it passed, panic crashed over you like ice water.

You yanked your hand free, spun on trembling legs, and fled down the hallway as quietly as you could — bare feet silent on the carpet, heart hammering so loudly you were terrified it would betray you. You didn’t dare look back. You slipped into your bedroom, shut the door with the softest click, and leaned back against it, chest heaving, thighs slick and shaking uncontrollably.

Nothing would ever be the same. You both knew it.

Inside the bathroom, San stayed on his knees for another long, breathless minute, water still pouring over the broad, glistening planes of his shoulders. His cock gave one last weak twitch in his hand before he finally released it. A slow, dangerous smirk curved his lips as he reached down and picked up your thoroughly ruined panties — now twice as filthy, heavy and dripping with his warm cum and the shower spray.

He brought them to his face one last time, inhaling deep and slow, savoring the intoxicating mix of your scent and his, then folded the soaked lace carefully in his fist.

“Oh, baby…” he murmured to the empty room, voice still husky and dark with promise. “You have no idea what you just started.”

He shut off the water, stepped out, and wrapped a towel low around his waist — your panties clutched tight in his other hand like a filthy little secret he had every intention of keeping.

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part I @tiny-apocalypse @captain-joongz @alicedawitchbish @woohwababes @wlv-asteria @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisprincesss @lavishloving @teagietots @spooo00oky @sousydive @hwapou @bunnliix @softwsan @mjyungi @fantasy2wonderland @noirsfantasy @cassies-cookies @renaholicss @luffypants @hyukssunflower @watermelon2319 @peachygiku @bunnyxoxodarling @stolasisyourparent @soranosnowbunny @certifiedmoa @sanglix @slvtiny @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hecateslittlewitchling @xxawl @pastellbunno @starlletsblog @seonghwasstar @hwanring @vtyb23 @pearltinyy @minjaeum @chasevixx @bomi-ja @onedumbho3 @sanglix @cursedeastern @itza-meee @pinkies-things @atinism @mxnsxngie @nenefix-on @therealcuppicake @annafeebou @sharksandminhos @@lixies-pixieboy @@vampzity @0rangemilk @yellow-foxxing @claimmeyourprincess

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part II @unholywriters @hey-syia @hrts4nohee @vnessalau @mlink64 @tessakleine @fr34k4c1dr41n @313hwa @lilyuwon @tiziamattaga @un-knew @wiaxul @siyah-staryis @seonghwasbbgirl @mingisfavgf @bunnyluvr25 @roserperfume @lose-lose07 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lelaleleb @bubblebisk @silverlight-h @ chloe-elise-2000 @cookiesandcreammy @mxnsxngie @ghostlovesworld @i-love-ateez @mingisprincesss @vampscan @peachygiku @vampqueen777 @miyaluvvsyou @stay-tiny-things @moondanse94 @thyvessel

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part III @yyaurii @infrenchexit @sanniesbum @jaxyy219 @lostxxgirl @m1sss1mp @manipulatedstars @cotton-candycloudz @kienhawon @flowerxsin @londonbridges01 @fluffyyongbokie @sang-09 @hobarihope @sanniesaur @luvbit3z @sanriomilk @s4erin @sanhwalvr @mallielovssyou @slytherinslays @your-bloodbag @cherricola-star @passionandsuga @hwasangel @yyaurii @nevermoreraven1 @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @unholywriters @mortal-advocate @heiswan @ninalove323 @freckl ypotato @staytinyluva @xcallmetaniax @julessworldduh @gayforbobandothers @jujusreader @onysmamas @lady-haitani @zzhengyu @scardorosht @lucyspage @vairytalier @fics-on9024