better luck next time, detective ꒰ woosan ꒱
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pairing: criminal!san x detective!wooyoung. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ word count: 2.3k words. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ genre: smut/crime AU | minors DNI. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ warnings: nsfw, rough sex, handcuff bondage, dom!san, sub!wooyoung, criminal/detective dynamic, consensual non-consent themes, manhandling, dirty talk, light edging, brief aftercare, mild blood mention, voyeurism/masturbation mention, language. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ a.n: my first ever smut!! took me awhile, but i think i did pretty well, hehe lmk if you guys like it!
"Don't move!" Wooyoung yells, tripping over a trash can lid as he skids into the alley.
Classic. So classic.
Choi San doesn't move. Not really. He just tilts his head. Slow, deliberate. That signature unimpressed stare boring right into Wooyoung like he's some kind of bug he's considering squashing.
"You again," San mutters, deadpan. "Didn't you sprain your ankle last time?"
"Pulled a muscle," Wooyoung huffs, straightening up and yanking his badge out of his coat like it'll suddenly make him look more intimidating. It doesn't. "This time, I've got you. No escape routes. No subway tunnel tricks. No rooftop jumps—seriously, how did you even do that?"
San shrugs. His hands are in the pockets of his dark jacket. There's blood on the corner of his sleeve, but it's not his. Wooyoung knows that. And the fact that it's not... should be terrifying. But all Wooyoung can focus on is how unfairly good San looks under the flickering streetlight. Jaw clenched. Eyes sharp. Like he;s made of ice and doesn't give a damn about anyone's rules.
"You're always two steps behind," San says, stepping forward. Not running—just closing the distance slowly and casually. "You know that, right?"
"I'm getting better," Wooyoung shoots back, lifting his chin. "I almost had you at the train station."
San hums, unconvinced. "Almost isn't good enough."
"Well it was close enough to scare you," Wooyoung says, crossing his arms then uncrossing them because he realizes that just makes him look nervous. "You did run."
A smirk could be seen on San's lips. He actually smirks at that. Which is unfair because that stupid smirk short-circuits Wooyoung's brain for half a second.
"I meant," Wooyoung tries again, flustered but stubborn, "you better start worrying. I'm catching up."
San looks him up and down. "Yeah?" he says, eyes sharp. "Guess we'll see."
Wooyoung tightens his grip on his taser. He's not even sure it's on. "Okay, okay, look. You've cornered. You're caught. Let's skip the part where you do something cool and I eat concrete. Just... hands up. Let me win this one."
San's smile is slow and wicked and infuriatingly attractive. "Let you win?"
"Dude, please. I've lost, like six times. I still have bruises from the museum incident."
"You fell down the stairs."
"You pushed me down the stairs."
San doesn't deny it. He just keeps walking forward. Calm. One boot scuffing softly on the pavement like this is just a casual stroll.
Wooyoung holds his ground. Mostly. His knees are doing a tiny little fear bounce but he tells them to shut up.
And then San stops right in front of him. Barely a foot of air between them.
"You ever think maybe you don't want to catch me?" San says, voice low and soft.
Wooyoung blinks. "What?"
"You keep chasing, and you keep failing." San leans in just a fraction. "And I'm so nice that I keep letting you get close."
"That's not—" Wooyoung swallows. "You think this is what, some kind of game?"
San doesn't answer. Just reaches out and gently taps the front of Wooyoung's coat with one finger. Right above his heart, "You always come running when it's me."
"And you always run," Wooyoung whispers back, eyes locked on his.
"Do I?" San murmurs.
Something presses against Wooyoung's waist. Cold and sharp.
His hands shoots down instinctively—but by the time he gets there, the handcuffs are gone, and so is San.
"Nope nope nope—" Wooyoung spins around, heart thudding like a bass drum. "San!"
He hears laughter echoing down the alley, light and cruel and beautiful, like the win itself is making fun of him.
There's a folded scrap of paper on the ground where San had been standing.
Wooyoung picks it up.
Better luck next time, detective. You're cute when you're mad.
He groans. Loudly. And kicks the wall. Immediately regrets it because ow.
"SON OF A—"
It's almost 3AM when Wooyoung stumbles into his apartment, coat barely hanging on one shoulder, taser dead in his pocket and a half-eaten convenience store kimbap shoved in his mouth.
The alley encounter with San earlier keeps playing on repeat in his head. That look. That smirk. That note.
"Better luck next time." God, is he flirting? Who flirts through petty criminal mind games?
Wooyoung throws his coat onto the couch, drags himself into his room, and faceplants on the bed.
His forehead thumps against the pillow. "Maybe I need a new job."
"You'd be terrible at anything else."
Wooyoung freezes.
He lifts his head slowly. Very slowly.
There's someone sitting on the edge of his bed.
San?
Choi. Freaking. San.
Leaning back, legs crossed, in the same dark jacket. Boots kicked off neatly by the wall like this is his damn house.
Wooyoung scrambles back so hard he falls off the bed. "WHAT THE—"
"You should lock your window." San says it like he's giving actual home security advice. "Not that it would've stopped me."
"You—how did you—why are you—" Wooyoung gropes for his phone. "You're not supposed to be here! This is breaking and entering—urgh! I'm calling backup!"
San doesn't move.
Wooyoung dials. Hits the call button. "Dispatch. I—"
click.
Something tightens around his wrist.
He stares down at his hand. The phone clatters to the floor.
There's a pair of handcuffs. Not his. Shinier. Tighter. Connected to the metal frame of his bed.
His bed.
"...You brought your own cuffs?"
San hums as he climbs over him. "Yours are flimsy."
"You—San—this is a felony—"
"You love when I commit felonies."
"The fuck? I don't—"
"You're hard."
Wooyoung shuts up.
San's fingers trace along the line of his jaw, his throat, his chest. It's infuriating how calm he is, how in control. How he looks at Wooyoung like he already owns him.
"Do you know how easy it is to follow you?" San murmurs, breath hot near his ear. "You go to the same shitty corner store every night. You drink the same energy drink. Your light's always on past midnight. You sigh so dramatically when you jerk off."
"What? I.. I don't jerk off.."
San slides his thigh between Wooyoung's legs and grinds just slightly.
Wooyoung lets out a breathy, involuntary noise and curses himself for it.
"There it is," San says softly. "That sound. I wanted to hear it from you this time."
"You're a criminal—"
"Mm. And you're not stopping me, aren't you?"
San's mouth brushes his. Not a kiss. Just enough to make Wooyoung shiver and lean up into it.
His other wrist gets cuffed.
He's spread open, back pressed to the mattress, cheeks burning, breath shallow. His shirt gets unbuttoned like San has all night to savor the process. And maybe he does. Because Wooyoung sure as hell isn't going anywhere.
"You think I've been running," San murmurs against his neck, tongue flicking just beneath his jaw. "But I've always been circling."
"You talk like a—" Wooyoung gasps when San's fingers slip under his waistband. "—like a villain."
"I am a villain," San whispers. "But you? You're mine."
San says it low, right into Wooyoung's ear as he palms him through his pants, slow. It's barely any pressure but Wooyoung's hips jerk up helplessly.
"Y-you're insane," Wooyoung pants.
San hums, like that's a compliment. "Probably. But you're the one with both wrist cuffed, hard, probably horny for me. So what does that say about you?"
"I hate you," Wooyoung spits, even as he writhes in the hold, chest flushed, breath getting choppier with every second.
"No, you don't, detective," San murmurs, dragging his tongue across Wooyoung's collarbone. "You keep chasing me. You like when I make you lose."
Wooyoung lets out a breathy, frustrated groan, bucking up. "If I wasn't tied up—"
"You'd what?" San's hand finally slides inside, knuckle brushing against Wooyoung's skin. "Arrest me? Tackle me? Ride me while swearing you're doing it for justice?"
"Wooyoung's moan is half choked, head tipping back against the mattress.
San watches him—soaked in moonlight, chest heaving, skin burning under his fingertips. "God, you're so easy, detective."
"Are you going to fuck me or keep yapping?" Wooyoung bites, voice hoarse and wrecked.
San grins. "Say please."
"Go to hell."
San squeezes—hard—and Wooyoung gasps like it knocks the air from his lungs.
"Try again," San purrs, licking the curve of Wooyoung's neck. "Or I'll edge you til sunrise."
Wooyoung's entire body arches. "Fuck—please."
"There's my good boy," San says, low and pleased.
San's hand slides down, unfastening Wooyoung's pants with ease. There's a sharp inhale from Wooyoung as cool air hits his skin, boxers tugged just low enough for San to cup him fully.
"You're so hard," San murmurs, eyes locked onto his flushed, twitching dick. He wraps his fingers around the shaft, slow and deliberate, dragging a moan out of Wooyoung that makes his spine arch against the mattress. "Didn't even have to di anything yet."
"S-San—"
The grip tightens.
Wooyoung harks in the cuffs, the metal clinking above his head. "Fuck—!"
San strokes him, shaft to tip, dragging his thumb across the leaking slit. "Every time I've seen you," he whispers, "I wondered if you'd fall apart like this. So loud and so messy."
"Y-you're crazy—"
"But you love it." San leans in, dragging his tongue from the base of Wooyoung's throat to his ear. "Tell me you don't want this."
Wooyoung's head thrashes. His cock is already pulsing in San's hand, every nerve lit up. "I hate how good it feels," he gasps. "I—ah—fuck, San—!"
San pulls away just long enough to strip, his dick already hard, glistening at the tip. Wooyoung stares, wide-eyed, lips parted, breath ragged. And San smirks.
"You gonna take it like a good little detective?" he taunts, stroking himself just above Wooyoung's bare thigh. "Beg for it."
Wooyoung groans, eyes fluttering. "Please. San—please—just fuck me."
"That's more like it."
He reaches down, slicks his fingers with spit, then presses one between Wooyoung's legs without warning. The first slide is fast, too fast, and Wooyoung gasps, back arching hard.
"God—!"
"You've been thinking about this too, haven't you?" San mutters as he works him open, finger pumping in and out, curling just right. "Jerking off at night, pretending it was me. Wishing I'd break in and ruin you."
"No— shut up—!"
Another finger joins the first, scissoring him open, and Wooyoung's protest melts into a groan. "Fuck—"
"You want it rough? I'll give you rough."
San lines up, presses the tip against him, and thrusts in—hard, fast, all at once. Wooyoung cries out, thighs trembling, eyes wide and desperate.
"F-fuck—San—!!"
"That's right." San hisses through his teeth as he thrusts his dick. "Tight. Fuck, you're perfect."
He doesn't wait.
The thrusts start fast and brutal, each one slamming Wooyoung against the mattress with enough force to rattle the frame. The cuffs clink in rhythm with every snap of San's hips, and Wooyoung's moans get louder, wilder, completely lost in it.
"God—you're deep—"
"Say my name," San grunts. "Let the whole fucking building hear who owns you."
"San—! Ahhh—San—please—"
Sweat slicks their skin. San's hand grips Wooyoung thigh, spreading him wider, angling deeper, until he hits the spot that makes the detective sob beneath him.
"There it is," San growls. "That little sound I've been wanting to hear."
Wooyoung's dick is flushed, aching, leaking over his own stomach. San wraps a hand around it again and strokes in time with his thrusts—hard and fast, overwhelming.
"I'm gonna cum," Wooyoung pants. "F-fuck—I can't take it anymore—!"
"Do it," San snaps.
And Wooyoung does, with a scream, his whole body locking up as he spills across his chest, white-hot and blinding. The orgasm wracks through him, violent and raw, leaving him twitching and soaked.
San fucks him through it, chasing his own release. He buries himself completely one last time, groaning into Wooyoung's neck as he releases his load deep inside him, hips jerking through the aftershocks.
The room goes quiet, save of their gasping breaths.
San slumps forward, lips pressed to Wooyoung's temple.
"You're mine," he murmurs. "Every inch of you."
Wooyoung's too dazed to respond. He just lies there, wrecked, cum scared across his stomach, San's dick still buried deep inside him.
And then—softly, breathhlessly—Wooyoung mutters, "Fuck. I think I need a shower. And therapy."
San laughs against his skin. "You need another round."
San's chest is pressed against his, arm slung lazily over his waist like he owns the bed. Like this is his place. Like this wasn't breaking and entering followed by the most intense sex of Wooyoung's life.
"Are you... cuddling me?" Wooyoung asks, voice still scratchy.
San's voice is sleepy and smug. "Yeah."
"Don't criminals usually, I don't know, flee the scene?"
"Hmm? I already got what I came for."
"Urgh, so annoying," Wooyoung mutters, though he can't help the embarrassed little smile twitching at his lips. "Also, uncuff me!"
"Mmm." San yawns. "Nah. You're cuter like this."
"I hate you."
"Sure you do," San mumbles, burying his face into Wooyoung's neck.
And it's almost—dangerously—sweet. For like ten seconds.
Until, "Detective Jung, report your location. Dispatch has received an incomplete distress call from your number."
The radio on the floor crackles to life.
San blinks.
Wooyoung blinks.
"...Didn't you hang up your phone before?" San asks, slow horror hit his face.
"I THOUGHT I DID!" Wooyoung shrieks, jerking at the cuffs.
"Are you kidding me right now?!"
"I was distracted!"
The sound of distant sirens starts to build outside.
San bolts up, fully naked, yanking his shirt over his head mid-sprint towards the window.
"San—wait!" Wooyoung yells, struggling against the cuffs. "UNCUFF ME YOU ASSHOLE!"
"I literally can't, I dropped the key somewhere under the bed!"
"You're leaving me like this?!"
"I'll come back for you!" San yells over his shoulder, halfway out the window.
"You are such a jerk!"
San smirks as he climbs out. "I'll see you soon, detective."
And just like that—he's gone.
Wooyoung collapses back against the pillow, one arm still stuck, body sore, hair a mess, and definitely not wearing any pants.
He sighs.
"Yeah.. I definitely need a new job."
