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.
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.
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.
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.
⚜ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: choi san x f!reader
⚜ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: the tour is over, but san can't rest just yet. he is to attend a fashion show in another country. he is homesick, and tired. he misses his family, and his members, even though they just parted ways two days ago. still, his eyes can't help but catch someone who is having an equally hard time, if not harder. his sweet, lovely assistant.
⚜ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 22.3k
⚜ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: idol!san, personalassistant!reader, angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, heartbreak
⚜ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: just here to say that i'm a sucker for soft sannie. the reader isn't necessarily petite, choi san is simply that big. i spent forever editing, deleting, rewriting, proofreading. i am spent. if you see any typos, pls ignore <3 i'll eventually reread and convince myself that nobody saw anything if there is any embarrassing typos
⚜ 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.
⚜ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞.
𓆩⟡𓆪
sore feet. swollen ankles. aching arms. dry mouth. eyelids that barely stay separated. little to no free time.
all those are consequences of your not-so-new position that kq has generously offered you. and you have accepted. being choi san's personal assistant had its perks, too. opportunities you could only ever dream of, such as visiting countries you always thought unreachable or expensive, meeting celebrities, even interacting with them, following san to his separate activities. each member had his own assistant. when you applied, you didn't care who you'd work for. you loved them all equally. after all, you have been a fan of theirs since debut.
they didn't need to know that, though. they would've never hired you, had they known that you were a faithful atiny. they wouldn't have believed you even if you swore that you were there to work only, not spy on them or anything similar. you would never do that. you guarded each information about them with your life, and took your job very seriously. being this close to them allowed you to admire them even more, see parts of them nobody else could. the pain, the suffering, the hard work, the love they share for each other, the quarrels, the playful moments. all of it. and you wouldn't do anything to sabotage that.
not even when you were informed that you weren't going back home as planned. choi san will need you with him at the milan fashion week after all. and you were no fool to decline.
even as you stand next to him, ready to exit the hotel, barely keeping your eyes open and your posture perfect.
"stay." he stops you by gently grabbing your elbow, pulling you back before you could step outside and be the first victim of the screams and flashing lights. "you will pass out."
"i'm fine, really." you force a smile. san looks at you, kind eyes filled with worry.
"don't lie to me, please." his voice is a mere whisper. "stay. you can join me at the after party."
you shake your head. you aren't leaving his side. not today. he will need all the support he can get, and even though you are having a hard time yourself, he isn't in any better condition. he misses home, undoubtedly. more than that, he misses sleep. "where you go, i go. i'm bound to you by contract, choi san. you cannot get rid of me just yet."
he chuckles, the sound dear to your heart.
"at least not for another six months, until it expires. or gets renewed, unlucky for you."
he delivers a playful pinch to your side, making you jump and yelp. you slap a hand over your mouth, mortified at the sudden attention that the entire floor of the hotel has given you. hurriedly, you exit the hotel, opening the door of the limousine and waiting for san to greet his fans. his figure is hugged by perfectly ironed black slacks, which you may or may not have almost forgotten to iron this morning, a loose black shirt, with one too many buttons left unbuttoned, and a necklace that sits on his tan chest. naked chest.
"you disapprove of my outfit?" he asks playfully, sipping on his champagne while the limousine smoothly glides over the busy streets of milan, waking each passerby's curiosity.
"not at all, mr choi." you reply equally playfully. you sit across him, maintaining your distance. "i think it's quite lovely. it will attract many fine ladies tonight."
he scoffs. "as if that's what i am looking for right now. oh, how i would kill for ten hours of sleep."
"two more days, mr choi. then, you'll be back home. you'll even miss all this, i assure you."
"i know i will." he sighs. "but right now, i'd rather miss my room and those chaotic idiots i call family."
𓆩⟡𓆪
surrounded by people, yet alone.
that is how you feel at almost every event that isn't a concert. all these people around you exude luxurious energy. the place reeks of expensive fragrances, and the red carpet is covered by all sorts of exquisite gowns. you feel like the odd one out, with your black suit pants and vest which san has picked for you.
"to match with me," he said. "it will look great."
and who were you to refuse him? after all, you were there to fulfill his wished and cater to his needs. free clothes were a bonus you didn't need, but also didn't mind. it is your first fashion show, and san knew that you were as nervous as him. worse, even.
"it will be over soon." he assured you, away from prying eyes. "we can sneak off the party earlier and go rest."
"you know, for people our age, it is a little weird that we aren't eagerly waiting for that after party to get wasted and brag about doing it with celebrities."
"i know, right?" the idol scoffs.
it is the last conversation you have before he gets pulled away into the crowd. his eyes don't leave yours, and a pout is evident on his lips. it is as if he is trying to ask you whether you'll be fine on your own. having no other choice, it doesn't even matter. it is not as if you can leave him here and go rest in your hotel room. you wish you could. he offered, but you'd feel guilty. behind the tough figure, choi san is a soft human. he is the epitome of the term gentle giant. you know that behind his offer he secretly wishes you don't leave him. moreover, he wishes you can follow him around. be in his pocket, he had once said.
your eyes lose his in the crowd, and suddenly, you feel alone. more alone than you've already felt since arriving. even though san is your boss, he is an idol to you first. your comfort person. he brought you peace, and he didn't even know it. you only wished you could do the same with him.
𓆩⟡𓆪
san stays at the after party.
you do not.
he has assured you that he will be fine and that he is perfectly capable of getting his own glass of water if needed. how that water turned into wine, you did not know. you saw the photos on social media. you'd recognize that flushed face from miles away.
as you sit outside on the hotel balcony of your room, with your gaze fixed on the clear night sky and a full moon, your phone vibrates on the glass table.
choi san: i know i told you to go
choi san: but iwas kinds hoping that you stayyed
choi san: am leavinthe place now, couldn't find youu
san seems to have developed a separation anxiety when it comes to you. even on your days off, the man blows up your phone with various messages and pictures, updating you on what he is doing and what you are missing. were he not an idol, and this your job, you would've mistaken it for something else.
your job as his personal assistant did not require you to follow him everywhere. choi san did. he simply needed to bring you along to the restaurant, to the convenience store, to the souvenir shop, to the café. you, and his bodyguard and manager. he would often complain, wishing to only be with you because he felt like he had more "freedom". the manager explained multiple times why it is a bad idea for a male idol to be seen with anyone who isn't a familiar staff member, especially in foreign cities. like paris.
choi san: aryou mad?????
choi san: :(
choi san: ok im ssorry
choi san: you're probbly asleep novv anyvvay
choi san: hey vvhere did the double v go?*
choi san: you knovv
choi san: the upside dovvn M??
choi san: englsh is funny..
choi san: i feel all fuzzy
choi san: i can't find the elevatr
choi san: ilostmybodyguardndmanger
choi san: maanagerr
choi san: icantseethespacebar
choi san: found it :D
choi san: i tripped on the stairs.
choi san: [image attached]
at the sight of his pouty face and slouched figure sitting on the hotel stairs, your fingers quickly tap the telephone icon in the corner of the screen. he doesn't pick up at first, and worry fills you. then, just as you reach the door to exit your room in search for him, he picks up.
"heya." he casually greets on the other side.
"mr choi." you sigh. "where are you?"
your heart races as someone knocks on your door, and luckily you stand right in front of it to take a peek of who it is. you see a single eye pressed against the peephole. an eye you'd recognize anywhere in the world. with your phone still in your hand, you open the door.
"hey, princess."
as much as the words make your head spin and your stomach fuzzy, you have to put a serious face on. "mr choi, we talked about this. you can't call me that."
"i can do whatever i want." he pouts. "i'm your boss."
"my tipsy boss." you correct. "come, i'll escort you to your room."
as you try passing him, he grabs you by your elbow once again, pressing you gently against the wall. air leaves your lungs. choi san dips his head towards yours so that he is at eye-level with you. "why do you wish to get rid of me so badly?"
"mr choi-"
"sannie."
"what?"
his bottom lip sticks out in a slight pout. such a big man, yet such a gentle heart. "not mr choi. sannie. call me sannie."
"no." you firmly decline. the last thing you need is to be heard by a staff member and get fired. not even san himself could prevent that happening. "i'll show you to your room."
"you're so mean to me." he whines, then enters your room.
"mr choi!" you whisper-yell, suddenly aware of the time. "get out of there, right now."
your words seem to go into one ear and out the other, as the man simply plops down on your bed. face buried into your pillows. the pillows where you just laid before getting bored and moving to the balcony.
a sigh leaves your lips, but you aren't defeated yet. you close the door for now, in case someone's curious eyes decide to wander. "mr choi."
"you're mean." he repeats, words muffled into the soft material. "you hate me."
"you're drunk."
suddenly, he raises his head, jaw dropped. "you aren't denying it. you do hate me!"
"oh for crying out loud." you throw your hands in the air, then make your way to the balcony doors and pull the curtains shut. his room and the managers room are directly in the opposite of yours, and one glance through the window might cost you your job. you then turn around, only to find him sitting with his back leaning against the headboard and arms crossed over his chest. his gaze is fixed on you, eyes squinted and lips pressed in a thin line. you can't help but roll your eyes. "i don't hate you, mr choi."
"lies."
"why are you making this difficult?" it is your turn to whine now. "i promise i don't hate you. you're the best boss in the whole world! now please, please, please let me escort you to your room."
for a moment, you think he will comply. he stands up. takes a few slow steps towards you. finally, you think. but then-
"why do you hate me when all i do is love you?"
-it feels as if all air has been sucked out of your lungs. your tongue is as dried up as a raisin, and a low murmur fills up your ears. san's gaze is intense, crushing your sanity and making the little professionalism that is left crumble beneath his posture. he almost hovers above you, and were someone to walk in, you're sure they wouldn't even see you from his broad shoulders and back. his hair is no longer neatly slicked back, instead disobedient and framing his face, the black complimenting his dark eyes. the eyes that do not flicker. do not blink. only stare at you, waiting for you to say something. anything. fuck.
"why do you keep pushing me away?" his voice is a mere whisper. soothing, not accusing. he wants a reason to be at peace with himself, not a reason to prove you wrong. "what have i done to you?"
"mr choi-" you manage to say. your voice is raspy, like you haven't drank anything for a long time. "you don't mean that. you won't even remember this in the morning."
"you can't call me by my name even when we are all alone?" he tilts his head, giving you sweet puppy eyes. "this isn't a test. i'm not testing your professionalism. i genuinely enjoy your company, i have for a long time now. fine, i might not love you... that was a bit strong. but i like you. i really do. i have feelings for you. i've had them for a while now."
you swallow a lump in your throat. god, you never thought that a confession from one of your favourite idols would hurt like this, if it ever happened. you're supposed to be over the roof, jumping on him, returning the feelings. instead, you gather the little sanity you have left and place your hand on his conveniently naked chest and gently push him away. why does he have to be so warm and inviting? "forced proximity."
"what?"
"forced proximity, mr choi." you repeat, doing your best to maintain eye contact. you need to be strong and firm. he cannot see any shift in emotion. san is observant, always has been. but right now, you can't let him know that pushing him away is hurting you as much as it is hurting him. "you don't like me. you just have the illusion of liking me."
"are you..." he scoffs, taking a step back before continuing, "are you saying i don't know my own feelings? that i am wrong?"
"what i'm saying is that after spending so much time with someone for so long, you are bound to develop a certain... how do i put this?" you sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you think. "delusion. or illusion. whichever you wish."
"you're calling me delusional?" san suddenly seems less tipsy. like this conversation has magically sobered him up. and angered him. "i cannot believe you."
"i'm not calling you delusional. i'm calling these... feelings, i guess, delusional. they don't exist. you might feel comfort, or some type of safety with me. but romantic feelings? think deep down, mr choi. why would you have feelings for me?"
when you said that, you didn't mean for him to actually start listing things. but he does. one by one, and he doesn't stop.
"you're so sweet, and caring. you wouldn't hurt an ant. i know because every time we walk, you tend to look on the ground and walk around ant hills, or any bugs that might be on the floor. you yelled at the manager for stepping on a snail the other day. you care for all members equally, which makes me insanely jealous, because you are my assistant, but i can't deny that it makes me equally happy and warm when i see you do that. you always ask me before creating my schedule, give me choices, even though you don't have to. you give me many days off, you tell the company off many times if you think they are being unfair, you never complain about the tasks you are given, you bring me things without me having to ask, you are here whenever i need you, and you respect my private time and my space. not once did i hear you complaining, not once did you refuse to do what you were told, not once did i see a frown on your face, other than when the management pisses you off. you are the prettiest thing i've ever seen, and just looking at you makes me feel well rested even though i haven't slept. your voice is something i'll never hear anywhere else again, and it's always in my head. when i read your messages, i hear you. when you're not beside me, i hear you. and i hate when you're not beside me. i want you with me all the time, i want you with me behind the cameras, behind the manager, behind the company. i want to take you to a café in paris if i want to. i want to take pictures with you on the bridge in amsterdam. i want to sit on the london eye with you. i want you to open up to me like i open up to you. i want to know what troubles you, not only what makes you happy. i want you to find comfort in me, as much as i find comfort in you. i. want. you."
san becomes blurry before your eyes. were it not for the lack of lights, he would've seen how hard you're trying to keep the tears from spilling. he is making it hard. so hard that you can almost hear your heart snap in half when the sentence leaves your lips. "that is just me doing my job, mr choi."
and you swear you hear his heart burst as well. pain. rejection. heartbreak. it swallows him whole. his figure shrinks, and his voice is small. barely audible. "what?"
"why..." you clear your throat, trying to get rid of the painful lump that is stuck inside it. "why else do you think i do all of it? it is my job. haven't you wondered why i never open up to you? why you only see me at my best? i cannot burden you. you are my boss. you cannot know these things about me. i am here to make your life easier, were it by bringing you a coffee or simply listening to you rant. what you feel for me might be simple fondness, one you might have for a friend. you notice these things because i am constantly by your side. you demand i be by your side. if i don't, you're all grumpy and a menace to the staff to the point that i have to show up whether or not the events have anything to do with me. you've developed separation anxiety, mr choi. you found comfort in me simply because i am the one by your side at all times. were it someone else instead of me, the story would be the same. in conclusion, forced proximity is the answer here. nothing more."
his words die in his mouth. his brows are furrowed. he is hurt. and angry. he has every right to be. you did this to him. you took a loving, kind man and destroyed him. and you'll never forgive yourself, ever. you'll see his face every night before falling asleep as guilt eats you whole.
but you'd feel even more guilty if you indulged. yes, your feelings for him do exist. but what you said isn't completely wrong. san might be under the impression that he likes you, even loves you. but san hasn't had much interaction with anyone else as much as with you. you cannot take his freedom away. he needs to meet other people, he can't settle for you. you wouldn't be the right match. it wouldn't be right in anyone's eyes. after all, you are a fan. he might not know it, or he does. either way, you'd feel weird. as if you took advantage of your position and hypnotized him into being with you. the rest of the fandom would find out eventually, and they wouldn't be kind. hell, they would show up with torches beneath your window, you're sure of it. and you'd maybe do the same, were you to find out that choi san is dating an atiny who just happened to get a job at his company and had the opportunity to work with him.
"okay." he simply says.
you don't respond. the weight of sadness on your chest is too heavy, as is the weight of his gaze.
"good night, miss y/n."
"good night, mr choi."
and suddenly, the words mr choi feel like poison on your tongue.
𓆩⟡𓆪
"you know how i never complain about my job?" you finally catch the manager alone in the hallway once you return to seoul. he is headed somewhere in a hurry, but it is the only chance you have to talk to him.
"no. what's that like?" he simply responds, eyes glued to his phone screen.
"funny. anyways, i don't know how to put this, so i'll just say it." you speed up your pace, only to stand in front of him to block his way and force him to listen to you. "i'd like to switch with jaz."
he almost bumps into you, not aware that you have planted yourself on the ground until you get what you want. "you want to switch? why?"
"i just think that it isn't a good idea to be with the same member for a long time. if you know what i mean."
you're playing a dirty game. and you hope jaz doesn't find out. "you mean... you think there's something going on between jaz and mingi?"
"i didn't say anything." and you wouldn't, usually. but it is the only excuse in your book. you cannot possibly tell him about san's confession. "i just think it would do us all good if we switched places. to avoid favoritism."
in truth, you cannot be near san. the trip back was painful enough, with san avoiding you like the plague. he refused to talk to anyone, really. but only you took it personal. because it was. he had only spared you a glance once you passed by his seat on the plane, and a worried one when one of the fansites almost tripped you. other than that, choi san has maintained his distance from you. it's for the best, anyway.
"you're right.i'll think about it, then text the new pairs in the group chat tonight."
"thank you, sihun. you're the best."
the manager simply rolls his eyes, then circles around you and continues his journey.
in the evening, you receive the long awaited message. you hadn't notified anyone, in case they decide to rebel and talk the manager into dropping the issue. this way it will already be decided, and they won't have any luck in changing his mind. when did you become so mean and selfish?
good evening, everyone.
it has come to my attention that a lot of you have become very comfortable with your idol, while some are still struggling to find a common language with theirs. thus, i have decided to reassign your positions in hopes of switching up the dynamics a little bit. the new pairs will be:
hongjoong and eric
seonghwa and jaz
yunho and gyuri
yeosang and y/n
san and melanie
mingi and thomas
wooyoung and hyori
jongho and sooe
no complaints, i don't want to hear it. this pairing will come into effect tomorrow. good luck.
the separate groupchat, without the manager, is flooded with texts. who ratted who out, plots of convincing the manager to change his mind, even going as far as convincing the members to say something. you occasionally respond with a witty or sarcastic message, trying to blend in and not seem suspicious. jaz and mingi would never forgive you if they knew.
𓆩⟡𓆪
kang yeosang is a sweetheart.
he is so sweet that it is painful. he feels almost fragile, and speaks so softly to you. he doesn't ask anything of you, even when you offer. yunho, mingi and him are the only ones in the practice room so far, aside from you and a few other staff members, preparing new moves for the choreography before others arrive. the rest had the privilege of sleeping in, putting all their trust in the three dancers of the group.
the boys haven't complained about the coupling so far, yunho and gyuri already bickering playfully like siblings and yeosang making small talk with you. mingi is in the corner with thomas as the assistant shows him something on the phone, but you notice how distant mingi looks. it's not like they won't see each other ever again. besides, it would've been too suspicious to ask to only switch you and san.
"i haven't had the chance to say this, or the guts, but i love your hair." yeosang catches you off guard. "it's so pretty."
the doors open, with san entering first. his smile drops from his lips as his eyes lock with you. you don't notice him yet, and it gives him a chance to collect himself. until his gaze lands on yeosang's fingers twirling with the ends of your hair. what the fuck?
"i want to do that for the comeback. talk my hairstylist into it, please?" his fingers smoothly run through the freshly dyed lock of hair. you're happy that it is obedient this morning and not a tangled and frizzy mess. "think i could pull it off?"
"of course you could. you're kang yeosang, you can pull anything off." you playfully nudge him with your elbow. "just don't do the hongjoong fireworks coconut cut, pretty please. that still haunts him. and us."
yeosang giggles, in his own cute yeosang way. he really isn't much different off cameras. "noted."
with that, his fingers slide from your hair, letting it fall and frame your face again. as you turn around, smile still on your face, you find yourself bumping into someone. "oh, sorr-"
firm hands hold onto your waist, steadying you. you don't expect it, especially since you weren't really about to lose your balance. as if this very person just wanted an excuse to put their hands on you. you look up, confused at first. and then, that lump in your throat. san's hands are stiff on your waist, afraid that you'll perish if he lets go of you. he gives you the softest expression you've ever seen, with dark glossy eyes hidden under half closed eyelids, relaxed brows and pretty lips. "gosh, you're so pretty."
words are caught in your throat. you look around, frantically. nobody hears him, you think. your hands find themselves once again planted on his chest, pushing him away. it's what you do best these days. "mr choi-"
"right, sorry." he clears his throat, and just like that, his expression shifts. no emotion is visible on his pretty face. at least not when he looks your way.
you don't get the chance to tell him that you have been separated. he walks over to yunho and mingi who are observing the video they took earlier of the new possible choreography.
"you know, i'm actually so happy i get to work with san. he was my first pick when we first got hired. but you stole him." the redhead, melanie, beams next to you. "oh, just look at him."
you don't want to. but you do anyway. to anyone else, san looks like he is immersed into the video. but you see the subtle glances he is stealing, trying to control himself but not being able to. even though you aren't standing close to each other, he suddenly feels suffocated. he can hear you, smell you, feel you. he walks over to the wall covered in mirrors, thinking that the further distance might help. but his eyes inevitably land on you through the mirror. and this time, you don't look away.
"he has gotten so big and muscular." melanie's commentary is golden as the two of you play an imaginary game of holding eye contact. as if the world will crumble if one of you looks away.
san does indeed look handsome today. he wears a black compression shirt and black sweatpants. his hair is a fluffy mess. he hates combing. even though his shirt is long sleeved, it is so tight that it hugs every curve and dip of his muscles, feeding you sights you are so privileged to see. were you an atiny still behind a fan account, you would've begged him to put you in a headlock. now? you have to force yourself to look away before you become a tomato on the spot.
"what's it like?" she pries. "working with him."
"it's..." everything. "okay, i guess. he's not mischievous, he listens to everything i say. he's nice."
"oh, i can't wait. how does he like his coffee? does he like sweet or savory? what's his favourite dish?"
throughout the dance practice, melanie talks your ear off. first with questions, then with shameless comments. at one point, you have to stop her. "you're not here as a fan. you can't say things like that. it's disrespectful."
"boo-hoo. miss perfect here can't handle a few comments." the redhead rolls her eyes. "they're grown men."
"okay." you give up. san will handle it. he has boundaries. one comment from her and she'll go straight back to her father who arranged this job for her.
"i'm craving an iced coffee..." yeosang approaches you, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. who was the idol here again? "would you maybe mind going to the shop across the street and getting one for me? and whatever you wish for yourself, of course."
a black card is placed in your hand. "don't ask me these things, mr kang. just give me an order and i'll do it."
"i can't do that and you know it." he laughs shyly. "but please, would you? i would be grateful."
"of course, mr kang."
the boys are taking a break, and conveniently, san stands right next to the door. he eyes you as you approach him, biting the inside of his cheek. "where are you going?"
"to get yeo his coffee."
"yeo?" he scoffs. "his coffee? since when are you his assistant?"
"since last night." you simply reply.
he doesn't expect it. his brows seem to stay furrowed these days, you being the reason behind it. "what do you mean?"
"our positions were reassigned. i am no longer your personal assistant." you say it so nonchalantly. like you don't care. and you admire yourself for it. you didn't know you had it in you. “melanie is.”
"you're lying." his demeanor switches from tough to disappointed, with his arms no longer crossed over his chest but hanging on the sides of his body. "tell me you're lying."
"why would i lie about something like that?" you don't allow him to continue interrogating you, instead exiting the practice room.
he follows, ignoring the calls behind him. "wait!"
"mr choi, i have been given a task. please let me do my job."
"oh, so he's yeo, but i'm mr choi." bitterness is evident in his voice. "you're so- so-"
"what am i, mr choi?"
"mean." he finishes. he looks frustrated with himself. could he not have found a better word?
"i think i heard that one before from you, mr choi. do you wish for anything from the shop?"
"you know what?" he clenches his fists. he stands silent for a while, eyes roaming your face for any indication that you might be simply teasing him and that this is all just a harmless joke. but you don't budge. you look at him, yet it feels like you are looking through him. you don't care. this truly is just a job to you. "i'm glad we switched. at least melanie won't hurt me like you did."
the words make your blood boil. suddenly, you don't feel bad. "excuse me?"
"i poured my heart out to you, and you-"
"do not fucking guilt trip me." you raise your voice. a light gasp leaves his lips, and his fists unclench. he takes a step back as you approach him angrily, finger pointing into his chest, threatening to stab him. "i do not owe you anything. your feelings are not my problem. i meant what i said, every single word of it. this is just a job. you are just my boss. i am here to collect my paycheck and leave. i do not wish to arrive at work and have to deal with this. get your shit together and stop this madness before you get us in trouble for nothing."
your words strike him like an arrow through a heart. a poison arrow. you've never spoken to anyone this way. not even the management. this is a new side of you he is meeting, and he is a fool for falling even deeper for you. "look me in the eyes and tell me there wasn't a single moment when you looked at me and wished for something more than just a business relationship. that there wasn't a moment where you felt so comfortable with me that you wanted it to last forever."
anger overshadows your usual kindness and thinking process. you approach him, unintentionally causing him to further step back and collide with the wall. the height difference is comical, and were it not a serious situation, one of you would've surely made a witty comment about it. to anyone standing aside, it would've been weird seeing someone like choi san get cornered by someone smaller than him. luckily, you are alone in the hallway, and it is now your turn to pour your heart out.
the tip of your nail is buried in his chest, causing him to stiffen and not move a muscle against the cold wall. you look him straight in the eyes as your teeth bite and abuse the inside of your cheek before speaking. "there wasn't a single moment where i looked at you as anything more than my disobedient and spoiled boss."
"you're lying."
"i'm not."
"you are. i don't believe you." he isn't sure who he is trying to convince with his words. you, or himself?
"i am not lying."
"you'll have to do better than that to convince me."
"i will not prove my non existent feelings to you. are you out of your mind?" you are in disbelief.
"you're just saying that because you don't want to lose your job." he argues further. "i'm not insane."
"there wasn't a single moment where i felt anything romantic for you."
"lies."
"i swear to-"
"you're telling me that all those times when i'd accidentally touch you and you'd blush furiously were nothing?"
"stop."
"all those times when i'd lend you my coat because you keep losing your jackets and i'd catch you secretly sniffing it or hugging it after you're done wearing it?"
"stop."
"all those times you stayed up late to talk to me was just work to you? who does that? you could've chosen not to respond. those aren't your working hours. instead, you were always online, whenever i'd send you anything. and don't tell me it's just because you were doing your job. i don't know how much my boss would have to pay me for me to listen to him talk for two hours straight about things that don't even make sense in the middle of the night. no sane person would indulge in the things you did, for a paycheck, and-"
"san."
and that's all it takes for him to stop. his name dripping honey from your lips, but with a bitter aftertaste. he hates that this is the only moment where you have called him by his first name. "yes?"
"leave me alone." you finally say. "we can remain professional, as we were until you ruined it. or..."
as much as he doesn't want to ask, deathly afraid of the answer, the words still see the light of the day. "or...?"
"or i'll leave. and you'll never see me again."
𓆩⟡𓆪
business dinners aren't unusual for the kq company. business banquets that include the staff? a little.
the company is celebrating its anniversary, and has decided to invite all its artists and staff. all those who make this company still stand. you feel proud for being a part from that.
yeosang has forwarded you the digital invitation, and you glance at it once again as you get ready, just in case you missed anything or misread. the dress code is a simple black tie. initially, you weren't taking this seriously. until the private group chat was flooded with images of various gowns, suits and accessories. suddenly, your pants and blazer seemed like sweats compared to what they were wearing. thus, here you stand in an off shoulder black gown with a leg slit in front of your mirror, retouching your makeup. the corset is tight around your waist and ribs, but the rest of the dress falls comfortably and rests against your body. with san, you always opted for pants, jumpsuits, vests. you can't remember when you wore a dress. mostly because you always deemed it impractical for work.
you haven't heard from san for two months now. you see him in hallways, at shows and social media. yeosang doesn't drag you along with him wherever he goes. he values your free time and doesn't like to bother you. deep inside, you miss being tugged all ways at once. it made you feel like you were important and capable. yeosang has given you a vacation, it seems.
the red lipstick is wiped for the third time tonight, making your lips irritated and swollen. it doesn't look right. but you don't have time to reapply or find a new shade, hearing the ride honk just below your window. the five minutes of going down the stairs in your heels, with your hands holding your gown so that you don't trip, feel like a fairytale. it dies once you see the manager in the fancy car, already moody.
"do i want to know?" you roll your eyes as you sit and fasten your seatbelt.
"we asked for artificial flowers. they delivered live ones, thinking that we were picking the cheaper option and they're doing us a favour. in their minds, it was a thoughtful gift. it's-"
"-a disaster." you finish for him. melanie and jaz look confused in the back. you don't. you know exactly why this is an issue. "poor san."
before the redhead can ask, the engine starts, and the manager speeds up so that you can arrive on time. you'd be lying if you said that you weren't bothered by her touchy relationship with san. she always has her hands on him, but in a way that nobody can tell her anything about it, not even san. his hair always needs fixing, his collar straightening, his tie or buttons adjusting. and he doesn't complain. you hate how jealous it makes you. you almost regret your secret meddling in the new pair ups.
the mansion is located just outside of seoul, on a hill overlooking the city and surrounded by a forest. the banquet hall is breathtaking. the first thing you notice is the strong scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. then, endless tables of sweets. cakes, dessert cups, chocolate fondue, cookies, fruit, and whatnot. the colours are inviting, a contrast to the black and white attire that the personnel is rocking. everybody looks breathtaking. you dare say that even the ceo looks handsome tonight.
the seats are assigned, of course. the personal assistants sit at the same table, not in a bad spot. you have clear view of the empty space in the middle of the hall. for dancing, you assume.
"girl, where is your lipstick?" sooe raises her eyebrow.
even if you had it to begin with, it would've been gone with the cake in your stomach right now. "the shade was so ugly that i simply decided not to wear one. red doesn't suit me."
she hands you a lipstick. dior, of course. your essence lipstick can't compete with that. "i'm okay-"
"it would be a crime to wear a dress like that and not to have red lipstick on." eric comments, eyes not leaving his plate of food. "this cheesecake is heaven. i won't even need dinner."
a sneeze grabs your attention. nobody pays attention to it but you. you wouldn't either, if you didn't know who it belonged to. before he can spot you, or vice versa, you almost run from the table under the excuse that you're going to apply the lipstick.
the ladies room is empty besides you and another member of staff, who is fixing her hair in the mirror. she smiles as a greeting. relief washes over your body, happy that she isn't one of those your group calls "the bully crew". those are people who have been here since day one, and are impossible to work with. always mean, bitter and judgmental. then they say that the younger generations are rude.
the girl soon finishes, and just before exiting, throws a compliment your way. "you have a very pretty neck."
"that's so random." you laugh. "but thank you."
"maybe it's the dress, but really, i mean it. it's weird to me too, i- oops, sorry. i was just on my way out." before you have the chance to find out what interrupted her, another sneeze echoes through the hallway and the ladies room.
the hand that holds the lipstick stiffens. through the mirror, you can see into the hallway that leads both into the men's room and the women's room. the girl scurries past him, leaving you without finishing her sentence. the person she bumped into starts walking, and you know he has to pass by the open doors of the room in order to reach his destination. like a coward, you hide in one of the stalls. then, familiar voices.
"did you see her anywhere?"
"keep your voice down." you recognize seonghwa. "we just got here. you need to calm down."
san sneezes again, then whines. "i'm going to die here tonight. i won't even see her."
"you're so dramatic. how did she put up with you for so long?" you can almost feel the older man roll his eyes.
"whatever. can't believe yeosang snatched her away from me."
you can almost feel seonghwa roll his eyes. you do, as well. "he didn't snatch her. nobody knew that they would switch us."
"yeah, right. i still want to know why he was touching her."
"her hair, san. i keep hearing this story once a week, and frankly, i'm tired of it. she's not gonna forbid him to approach her."
"you don't get it..." san mumbles.
their voices echo even when they enter the men's room, due to non existent doors. you should use the chance and run away. but your feet stay planted on the ground, and you even put the toilet lid down so you can sit. you might be here for a while, even after they leave. you need time to collect yourself. going back to the table with cheeks flushed and tears in your eyes is not an option.
you miss him. the whole situation seems like a breakup, like san is your ex boyfriend and you both desperately wish to get back together, but you know you can't. it wouldn't work. you hate yourself for thinking that way. all those months of holding back, and now you allow yourself to feel vulnerable after successfully pushing him away.
"melanie is getting on my nerves."
you can't help the snort that leaves you, and you slap your palm over your mouth. seonghwa chuckles. "she's enjoying her new position, isn't she?"
"a bit too much." san's voice is horse, and he sounds congested. "i caught her taking pictures of me in the dressing room the other day. i'm too tired to do anything about it, really."
"san, that's serious." seonghwa's tone changes, as does your expression. he better be joking. "you have to report that to-"
"i really don't have the energy to deal with that. you know her father will convince the management to make her stay."
silence envelops the place for a few moments. you hear soft sniffles, then water running. this might be the moment when you should start meddling. san won't do anything about it, and it will make melanie think that she can get away with it. she won't stop there, you know it. you heard all sorts of comments and fantasies out of her shameless mouth. were you a hypocrite? perhaps. the difference being that you viewed san as a kind, loving person who, if not an idol, would be your dream partner. melanie viewed san as something that you can't describe respectfully even if you tried. she wanted him physically. and she is working on it, she proudly announces it every now and then. nobody in the group bats an eye except you, but you don't say anything. she has already called you out, accusing you that since you were no longer his personal assistant that you had no right to say or do anything that includes him.
this is too far. she is out of her mind. you're sure you'd feel the same disgust and need to meddle if it were another member. this type of behaviour is getting out of control, and you might have to do a little more yelling for the management to wake up and start protecting its artists.
"anyway..." he trails. "i'm going back. do i look less pathetic?"
"no." seonghwa replies. "you look like a dumpling. these allergies have no mercy on you."
san sighs, defeated. "well. this is the best i can do. let's hope i don't see her at all, for her sake."
it should surprise you that san still speaks about you. more than that, it should surprise you that seonghwa knows about it as well. he doesn't scold him. if seonghwa had no problem with it, why did you create one?
"i'll see you there. i'm just going to wash my hands." the older man announces.
you hear footsteps, then water running again. you finally step out of the stall, gently closing the door after you. hurriedly, you rummage through your clutch, and soon enough, you find what you're looking for. you hear footsteps again, except this time, you don't hide. "mr park?"
seonghwa turns around, surprised. he wears simple black slacks, and a black, slightly sheer button up. just his style. "hi, love."
"could you..." you approach him with the item that you dug out, holding it out for him to take. "give this to him?"
the man takes the small bottle of nose drops, then smiles. "you still look out for him."
he doesn't mention anything about you eavesdropping. he's as nosy as you, and you both know it. many times you've found yourselves accidentally looking each others way every time something happened or you'd hear something. and each time you both had to fight yourselves as to not burst out laughing.
"i just had them with me, really." you shake your head. "i don't ever empty my bags. just store things in them until they refuse to close. that has been sitting in there for a while."
"right." he allows you to think you can fool him. "should i say they're from you?"
you shrug. "i can say no. but you'll still tell him, won't you?"
"and you mean to convince us that you aren't an atiny. you know us better than anyone else, and you've been here the shortest amount of time." his hand finds its place on the top of your head, giving you a few pats and a playful hair ruffle, before retreating. "do you need anyone to talk to?"
"no." you quickly reply, flustered. "and i'm- i'm not an-"
"you're not." he nods. "it's our little secret. it has been since the day you walked in and were the only one who didn't want to choose between us."
there goes your meddling. "thanks."
seonghwa then greets you with a smile, and finally exits to find san. the lipstick is applied with shaky hands, and loose hair strands successfully tamed. by the time you get back to the table, the ceo has already stood up to give a speech. luckily, the table is tucked in the corner of the room, saving you from embarrassment of being the only one standing.
as the ceo starts, your eyes wander over the tables. it isn't difficult to find them, their table is at the front, along with the xikers one. san sits with his back facing the room. you wonder if seonghwa has given him the drops already, and if he feels a bit better. it doesn't even matter if he knows who they're from. he can guess, anyway.
the speech is wrapped up, with gratitudes towards the staff, from the older ones to the recently joined ones. "you all make kq, not only the artists." he finishes.
half your table is gone, and you would've stayed sat, were it not for jaz dragging you along to dance with her. your plate of food will have to wait. jaz looks the most stunning tonight. the white dress looks gorgeous on her dark skin, and her usually slicked back hair is replaced by luscious curls that fall over her shoulders and down her back. you feel so basic and underdressed just standing next to her.
"i'm gonna need you to cover for me." she whispers into your ear when a dance move brings her close to you. "mingi wants to use the fact that everybody is here so that we can have some peaceful time alone."
you can't say no. not after you were the one who separated them. "of course. i'll figure something out."
"thank you!" she hugs you tightly. "if you need anything ever, don't hesitate to ask."
there are all sorts of things you need. none of those can be helped by jaz. unless she is a sorceress who can erase your feelings for someone. "i'll keep that in mind."
once jaz successfully slips away, with mingi following soon after, you start feeling tired. it is past eleven, and you don't even realize how long you've been dancing. gyuri and thomas retreat to the table where melanie and sooe haven't moved, and eric is enjoying his third piece of cheesecake and fourth éclair.
"you know that there is a bunch of steaks right in front of you?" thomas playfully smacks the back of his head. "y/n, do you want one?"
"no, thanks." you aren't hungry. not when you see melanie eyeing someone up in the crowd behind you. "i'm going to get some fresh air, maybe when i get back."
you don't know where you are going. the place isn't that big for you to get lost, so you take your time exploring. no balconies so far, and the porch is occupied by smokers. you find a staircase, and that feeling of the fairytale is back again as you take the gown in your hands and start walking. the stairs lead you to a rooftop. you wonder why the event wasn't taking place here. it is as big as the hall, and instead of the dancefloor, there is a pool. the view is breathtaking, with minimal light pollution allowing the stars to glimmer above the still alive city of seoul. the city never sleeps, and is beautiful at any time of day. it's so easy to forget where you are, having to spend all your time inside or wherever your job requires you to go.
the door closes behind you, and you can't help the quiet groan that leaves your lips. you really needed a few minutes to yourself.
"oh, sorry. didn't realize someone was here."
out of all people.
"i just came to catch some fresh air, i'll be gone soon. please don't mind me."
does he not realize who you are? or has he finally come to terms with everything? "don't worry, mr choi. i'm leaving anyway."
when you turn around, you don't know who looks more in awe. more pathetic, better said. his jaw hangs as his eyes roam your figure. you know you aren't masking your expression, because choi san looks absolutely dashing. he wears a white button up, black slacks, a black vest and a tie. you know he dressed himself up because his tie hangs poorly around his neck. melanie must've tried fixing it, she had to. he didn't allow it.
"i don't think i've ever seen you in a dress." he breathes out. such a privilege to have an idol breathless because of your appearance. "you look beautiful."
"thank you. you look handsome as well, mr choi."
he doesn't complain about you calling him so. instead, he walks over, slow and careful. as if he'll scare you away if he moves any faster. he joins you by the fence, and soon enough, his scent envelops you. "i often forget how beautiful seoul is."
you hum, nodding your head.
"enjoying the party?"
"i'm up here. what do you think?"
a soft chuckle meets your ears. you miss hearing that. you allow yourselves a few moments of comfortable silence. nothing but the sound of the leaves rustling in the gentle summer breeze, distant sound of the city, and an occasional cricket. san is leaning on the fence with his arms covering the railing, and his chin resting on top. you, on the other hand, stand still with your palms gripping the same railing. your eyes betray you many times, choosing to glance his way more often than you'd like. he has his eyes closed as he breeze caresses his cheeks and moves the loose strands of his slicked back hair. he looks content.
"you smell cozy." he mumbles, eyes still closed. "like a vanilla candle."
it is your turn to chuckle. "your sinuses cleared up?"
and just like that, you betray yourself. the smirk on his lips is all you need to see. "so it was you."
"guilty." you turn around, leaning your back and elbows against the fence. you tilt your head back, exposing your neck and chest to the breeze. it helps cool you down. "i'm glad you feel better."
you hear him shuffle, before he opens his stupid mouth again. "you don't know how breathtaking you look."
tilting your head to the side, you can't help but glare at him. he is still in the same position, only now his cheek lays on the arms that cover the railing, using them like a pillow as he looks at you. he has never looked more soft and vulnerable.
"you're a dream."
"is this how it will go?" your voice is equally quiet. you don't get angry at him. you aren't irritated. you can't be, not when he looks at you like that. "you'll keep confessing, and we'll avoid each other for a while until you confess again the first chance you get?"
"i'm not confessing. i'm just stating facts. you look gorgeous. any sane man would see and say that if they were here instead of me." he then stands up straight, hands fixing his vest and tie. "i guess i'm just the lucky one. conveniently."
for a moment, you think he is going back to the party downstairs. but he simply plops on one of the deck chairs by the pool. he doesn't invite you over, but you still join him. you opt to sit on it sideways so you can face him. the pool water and the lights in it illuminate his slightly puffy face and rosy eyes. the moments when you hate flowers have become less rare since you started working for him. right now, you despise them.
"i was hoping you were right." his gaze is fixed on the water. "forced proximity. i prayed you were right. but i've seen you for five minutes tonight, and all i want to do is fall on my knees for you. beg you to give me a chance. to show you how good it can be, and how nobody can harm you in any way. to show you what it's like to be mine."
you stay silent. surprisingly, you don't feel annoyed with him anymore. you let him speak.
"i can't believe i ever doubted my feelings. i wanted to, for your sake. because you want nothing to do with me." your heart tightens. "you've made it clear multiple times, and i was trying to decide what you feel for you." the familiar lump in your throat appears. "i called you a liar, and accused you of breaking my heart, when you've rejected me so gently once. i was trying to make you doubt your own feelings." and your eyes sting.
"why are we back on page one?" your voice is hoarse.
san doesn't look at you yet. and it bothers you. "this might be the wine speaking out of me."
"you know you can't drink." you gently scold him.
"i didn't know what to do with myself. i was overwhelmed by everything. knowing that you are in the room but i can't see you. hearing you, smelling you. god, that scent. like the coziest warmest autumn evening. but you were still far from my eyes." the man says. he tilts his head back, resting it against the backrest. "then, i find you here. i told myself i wouldn't put you in an uncomfortable situation. and look what i'm doing."
you try swallowing, hoping to make the lump go away. but it stays stubborn. "it's okay. we're just talking. you're not doing anything to make me uncomfortable."
he closes his eyes again, this time enjoying the sound of the water and your scent that envelops him, even when there's a distance between you. it gives you time to admire him some more. you watch his chest rise and fall peacefully, and when your eyes land on the stupid tie, you can't help yourself. you stand up, walking over to him and sitting on the edge of the deck chair where he rests. he flinches, eyes shooting open. "what are you-"
"shh." you hush him. you've never been so close to him before. your body is pressed against his side as you lean over him, fingers working on loosening the tie so that you can do it properly. you pretend you don't feel his gaze on you. like you don't see his hand twitching, yearning to touch you. "i've spoiled you. you can't even tie your own tie."
he doesn't laugh. he simply gawks at you while you work on the piece of fabric. if he knew that that's all it takes to bring you closer to him, he would've worn his shirt and pants inside out. then, you flinch. your breath stops, as do your fingers. choi san cups your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your lips. "it's obvious that you never wear red lipstick."
he moves his hand sooner than you'd like. the tip of his thumb is red, and before you can offer him a handkerchief, he brings it to his lips. the action is intimate, and your lips are on fire. you wish you'd smeared it a bit more. your eyes stay locked for a worrying amount of time. but san doesn't move. he doesn't lean in. he doesn't say anything.
you do. you find yourself in a trance, consumed by his scent and very being, and you lean in. slow and unsure at first. then, you feel yourself sliding off the chair. san's hand grabs your waist before you can fall, pulling you back on the chair and on top of his body. you don't resist. his eyes flutter shut first. it's now or never.
you close the gap, inch by inch, until the tip of your nose brushes against his. it's pure torture on both ends. your brain and heart are fighting a battle inside you, and san knows it. it's why he isn't making any moves besides holding your body secure so that you don't fall. he lets you set the pace. his warm breath caresses your lips. you can't help the painful exhale of desperation that leaves you, right before tears swell in your eyes.
"i can't." you quietly cry out. "i'm sorry."
san doesn't have time to process the situation. you are already standing, quickly tapping the corners of your eyes with your fingers and throwing your head back before the tears ruin your makeup. a scoff of disbelief leaves his lips. "why are you doing this to yourself? to me?"
"i'm not doing anything. it is wrong." your voice shakes. "i just- i drank some wine too and-"
"why are you denying yourself happiness?" he stands up as well and approaches you. you take a step back, just in case. you can't be tempted again. this was too dangerous. "why are you hurting both of us like this?"
"look, i'm tipsy. i don't want to do something that will give you hopes when i've told you many times that-"
"so what, you're telling me you go around kissing guys when you're tipsy? that i'm not special?" you know he isn't hurt, because he knows it isn't true. he is just trying to lure the truth out of you by making you angry. "do you do this with yeosang as well?"
"shut up." you sniffle. "don't even."
"talk to me. why is the idea of us so horrible to you?" his words are firm, but his tone gentle. he approaches you, and you can't help but step back, feeling overwhelmed. "you don't even need this job. you could do anything you want, i'd be your biggest supporter. you could quit, and-"
"it's not that simple!"
san is blurry before your eyes, just like the first night he confessed. this time, however, there isn't a wall to stop you from walking behind. but there is a pool.
your next step has your foot hanging in the air for a split second, right before a gasp leaves your mouth and you reach for san. your hand slips through his, and soon enough, your body is swallowed by cold water. san wastes no time in jumping after you. before you can sink any lower, his hands plant themselves on your waist, pulling your body against his as he swims to the surface. you didn't expect the pool to be so deep.
while you are busy coughing water and gasping for air, san has swam over to the edge of the pool where the water is a bit more shallow. his voice is nothing but a hum in your ears as you try to recover. your body trembles against his. from the cold water, and from shock. it's just water. but you never learned how to swim. each attempt resulted in you having a panic attack and ruining the fun for everyone else.
"princess." his voice finally reaches your ears. "i've got you."
"san," you cry out. he hushes you, simply hugging you closer and resting your head into the crook of his neck.
"it's okay. i'm right here." he hates that he breaks the boundary by kissing the top of your head. but it is his way of comforting, and he doesn't think in the moment. "i'm so sorry."
his drenched shirt is scrunched between your fingers, but he couldn't care less. he's glad you aren't running away from him after falling in because of him. "please don't let go."
"i won't, but we need to get you out of the water." he gently tucks his fingers under your chin, lifting your head so that he can look you in the eyes reassuringly. panic sets in, and you start trembling more.
"no, no!" you pull on his shirt, latching yourself onto him. "don't let go, please don't let go. please, please, please, please-"
"princess," he cups your cheek with one hand. "i'm right here. i won't let go of you. can you trust me?"
"no."
san knows you don't mean that you can't trust him. you aren't ready to move, and he understands. he tucks your head back into the crook of his neck, and leans against the pool wall for support. he gently sways you in the water, eyes fixed in the way your hair and gown move under the gentle current of the pool springs.
time stops. it feels so natural, being this close to him. his hand rubs your back in an attempt to warm you up in the cold water. he hushes your quiet whimpers, lips brushing against your ear shell. "i've got you."
"don't let go."
"i won't. i promise." the man assures.
you don't know how long you stay like that. all you know is that san has managed to calm you down and is pulling you out of the water. even though it's summer, you are still shivering. san's brows are furrowed, worry painting his pretty features.
"my phone is drenched, it won't turn on. can you stay here while i go get seonghwa?" he crouches in front of you while you sit on the chair, his vest that he managed to discard before jumping covering your upper body. "i'll be right back."
"okay."
seonghwa doesn't judge. he doesn't have sarcastic remarks. he doesn't scold.
hongjoong does. as if you weren't overwhelmed already, hongjoong has decided that scolding and yelling inside the car was the best thing to do right now.
"let me just make this clear: i'm not mad at her, i'm mad at you." he looks at san through the rearview mirror.
you have sunken into the car seats in the back, wrapped in san's vest and seonghwa's coat. even though hongjoong's words aren't meant for you, you can't help the new wave of tears that coat your cheeks. you have trouble breathing again.
seonghwa notices you detaching again, a new panic attack threatening to pull you into its void. "joong."
"what? i'm tired of him, seriously. why doesn't mingi have any problems? i never had to interfere with him and jaz and save their asses. they're careful, and-"
"joong."
your breathing quickens. san doesn't notice, even though he sits in the back with you. he is busy fighting with hongjoong. the situation you were scared of happening is unfolding right now, and nothing happened between san and you. you have already gotten him into trouble. fingers reach for the button on the car door in an attempt to open the window. once it does, you stick your head out, then try breathing.
"why are you being such a jackass about it? it was an accident! you think i wanted to push her?"
"do you think i care? it's not about tonight only, san. it's about you for the past few months. you aren't subtle at all!"
"guys," seonghwa says a bit louder, eyes switching from the road to the rearview mirror every now and then.
"and just what have i been doing for the past few months that you think you have the right to be yelling at me right now?"
"having to explain why you keep dragging her everywhere, having to convince the manager to even let you do that, going to such lengths to delete videos and pictures of you gawking at her, getting dispatch off our asses-"
"and doing all that for mingi wasn't an issue? for me it was?"
"i didn't have to do it for mingi! he was careful!"
"ENOUGH!"
the car stops abruptly on the side of the road. seonghwa exits, rushing over to your side and opening the door. you fall into his arms, a sobbing mess once again, struggling to catch your breath.
"it's okay." he pulls you into a hug.
"i'm sorry." you feel pathetic. it's all you can say. "i'm so sorry. it's all my fault."
"it's not your fault. hongjoong and san are just being pricks right now." the older man pats your head. "do you want to go home or would you like to stay with us?"
"my home, please?"
"you got it." he helps you sit comfortably again, then fastens your seatbelt for you.
the rest of the ride is quiet, with san fidgeting with the ends of the sleeves on seonghwa's coat that shields and warms your wet body, quietly telling you that he is here.
when you wake up, it is still dark. you rub the sleepiness out of your eyes, and meet san's focused face. he carries you in his arms, going from door to door trying to figure out where you live. once he finds your last name, he struggles fitting the key in the keyhole.
"let me." you whisper. "put me down."
once your feet touch the ground, you need a moment to steady yourself. your apartment is just as you left it: a mess as you tried to get ready for the event. you are grateful that the darkness has swallowed it. san doesn't need to know how messy you are outside of work, where you are always organized and tidy.
"uh... do you want slippers?" you point towards a spare pair of slippers that are only used by your family when they visit. "i mean... if you want to stay for a while. or do you have to go back immediately?"
san looks at the slippers, then at you. "do you want me to stay?"
"please." your voice is so low, that if san wasn't so focused on you, he wouldn't have heard it.
"i'll just text hwa. my phone came to life."
you nod. "i'll uh... go put on some tea, i guess. what's the time?"
"does it matter? if you crave tea, i'll make it for you." he simply replies, eyes glued to his phone as he types a message.
now that you look back at your time working with him, san had moments where he loved acting as your boyfriend. you simply didn't allow yourself those delusions. you ignored them. but san loved buying you things, making you try various food and drinks, took pictures of you, gave you his jacket even when you really didn't need it. the response came so naturally from him, as if he usually makes you tea whenever you crave it.
"well?" his full attention is back on you as soon as his phone is tucked in his back pocket. "what does your heart desire?"
"honestly? i'd kill for a cup of cocoa."
your answer makes san chuckle fondly. he makes his way to your kitchen, as if he knew the place by heart. you're grateful that you've decided to wash the dishes today. you have a habit of hoarding dishes before making yourself wash them. you'll do all chores without a problem, from vacuuming to washing the windows. but dishes? you hate yourself for it. it is such a simple task, really. but your brain makes it hard for some reason.
san rummages through your cupboard, not bothering to ask where anything is. he finds the cocoa powder, then the milk in the fridge. "how chocolaty?"
"i trust you."
the clock shows a little past one after midnight. it is monday, and the boys have a day off. still, you can't help but feel bad for causing a mess and ruining their sleep schedule. while san busies himself with making two cups of cocoa, you quickly text seonghwa.
y/n: i'm so sorry for tonight. please tell mr kim that it is all my fault, that mr choi had nothing to do with it. i'm truly sorry for putting you in those positions. i promise i'll do everything to fix it and assure that it never happens again. again, i am so sorry.
park seonghwa: don't be silly. hongjoong was just being an ass. between you and me, he might've been a bit tipsy. plus, eden is on his back about the comeback. he was just unleashing himself on innocent people. don't burden your little head with it.
y/n: i can't help but feel guilty. no matter what i do, i'm messing mr choi up. i've distanced myself from him in an attempt to fix this, but it's only getting worse.
park seonghwa: san is already messed up on his own, even without you. he's been a menace before you came along, don't worry. he just became worse when you arrived. the two of you should take your time to figure out exactly how you feel. i won't say what i know, or how much i know, but i'll give you one advice: talk. don't hold back. that's the only way you'll resolve this.
y/n: thank you, mr park
park seonghwa: you know, it feels weird having an atiny call me that. you are the only one still calling us that in private among the assistants, and you technically know us longest and best. think you can work on that? :)
y/n: i'll try :)
park seonghwa: yay! now go before he gets all pissy and pouty again. warm yourself up, we don't want you catching a cold. good night, tiny ♥
y/n: good night, seonghwa. ♥
you sigh with content. one thing at a time.
"where's your bathroom?" san asks as he pours the hot cocoa in two cups.
"first door on the left."
he comes back with a towel and clothes. was he in this apartment before, but you weren't aware? how did he find your pajamas?
"here," he hands you the clothes, then turns back to stirring the cocoa.
the drenched gown is replaced by a cozy t-shirt and sleep shorts. you don't pay much attention to what you are wearing, until san looks over and chuckles. "what?"
"ateez world tour." he reads out loud.
you look down, and right across your chest, the words he just said. that bastard. "you did this on purpose."
"i promise, i didn't. it was folded inside out and just laid on your chair on top of a pile of other clothes. i thought it was a normal black t-shirt. the pile waiting to be ironed, i assume?"
right, aside from washing dishes, you hated ironing clothes as well. you can't be bothered to pick up the gown, instead pushing it with your foot to the corner. seonghwa's coat and san's vest are neatly folded and placed in the laundry basket.
"come here." he calls you over.
your bare feet tap against the cold parquet floor as you walk over. at no point this evening did you know what san was about to do next, and neither do you know now. he picks you up by your waist, placing you on the kitchen counter. the towel is soon in his hands, drying your wet locks of hair. he stands between your legs like it's nothing. like you do it every day. like all of this didn't happen because you refuse to say your true feelings out loud.
"i can hear you thinking," he whispers.
"i got it." you snatch the towel from his hand, a little harsher than you wanted. he frowns, but lets you have it. "thanks."
you stay sat on the counter, swinging your legs in the air as you watch him focus on the cups. as if he was making the world's most complicated cocoa, using a dozen ingredients instead of two.
"what now?" you dare ask.
"now..." he sighs. "we drink cocoa."
"you know what i mean." you accept the cup from his hands, and your fingers inevitably brush against his. your skin is on fire, and god, it takes everything in you not to drop that cup and pull him close to you. "are we going to act like this is normal? my boss in my apartment at this hour, while i sit here in my sleepwear?"
"you keep worrying your pretty head with stupid things." san takes a sip of his beverage. he hums, then takes another one. "you were right. cocoa is much better than tea."
"san."
pretty eyes finally lock with yours. his brows relax, and his face softens under your gaze. "yes?"
"you need to put yourself in my shoes. i can't help but feel like i'm taking advantage of you. i'm a fan. a staff."
"so?"
"the fandom will be against it. the company as well."
"and why do you care about their opinion when the only one that should matter is ours?" it feels like he is scolding you. you know he isn't. he is just getting annoyed at the situation both of you are in. "this could be the best thing that can happen to us."
after a moment of silent thinking, you sigh. "i have to sleep on it."
you don't ask san to stay. he doesn't offer to leave. he just takes his place on the couch once he tucks you in your own bed, but not without making a witty comment about the photocard holder and his photocard that lay on the nightstand next to the bed. "you're so cute it hurts. want me to sign it?"
"go away." you bury your head in the pillow. "and leave the door open. i don't like being in the dark, and the street lights have been broken for a while now. leave the bathroom light on, and don't close that door neither."
with each moment that passes, san keeps finding out more things about you. things so unimportant that everyone would forget after a moment or two, but he remembers. it makes him fall for you harder and harder. right now, you are impossibly cute, confessing that you are scared of dark. "i'll be on the couch. if you need anything, don't hesitate to wake me up."
"okay. thank you." your voice is muffled by the pillow. you hear him chuckle, then feel his hand pat your head playfully. "good night, princess."
"good night."
the second time you open your eyes, it is light. for a split second. then, booming thunder. it's been a while since a thunderstorm this strong has hit the city. overcoming your fear of it for a split second, you run over to the windows where the curtains move from the strong wind. the wind makes it hard, pushing the window against you as you try your hardest to shut it. the shuffling and grunting must've awoken san, because soon enough, he gently nudges you aside and closes the window with little to no effort. the room lights up once again, causing you to flinch and cover your ears. your heart beats loud while you await the loud noise to echo in the room.
once it passes, san takes your hands in his, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs on your knuckles. "want to-?"
"will you sleep in here tonight?" you beat him to it. you don't know where you're getting the confidence, or the audacity. you're doing everything contrary to what your previous self wanted and worked hard to maintain.
a few months ago, you were going crazy because san laid on your bed for a few minutes back in milan. now, it is happening again. he tries to cover you with the blanket once he lays down, only to find you completely submerged from head to toe in it. "hey, where did you go?"
"i'm scared. leave me be."
"is this how you sleep when there's a thunderstorm? with your little head hiding under the blankets? suffocating?"
"san..." you whine, begging him to stop teasing you.
you forget how to breathe for a moment when the blanket lifts and san dives in below, joining you. "my name sounds so pretty from your lips."
"i didn't invite you here to flirt." you scold, gently poking his chest with your finger. "if both of us are here under, who is keeping watch out there?"
"my photocard." he laughs.
a gasp of disbelief escapes your mouth. he'll never let go of this. "one more word and you're losing blanket shield privilege."
"is that so?" he cocks an eyebrow. his hand then sneakily finds its way to your waist, only to poke you and make you jolt. his other hand joins, poking at the other side, until you are a laughing and screaming mess and the blanket slips from both of you.
he's strong, and doesn't budge, no matter how hard you fight back. his figure covers your entire body as he hovers above you, pinning your wrists above your head with a single hand while his other hand shows no mercy by tickling you. "stop, please!"
"say i have blanket privilege."
"you have blanket privilege!"
"now say i'm your favourite boss." he halts for a moment, giving you the chance to say it.
you don't, instead sticking your tongue out in an attempt to further annoy him. it works, an exaggerated gasp leaving his lips. you use the chance to slip one of your hands out of his grip, poking his side. he yelps, then falls on the bed next to you. soon enough you find yourself on top of him, giving him a taste of his own medicine.
san is incredibly strong. you've witnessed many situations since you worked here, from carrying two members on his back to picking up his makeup stylist's desk all by himself and moving it where she wanted. he has more strength in his pinky finger than you have in your whole body. yet he still lets you pin his hands above his head, your smaller hand struggling to grasp his wrists. he plays along. he lets you have it.
he isn't that ticklish. but you are too proud and excited that you've managed to tackle him that you don't even notice. your giggles are everything san wants to hear for the rest of his life. your fingers poke at his sides, over and over, and you are so into it. then, a grunt.
you stop, confused. san doesn't say anything. he simply stares at you, soft eyes admiring your features in the dark. it is only when his gaze drops to where you're sitting that you realise. you don't speak. you don't breathe, either. suddenly, you feel him. below layers of clothes, his body burns hot. as does yours, especially your face and core.
when light illuminates the room for a moment again, you flinch a little, but the clear sight below you makes you forget about your fear. san looks... submissive. his hands stay pinned above his head, and you remember that your loose grip is nothing compared to what he can do. his hair falls over his pretty eyes, which stare back at you through half closed eyelids. lips sticking in a natural pout, plump and inviting. oh, so inviting.
"sannie," you test the waters with a low whisper.
a whimper. a fucking whimpers leaves this man's lips. he doesn't seem to be embarrassed. instead, he gulps, and bites his lip. you roll your hips, so lightly and slowly, not even sure that he'll feel it. but he does. and he shudders. it makes your body feel as if it's on fire. you've never had an effect on someone like this. and you're enjoying every bit of it.
san craves your attention. your validation. he always has. you've just been connecting it to his teasing nature. didn't really take him seriously. now, you have him wrapped around your finger. and you don't know what to do with it. a whole man, many girls crush and fantasy, lays down at your mercy. and you? you move the hair out of his eyes, press your lips against his forehead, and cup his cheek. "one thing at a time."
𓆩⟡𓆪
monday morning comes and goes, with you waking up alone in bed. the storm has calmed at some point during the night, but you didn't feel or hear anything. except the pair of arms that have held you through it all. you didn't push him away. you've worked for him long enough to know that san needs to hold onto something to fall asleep. it wasn't on purpose. he fell asleep before you, and at some point, he let go of the pillow he was hugging and replaced it with you.
san respects your boundaries. sure, you might need to tell him once or twice to stop calling you nicknames or move his hand from your lower back, but other than that, san tries his hardest to keep his hands to himself. you wonder if it's like that with melanie. if enough time passes, will san prove you wrong or right? will he start developing feelings for her? is forced proximity truly the answer?
selfishly, you hope it isn't.
your phone rings early in the evening, the manager's name glaring at you from the screen. you groan out loud. this is your day off. but then again, being yeosang's assistant has given you many days off. you can take this phone call.
"yes, sihun?"
"pack your stuff, you're flying early tomorrow. yeosang has been invited to a fashion show in two days, and because you have decided it would be a good idea to mess up perfectly good pair ups that have functioned from the beginning, the schedules are all fucked up."
"wait, what?" you find yourself standing up from the couch. you swear you can still smell him on it. "also, that was an idea. don't blame me as if you were forced."
"not only was yeosang's invitation to the paris fashion show lost, we also missed an opportunity to collab with a huge western artist. does the name megan the stallion ring any bells? plus, yunho was offered a role in a drama, and-"
"why are you blaming me for all this?" your heart beats fast, threatening to jump out of your chest. "what kind of organization did you have in the first place that a minor change like switching assistants costed you lost invitations and collabs?"
"if you want to return from paris as yeosang's assistant, or just an employee of the kq entertainment, i would recommend to zip it and start packing. five o'clock sharp in front of the building, not a minute late. if you're late, don't bother to show up. at all, ever."
"but-"
"five am, y/n."
and as if that wasn't enough to ruin your evening of rewatching the walking dead and stuffing your face with pringles, a single message causes you to sit back down on the couch.
choi san: you requested to switch? wish i'd known sooner, i wouldn't have wasted both our time. didn't realize you'd go to such lenghts, but then again, i really must be that annoying and can't take a hint. i apologize for crossing the boundary last night. rest assured, it won't happen again.
y/n: it's not like that
!message failed to send!
y/n: san?
!message failed to send!
this user has blocked you.
you're about to find out whether or not you were right, after all. far from eyes, far from mind.
𓆩⟡𓆪
yeosang wearing prada and sitting front row on a fashion show, looking ethereal and socializing with those around him is all the fandom ever wanted. you proudly watch from the side, and every now and then, yeosang's eyes widen slightly as they frantically search for you. you are being pushed around by photographers, and can't stand still in one place. when he finally finds you, you can see relief wash over his pretty features. you nod assuringly, urging him to talk to the celebrities around him.
if you thought san needed reassuring and validation, yeosang needed it times two. his english skills have improved in the short time you have been working for him, but you are the only person he could practice with. now, surrounded by only english speakers, and without your poor and broken korean to help, yeosang felt like he was thrown in shark water without a way out. you can see panic set in his eyes whenever someone speaks too fast or when he forgets a word.
but all is gone as soon as he locks eyes with you. you are his life jacket, his boat in this situation, and he is holding onto you for dear life as doja cat and zendaya keep talking to him and over him. at one point, yeosang leans back so that the two can speak comfortably, and they waste no time in leaning over him and continuing the conversation. he gives you a funny look, and you can't help the giggle that leaves your mouth.
yeosang doesn't stay at the after party. as soon as everyone has finished taking pictures with him, and before an interviewer can get his hands on him, yeosang disappears into the crowd and finds you. "take me away."
once back at the hotel, he insists that you join him for a late dinner. you hesitate before walking into his hotel room. strangely, you don't feel weird for sitting on his bed and eating with him at this hour, all alone with him. perhaps because you don't harbor the same feelings towards him as you do for san. yeosang is sweet. he isn't a tease, he doesn't make you question your sanity and make you roll your eyes hundred times a day.
"how's the pasta?" he asks, glancing over at your plate of truffle pasta. "any good?"
"it's great." you nod. "how's your steak?"
he doesn't respond, instead nodding with his mouth full. he takes a sip of whiskey from his nightstand, then wastes no time in stuffing his mouth again. you can't help but laugh fondly.
"didn't take you for a whiskey kind of guy." you confess.
"what kind of guy did you take me for?" the man raises his eyebrow playfully.
you hum at first, as if thinking. yeosang cuts his steak in peace, until your answer causes him to stop and gasp dramatically. "honestly? a banana milk kind of guy."
"you take that back." he threatens with his fork. "it's strawberry milk. don't disrespect me."
you enjoy this playful banter. no pressure, no expectations. just the tiredness and tipsiness talking out of both of you. you try the whiskey, he tries the leftover pasta. eventually, half the bottle of whiskey is gone. you didn't think you'd enjoy it that much. yeosang wasn't of any help. moreover, he encouraged you to drink.
now you struggle to move from the comfortable bed you're sat on, even after the man plops on it and closes his eyes, muttering a good night.
"you can't go to sleep with your makeup on."
"watch me." he simply covers himself up to his neck.
your words have no effect on him. they simply enter one ear and exit out the other. frankly, you're not sure they even get to his ear. it feels like they're bouncing off it and hitting you back in the face. in just a few moments, you raid the hotel bathroom in search of wet wipes and any kind of face serum he has brought along. it didn't help that he had a whole line of skincare on the counter. you don't know those things. he'll survive one night without it.
the moment the wet wipe touches his cheek, yeosang's eyes shoot open.
"that's cold." he frowns.
"yeah, well, suck it up."
yeosang's gaze is so much different than san's. san is intense, and dark. yeosang's is curious, and sweet. brown orbs glimmer as he follows your hand movements that reveal his face bit by bit. by the time you have wiped almost everything off, yeosang is wide awake. a light shudder leaves his lips when your fingers brush the wipe over his birthmark.
"there it is." you smile as you reveal it. "pretty."
the man blushes furiously. you think it's the alcohol. he hopes you don't know it's something else.
"close your eyes. you have a bit of eyeshadow left."
you don't need to tell him twice. he makes your job so much easier that you could just kiss him on the head sometimes.
"warning, this is also going to be cold."
you've done this countless times with san. but the moment your fingers touch his skin directly, your heart skips a beat. this isn't casual. not with yeosang. you try not to notice the way his eyes stare at you as your fingers rub the serum on his glass skin. the way he grips the cover. the way he slightly squirms under it. the way he gulps whenever your fingers touch the area around his birthmark.
"almost done," you whisper as your hand moves onto the space between his eyebrows and his forehead. it seems to be another sweet spot of his, because he almost purrs when your fingers gently rub the serum into his skin. you don't want to stop. not when he closes his eyes and hums contently while you do something as simple as putting a product on him, something that he does himself every day.
"no wonder san is in love with you."
you freeze. fuck, does everyone know?
"a person just puts their walls down around you and trusts you completely." he rambles on. "your mere presence is very comforting. i hate that he got to you first."
"okay." you sigh. the wipes are thrown into the small bin near the nightstand, and you have to walk a few steps around the room before you can speak. your thoughts are scattered, and at this point, you might have to ask yeosang to slap you to make sure this is not one of your daydreaming shifts when you used to work at the coffee shop. "let's pause. just for a moment."
"oh, i'm sorry." the man sits up straight, rubbing his eyes. "i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. i just mean that... a person can trust you easily. honestly, since you started working with me, i've stopped using my brain."
"yeosang." you sigh once again.
wide curious eyes look at you, and the words stop in your throat. is it possible that the forced proximity was an issue on your end? this is surely the alcohol. and the way yeosang is starting to act exactly like san. maybe you have a type.
no. what you have is a serious case of delusion. you need a vacation as soon as your feet touch korean soil.
you turn the lamp near the bed off, ensure that yeosang has a glass of fresh water in case he wakes up during the night, and prepare his outfit for tomorrow on the armchair. he only watches, not uttering a word. it isn't until you reach the door and light switch that you hear shuffling, and you turn your head to see him laying back down.
"good night, mr kang."
you miss the pout on his lips once the main light is off, but not the quiet "good night, tiny" before exiting and heading for your room.
𓆩⟡𓆪
your paid time off is approved within a day. manager sihun agrees that you need time away, but for different reasons. you're offended.
"it feels like your quality of work has declined."
you have to hide your snarky remarks. if that is what gets you time off, then let him have it.
in no time you find yourself sipping a freshly squeezed lemonade on your balcony. a book in your hand, fresh out of the shower, hair drying in the sun, with the whole day ahead of you. until your work phone vibrates on the table. you ignore it. you don't know why you even brought it out there in the first place. a habit, maybe.
the page of the book is barely flipped before the phone vibrates again. and again. and again.
"are you serious right now?" you groan.
park seonghwa: hey :)
park seonghwa: can i call you?
park seonghwa: oh wait
park seonghwa: you're on you time off?
park seonghwa: imsosorrypleaseforgivemejustignoremekbyehavefunonyourtimeoffdontmissustoomuch<3
y/n: it's fine, mr park. how can i help you?
park seonghwa: hi!
park seonghwa: oh :(
park seonghwa: mr park?
y/n: is something wrong? are you understaffed?
the dancing dots appear in the corner of the screen near seonghwa's profile picture. then, they disappear. and reappear. and disappear once again.
y/n: mr park, may i know wh|
your typing is interrupted by his name taking up the screen. with a sigh, you press the green icon.
"mr park?"
"first of all, i don't like that." he complains on the other side. "yeosang broke you."
"i assure you, mr kang had nothing to do with anything." you can't help the eye roll. "may i know-"
your words are cut short once again by a voice in the background, then a crash. "san, you absolute moron. i am so sorry, ma'am. we'll pay for that and clean up the mess."
you stay silent, eavesdropping the conversation. seonghwa's voice turns into an angry whisper, but the phone is close enough for you to hear everything.
"pull yourself together. there's six cameras on you, and you're drunk from half a cup of beer?"
"i'm not drunk."
"you're getting there. in the middle of namhae, in broad daylight, fooling around with that gopro and breaking stuff. what else do you call that? you're lucky the staff are busy cleaning what you just did and their attention is off you. i'm calling y/n, just so you know."
"i don't care."
"you don't care? alright. hello, y/n?"
"give me that."
"yes, he's being a pain in the ass. can you come over?"
"give me that!"
"what's that? you'll be here in fifteen? great."
"park seonghwa, give me that phone!"
"too late. she hung up."
you hear complaining and whining, then shuffling. he must've exited the room they were in, because seonghwa is back on the phone.
"i just wanted you to hear how miserable and pain in the ass he is."
"with all due respect, what does that have to do with me?"
"i'll send you a video. i want you to watch it, then come to whatever conclusion you want. i'm not forcing you to do anything, nor am i guilt tripping you. i'd just hate to see two people suffer a heartbreak they don't need. it's all up to you."
once the call ends, you feel as if your head will burst. you selfishly wish seonghwa hadn't reached out to you. just when you got san out of your head. you can't have one day of peace at this job you used to love.
the promised video plays on your screen, showing san in the back of a car and seonghwa next to him. the older man holds the phone so that san doesn't know he is being filmed. the familiar pout is present on the younger ones lips as he looks out the window, arms crossed over his chest.
"sannie, you're sulking again." seonghwa teases.
"leave me be."
"we're filming content for the fans. will you be like this the whole day?"
when san turns his head towards seonghwa, and the camera, you don't expect his eyes to be red and glossy. then, with the tiniest voice ever, he mumbles. "i miss her."
"i know." seonghwa sighs. "but you drove her away. you blocked her number without giving her a chance to explain."
"i know i'm stupid. you don't have to say it." his fingers play with the buttons of his shirt. you can't help but thank seonghwa for giving you the first peek at san dressed in a white shirt and black slacks, sleeves rolled up with his forearms out for everyone to enjoy. "she hates me."
"she doesn't hate you."
"you don't know that. for all we know, she thinks that you hate her."
san turns his head to look at seonghwa abruptly, then starts shaking it. "no. it's not like that."
"well, if i was her, that's the impression i'd get."
"i could never hate her. she could break my heart over and over, and i still wouldn't find it in those broken bits to hate her. she's all i think about. i thought the distance would do us well. it's killing me, especially seeing her near yeosang. or anyone that isn't me. do you know that i haven't washed or used my coat that she wore in amsterdam when it was cold? it still smells like her."
"loser." seonghwa tries to lighten up the situation by pinching his thigh.
"ow! stop it." san isn't having it. "i genuinely miss her. i'm so close to showing up at her door and falling to my knees, i swear."
he then returns to silence and turns his head back towards the window. the video ends with seonghwa smiling at the camera.
choi san will be the death of you.
𓆩⟡𓆪
the week passes fast. you'd wake up in the morning, one past noon being morning to you, rot your brain on social media, and before you knew it, the sun was down and you were transferring yourself from the couch on the bed. your diet consisted of shin noodles and a single boiled egg, paired with unnatural amounts of red bull (i just had to describe myself i'm so sorry <3). luckily, you didn't have any pets. you wouldn't have the energy to walk them or take care of them.
seonghwa's phone call ruined your plans. you wanted to spend the week reading all those books you've purchased and never have time to read, go for morning walks, maybe even go to a spa. but every time you closed your eyes, you saw san.
you saw his hurt face the first time you've rejected him. you saw his pout. you saw his glossy eyes. you heard his voice.
your last day was no different. kuromi pajamas, mouthful of noodles, the new season of your favourite show playing in the background while you mindlessly scroll on tiktok. until the doorbell interrupts you.
when you look through the peephole, you don't see anybody. an empty hallway. just a glimpse of somebody running downstairs. you shouldn't open it. everything about it screams danger. but you do anyway, sticking your head out first. step by step, you make it to the railing, and then lean over it in hopes of catching the person that just interrupted your last night of so called selfcare. he wears a hood, but something in the way he walks is familiar to you.
"hey!" you call out.
the person stops. the hallway lights illuminate the rings on his finger, one of them especially familiar to you. you bought it on your trip to italy, and gave it to none other than choi san for his birthday.
"mr choi." disappointment is evident in your voice. "will you please come back so we can discuss your need to ding-dong-ditch me?"
you can see his figure slouch. slowly, as if he'll scare you if he moves any faster, he makes his way back up the stairs and stops at the top. he doesn't raise his head to look at you yet. not when you step away from the railing, and not when you stand in front of him. only when your hand finds its spot under his chin and raises his head, his eyes find yours. he wears glasses. they give him the nerdy boyfriend image.
"what are you doing with yourself, mr choi?"
"what..." his voice comes out hoarse, and he clears his throat before continuing. "what do you mean?"
your hand leaves him sooner than both of you would like. you step back, then answer. "i mean, what are you doing chasing a fan? a staff member? while your phone is bursting with messages from the most drop dead gorgeous and talented idols."
"you don't know anything." he simply replies.
he doesn't move. you do. you walk back into your apartment, leaving the door open. you only spare him a glance over your shoulder; a silent invitation. he takes it. closing the door behind him, taking off his shoes and placing them neatly on the shoe rack, wearing the slippers he claimed last time. it all felt natural. you felt natural.
"red bull?" you offer.
he can't help the quiet chuckle when he sees your head in the fridge. "no, thank you."
"hmph," you purse your lips. "i've got cola, melon milkis, a week old carton of orange juice, chocolate milk, and two bottles of soju: peach and strawberry. you pick."
"a glass of water is fine."
"boring." you say.
he knows you are joking. still, he rolls his eyes playfully and joins you in the kitchen. "i'll have a red bull, then."
"which one?"
"what do you mean which one? there's more than- oh. okay." you open the fridge door fully and step away, revealing the colorful collection to a surprised san. "you little addict."
"says the man who lives off lays and milkis." you bite back.
"alright. give me the green one."
"which green one?"
"there's two?"
"duh." you say, rolling your eyes. "the light green and dark green."
"i trust you."
in a few minutes, san and you are settled on the balcony couch, sipping the energy drinks and looking at the busy streets below. the couch is big enough for three people to sit comfortably, yet san has squeezed himself in the corner. you sit on it sideways, facing him. it doesn't seem as if he thought any of this through. he came here on impulse, you know it. you know him.
"how's working with yeosang?" he fidgets with the can.
"that's what you came to talk about?" you tilt your head to the side so that it leans against the backrest.
"no." he mumbles.
"you didn't answer my question, san." his name out of your lips has him perk up. "what are you doing chasing after a fan?"
"i'm not chasing after a fan. i'm chasing after my personal assistant. well, ex personal assistant."
"does that sound better in your mind?"
he opts for silence again. you're making it difficult, yet he is willing to try, again and again. he wouldn't have come here for no reason. the man takes another sip of his can, as to avoid talking. your can is downed already, and your lips and throat feel dry. you leave the balcony just to get the two bottles of soju, then plop back on the sofa.
"here." you set the bottles on the table, allowing him to choose. he abandons the can of red bull and reaches for the peach soju.
"i thought i wasn't allowed to drink." he says, then brings the beverage to his lips.
"take small sips, san. we've got time. unless you have somewhere to be?"
he shakes his head. "no. even if i did, i would've cancelled."
"if you say so." you take a sip of the alcoholic beverage, and san mimics you.
his gaze is locked on the city through the glass balcony, and his face is still covered by his hoodie. in an attempt to relax his stiff posture and nervous fidgeting of hands, you sprawl out your legs and rest your feet on his lap. instead of relaxing, san further stiffens, the soju bottle in his hand stuck in a deathly grip. you try to pull them back to yourself, seeing that you've caused further discomfort. yet san's hand simply finds its spot on your legs, thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin where your pajama bottoms have hiked up.
"sannie." you call softly.
you swear you hear a shuddered breath. his head leans on the backrest, and he tilts it sideways so that he can look at you. he scrunches his nose so that his glasses sit better. "hm?"
"talk to me." you urge him. "say what's on your mind. you didn't come here to ask me about yeosang. or to sit in silence."
he hums again. "the silence was comforting. but no, it's not what i came for. though, now that i think about it, i think i did enough talking. i came to hear what you have to say. if you have anything to say."
"you were honest with me up until now. and i appreciate that." you start. it is your turn to pour your heart out. "and it is only fair that i do the same. but i think it would be more interesting to lead this conversation with questions."
"like twenty-one questions?" he immediately gets it.
"right. i'll give you a head start. you can ask me three questions."
"one is enough. as you said, we have time." he doesn't take long to figure out what he wants to ask you. words smoothly slip out of his mouth. "have you slept on it?
"and why do you care about their opinion when the only one that should matter is ours?" it feels like he is scolding you. you know he isn't. he is just getting annoyed at the situation both of you are in. "this could be the best thing that can happen to us."
after a moment of silent thinking, you sigh. "i have to sleep on it."
right. you left him without an answer. technically, he left himself without an answer. "i didn't get enough sleep to decide."
he laughs. "meanie."
"my turn, then. since you don't want the head start." you take a sip while you think. the gentle touch on your legs is a distraction. for a man so big and tough, choi san has the softest hands in the world. "when did you realize your... feelings for me?"
it feels odd. feelings for you. choi san has feelings for you. such feelings that he keeps coming back, no matter how many times you reject him. if you were him, you'd hate yourself. yet san looks at you with such fondness in his eyes, that for the first time in a while since you parted ways with him, you find yourself looking away and blushing furiously. only he has the power to make you feel small, yet safe.
"well?" you clear your throat.
"it started in london. when i begged you to join me on a secret mission to five guys in the middle of the night, and you came with me. after that we went for a walk because i overate. i think the exact moment i felt something fuzzy in my stomach was when i plopped on the bench and held onto my stomach, and you had the time of your life giggling and taking photos. i realized then that i loved that side of you, and that i might be falling for you. then, i was sure when we went to amsterdam, and you were so excited to go for a walk and buy souvenirs that you forgot your jacket at the hotel. i lent you my coat, and when i saw it on you, i knew that i wanted you to keep borrowing my clothes."
you remember seonghwa's video where san confessed he hasn't washed or used that coat since you did. you look his way again, only to find his eyes still fixed on you. he examines your face in search of any negative emotion. but you only smile at him, causing him to breathe out in relief.
"my turn. did you really mean what you said back in milan? when i first confessed to you?"
"it's hard to explain." you sigh. "just because i was doing my job, doesn't mean i didn't enjoy it."
"so i'm not a spoiled and disobedient boss?" he presses in a teasing voice.
"not all the time. and that's two questions, sir. now i get to ask two." you dig your heel into his thigh as a way to punish him, and he returns the action by pinching your calf. "ow!"
"you're being mean again." he pouts.
"only for you." the alcohol is starting to get to you, because in no way would sober you wink at san and continue the conversation like it's nothing. like you don't see him blushing and looking away, a smile dancing on his lips. "you bring out the worst in me, it seems."
"so it's my fault." he laughs. "go on, then. ask."
"hmm..." you trail, thinking. "you've gotten plenty of confessions from many idols. how come i am the one that peaked the interest of the choi san?"
"first of all, the choi san? i'm not that special."
"yes, you are. you have millions falling on their knees for you. you're one of the most popular and influential idols right now. so many rookies look up to you, want to be you. sometimes it seems like you aren't aware of your popularity. guys want to be you, or be with you, girls as well. and-"
"second of all," he interrupts you, not believing a single word out of your mouth, "all those confessions don't mean much to me. i don't feel any connection to those people, and honestly, i don't want to waste my time to find out whether or not i'll feel any. i like to live in my own bubble, with the guys and our staff. it's familiar. it's cozy."
right, you forgot his introverted side for a moment. "still. as a long time fan of many groups in the industry, i've never seen idols as pretty as the ones in this generation."
"no amount of beauty will make a true man swoon if their personality is a zero. only those who are shallow won't look past a face."
"so you settled for me because i'm a little ugly but have a personality?"
you expected him to laugh with you. it was funny in your head. but the man simply looks at you, brows furrowed. your laughter dies out. you just had to ruin it.
"sorry." you mumble.
"don't ever say that again." he doesn't scold you. he isn't angry. he is disappointed. "i can't believe you would ever think of yourself like that."
"it was just a silly joke."
"i don't like it. it breaks my heart." his voice is quiet. "i have- actually, never mind. my turn, was it?"
"you have...? you have what?" you set the bottle down and sit up straight, legs still on his lap. "choi san don't leave me hanging."
"it's stupid. if i show you, i might as well just jump from here to save myself from humiliation."
"okay, now i need to know. you can't just say that and then move on." he avoids your pleading eyes.
you pull your legs away from him, and before he can protest, you get on your knees, still on the couch, and clasp your hands. he knows he's weak. yet he still looks at you, and he wants to smack himself from the way his bottoms feel tight after seeing you on your knees with big pleading eyes. "you'll think i'm weird."
"i won't! i promise. please, please, pretty please?"
and just how can he say no to you? hesitantly, he reaches for his pocket. he pulls out a wallet, and you're confused at first. until he pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to you. "i'll see myself out."
"you're not going anywhere." you plant your palm on his chest, pushing him back to lay against the couch. you turn the paper over, and your breathing stops. it's a polaroid from back in paris. you remember snapping pictures of him and the manager as a joke. you remember the manager doing the same to you. you thought the pictures turned out bad, you didn't even want to look at them. your outfit was a mess, your hair as well, and you had a chocolate stain on the dress you wore. none of it was visible on the photo. just san and you, acting silly in front of the eiffel tower, smiling wide. sihun was only taking pictures of you, yet san managed to smoothly photobomb and earned himself the cherished polaroid. "san..."
"i know. it's weird. i'm sorry."
it wasn't weird. unexpected? sure. you weren't even aware that you had a picture with san. that day was very difficult for you; you had forgotten to pack san's famous leather vest for the show, you spilled coffee on two of your outfits, and the chocolate from the croissant dripped on your third one. the wind kept tangling your hair, and you dropped your stone magnet as soon as you stepped foot out of the shop and broke it. what was a disastrous day for you was a memorable day for san, it seems.
"oh, san." you become all giddy and soft at the thought of him carrying the photo in his wallet. "you were just carrying this around all this time?"
"...no?" his pretty eyes lock with yours, the city lights making them glimmer.
he expects you to call him weird. to slap him. to tear the photo. what he doesn't expect is for you to bring the polaroid to your lips, then press a kiss to the back of it. the action leaves a pink imprint of your lips behind, in the shape of a heart. you return it to san, who is stunned by your action. "you're so cute it hurts."
you stand up and pick up the empty cans, but not before playfully poking his dimple. he is left in silence for a few moments, replaying what just happened. his fingers brush the pink print you gifted him so generously, and he doesn't know what takes him over. he brings it to his face, pressing his own lips on the same place you did. he allows himself a short moment of peace, closing his eyes and inhaling the sweet scent you've left behind. gods, what a fool. kissing a piece of paper.
he thinks that you don't see him. but you do, in the reflection of the open glass door of the balcony. you allow him to have the moment while you rummage through your cupboards. by the time you are back on the balcony, san is almost laying on the couch. his cheeks are flushed both from alcohol and your actions, fingers fidgeting with the polaroid, and his dimples on display as he foolishly grins at the picture.
"i hope you're not on a calorie deficit." you toss a small bag of chips his way. he fails to catch it, and it lands on his face. "oopsies."
"i'm not. i'm bulking." he says as he examines the bag.
"and you hide it all under that hoodie. tsk."
he stubbornly wears the hood still. you don't have a clear view of his pretty face, aside from the glasses that peek out and rest on his nose, and it bothers you. but you won't press him. you'll let him set his own pace. "are we continuing the game?"
"if you want to. it's your turn, i think."
he watches curiously as you open a box of strawberry pepero. "when you got the job and had the opportunity to choose first, you didn't want to choose. why?"
"as a long time atiny, i didn't want to. i didn't want to make it seem like i like one of you more than the rest." you shrug.
"and you ended up with me."
"and i ended up with you." you confirm. "were you disappointed? i don't speak your language. i don't fit the beauty standards. i was pretty clumsy. i wouldn't hire myself."
"you're too harsh on yourself." san scolds. "i was actually happy and excited. i could practice my english with you. and look at me now! unstoppable."
unimpressed, you bite on the first pepero stick. "so i'm just an english lesson to you."
"you're being mean again. anyways, my turn."
the man takes a moment to think as he chews on the potato chips. he politely covers his mouth as he does so, and reminds you just how perfect he is. how something as simple as chewing has you make heart eyes at him you don't know.
"who was your bias before this?"
you choke on the treat. you didn't expect that. the reaction has him perk up. he sits up straight, crossing his legs and looking at you with an amused grin, awaiting the answer.
"well?"
"you won't get mad?"
he already frowns at the fact that it isn't him. "no..."
"alright then." you take your sweet time chewing the treat, making san's patience run dry. "my bias was..."
"you're killing me." he whines.
"wooyoung."
"what?!"
"my turn!"
"wooyoung?!"
"oh, come on. it was long ago. you're my favourite now. maybe. besides, you said you won't get mad."
"i lied."
he lays back down, sulking. arms crossed over his chest, and his lips poutier than ever. "are you really mad because you weren't my bias since day one?"
"no. i'm mad because out of all of them, it had to be wooyoung."
the streets are slowly dying out, and the building lights are dimming one by one. it is well past midnight. san is cozy on the couch, not showing any signs of getting up and leaving any time soon. you don't mind. you're happy that he feels comfort in your place. in you.
once done sulking, he sits up straight again.
"want one?" you point at the box of treats.
"sure."
he watches you pull out a single one. his hand tries to grasp it, but you simply avoid it and aim for his lips. you place the pink treat on his lips, which so obediently part and take the sweet stick between his teeth. you're grateful for the soju. otherwise, you wouldn't have san eating out of your hand as he looks at you like you are his whole world. you gently push the treat as he chews, and when your fingers graze his plush lips once he gets to the end, you have to fight yourself to not jump on him. san makes it hard by mischievously licking his lips, and your thumb in the process.
"another?"
he nods. in no time, you push him so that he leans against the backrest again. he gasps when you sit on his lap, hands flying to your thighs for support. the hood is finally pushed back by you, revealing the pretty flushed face under the moonlight and street lights. his touch burns your skin over the thin fabric of your pajamas. you are in awe of the size of his palm, which covers a significant amount of your thigh.
"open up." your voice is a mere whisper. he does as you say, and you waste no time in placing the pepero stick between his teeth, but not before playfully teasing him and swirling it around his tongue first. the strawberry and ruby chocolate melt on his taste buds, and he wishes for nothing more than to taste the other pink that is your lips. as he bites down, a satisfying crunch meets your ears. "good boy."
he almost purrs when your hand caresses his cheek. he might combust on this very couch tonight.
"you're so pretty. i could just put you on my shelf and watch you all day long." you're not sure where all this is coming from. you had buried it deep down. was the bottle of soju really enough to make all of this flood out of you? curiosity paints his features, resulting in big glossy eyes and furrowed brows. "my pretty boy."
he almost whimpers. he's lucky he has the treat in his mouth, because he masks the pathetic whimper by swallowing the pepero. he watches as your other hand retrieves another one, this time placing it between your lips. his face feels warm under your touch. his body is at your complete mercy. all he can do is squeeze your thighs from nervousness as your face inches closer and closer to him. the other end of the stick is pressed against his lips, and he takes it again. he forces himself to go slow, and not like a guinea pig eating an asparagus.
eyes are fluttering shut, breathing becomes shallow, and anticipation pools in lower stomachs as the pepero stick becomes shorter and shorter. san feels your warm breath caress his lips. he smells the strawberries and your lip gloss. he feels your hair tickle his cheeks as your upper body hovers above him. he is aware of the burning situation on his lower area where the two of you are connected. he is overwhelmed.
there is a single bite that separates the two of you. san stops. he isn't brave. you stop as well. and for a moment, he panics. his hands squeeze your thighs in an attempt to keep you from running away again. not this time. not again. and you don't disappoint him.
you bite down on the last bit, and finally, press your lips against his. san exhales into the kiss. he has dreamed of this moment every night. every day. every time he'd see you reapply your lip gloss or lip balm. the scent of sickeningly sweet fruits envelops him, and while he would usually complain, he now welcomes it.
every time he smells a strawberry, a blueberry, a cherry, or a chocolate, he will be reminded of the way your pretty lips feel like a plush cloud against his. of the way you take his bottom lip between your teeth, gently tugging it. of the way your hot tongue swipes over the now slightly swollen lip, as an apology. of the way your body yearns for him, fingers tangling into his hair, playing with the strands. hips hopelessly seeking friction. shallow gasps leaving you whenever you pull away to catch your breath.
of the way his hands can't get enough of you. the way they slide under your top, just to rest on your waist. feeling your burning skin under his touch. fingers tracing up your spine and leaning you further against him. like he doesn't want a single atom to stand between you. his other hand gripping the back of your head, deepening the kiss. tasting you like it's his last meal. like he was made to touch you, taste you.
like he was born to love you.
san effortlessly picks you up. he walks over to the nearby wall, pressing you against it. the cold concrete cools you down. soon enough, your clothes are a mess on the floor. you can't help the exhale of awe that leaves you as your fingers trace san's shoulders, collarbones, then his chest and abs. he fails to hide a proud smile, dimples cutely peeking out. his glasses are all fogged up. you don't want to remove them. the contrast between his face and body should be studied.
"still think i'm pretty?" he huffs, trying to unbuckle his belt while he still holds your body against the wall. he is insanely strong.
you respond with a courageous act; tongue swiping from his collarbone and up his neck, until you stop by his ear. you bite down on his earlobe, and then graze his ear shell with your lips before whispering: "the prettiest."
hands clumsily help him undo his belt, and once his pants hit the floor and he is left in boxers only, he doesn't waste time in pinning you further up the wall so that your legs fall over his shoulders. fingers dig into your thighs as he dives in, teeth pulling the thin fabric aside and tongue eager to taste you. you're lucky it's nighttime.
pretty eyes look at you as the tip of his tongue barely grazes the sensitive bud between your legs. watching your face. studying your expressions. enjoying the way your brows furrow and mouth hangs open as he finally tastes you. you hold onto his shoulder with one hand, and pull his hair with the other. sweet moans are music to his ears. he notices you enjoy slow but deep strokes. so that's what he does: savours you slowly, deeply, to your core. it feels as if all air has been knocked out of your lungs.
before you can fall apart in his mouth, your hand yanks his head away. you half expect the moan that leaves his flushed lips. san carefully sets you down. he then watches in awe as you lower down on your knees. the boxers free his needy cock from their grip. it finds relief in your gentle grasp. san hisses as your tongue softly swirls around his sticky tip. he chokes when your lips close around it, barely even stuffing the tip before you gag. tears prickle your eyes as you test your limits, pushing his thick length to slide down your tongue and touch the back of your throat.
you didn't take san as a noisy man during sex. not that you thought about him in that light. once or twice, maybe. you aren't complaining. not as his hand caresses your hair, gently pulling it every now and then, refraining himself from just snapping his hips and making you cry as he loses himself to the feeling. his moans are pathetic. in a hot way. in a way that makes you realize you want to have san squirming, whining and begging under your touch.
so when both your hands join your mouth on his throbbing cock, san loses his mind. his whimpers intensify, and his hips hopelessly move in rhythm with your head. "fuck-"
you pull away, but don't stop your hands from moving. "you close, baby?"
"oh," he breathes out at the new nickname. "so close. fuck, so close."
"you want to make a mess on me?" you offer, sticking your tongue out and placing his cock on it.
"no," he declines.
"why not?" to your knowledge, every man wanted that. you've tried it. weren't exactly impressed. but for san? you'd do it again and again. "you don't want to paint my face? my tits?"
he shakes his head breathlessly. "you are too pretty for that. it's degrading. i don't want it."
and just like that, he makes you melt all over again. just when he thinks you'll tip him over the edge, your hands abandon him. but it's late. his cock twitches, and he gasps in disbelief as he watches himself leak on the floor. he lets out a frustrated grunt from the ruined orgasm. he misses the way your eyes darken at his needy and upset expression. you felt sorry at first. but now, you might have discovered a new side of san you like.
"aw, my poor sannie." you cup his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks. you feel liquid on them. fuck, is he crying? "baby?"
"i'm- it's fine," he looks away, humiliated.
"sannie." like a lost, obedient puppy, san's glossy eyes lock with yours. "you're so good to me. such a patient little puppy."
"i am?"
"of course you are. you're my pretty boy. and i'll reward you for being so good to me."
"really?" he is intrigued. "how?"
"are you feeling frustrated?" your fingers move the loose strands of hair from his face, caressing his head in the process. "did i ruin your orgasm?"
"n-no..." he stutters.
"i did, didn't i? poor baby." you award him with a sweet kiss. enough to have him chase you when you pull away. but you press your finger against his lips, silently telling him to wait. "you want to cum, sannie?"
"yes, please." san breathes out. "pretty please."
"then use me, baby." you give yourself to him, fingers unhooking your bra and leaving you bare before his eyes. "use me, punish me, breed me, destroy me. do whatever you want. i'm all yours."
san's mouth waters. his ears are buzzing. he hesitates, at first. once his hands lay on your body again, fire reignites within him. he pulls you in for a kiss, desperately searching for the sweetness of your mouth. the taste of you melts on his tongue. you let him set the pace. he is so lost in the way you taste that he doesn't even realize he is rubbing himself against you, hips hopelessly searching for friction.
"need any help?" you purr into his ear as he switches to kissing your neck.
he only hums, and you waste no time in gripping his sensitive cock again.
"you have such a pretty cock, sannie."
if only you knew before how hot male whimpering was. you would've found yourself a submissive man as soon as possible. but your patience and unknowledge is rewarded, life gifting you san for what you've missed.
san turns you around so that you are bent over the glass railing. you feel his sticky tip brush past your thighs, rubbing against your clit, before diving into your warmth. when he bottoms out, he releases a moan of pleasure and relief. you wish you could see his face, but you'll settle for shameless moaning into your ear as he presses his torso against your back and starts moving. you feel him deep in your belly, so much that the sight of it has a new wave of arousal gushing out of you.
"you're so pretty," he is a blubbering mess. his grip is strong on your waist, and so is the one in your hair. your head is pulled back so that you can catch a glimpse of his fucked out face. "you feel so good- fuck-"
"come on, baby. use me."
"i want to- i want to-" he breathes out between moans.
"you want to cum?"
"yes, please. please, please, please- i can't- ah!"
he's taken aback when your hips slam into his. he lets you regain control, pathetically clinging to you as you work your hips at a rough and fast pace, inching him closer to the promised orgasm. then, you slow down. you feel his every vein against your walls. you feel his leaking tip kiss your cervix as you take him deep, causing both of you to gasp and reach for each other. not able to take it anymore, you pull out just enough so you can turn around. he slides back in like he was made for you, filling you up to the brim and hiding his face in the crook of your neck, all while his hands leave bruises on your thighs and waist as he tries his best to control himself.
"come on, baby. wreck me." you moan against his lips.
san deliciously grazes your sweet spot, and once he finds out just what you like, he slams his hips into yours. his teeth bite into your shoulder, drops of sweat cover his body and make his hair stick to his forehead. yet san doesn't care. he is lost in the feeling of you. in the sound of you. in the sight of you.
"sannie-" you breathe out. "fuck, baby, you're doing so good. you're such a good boy."
now you're a blubbering mess. orgasm inching closer, san abusing your sweet spot with his hot tip, hitting it over and over until a strangled moan meets his ears and your body starts twitching in his arms. the sight of you falling apart has san finally reach his own release. ropes of cum shoot inside you, giving you a warm sensation as you recover. san shudders under your touch as you rub his back, quiet whimpers leaving him as he sloppily rides out his orgasm.
"my pretty boy." you praise him. his hair is now slicked back due to sweat and your caressing. he finds comfort in hugging your body close to him and resting his head on your shoulder. "you did amazing, baby. you made me feel so good."
"i did?" san asks, then raises his head enough to take a look at you.
you press your lips to his forehead, and finally, remove the foggy and drenched glasses and put them up on your head as a hair band so that he comfortably lays back on your shoulder. "of course you did."
you don't know how long you stand like that. until the sweat on the two of you dries, and a chill enters your bodies. you drag san back to the couch, laying on it first and inviting him to lay down with you. he wastes no time in helping you wear your top, then wears his own boxers. finally, he lays down with you. head snuggled on your chest, arms wrapped around your waist, as if you'll fade if he lets go.
"good night, san."
"good night, princess."
you're both covered with a thin blanket. just when you start falling into slumber, san wakes you with a tiny voice.
"am i really yours?"
"you are."
"can you say it again?" he mumbles, half asleep.
"you're mine?"
"no, the other thing."
"my pretty boy?"
"yes. good night."
"good night, mr choi."
he pinches your thigh under the blanket, causing you to yelp. "sannie, not mr choi."
"i'm just messing with you, sannie. good night."
"good. good night." you don't miss the way his dimple appears, even though you can't see his smile from this position.
and you can't wait to poke it every chance you get.
