another way to pay.
plumber!han jisung x fem!reader. tw: explicit sexual content, next door neighbor, infidelity, dirty talk, cumplay, guilt, light dom/sub undertones. wc: 4578
mdni
you weren’t planning on talking to her about the sink. you were just venting, really, sipping wine on your balcony while your next door neighbor, mia, scrolled through her phone and nodded in solidarity.
“it’s been leaking for days,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “i called maintenance twice. emailed the property manager. it’s like no one’s in a rush unless your place is flooding.”
she perked up at that.
“you should’ve told me sooner,” she said, setting her glass down. “jisung’s a plumber. he’ll do it for you. free, of course.”
“oh, no, i couldn’t-”
“please.” she was already pulling out her phone. “you’re suffering. let my husband feel useful for once.”
ten minutes later, she was pushing him through your door, smiling like this was her good deed of the day.
“he’ll take care of it,” she said, tossing you a wink. “he loves showing off.”
you managed a laugh, still a little stunned. “thanks.”
“and don’t let him charge you, okay?” she called over her shoulder before disappearing back into her apartment. “he owes me for leaving the laundry in the washer again.”
the door shut and you turned to him.
jisung gave you a small, polite smile. “hey.”
you nodded back. “hey.”
you’d lived next door to them for a while, but never really talked to him. maybe a few greetings in the hall. the occasional awkward smile in the elevator. you didn’t know what you expected, but now that he was standing in your kitchen, tool bag in one hand, shirt slightly clinging to his chest from the humid air, you realized you’d never actually looked at him before and now you couldn’t look away.
he worked in silence.
you sat at the table, pretending to scroll your phone, pretending not to stare at the way his shirt rode up when he knelt, the hint of his lower back and hipbone peeking out. his hat was turned backward now, hair messy, sweat beginning to gather at his hairline.
when he slid fully under the sink, something happened in your chest.
his arm stretched up to reach a pipe. his shirt clung tighter. his biceps flexed. he let out a low, breathy grunt, deep and quiet and your thighs clenched immediately under the table.
you looked away. looked back. swallowed hard.
it got worse when he sighed, voice muffled from under the counter.
“is your AC out too?”
your heart jumped. “what?”
“it’s hot as hell in here,” he said, sliding out a little to look at you. there was sweat on his temple. “your air’s not working, right?”
you nodded, cheeks hot. “yeah. it’s… broken. been too embarrassed to complain again.”
he smiled. “i can look at that too, if you want. after this.”
your stomach fluttered. “you don’t have to do that.”
he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “nah, it’s no big deal.”
he went back under. you went back to watching.
his shirt had darkened with sweat, sticking to his lower back. when he moved, it pulled up more, exposing the hard line of his abs. when he reached again, he let out another low grunt, followed by a breathless “shit,” and a soft chuckle under his breath.
“you okay?” you called out, your voice tighter than intended.
“yeah,” he said. “just tight under here.”
your head spun.
you should not be having these thoughts about your friend’s husband. you shouldn’t be imagining how those arms would feel around your waist. how that mouth would sound against your skin. how that voice would sound saying your name instead of-
“you’re staring,” jisung said, voice light but unreadable.
you blinked.
he was watching you now, propped on one elbow, smirk playing on his lips.
you opened your mouth. no words came out.
he raised a brow. “you’re gonna make me blush if you keep looking at me like that.”
you laughed too fast and too nervous. “i wasn’t-”
he slid out from under the sink completely, sitting up on his knees, brushing off his hands. “it’s okay.”
you swallowed, eyes flicking down.
he was flushed, sweaty, breathless. his shirt clung to his chest, to his stomach. his eyes lingered on yours a little too long. you both froze for a second. the air between you crackled.
he stood slowly, muscles flexing, and grabbed a towel from your counter to wipe his hands.
“sink’s good,” he said, breaking the silence. “i’ll go look at the AC.”
you nodded, still stunned.
he gave you one last look before disappearing down the hall toward your thermostat and you sat there, heart racing, thighs pressed tight together, pulse pounding in your ears.
you were in trouble.
you watch him work from the hallway.
he’s crouched in front of the wall unit, shirt sticking to his back, fingers twisting wires like he’s done it a hundred times. he hums a little under his breath a soft, tuneless thing and wipes his forehead on his shoulder.
you haven’t said anything in the last five minutes.
mostly because you’re afraid you’ll say the wrong thing. or the right one.
finally, the air kicks on with a low, mechanical whir. a soft gust hits your face and you sigh without thinking. his head turns toward you.
“there we go.”
you smile, soft. “thank you.”
he nods, standing, stretching his arms behind his back until his spine cracks. his shirt lifts again. you look away too late. he notices. doesn’t comment.
“you should be good now,” he says. “but if it goes out again, just knock. i’ll fix it.”
you nod, biting your lip, then grab your wallet from the side table. “let me give you something.”
his brows lift. “for real?”
you’re already pulling out cash. “yes. it’s the least I can do-”
“hey,” he steps toward you, hands half raised. “i’m really okay. i wasn’t expecting anything-”
“that’s exactly why i want to.” you shove a few folded bills into his hand. “you fixed two things in like, an hour. i’d be sweating in silence for another week if not for you.”
he glances down at the cash. doesn’t move to give it back but when he looks up, his eyes drop briefly to your chest.
your tank top clings with the heat. no bra. you catch the flick of his gaze, and your breath skips, just once. he sees it.
you both pretend he wasn’t looking.
you cross your arms. “i’d feel bad if i didn’t.”
he stares at you for a beat.
“you could pay me in another way.”
it comes out so smooth, so low, you almost think you imagined it.
you blink. “what?”
he shrugs, smiling a little like he didn’t just change the air in the room entirely.
“i mean,” he says, fingers toying with the cash now, “there’s more than one kind of payment, right?”
your pulse kicks. you step a little closer. just enough to feel the cold air from the vent and the heat still rolling off his body.
“what kind of payment are we talking?” you ask, eyes locked on his.
he looks down at your lips. then back to your eyes. then drops the cash on your counter, slow.
“whatever kind you feel like offering.”
your breath catches. his hand brushes yours when he moves past you, toward the door. “but only if you want to.”
and just before he opens it, he glances back.
“like i said,” he murmurs, voice low, hungry. “if anything else breaks… you know where to find me.”
then he’s gone and you’re left standing in your cold apartment, heart racing, thighs clenching, breath held tight in your lungs.
he didn’t touch you.
he didn’t have to.
you’re already ruined.
>____<
you think about it longer than you should.
long enough to convince yourself you won’t do anything. long enough to tell yourself mia’s been nothing but kind, welcoming, generous, trusting. long enough to almost believe you can ignore the way jisung’s voice sounded when he said another way, or the way his eyes lingered like he was already touching you. almost
but his name stays stuck in your head. his hands. the way he filled the doorway. the heat. the implication.
and when you knock on mia’s door a few days later, it’s supposed to be innocent.
“hey,” you say, leaning against the frame, trying to sound casual. “this is stupid, but something else in my apartment’s acting up. i was gonna call maintenance again, but… if jisung isn’t busy…”
mia’s eyes light up immediately.
“oh, don’t even bother with them,” she laughs. “jisung’ll do it way faster.”
you hesitate. “only if he’s free. i don’t want to-”
she’s already pulling her phone out.
“please,” she says. “he loves fixing things. gives him an excuse to avoid chores.”
your stomach tightens when she adds, “actually.. perfect timing. i’m heading to yoga. he can go help you now.”
she’s already dialing. you swallow hard.
you hear her voice as she turns away, cheerful and loud. “babe? can you go help y/n next door real quick? yeah, now. she needs you.”
you force a smile when she hangs up, stomach twisting.
“he’ll be over in like fifteen,” she says, grabbing her bag. “you’re a lifesaver for keeping him busy while i stretch.”
you laugh weakly. you barely remember walking back to your apartment.
>___<
you change your mind halfway through the door.
the guilt flares again but the want is louder now. heavier. you tell yourself it’s just clothes. just confidence. just curiosity.
the skirt you choose barely covers anything. when you move, it rides up dangerously high. the halter top snaps at the front, thin fabric stretched over your chest, one careless tug away from exposing everything.
no bra. no underwear.
your reflection stares back at you, flushed, nervous, reckless.
fifteen minutes feels like an hour.
when the knock finally comes, it’s firm but hesitant like he’s not sure he should be here.
you open the door.
jisung’s breath catches immediately.
it’s subtle. barely there. but you see it. his eyes flick down, up, linger again like he’s trying and failing to look away.
“hey,” he says, voice a little rougher than last time.
“hey,” you reply, stepping aside. “thanks for coming.”
he nods and steps in, tool bag slung over his shoulder. the door clicks shut behind him and suddenly the apartment feels smaller. warmer. charged. his gaze drops again. your legs. your waist. the snap at your chest.
“uh,” he clears his throat. “what’s… what’s broken?”
you turn, leading him further in. every step makes your skirt ride higher. you feel his eyes burning into your back now, no attempt to hide it.
you stop near the living room, heart hammering.
“it’s… this,” you say, pointing vaguely. not at anything specific. just the wall. the outlet. nothing at all.
he follows your finger, frowns.
“this?” he asks.
you turn to face him.
“yeah,” you say softly. “it’s been… acting up.”
his eyes drop again, slower this time. deliberate.
he looks back up at you, something dark and unreadable flickering across his face.
“doesn’t look broken,” he murmurs.
your throat goes dry.
“are you sure?” you ask.
his jaw tightens. “pretty sure.”
there’s a long pause.
the air conditioner hums softly behind you. cold air brushing over skin that feels too warm.
he steps closer.
“you sure this is what you needed me to look at?” he asks quietly.
your heart pounds so loud you’re sure he can hear it.
you don’t step back. you don’t answer. and that’s answer enough.
his eyes drop again.
first to your chest, the thin fabric of your halter barely holding shape over your breasts, the outline of your nipples clear under the soft light, the center snap begging to be undone with one simple tug.
then to your thighs.
your skirt's ridden up just a little more, and you don’t move to fix it. you can feel the way your skin’s exposed, bare beneath, cool air brushing between your legs.
you don’t say anything. neither does he.
his eyes drag slow over your body like he’s memorizing it. his breathing’s deeper now, chest rising under his sweat damp shirt, jaw tense like he’s holding something in.
then he licks his lips.
slow. deliberate. his tongue dragging over the corner first, then the center.
your stomach flips.
“fuck,” he mutters, almost under his breath, like it slipped out.
your pulse pounds in your ears.
“you’re not wearing anything under that,” he says it like an accusation, voice low and rough.
you don’t deny it.
his eyes snap back up to yours. something dangerous simmers there now hunger, tension, restraint being tested.
“why’d you really ask me to come over?” he asks, voice quieter, tighter.
you step in, not touching him. just close.
close enough to feel the heat roll off him.
“maybe i wanted to see if you meant it,” you whisper.
he stares at you for a second longer.
then his hand lifts, slow, fingers brushing just under the edge of your top, barely there, waiting.
you don’t stop him.
and when his thumb drags over the first snap,
the snap pops open with a soft, cruel sound. then another. then the last.
your top falls apart, fabric sliding off your shoulders, and suddenly you’re standing there, completely bare from the waist up chest rising with every shaky breath.
jisung just stares.
his mouth opens slightly, but no words come. his eyes move slow, devouring every inch of you, pausing at your breasts, your skin flushed and tight with tension, nipples hardened from the cold air or the way he’s looking at you, you can’t tell which.
his breath shakes. his hands twitch at his sides.
“fuck,” he says again, voice hoarse. “mia can’t know.”
you nod.
he takes a step closer. his chest brushes yours. his hand slides up your bare waist, fingers trembling.
you feel the weight of her name between you, the wrongness of it, the sharp edge of what this is becoming. but the moment his mouth crashes into yours, hungry and desperate and filled with every silent thing he’s wanted since the day you moved in, that guilt evaporates like smoke.
you don’t feel an ounce of it.
your hands are on him instantly, clawing at his shirt, yanking it up. he helps you peel it off, lets it fall somewhere by the door. your palms run over the warmth of his skin, the sweat, the tension humming under every inch of muscle.
his back is broad, tight, flexing under your touch as he leans you back toward the wall. your nails drag down his spine, harder than you mean to, and he groans into your mouth, hips pressing forward like he needs to be closer, like he’s ready to lose control.
“do that again,” he growls against your lips.
you do.
deeper. harder. nails leaving angry little red marks down his back that he’ll definitely see in the mirror later, when he’s in the shower pretending this didn’t happen but he doesn’t care right now.
right now, he’s panting against your mouth, rutting against your bare stomach, fingers digging into your hips like he’s trying to hold back like he doesn’t want this to be over too fast. like he’s still trying to convince himself this is a mistake while grinding against you like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.
“you’re so fucking…” his voice dies as he kisses your neck, teeth grazing your skin.
he doesn’t say what. he doesn’t have to. you already know.
>____<
you don’t remember how you got to the wall.
one second his hands were at your waist, his mouth on your neck, the next he’s lifting you like you weigh nothing, your bare back pressed to the cool drywall, thighs wrapping around his hips like it’s instinct like you’ve done this a hundred times in dreams and now your body just knows what to do.
your skirt’s bunched around your waist. your skin is hot, flushed, slick where it sticks to his chest. his hands dig into your thighs, holding you up, fingers flexing like he doesn’t trust himself not to squeeze harder. he presses his forehead to yours, breathing ragged.
"tell me to stop," he says again, like he’s already losing the war with himself. "say mia’s name. say anything. i swear i’ll walk out."
you look at him, completely bare, completely still your lips kiss bitten, your chest rising and falling with every breath you try to control. you don’t say anything. you don’t want him to stop and he sees that.
“fuck,” he breathes out, dragging his hand down between your bodies, cupping you without hesitation. “fuck, you’re soaked.”
your head drops back, a soft sound leaving your throat. “i’ve been thinking about this for days.”
“yeah?” he whispers, dragging two fingers through your folds. “did you think about my hands?”
you nod, shameless.
“thought about your mouth, too,” you breathe. “and how you looked under that sink. all sweaty and-”
his mouth crashes into yours before you can finish. he’s already sinking to his knees.
you gasp, back arching off the wall as he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and drags your skirt higher, completely exposing you. your pussy is dripping needy, swollen, aching and he just stares for a second like he’s trying to memorize the sight of you ruined for him.
"you’ve got no idea how many nights i’ve thought about this," he mutters, almost to himself. "thought about getting my mouth on you... just once."
“then do it,” you say, breathless.
and he does.
his mouth is hot, wet, starving. his tongue drags through your folds like he’s been dreaming about it slow, then firm, then relentless. his hands grip your thighs tighter as you start to shake, your back sliding up the wall from how hard you’re trying to hold on.
he moans into you when your fingers tangle in his hair. he grinds his face into you like he needs it. like he might come from this alone.
you’re panting now, head tilted back, your leg shaking over his shoulder. “don’t stop,” you whisper. “jisung-don’t fucking stop-“
he doesn’t. his tongue circles your clit, flicks, sucks, buries into you deeper.
and when you come, you break. your thighs tighten, your body trembles, your nails scratch down his scalp and you moan so loud it echoes off the walls, his name, his name, his name.
he doesn’t stop until you push him away.
when he stands, his mouth is slick with you. his eyes are dark. his breath is ragged.
“you taste like fucking heaven,” he groans, kissing you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
“fuck,” you pant against his lips. “i need you.”
he’s already undoing his pants.
“then take me,” he says. “take everything you’ve been thinking about.”
his pants drop with a low, heavy sound belt clinking, zipper undone, fabric sliding down his hips.
you’re still trembling, barely holding yourself up against the wall, legs parted, chest rising and falling too fast, mouth open, dazed, waiting. ruined already and you haven’t even felt him inside you yet.
jisung fists his cock in his hand, head bowed, breath uneven as he looks at you. your skin’s flushed. your lips are swollen. your thighs are sticky with your own orgasm and his spit. your skirt’s bunched up around your waist and you’re not wearing a thing underneath. and you look at him like you need him to ruin you more.
“fuck,” he groans, voice hoarse. “you’re so fucking beautiful like this.”
he steps forward, nudging your legs wider, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance.
you both gasp.
“you sure?” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, nose brushing yours. his voice is shaky. “you sure you want this?”
you reach down, wrap your hand around him, guide him to your entrance yourself. your voice is soft, broken.
“stop asking.”
his control breaks with a hiss.
he pushes into you slowly thick, hot, filling you so deep you both fall silent for a moment, like the air’s been sucked from the room. you grip his shoulders, dig your nails in as he stretches you open, every inch of him dragging against soaked, sensitive walls.
when he bottoms out, you moan into his neck. and he stays there, just for a second, his hands gripping your thighs like he has to hold onto something.
“shit,” he breathes. “you feel… fuck, you feel unreal.”
you whimper. roll your hips. he groans like you punched the air from his lungs.
“you can move,” you whisper. “i want you to.”
he pulls out halfway and snaps his hips back into you. your gasp echoes off the wall.
he does it again. and again. each thrust faster, harder, deeper. your body bounces against the wall with every movement, your moans tumbling out between kisses, gasps, whispered curses.
you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright, one hand fisted in his hair, the other clawing down his back.
“fuck, your nails-” he groans, shuddering, “you’re marking me up.”
“good,” you pant, dragging your mouth down his jaw. “want you to feel it later.”
he fucks you harder at that. his thrusts turn punishing, fast, wild. his mouth finds your chest, your throat, your lips. you cry out every time he hits that spot deep inside you, every stroke messy and desperate and so fucking good you swear you’re gonna break. he reaches down, rubs your clit in fast, tight circles.
“come again,” he pants. “wanna feel you clench around me.”
you sob his name. your body tightens, spasms. your second orgasm slams into you and you swear you see white legs shaking, cunt squeezing around him so tight he nearly loses it right there.
he groans, snapping his hips once, twice more before he buries himself to the hilt, holding you still as he spills deep inside you.
his head drops to your shoulder. you both go still.
the only sounds are your breathing. your heartbeats. the low hum of your AC that he fixed, days ago, before everything fell apart.
jisung pulls back slowly, like he’s waking up from something.
your legs stay wrapped around him.
“what the fuck are we doing,” he whispers against your neck.
you’re still shaking, throat raw. “why does it feel this good.”
he doesn't answer.
but he kisses you again, soft this time. slow.
and when he finally sets you down, helps you clean up, doesn’t look you in the eye, you already know this won’t be the last time.
and you won’t feel guilty for a second of it.
the silence that follows is thick and humid.
your heartbeat pulses between your legs where his cum is already beginning to slip out around his cock both of you flushed, fucked out, and breathing too hard for how quiet the room is.
his hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing gently over your cheek.
“sorry,” he whispers, but he’s already kneeling again, his breath ghosting across your inner thigh.
you squirm. “jisung, i-”
“shh.” his voice is low, wrecked, but still soft. “let me take care of it.”
you barely get a warning before his tongue is between your legs again, licking up the mess he left inside you like he’s starving for it. your hands scramble for something, anything to hold onto. his arms curl around your thighs, holding you open as his mouth works, slow and gentle but relentless.
“baby-fuck,” you whimper, hand in his hair, tugging. “too much-”
you’re soaked, his cum and your arousal smeared across your thighs, down to your knees. he groans against you like he likes the mess. like he’d live there if you let him.
you come again without meaning to.
legs shaking, back arching, moaning his name in a voice you don’t recognize as yours. your thighs try to close but he doesn’t let you, his tongue dragging over your clit through it all, your overstimulated nerves screaming for mercy.
you finally shove at his head with a breathless laugh, thighs twitching.
“enough,” you giggle, still gasping for air. “you’re trying to kill me.”
jisung’s lips are wet, flushed, hair a mess, eyes shining like he’s never seen anything so beautiful.
he presses one last kiss to your thigh before standing, grabbing a dish towel from your kitchen like he hasn’t just spent twenty minutes between your legs. he wipes you off gently, keeps a hand on your waist as you shakily try to get your balance again.
"can you walk?"
"barely," you breathe.
he grins, then starts grabbing his shirt from the floor, stepping into his jeans. the shift back to reality is jarring, the room’s still thick with the smell of sex, your AC humming steadily now, his belt clinking as he fastens it.
you fix your skirt with trembling fingers, pulling the hem down, smoothing it as best you can. you don’t even bother with the halter top. it’s too far gone, one snap still hanging half open.
jisung moves quickly, wiping sweat from his neck, running a hand through his hair. he grabs his tool bag, scans the room once like he’s checking for evidence. his cheeks are still pink. his lips swollen. his shirt clings to his chest with sweat.
you glance at the time and your stomach twists.
she’s going to be home. he seems to read your panic.
“i’ve got it,” he says. “just follow my lead.”
he opens the door, just as calm as if he were finishing a regular house call. you’re standing behind him, peeking over his shoulder, trying not to look like someone who was just fucked against a wall so hard your knees still feel like jelly.
and that’s exactly when it happens.
“oh!” a voice laughs.
your stomach drops.
mia.
she’s walking up the hallway from the elevator, yoga mat slung over her shoulder, ponytail bouncing. she looks relaxed, freshly showered, totally unsuspecting. jisung freezes.
you go still behind him.
“you’re still here?” she grins. “i figured you’d be done in, like, ten minutes.”
jisung clears his throat, and for a second you think he might actually choke on air.
“uh-yeah,” he says. “took longer than expected.”
“i’ll bet,” she teases. “she probably talked your ear off, huh?”
your laugh comes out two seconds too late, too tight. “you know me.”
she eyes him, then you, then smirks. “he didn’t give you trouble, did he?”
“no,” you say. “he was… very thorough.”
jisung coughs, hiding his mouth behind his shoulder.
“well,” mia shrugs, unlocking their shared apartment door, “thanks for helping her. you’re basically the building’s unpaid handyman at this point.”
“anytime,” he says, stepping back toward her with his bag over his shoulder, sweat still clinging to the base of his neck. you watch his back as he disappears into their apartment. you don’t exhale until the door clicks shut behind him. then, finally, you let yourself lean back against the inside of your own door, chest heaving, head spinning, thighs still sticky, breath caught between guilt and the aching memory of his mouth on your skin. he was right. you knew where to find him.
and now you knew what it felt like to be taken apart by hands that weren’t yours to hold.
and the worst part?
you already wanted more.
>____<
“we shouldn’t be doing this”
fic related links: #1 #2 #3