#m: chokchokk

[cromernet]

→ NEW RELEASE: Feel (the Beat of Me) by @chokchokk

Feedback: oh. my. goodness. DRUMMER!SAN??? i could talk about the insanity of this man’s duality and stage presence all day, and I truly cannot think of a better AU to encapsulate both of those things than this. PLEASE he’s so cheeky. knowing what he does to y/n and still being a tease??? for SO LONG??? at least karma hit him with his own desperation to make things hot as hell good lord— i’m speechless 😳

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 (𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄) | choi san x fem!reader

a requested drummer boyfriend!san one-shot

“How do I feel like, Sannie?”

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : With your eyes on his playing, San feels like a superstar. 

You, on the other side, feel super horny. Mamma Mia…

“You feel like you're mine."

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : fluff, smut

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 7.8k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : established relationship, a bit cocky but very sweet drummer!san, shy but not inexperienced girlfriend!femreader, sensory overload & deprivation, slight dry-humping (f), light-hearted teasing, pet-names (sun, sunshine, sunny, baby), explicit consent, verbal & physical reassurance, blindfolding, praise, cunnilingus, fingering, love-making, passionate sex, unprotected sex (not sorry), cussing; banging against the wall and mattresses squeaking used as a narrative and poetic device, barely plot just good fuck and tuck (aftercare)

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : i wrote this in 4 long sessions while i had a very horny long distance relationship with drummer!san due to all the business i experienced while working on this lol. i missed him any time i couldn't write for him, which, over the course of almost 2 months (i'm sorry)... is long.... i promise it is sweet and love-making but uh. horny. i was drunk for a big chunk (like a half) of writing this (took care of obvious errors but tell me if you find anything please omg.) anyway lmao hope you have fun reading it <33 always appreciate reblogs, likes and comments/feedback xoxo

𝚝𝚊𝚐-𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 : @ateezstanforever : @sanwhalvr : @itsvxlentine : @jeonride : @r1kitti : @sanniesbunnie : @northerngalxy (thank you!!!)

masterlist link | join my taglist

[ what he’s playing : MAMMAMIA / FEEL / FOR YOUR LOVE ▸ Måneskin | playlist ]

OH, OH, OH, AUGH!

There he goes again, your boyfriend, his black earphone plugged deep into one ear, drum sticks held firmly in his hands, hammering down on the drums he's been abusing for the past, uh — gosh, how long has it been? An hour? A lifetime? 

You love your Sannie, you really do, but when you signed up to be the girlfriend of infamous drummer “Sun Set”, you were expecting heated, secret glances from the stage to the audience, feverish making out-sessions post-concert, and while you do get those things in an overdose, listening to drum covers (without the vocals, mind you) on repeat until your ears actually fall off–? No, that one was not on the initial contract.

And, come on, it's finally the weekend after one long, exhausting week, which San and you usually spend trying to de-stress, relax and relieve yourself. So yes, if it was as usual, you would be spending your sweet time with your boyfriend right now— if it wasn't for his upcoming competition with his band.

Alright. It’s not to say that you are being forced to stay here in between these soundproof walls, covered by graffiti San's bandmates left to immortalize their jam-sessions, and don’t forget the pungent smell of tobacco that will without a doubt stick to the hoodie you fetched after he took it off— you do want to be a supportive girlfriend that’s worth winning those 1K for.

So, you’ll still give him a thumbs up and applause every time he finishes with a song, tilts up his head triumphantly, fingers running through his incredibly disheveled red hair that has formed singular spikes of sweaty strands, while the drum sticks still rest in his hands with his breath all messed up. He gives it his all, but what you understand is that San gives even more when you are there to watch him: At least that’s what you’re seeing right now, when he doesn't give himself more than five seconds to transition to the next track.

Lower lip bitten deep by his teeth, face pulled together to a concentrated frown, head rocking up and down, side to side, with his red locks waving around in the wind of his energy and feet aggressively stomping down the bass drum, your boyfriend feels his music, always, with his whole body, his mind drowns and explodes with the help of his loud instrument, and as you sit there, on the couch, a pillow clenched in between your legs– you try to balance out the overbearing noise by digging your nails into the cushion, and you deal with the “awe” you feel for your boyfriend being so immersed by his artistry, god, so astonishingly burning and afire— by pressing your thighs together so the beats of his drum can finally stop pulsating between them.

San doesn’t smile when he plays, you noticed it a while ago, makes an almost disgusted-looking face by scrunching his face together, especially when he really hammers down the cymbals and throws his head to the back, drilling holes into the ceiling with his eyes as if he’s challenging the gods to come stop him, his thick neck glistening in his sweat, his pulse pumping through the vein that is bulging out. 

Oh, mamma…

You hope those gods do have mercy with you, because San looking like this does things to you that go beyond just feeling fear that he’s going to throw his shit to the floor. It makes you go into a craze that he’s also wearing a very drenched black tank top and pair of ripped jeans, his black bandana he had on his head is now tied around his thigh, and his arms are flexing with each time he’s thwacking down on his tom-toms and smashing the cymbals— fuck, where does your boyfriend get the time to go to the gym? Is it getting hot in here? You can’t possibly be enduring overheating on top of a headache, you’ll actually pass out or have to rip off your clothes in its entirety. But, shit, look at him— your boyfriend looks absolutely carnal right now and you can’t even slightly touch him, you’re going to melt. Like actually melt into mush.

… mia.

San is going through his usual cathartic euphoria, the snaring sounds of his drums and cymbals penetrate your ear cut and clean, but while you usually can bop your head to it, listening to him does slightly differ, when your brain clenches after each sound that follows the other. 

It’s 1 AM. The weekend has just started. It’s been two hours of his practice now, with a small ‘make-out break’ that is already more than thirty minutes ago. San promised you, ‘just one last song and I’ll be there for you, yeah?’, but there goes he, your boyfriend, Choi San, Sun Set, drumming along to his tenth or something song, overflowing in intense passion.

You could have been lying in bed with him, San in your arms or you in his, smothered by his love or something, anything; Please, just… No more beating the skin. No more rudiments, diddles– you don’t want to hear none of it, and you know you’re being an immodest glutton for your boyfriend thinking of him like this, but there’s nothing else on your mind except him and how bad you want him to stop playing. Of course you can’t say that out loud, at least not that he could hear it over the sounds of his drums, especially over how loud the music in his earbuds is set, the vocals screech through the plastic so even you can hear the shouts.

San values his musical time with his drum, needs it to feel secure for the competition, it would be cruel to interrupt him just because you have a headache and an even more so aching cunt, right?

No, you dummy.

San is your boyfriend. Or no, you, dear, are his beloved girlfriend. He’s not going to let you sit here and suffer, even if you mean well for him and watch Sun Set be hot. Being his scarily attentive self, he catches the strain in your face and immediately stops stepping into the bass drum with his sneakers. A very acute quietude interrupts his playing and washes all of your boiled up headache away.

Silence.

It can sound so sweet, can’t it? Can feel so sweet, too…

“Hey, are you okay, sunshine?”, San asks, and after your ears get used to the lack of sound, you see his sweat drop from his forehead, hear his voice soft and molten, which starkly contrasts the overwhelming volume of the instrument he’s been playing.

“No, it’s nothing,” you murmur, failing at hiding your discomfort, as the pillow still rests in your hands, nail marks as visible as visible can be on the velvety surface. You’ve obviously been scratching that, don't even try to hide it.

“Oh, sunshine,” San sighs with a sorrowful smile that understands immediately, and after he swings his legs from the stool, he makes his way to you with open arms to slide them under your armpits.

You liquefy in his hug, the pillow tumbling out your groin, body going lax immediately as you wrap yourself around his neck, sinking into him. The couch squeaks a bit upon the impact of San falling into it, but the shrill noise is nothing compared to the beat of his drums. His embrace engulfs you, makes you feel sunken in remedy, reverie and warmth– and the slippery surface of his back only adds to the experience of having your lover in your arms. All that was a buzzing chaos— San makes it golden, melting your tense body, lifting it up to gently sit down on the couch side-ways with you on top, your ear listening to how his heart knocks against his ribcage, slowly, loudly, steadily.

“It’s past midnight already!”, he gasps silently, looking at the clock, “Why didn’t you tell me, sunny?”

“You had that look on again,” you whine, face planted into his breast, god, his pillowy, sweaty chest— and look up to him, as he strokes over your back.

“I have something like that?”, San hums, voice is kept low so he doesn’t irritate you in any way, though there’s a slight suggestive swing in the repetition of your words, “A look?”

His eyebrow twitches up and his lips are curled into a smirk, wanting you to tell him in detail what’s gotten you to fidget around with the pillow and whine in impatience, clearly bleeding in confidence that comes from having not missed even the slightest beat of the songs.

You didn’t think drummers were that sexy, since the usual limelight was kept on the flirtatious vocalists, powerful guitarists or the red-blooded bassists, but after San had invited you to one of his jam-sessions on the third date, your life had been tilted upside-down, rocked, and your fate settled. (It was really rough to not fall around his neck after his drum-solo, peculiarly when Seonghwa and Wooyoung kept making jokes about your red cheeks, but you still remember the way San asked you whether you were alright with his heavy breath, and, oh god, does it still turn you on to this day.)

If it’s not the look he has on his face every time he pounds into his instrument, the one which you can feel flutter in between your legs, it’s most certainly the look in his eyes he has on right now, the sultry, slightly taunting gaze that’s trying to make you sweat, and as if the room isn’t heated up enough, his dark irises spark in between his eyelashes, kindling a fire in you that definitely needs extinguishing— so best believe he should know it.

“Your fans tell you every day, Sannie,” you groan, embarrassment croaking your voice while you snuggle yourself deeper into his comfortable body, his thigh parked between your legs. You can feel the knot of his bandana stroke your core and you shudder a little bit, a cracked breath escaping out your nose. Your boyfriend raises his eyebrows– doesn’t seem to acknowledge how you inhale deeply– and San exhales out a chuckle, answering, with glittery puppy eyes that make you unable to say no any further, “I’d like to hear it from you though, sunshine…”

You slump deeper into his flesh and as his bandana grazes the thin layer of your booty- shorts again, you savor how slow he’s breathing and how warm he feels under you, sighing, “Sannie, when you play the drums… It’s like… W- wow, what do I say, you know…”

“Aww, don’t be shy now,” San croons and doesn’t acknowledge how he’s encouraging you to keep grinding needily on his thigh, hands skidding to your ass to cup them delicately, drifting and pushing you over slowly. “I don’t know, Sannie… You–,” you whirr and you have to inhale sharply after your sensitive bud tingles, “You… make my head hurt, Sann- n- nie.”

Alright, let’s be honest here. You’re lying through your teeth, and San chuckling is confirmation that he doesn’t believe the lie one single bit.

Yes, your head hurts, but that was his music, not San as the only man who could take care of all the feelings that have been jamming up like crazy. Feelings being a gut-wrenching mix of longing, craving, lusting for San as hard as you do. Even now, you can count the drops of sweat on his face dripping down his freckled neck you’ve already previously admired, but seeing it up close makes you quite greedier, especially when you can still make out his flavor on your tastebuds from having had your tongue down his throat a (too long) while ago. Not to forget his fingers groping into your plump butt right now, and it’s confusing how your boyfriend’s visage can stay as innocuous as it looks while he’s obviously supporting you on chasing your thrill.

After the silence that follows San’s chuckle, your boyfriend speaks up again, and despite the air being undeniably thick, his voice vibrates comfortably in his ribcage, lulling in the side of your head; “I’m so sorry for making your pretty head hurt, Y/N.” 

You click with your tongue, pouting, gathering a bit of your energy that’s slowly coming back, and grab San by his shoulders. You turn your head so your chin is poking into his sternum, looking right to where he’s eyeing you down. You stop grinding and he looks with a smile.

“How can I make it up to you, hm?”, your boyfriend snickers softly, hands disappearing under his hoodie to trail you down your back and waist with his fingers. You feel fuzzy and velvety under his touch, and him gently breathing out “sunny” melts in your ears like a restorative, refreshing breeze after the endless knocks of his drums intimidating you and tying your throat shut.

“My ears were seriously killing me, I think,” you admit, but the cute pout remains formed on your lips.

“Ohh, Y/N, I’m– I’m really sorry to hear that. I really didn’t want to make you hurt, sunny, I promise,” San sniffles and mirrors your pout; you get the hunch he does feel very, very sorry this time, yet his hands are very guilty of slithering up your back and— clip! Open up your bra.

Ignoring that you flutter, feel light and feel the relief already, you uncontrollably giggle in surprise and push yourself up, getting to see more of your boyfriend’s handsome face. He has stopped pouting now, using his tongue to wet his red-tinted lips with a friendly, yet very ferocious smile. “You know the songs I was playing right now, sunshine?”

“No, I don’t,” you answer with continuing honesty.

Your boyfriend chuckles, “hm, maybe it’s better that way,” voice dripping like honey, but the sweet innocence is feigned, making you curious of what he’s hiding from you, deflecting from the very evident scene he’s painting.

His caramel skin proves it; for the particularized taste, heat must be added for sugar to win aroma, and your boyfriend is testing the theory to its limits.

Gliding his hands to your hips, San gets your cheeks burning, and when he hooks his fingers into his hoodie and drives it off your body, you lick over your lips asking yourself if you need any clarity to know where this is going; With your arms raised, your boiling skin meets fresh air through your drenched shirt and you shudder for a short moment, before your boyfriend gets his hands on the bra, fetches it, and slithers it out your arms.

After it drops to the ground and San sees your nipples poke through your shirt, he shifts his weight to the front to make you trip on your back, and takes off his tank top with both of his hands. His lats spread frighteningly wide and you let out a gasp. You’ll never not be surprised about how beefy your boyfriend is; San’s sweaty body expands in front of your eyes, and his collarbones are perfectly in your sight, as he hovers over you with his hand propped next to your head. There’s a wave of heat hitting your face and you aren’t sure whether you’re blushing or if his body is just genuinely that thermal.

Adopting the rather playful tone of your lover, you sulkily murmur, “It’s unfair if you don’t tell me about those things now, Sannie,” letting your finger trail along his slippery chin with softness, aware that you will only semi-attentively listen to his words from how distracted you are from his fallen eyes that are slowly flaming up. There’s only two things on your mind and while one of them includes going home, the other one can be perfectly executed on the couch.

“Oh, so naughty things, sunny, I don’t know if you want to hear about them, actually.” 

San chuckles, his words contradicting how eagerly he kisses your hand, piercing through you with his eyes, making you melt. He gets his upper body up, his knees caging you in and you murmur “tell me about them”, as your boyfriend grabs you by wrist to help you move it down his chest that is still perceivably sleek, down to his abs that are just as lubricious and then, with a heavy sigh he definitely forms into a clear “ha~” leaving his mouth which makes your insides wobble.

Your boyfriend is such a tease. On stage, he doesn’t get to be as interactive as his band-counterparts do, like getting their sweat-drenched heads dangle down to the crowd and be ruffled through their hair, but Sun Set surely takes off his top oftentimes enough so every fan of his can admire his build. Your boyfriend’s amazing build. 

He lets go of your hand to go through his red hair with a smirk, peeking down at his belt, clearly driving you into a wall here which is going to feel feathery light, but still so scary to brush against your skin— you have to make a choice here, one that makes your voice come out stuttered, one that proves to San that he's on the right track, cooking you up deliciously.

San might be a tease, but ohh, Y/N. You’re just so fun to tease, aren't you?

“P.. Please, Sannie,” you murmur, shyly, voice whispery because the headache fizzles inside your head, rather cripplingly slowing down your thoughts. He knows he likes it a bit too much, you being shy, but there’s something twitching inside his pants, when San thinks about the things he can do to you tonight to make you react even more, a smirk hurrying onto his face.

“Mmmm,” he hums, and you watch him collectively gather the bits and tits of his vivid, loud, rocking mind, silence remaining strikingly strong between you two, your head beaming everytime he doesn’t say anything to take his time to think. 

“Things you were doing with that pillow for example,” San hushes. Your hands move by themselves to unbuckle his belt, and while you do blush a little bit, both your hands get the black leather strip out the clip with hurried motions. “Or the things you were doing to my thigh just a second ago, sweet sunshine.”

Your boyfriend snickers and once his belt is on the floor too, he shuffles a bit to the back and wraps his fingers around your ankles, pulling you so you lay straight on the couch, while he’s kneeling between your legs, cowered as small as his big frame allows it.

“I- I don’t think I understand yet, Sannie,” you droop, wanting San to get more explicit with you so you can swim in his vulgarity that he oozes, and also make him finally confirm you don’t have any reason to be embarrassed about being the only one whose guts are demanding to be stirred. He’s getting more bricked up, and since his baggy jeans are hanging loose now, you can see his cockhead bulge out his boxershorts. “I think you need to explain it more…”

You gulp at the wet patch and flutter with your eyelids, and with San’s thumbs caressing your love handles and leaning towards over your torso, his heat radiates to your face again. You were feeling a bit more bold, but no, you could never get used to how intensely San looks at you. His eyes speak a thousand words, sing a million songs, and they’re all about getting a bite of the red on your cheeks and taste how it will melt into his tongue. There’s a droning buzz which thumps into your eardrums and it’s blood rushing to your head at the incalescence of your boyfriend, who doesn’t let a second pass where he’s not touching you, even when he’s pulling off your t-shirt from your body.

“Hmmm, maybe you’re just not able to listen correctly, my love,” San sneers, almost paradoxically sweet, and arousal boils in your guts, while your sweated body gets used to the new temperature, your boyfriend’s hands cupping your breasts once, just to have finally get a touch. “Because of the headache, right? Mmm, right,” he murmurs to himself, and San unravels the bandana on his thigh.

You look at how he straightens the fabric in front of you, and how his hands slowly approach your head. “Will you let me fix that, sunshine?”

“Wh.. What are you going to do, Sannie?”

“Show,” and San instantaneously corrects himself, after he lets the slightly warmed up fabric drape over your forehead, ”hmm, make you hear,” to then let it fall over your eyes, getting very close to your ear, so his warm lips line your earlobe, his raspy voice reverberating in your ear. “Make you hear yourself, Y/N.”

“Yeah..?”, you whisper, and look at San for a last time– his eyes sparkle in excitement that can’t be heard through the droopiness of his voice:

“Listen to how my love makes you feel, baby.”

Ayayay…

“How is this, Y/N?”

“Lemme see,” you joke and you blink a few times, after the bandana has been tightened behind your head. It is pitch-black dark in front of you. Quickly, you feel how you’re getting more aware of San’s breath coming through and leaving his mouth– you following his slow pace soon enough– and feel especially how his rough fingers are tucking in your hair so he gets to see all of how your face muscles pull together in pleasure, sending your cheeks and nose into a ticklish wave of sensation.

“It’s,” you say, but what was once a steady voice turns– after getting goosebumps all around after San courses down your neck to your sternum with the tips of his fingers– into a whimper: “A- amazing, Sannie.”

You hear San sigh, and you’re sure it’s a sigh of awe, him watching your hand search for his so you can hold it. He intertwines the fingers immediately, and when he’s at your shorts with his other hand, fingers delving to where your hip fits perfectly into his hold, San begins peppering kisses on your abdomen, you falling apart into a tense, sensitive mess at the cause of his touch.

“Can you feel how my fingers and lips feel against your skin?” 

You weakly nod, his thumb chafing over your skin, as San gets his hand out and touches you everywhere.

“Words, sun. Your pretty voice, I need it to continue, alright?”

“Yes, Sann–”, you answer, but you shudder, when San lets his digits dangle over your breast, ghost-like little grazes spreading over your torso, shoulders tucking in by themselves, as you feel it run over your back like your wings are expanding, “nngh-nie…”

“So soft, aren’t you, sun? So soft for me,” your boyfriend murmurs against your fuzzy tummy, and hooks his fingers into your waistband. You were intending to hum a forlorn ‘mhm’ to answer him again, but it comes out whimpered, after San lets his thumb, which is still anchored to your hand, slither over your cunt, his thumb tickling over your now even more sensitive nub.

“Can you feel how warm you are?”, he whispers, becoming a bit greedier with the kisses he’s spreading down your pelvis-bone, accompanying how carefully he’s sliding your clothing off, your skin being more and more revealed to his eye, while you live with the uncertainty of darkness in front of yours. “How do I feel like, Sannie?”, you ask him, hearing your own voice ricochet in your throat, your ears have become more conscious of sound.

“You feel like,” he whispers, and then, when the shorts have reached your knees, and San breathes against where your cunt is soaked in your panties, he purrs, “you’re mine.” 

His voice condenses warmly there, like a sweat, and you clench just by how raw your boyfriend speaks. The thought of him seeing your soaked cunt also just makes you run hot, and if it wasn’t for his elbow keeping you open, you would’ve closed down on him.

“Y- yeah?”, you shudder, as it seems that San is breathing in the lust-sodden heat from between your legs.

“Would you like to say it for me, sun? I would love to hear it…”

“I’m.. I’m y-yours, Sannie,” you choke out, and you are really not meaning to be as shaky as you are, but just when you thought you knew what you were about to get touched at your erogenous area, San has somehow managed to hover over your body and has bit into your lip, the darkness in front of you feeling even more blurry in front of your eyes due to the sudden gesture. “Hmmn–!”

San chuckles. “Aww, relax, sunshine. Trust me, Y/N, okay? I won’t hurt you, but if I do, just tell me. I’ll stop immediately,” he reassures the safety you find yourself in, despite not seeing anything in front of you. As you nod and let out a confident “Yes, Sannie,” with a deep breath in, San hums and pinches your nipples.

“Sannie!”, you whine out, and your voice cracks, when you feel his tongue circle your bud and his eyelashes flutter against your eye-collar, seemingly soothing the little surprise with his warm saliva. “Yes, sunny? Do you want me to stop?”, San asks, his cocky grin unmissable in his voice, his other thumb tickling your nipple.

“N- no, I-I mean–”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

His voice is slightly lispy from how your nipples are stuck between his lips, San softly sucking them in, pecking your flesh around with cottony kisses. 

“Yes, good… v-very.” 

“More?”

“Yes, yes, more.”

“You’re so cute, Y/N,” San laughs throatily, and then traces your silhouette, making you even woolier than before, a little squirm leaving your mouth, when his thumb meets your feverish crotch. “Your sounds,” San sighs, and presses his lips against your neck, his upper body slightly weighing into yours, as it seems that he’s holding himself up by grabbing into the backrest of the couch, “are my drug, baby.”

“Mmm-hm,” you answer, trying to keep your mind where his voice leads you, but you’re too busy feeling how San’s fingers sift slowly through your folds, softly, carefully, feeling every inch of slick squelch warmly around his digit. “Fuuuck,” San grunts into your ear, circling his fingertip around your clit, causing you to grab his wrist that has wandered to the top of your head. You have to gulp, and your boyfriend takes it as a sign to go a bit slower on you, but it doesn’t stop San whispering things to make you spiral into a hypnosis. “Fuck, sunshine, you’re so fucking sexy…”

A whimper leaves your opened mouth, as San chuckles in awe and coats his fingers with more of your arousal. “Is this what happens when you watch me play, sun? Getting all wet for Sun Set?”

It feels like your head is going to fall off your neck, when you softly nod up and down, San’s finger continuing to make you clench by stroking over your clit. “Th- this is what happens when,” you murmur, pushing down on his wrist as your lower abdomen continues to flutter and his lips nibble at your neck, his tongue working around a sensitive spot, “wh- when my boyfriend kisses me and then ignores me for an hour…”

“Aww, ignoring you?”, San whispers, easing his fingertip at your entrance, your hot hole immediately tightening around him, “I could never ignore you, my love…”

“Hngh, I don’t think so, Sannie… You were so concentrated on your drums…”

San whispers out, “I’m sorry”, as he curves his finger a little, caressing your inner skin fondly. You feel how thick his digit is and your glutes tense up. It doesn’t stop you from speaking your truths though.

“It’s okay, Sannie… It looked so… fucking… hot.”

“Really?” Your boyfriend gasps, always loving how you sneak in some brass into your words, and sucks lovesomely at your neck, his humming vibrating against your pulse, his finger pushing in through your arousal that gives him an easy entrance. “So say again, I made your head hurt because I’m so ‘fucking hot’, sunny?”

“Mhm,” you answer, and after San’s whole finger curls inside, you mewl out, “you’re the hottest man there is, Sannie– you’re– you’re so hot I don’t know what to do with myself. Only you can make me feel like this…”

“Fuuck…”

Your words seem to rile your boyfriend up very much, it is getting very difficult for San to not immediately run his fingers in and out, maintaining a slow pace that you feel expanding your tightness. “S- Sannie, you… you make me so crazy,” you whine out, his fingertip grazing over your sweet-spot, making you clench, “You make me feel so amazing, y- you are amazing, such a good musician and boyfriend, baby, you’re– nmmmh~!”

San couldn’t help himself and had to finally kiss you, his plump lips encasing your mouth, tongue running over yours the second he’s able to find contact. The warmth of his sweet saliva floods your mouth and you have to moan in some air.

“‘mmmsorry, sunny,” San mumbles, and you’re so sure that there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips, when he knocks his head back. “Couldn’t wait. Hehe.” 

His lips peck yours, as he’s working his finger inside you, rotating it around your deepest spot. Sighs leave your mouth every chance you get, as you try to not be overflowed by the pleasure that’s stirring your guts and cutting off your breath. 

“You feel so good,” you breathe out, “Can you feel it too, Sannie?”

“Hmm?” San is more than a bit out of breath now, warming up the fabric over your eyes with the loud exhaling through his nose. 

“Can you feel how… Can you feel how much I love you?”, you ask, but before San can answer you, you grip into his wrist again, gathering your confidence through your pleasure, “How fucking aroused I am because of you?”

“God, Y/N, I can feel it,” San huffs, and then pants with his cock twitching at your unforeseen blunt courage, “You’re so wet for me… Only for me… Oh, sunshine, I love you so much.” 

Though you can’t see how he’s biting his lip in excitement, San is moving his finger in and out of your hole while shuffling to your lower body, gripping your ankles with his free hand to gently place them over his shoulders.

“Sun, can I eat you out first?”, San asks, his voice running warmly over your abdomen, as he licks his fingers clean, “You can wait for me, can’t you, Y/N?”

“Wait for you–?”, you whirr, feeling exactly how thick and calloused San’s finger is inside you, lubed up by his spit, not being able to feel anything else, “Wait for wh- what?”

“Wait for me to fuck you, because right now, sunshine, I want to, god no, I need to eat you out, please, baby.”

Overwhelmed by his sudden lust-soaked rambling, you’re left with no other chance than to search for San’s neck, trail up his head and grab your boyfriend by his hair, let it tangle between your fingers, as San breathes against your dripping pussy. “Mnhh, do whatever you want tonight, Sannie. I want you to.”

“I want you, Y/N. ‘Want you so fucking much, sun… God, I don’t know how I waited, either.”

You chuckle and feel how the couch brushes against your back, leaving some phantom scratching there, after San pulls you closer by your hips, his forearms stationed around your pelvic bone.

“... So worth though, fuck.”

A sigh escapes your opened mouth, as San licks up your cunt one time, his hot tongue gliding up the wetness with ease. “Hngh,” you grunt, pulling San’s hair, and since your boyfriend hasn’t re-entered his finger, you clench around nothing, needing to be stuffed again, preferably by his cock. 

“You taste so fucking good,” San grunts back, already sounding like he’s drunk and delirious, lapping over your clit with his tongue while panting like a dog, “so so fucking delicious, sunny.”

“S- Sannie, oh my god,” you react to how your boyfriend sprints over your sensitive nub, your heightened senses drowning you in your own slick, as you hear how San’s tongue creates squelching, wet sounds.

“Hmmm? Feels good, huh?”

“Sannie, s-so good, god– you’re so– fuck fuck fuck–”

“What am I?”, San asks tauntingly. It seems he’s found some fun in the manner you’re tripping over your own words at the cause of his tongue. You don’t need to see him to know he’s grinning, you can feel that he’s enjoying himself by how his chuckle heats up your cunt even more. “Tell me, sunny, what am I?”

“You’re so– good! Sannie! Fuck, Sannie, you’re gonna make me–”

“Make you cum? Already?”, San grins, his fingers working you a beat that could only be described as irregular, him pumping in and out and licking you up and down so fast, he leaves you no time to recover from the last thunderous pleasure. “God, I love you so much, ‘m gonna make you cum so fucking often, all the time,” San murmurs, letting his mind roam free, your arousal coating his lips and tongue, while you tug his hair to keep yourself from choking on your own breath, as it becomes more stagnated and needier, filling out your lungs with helpless pleas. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please, oh my god,” you whimper, eyes rolling back that you are seeing bliss and bliss only.

“Gonna cum?”, San husks and thrums against your sweet spot until your thighs tense up, “are you cumming, sunny?”, his fingers continuing to ram into you, “cumming for me?”

“Yes, uh- oh my god, yes, yes, yes–”, it splurts out of you, “yes, yes, yes, YES!”

“Thaaaat’s it…”

You push your legs together, San’s head clutched between your thighs, as his tongue runs over your clit that little stars begin to form in front of your unseeing eyes, your first orgasm resonating through your body, his voice vibrating on your cunt.

“Good girl…”

“F- f- fuck,” you whimper, your stomach crunching together, and you feel San’s thumb caress your abdomen, as he places wet kisses all across your pussy.

“Sannie,” you breathe out, falling to the back in exhaustion, as your boyfriend pulls away and kisses all of your legs down to the calves, folding you together even more.

“Yes, sun?”, he asks, and massages your hips. 

“I wanna see you, Sannie...”

“Oh yeah?”, San chuckles. 

You nod and tug at the bandana around your eyes, but it’s too tight. “Please, Sannie, I wanna see you so bad… I wanna see my handsome boyfriend,” you murmur, your cunt still pulsating between your legs, barely recovered from your orgasm.

“Yeah?”, San hums and leans forward, his jeans pressed against your wetness, as he gets his hands behind your head and loosens up the knot. “Careful, sun,” he whispers, kissing your temple, as he slowly removes the fabric from your eyelids, the dimmed lights flickering into your vision.

“There you go,” San hums and slides the bandana away, letting it sit behind your head, as he looks down at you. Your eyes struggle to see immediately and you have to strain your eyebrows, but your boyfriend patiently just watches your pretty face get used to seeing again. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh,” you answer and blink with some force. San slithers his hand against your neck, his thumb sitting at your jaw, as your eyesight assuredly returns. 

There he is, grinning, just like you expected him to, but what you didn’t expect is how absolutely messy you’ve made him. His red, fiery hair is disheveled, ruffled, sticking out to all kinds of directions, his lips are puffy and still wet from kissing you and eating you out, his thin breath leaving his mouth. 

“Felt good, huh?”, San asks, rather rhetorically,  as you subconsciously lean your face into his handhold, in awe of how handsome your boyfriend is and how lucky you are he’s yours, as his lips peck yours.

“Mhm,” you chuckle, a bit weakly, but with your hands skidding along his sweaty silhouette, it should become quite clear that you’re not finished. “I want more, Sannie, please.”

“Aww, can’t get enough of me?”, your boyfriend croons and lets another hand slide behind your waist to– “I’ll get you all you want, my love,” make you sit on his lap, or rather on his abs, after he tilts his body to the back with you in his arms and scuffs his baggy pants from his legs. 

“Speaking of which, I thought we might wait until we’re home,” San admits and kicks his jeans away, “so I got no condoms on me, sunshine.”

“Mmm, Sannie, you know we’re okay,” you smile and kiss him. “Your bandmates don’t care about stuff like this…”

“Sorry for caring about you?”, San grins and pinches the tip of your nose. “So you’re fine with me just pulling out, yeah?”, he asks, as if you haven’t talked about this over and over again, but you keep on that smile and caress his cheek.

“Yes, Sannie. It’s all okay, and I want you so bad right now, please.”

“Alright,” San smirks and kisses you back, propping up his legs, so you slide onto his crotch.

“How do you want it?”, he asks, and you can feel how hard and throbbing hot he is in his boxer shorts, as you grind on his length. “I-I don’t know, Sannie, I want it all,” you laugh, airily, your slick adding to the wet patch that has been created by his pre-cum.

“You wanna watch me how I fuck into you?”, San prompts, and kisses your collarbones. “Uh-huh,” you sigh and throw your head to the back. “Please fuck me so you can see what a mess you make me, Sannie.”

San laughs. “I already saw that, sun,” he says, playfully teasing you, and gently grabs your legs, so he can lift you up and get his legs away from the couch and his feet on the floor. 

You sit on the couch how a couch is supposed to be used, your back leaning into the cushion, San now standing in front of you, cups his own erection through his boxer shorts, grunting into his hand.

“This is your fault,” he says, snickering, pulling off his underwear, his cock bolting out, after it passes his waistband. “God, Y/N, how could I ever concentrate on my drums when I have my perfect girlfriend sitting in front of me, huh?”

You press your lips together, ignoring the fact that Sun Set can, in fact, concentrate on his drums, but San is merely explaining to you that with every song he plays passionately, uses his all of his body to accompany the music with energy, you, Y/N, live in his mind to excite him. 

San gets your legs between his arms, anchoring your inner knees at his bicep, and your hand works automatically to grab his erection and pump it. 

Realizing you haven’t given him an answer because you were just too amazed by his body, you inhale to speak, but San leans down and kisses you solicitously. 

“Sunshine,” he breathes out, looking you deep in the eye, as his forehead is almost pressed against yours, “can you put it in by yourself?”

You lick your lips, the last kiss lingering ardently on the flesh and lead San’s cockhead to where your cunt is waiting, ready for his girth.

“Sunny,” San grunts, and as your hole stretches out with his pelvis driving inwards, he kisses you on your neckline repeatedly. “I love you so much, I love how you sound, feel and look like, how good you are to me,” he rambles, immediately sinking into a place of pleasure. “I love everything about you, Y/N.”

He may not be a singer, not even a background vocal, but off-stage, San always makes sure you know what a great girlfriend you are by moaning, whimpering and groaning it, sometimes just to himself– mindlessly thrusting into you, or directly into your ear, so his voice buzzes through your head.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” you whine, head falling to the back and bouncing against the backrest after his whole length is inside you, “So good, Sannie, please don’t stop.”

San confirms your comfort and hauls his hips backwards to snap inside again with a slight smack against your hamstrings. You both moan and once San has found a steady pace, the room fills with your voices and sounds of your skin meeting in a clap.

“Harder,” you grunt, and this is San’s command he will never not listen to, even when he’s still working his hips in and out of you, figuring out a way to comply immediately. He grins wide and goes through his hair, before he leans deeper into your body, taking a step closer as he does so– repeating your words by chuckling, “harder?”, folding your knees together and pushing them over to the side. 

“Y- yes, please.”

“Harder,” San repeats again, and exhales the word out his mouth, his hand gripping into your hip. “As,” he grunts, thrusting into your cunt with all he’s got, “you,” again, while fixating you in place, “wish,” and again, “my love.”

You both inhale some air, but out of your mouth, it comes out a distorted moan, when San picks up in speed and rams himself into you with no mercy, barely any opportunities to secure yourself on the cushion beneath you. The couch begins to squeak with San’s rough movement, your body being rocked over, and your head becomes light, the expanding tickle in your abdomen binding itself together into a knot of pure pleasure that’s preparing to release. 

Silence is sweet, but clamor can be so savory; the sounds of the springs under the cushions mix up with his stagnated gasping, and with San’s absolute undefeatable sense for rhythm makes it sound like he’s creating a drumbeat with his body, the couch bangs against the wall, increasingly sending your brain into overdrive. San’s cockhead hits the deepest spot in your cunt repeatedly, over and over again, pushing your buttons that makes you feel like your thoughts are leaving your head within your whiny moans.

“Oh, fuuu-uuuck,” you gutter, voicing out your pleasure through all of the rutting, your eyes disappearing behind your head, and San’s neck shimmers in sweat, his Adam’s apple glistening, as he unfalteringly shoves forward and outward, grunts and groans reverberating in his throat. His face is tightened together, mouth remaining open, as he watches you slowly lose it, the prettiest of sounds entering his ear which boost his stamina.

“Fuck, sun, I’m gonna cum, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he whimpers and rams himself through you, his hips working desperately for his release, ignoring how the couch is being unsettled and broken with each of his hard thrusts, and his hand is dug so deep in your hip, the skin has turned slightly red. “Are you cumming?”, he grunts, and despite how much your head is bobbing anyway, you nod and whine out, “yes, yes, yes, Sannie, I’m cumming–!”

Your eyelids feel heavy, and your body floats in orchestral pleasure as you cum on San’s relentless cock, gripping into the couch with your fingernails, as your back arches, cunt tightening around San.

“God, baby, I love you so much, I love you so so much, Y/N, my sunshine, my–”

San pistons his cock into your puffy pussy with an unmeasurable speed, the shrill squeaking of the springs overtoning his needy whines, the banging against the wall being resemblant of his rough body-movement, and droplets of sweat drop of your body, as your boyfriend pulls your over by your hip. His hot cum spurts out and lands on his own abs, as well on your stomach, and you heave in exhaustion, laughing weakly.

His hand pumps out the last drops of ejaculation out his cock, and even if his cock remains hard and twitching, San falls to the front and hugs your sweaty body, kissing your cheek and lip alternately. 

“That was,” you chuckle, watching how San has to brush his drenched mane to the back, “amazing, Sannie.”

“Yeah?”, your boyfriend asks and strokes your shoulder. “You forgive me?”

“Hm?”

“For the headaches, sun. Do you feel better now?”

You snicker and share a short, but very gentle kiss with San. “I feel so good, Sannie, thank  you.”

His dimples pop out and San fetches your clothes, whilst rubbing his head against yours, nuzzling his temple into your scalp. “I’m glad I could relieve you, sunshine.”

San turns his head around and searches for something to clean up the cum with, and all he finds is his bandana on the couch. “Hey, I’ll wash this, alright?”, he laughs, when you send him a judgmental look, and to calm you down he pecks your forehead.

“Help me get my clothes on, please,” you murmur, and as you feel your body going lax, San immediately grabs your underwear, shorts and his hoodie so you don’t feel cold again. “Mm, I should get you more of my stuff,” he smiles, after he’s put the oversized clothing on you, “you look so cute in my hoodie, sunny.”

“Really?”, you answer, voice guttural, feeling a bit sheepish under San’s affectionate gaze, you being the only one that’s clothed, while he remains pretty much naked, skin sweaty and steaming.

“Yes, love, but honestly, you always look amazing, Y/N...” 

Your eyes were drooping down, but you couldn’t have missed how San’s voice was deeper and huskier than it should have been. 

“Baby… Please… I’m exhausted…”

When you squint, San is licking and biting his lower lip and because he is so exposed, you can see how his cock is glistening again, while you can only leave out a sigh. Your boyfriend’s stamina and energy should be studied…

“Sorry, you’re just so hot,” San chuckles out and gets his boxer shorts on. “Body and mind do what they want sometimes.”

“... And you want me, I get it, okay… God, Sannie.”

“Yeah. I want you so much.”

You, sat on the couch, watch him again, Sun Set, how he’s scratching his neck, his impassioned pulse beating in his muscular chest, beating for your gaze, you, his girlfriend’s voice, your words, your entrancing existence, the melody that guides him through his life.

A playful chuckle whirs in the silent practice room, and your eyes meet his, as you look up to San.

“I guess we’ve got to take a shower at home.”

Give me a command, and I'll do what you ask 'Cause my favorite music's your "Uh, uh"

related hard thought "for you(r) love" : read it here

[cheollipop]

☆- Put this star in the inbox of your favorite blogs. Its time to spread positivity! 😽

omg tysm!! 🥺 that's so sweet of you love <3<3

I've wanted to interact with you for a while now but I've been too shy >///< but hello!! I'm actually planning on reading your san series soon! I'm just backed up with uni work atm :""

I hope you're having a lovely day/night!! ^^

[cybrsan]

☆- Put this star in the inbox of your favorite blogs. Its time to spread positivity! 😽

CHOYYYYYY DON’T MAKE ME CRY 🥹 You are so cute, ily babes <3 Tysm!!!!

[dairyminki]

this heavily reminds me of my san series ngl

✨️ part of my 300 milestone event 🪄

title: make it up to you

pairing: choi san x gn!reader

genre: established relationship, fluff to suggestive real quick

warning/s: use of pet names (baby, babe, kitten)

wc: 879

a/n: hello hello to one of my fave persons here! this is just one of the many pics u sent me sooo sit back and enjoy ig?? helpsksks i'm really thankful for that san series of urs btw cos it was the reason we both started talking hehet,,,anyway! i hope u like this one luvv <333 and yes the pic do be rlly reminding me of ur san im screaming this was not so nice of u

*reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated!

—

San chuckles, hearing the frustrated huffs that manage to escape your mouth every now and then. He could practically see from the vanity mirror, currently in front of him, the little pout on your lips as well as your arms that are crossed against your chest.

You were already in bed, dressed in your bluish sanrio themed pajamas and—he bets—you're absolutely warm and comfortable under the comforter right now. Although, your furrowed brows say otherwise.

"What's my kitten pouting for, hmm?" San coos, a hint of teasing present in his tone. He has his head slightly angled to the right as he eyes his newly moisturized face in the mirror, two fingers pressing on his lips.

The thing is, he's currently intently admiring his no makeup face and he's not trying to deny that because—damn, he does look great.

You always tell him this, and there are still times that he can't quite put himself to believe it—not tonight though, obviously.

"If there's someone who resembles a cat more, between the two of us, it's gotta be you, Choi San."

San stills in his seat and his self-admiration comes to a halt.

You…

You just called him, San. Not sweetie, not darling, not bubba, and most of all, you didn't call him, Sannie.

Rather, you referred to him with his government name, and this was enough to relay to him just how deep your growing annoyance with him is now.

"Baby…" San softly says, he briefly lifts his butt off the stool as he turns to fully face you.

But when you make no effort to reply and simply cover your face with the comforter instead, he stands up and makes his way over to the bed.

San keeps sweetly uttering the endearment until the mattress dips due to his added weight and until the very moment that he's already laying beside you.

A whine comes out of San's mouth when he sees that you've managed to steer clear of his not so subtle attempt of caging you in his arms. You avoided him by rolling towards your left and viola!—you're now a human sized burrito.

"Baby!"

"Don't baby me!"

"But you're my baby!" San whines even louder.

"Yeah? And you kept this baby waiting for an hour when you promised you'd be done for only a few minutes," You argue, prying off the comforter from your face—San takes note of your slightly red face with a smile—your movements, sharp.

"Babe, I had to make sure that I've wiped every ounce of makeup from my face. Plus, I wanted to be presentable enough for you since we haven't seen each other for like a week," San squeaks, and he sees that you're trying your very best not to roll your eyes at him.

Instead, you scoff.

"You're pretty handsome already, Sannie. I always tell you that."

Ah, now there's that nickname he loves hearing.

Now lying on his side, San musters all the strength needed to pull you towards him—though, he didn't really need that much to do so. This action causes your body to be unwrapped from the comforter and ends with your face flat against his rock hard chest. San laughs when he hears you mutter an 'oof,' and then wastes no time to wrap you in his arms and entangle his legs with yours.

You were now his prey, trapped, and if he's merciful enough, he might just be contented in giving you a few kisses to make it up to you—despite your cute whines—for just a few seconds and then release you from his cage-like embrace, and call it a night, afterwards.

"Ou shmell good." San hears your muffled voice, and he giggles because of the light vibration your voice just made against his chest. And then you're pushing yourself away from him at arm's length, staring up at him.

"Have you been working out more, by the way? Your chest is…" You pause to clear your throat. "...rock solid." You continue, blushing.

San does his absolute best to stay calm despite your comment and your now flustered face. Instead, he makes it a mission to tuck every stray hair that fell and covered your face, behind your ear, and not meeting your eyes while he does so. And he was doing great, very great.

Well, that was until one of your hands gripped his muscly arm, and the other started playing at the neckline of his black tank top.

It's safe to say that the tables have turned and San was now the flustered one.

He is now the prey as he finally locks his eyes with yours. The dark gaze you were wearing was a clear indication that it won't just be cute kisses tonight—but rather, a hot long night filled with further lingering touches and kisses trailing down—

"Make it up to me?"

But, oh—San is very willing to make it up to you, alright. In fact, he might just not show mercy after all.

San hears you murmur, which enticingly pulls him out of his reverie. And then it happens so quickly, with San barely having any time to blink, that now you're already straddling his hips. San's chest heaves at the sight of you on top of him.

[ad0rechuu]

۪ ᝰ ۫ MY OH MY ୨୧

based on my oh my by girls' generation

SYNOPSIS. ━━━━━ Yn finds out that her whole relationship has been a bet. To get over her heartache her best friend Sunwoo convinces her to take revenge.

How you might ask? By breaking the culprits heart right back of course!

10jun23 | st. 31/12/23 ━ fn. 01/07/24

pairing. ━━━━━ Best Friend! Kim Sunwoo x Fem! reader (x Choi Yeonjun)

featuring. ━━━━━ the boyz members, kim chaewon, txt members + mentions of other idols

genre. ━━━━━ smau + written: humor/crack / fluff / angst / suggestive / childhood friends to lovers / college au / revenge relationship / relationship based on bet / slight slow burn

warnings. ━━━━━ timestamps/sm numbers/hair colors mean nothing, sexism/slutshaming, crude humor (kys jokes), mentions of & illusions to of food/sex/drugs/alcohol/cheating/mental illness, use of pictures of yn but only for reference, yn is a sone (snsd fan). more thorough warnings in the actual chapters, please let me know if missed something. this story doesn’t describe the idols in real life and is written with a dark skinned poc in mind!

notes. ━━━━━ the taglist is open, send an ask to be added. spam likes are fine but consider reblogging with comments of ur thoughts (not only on my work but on other authors work too! credits to the rightful owners of all the graphics. i’m not a native english speaker! and thank you to @ari-shipping-stuff for being my beta reader / writer <3

( please give this story lots of love & check out my masterlist )

PROFILES. ━━━━━ SONES INCORPORATED ᜊ DA HOMIEZ ᜊ MORE COOL KIDS ᜊ THE PLAYLIST

STEP 1. GET OVER HIM ›

ᝰ CH 000. prologue: THE NEXT BET

ᝰ CH 001. I H8 MEN

ᝰ CH 002. DON’T BREAK UP WITH THAT LOSER

ᝰ CH 003. THE PLAN

ᝰ CH 004. WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

ᝰ CH 005. *INSERT EVIL LAUGHTER*

ᝰ CH 006. ANNOYING BRAT FOR SALE

ᝰ CH 007. DON'T WORRY YOUR PRETTY BIG HEAD

ᝰ CH 008. NOT OVER HIM

ᝰ CH 009. CLASSIC SUNWOO-YN-BFF-DATE

ᝰ CH 010. THE NERVE AND THE AUDACITY

STEP 2. MAKE HIM FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU ›

ᝰ CH 011. STEP UP MY GAME

ᝰ CH 012. SASSY CAT EMOJI

ᝰ CH 013. A NIGHT ON THE TOWN W/ YN & WOO

ᝰ CH 014. GOOD NIGHT

ᝰ CH 015. HOBBIES FOR SUNWOO

ᝰ CH 016. GRAND DISCOVERY (YN HAS AN IDEA)

ᝰ CH 017. JUNS UNAPPROACHABLE AND COLD GF

ᝰ CH 018. HANGING OUT WITH MY BFS FRIENDS

ᝰ CH 019. BE HONEST WITH YOURSELF

ᝰ CH 020. DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME

STEP 3. BREAK HIS HEART ›

ᝰ CH 021. CODE ORANGE

ᝰ CH 022. I FUCKED UP

ᝰ CH 023. HITCH IN THE ROAD

ᝰ CH 024. CONSIDER AND MAKE SURE

ᝰ CH 025. WHAT MAKES THE HEART GROW WHAT?

ᝰ CH 026. BALLOON FLOWERS

ᝰ CH 027. REJECTION + ANEURYSM = WENT WELL

ᝰ CH 028. MAKEUP

ᝰ CH 029. BALLOON FLOWERS VERSUS ROSES

ᝰ CH 030. MINE (HIS)

ᝰ CH 00I. epilogue: A PEAK IN SUNYN’S LOVE

ᝰ CH 0II. ASK THEM ANYTHING EVENT

ᝰ AFTER WORD

special thanks (& follow these awesome ppl). ━━━━━ to @yuyusuyu @kodzumo @tocupid @leo-seonghwa @seonghwaddict @felixsramen : i have to give you six an extra special thanks because you all motivated and supported me so much while i was stressing and being annoying, just so you know guys are my motivation! (the other message is also to you all ofc)

and to @yunstarz @nyukyujs @rieuvie @thelargefrye @i-luvsang @cybrsan @gyumibear @pocketjoong @jaehunnyy @nebulousbrainsoup @justhere4kpop @xpixie @atinycafe @brrrkdslek @phantom-webber @a1sh1teruu @starryunho @aestheticsluut @end0rchans @yourfatherlucifer @alixnsuperstxr @girls4cheol @cheollipop @mintgki @aoi-turtle @renstears @42e15 @alixnsuperstxr @mrowwww @hwaightme @paradiqms @starrysvn @tubatu-wari-wari @kitten4sannie @chokchokk @hee0soo @joong-of-gold @armysantiny @evilsailorsenshi @mundayoonimnida @aapplepii @juhakutie : first of all i don’t expect you to read or interact with this fic, you might not even stan the boyz or like this sorta thing but i tagged you all because of one reason and one reason only; to tell you that you all make tumblr such a lovely and inspirational place for me, whenever i see ur accs it brightens my day because i know what great ppl are behind them, i just wanted to say that i think that you are amazing and i want to use this post to thank you! happy new years and i love you everyone (and you who’s reading this)

my oh my © ad0rechuu, 2023. do not copy/repost.

[vaztori]

be my americano

SUMMARY; san already had enough of americano and he needed something else to keep him up all night- which was you, his wonderful wife.

FEATURING; san x afab!reader

GENRE; fluff, established relationship, marriage au, husband!san x wife afab!reader, non-idol au, smut (MINORS DNI)

WARNINGS; voyeurism, use of pet names, a lot of praises, fingering, nipple play, oral (f receiving), grinding

WORD COUNT; 2.4 k

NOTES FROM KALA; made this for my lovely san stan bestiee choy ! (@chokchokk) it took me a little bit too long to post this (i'm sorry about this), hope you enjoy this shitty smutty short fic of san sjsjsj

jeonride's masterlist / join the taglist here !

The scent of americano greets your sense when you walked into the dining room. It is already 09.00 pm now, and you can find your husband— Choi san, with his black hair disheveled, sipping a cup of americano while his eyes focus to stare at the laptop screen. You suggest that he is checking emails right now before finally he can sleep peacefully. It always bothers him whenever he finds unread emails, sometimes makes him anxious and you don't ask much, already knew about his behavior.

You rest your hand on his shoulder, squeeze the surface gently and you can sense how the corners of his lips create such a sweet smile at your action. He turns his head to look at you, then his dark eyes flickering down, staring at your lips. Then he leans closer, and kisses the bottom of your lip lightly— as if he was just trying to tell you how your presence makes him feel less alone while replying to emails from his colleagues.

"Can't sleep?" his fingers playing with your hair, while asking you with his eyebrows furrowed. Gets worried because at this hour, you are usually asleep.

The bitterness of americano he drinks linger in your sense. His left hand reaches out to embrace your waist, pulling you closer to him so he can lean his head to the side of your body. Your body always feels warm next to him. The warmth of your body and the soft beats of your heart near his ear can calm him down.

You stroke his hair with your fingers. His black hair still feels damp because he just showered. You do not care much about it, you love the scent of his shampoo too much, so you plant a kiss on top of his head. And San, can't hold the urge to smile wider because of it.

"I see. You like my shampoo aren't you?"

You giggle. "Way too much, i think?"

"No wonder i came home with my shampoo bottle empty." his eyes roll, acting as if he is annoyed but the fact you use his shampoo because you love his scent, melts his heart away, though.

He pinches your tummy and it makes you wriggle from him while giggling until your eyes look exactly like the crescent moon on the night sky. However, San's face beams at the sight of it. Your cute giggle and your smile look enthralling for him, like you are the most precious thing he has and he would protect you at all cost just so you can show that captivating smile of yours.

You always look so beautiful in his eyes, and he will always mention you in every beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life. It is the way you smile at him, he can't explain how you can always steal his breath with just a smile, even though he has seen it too many times, but the effect will never fade. You always give him butterflies.

And, oh! the way your silk nightgown hugged your body perfectly, you are breath-taking to him. San is 100% sure he would love to spend all of his nights with the view of you like this, even though he always can't keep his hands to himself and would rip that nightgown off of your body. It is always fascinating to him whenever his big hand can drop your nightgown to the floor gracefully.

Oh, he loves your nightgown.

But he loves it more when the nightgown comes off to reveal your perfect curves to his eyes.

Also, the yellowish lighting from the kitchen lamp makes your soft skin look glowing to San's eyes, like pearls glowing in the reflection of the sunlight. Oh, how badly he wants to cradle your luscious body right now.

"How pretty," he murmurs. Doesn't realize if his thoughts formed into words that slip away from his mouth. He is gazing up and down, can't even control his eyes.

"Oh, Sannie." you laugh it off. "You should say it to yourself." you give a few pats on his head, and his eyes close while humming in approval. Love the way you spoil him like a kitten. "I'm gonna make tea, you want some?"

He shakes his head, hinting "No, there's no need" through his gaze at you. You nod, before walking back to the kitchen counter to make some tea. You like drinking tea before bed, for some reason. It's been a habit since college and San has memorized it.

However, San seems like he can't look away from your body, as if you would turn into ash if he doesn't keep his eyes on your figure. You can feel as if his gaze can strip you naked even though you can't see his expression. You know, what you're wearing now is his favorite nightgown, with his favorite color that always manages to make him crazy over you. You do this on purpose, though. Let's see how long San can last.

His eyes locked to stare into your thighs, the bounces of your ass when you try to grab sugar on the corner of the kitchen counter, and how you tie your hair with the rubber that wrapped around the wrist of your hand before— giving him a full shot of your beautiful neck. Oh, if he stares carefully, he can see your thin panties, and your pussy lips peeking out at him because the nightgown is just too short to cover your body.

San gulped forcefully, trying to think clearly by looking back at the series of emails he hasn't replied to. Then he takes another sip of americano, hoping that the bitter liquid will neutralize the way he breathes even though his grip on the americano cup is too tight, as if he is desperate to pull your nightgown off your body so that he can see all the curves of your beautiful body with clarity.

You cleared your throat, "Sannie, i see that you've been drinking too many americanos lately."

"I- yeah. Got a lot to do so i think americano will be the best choice to keep me up all night." at this moment, San doesn't know why he is stuttering and his body tenses up, all nervous when you turned your head to look at him. Well, guess it is because he worries that you might find the lust in his dark eyes.

Don't ask him why, because San can be embarrassed too, sometimes! He might dominate you in bed, does the brat-taming with the fucking stern behavior of his, but on casual moments like this, he is a bit shy to be the first one to initiate a make-out session.

"Don't drink too much caffeine, Sannie. You make me worried when i saw the bin full of americano cups," you said, while your hand stirred the tea so that the sugar melts together with the warm drink.

"Not only americano can keep you up all night, baby." the tone in your voice becomes soften. Meanwhile, San started to stand up from his seat, already unable to resist the urge to approach and hug you from behind. Your lips carve a triumphant smile as his two sturdy arms wrap around your waist. But a second later, you gulp as you feel San's hardening down there.

"And what is that, baby?" he's mimicking the way you call him "baby", you know that. Now he starts to tease, and you realize that his hips are moving to rub his hardened cock against your ass. You bite your lower lip, trying your best to not let out any sound.

"I— uh, i think—"

"Oh, baby. I don't think tea can make your way of speaking stutter," he whispers.

Your body is completely tense now. how could it not be? san starts rubbing his knee against your clothed cunt, but right against your clit. His movements feel like electric shocks, activating something inside you. Slowly, you can feel your cheeks heating up as San stimulates the most sensitive area of your body.

His hands that were previously on your lower body slowly traveled up, finding their own way to gently squeeze your breasts, then his fingers formed a circular pattern on your nipples. He smiles deviously when you let out a moan that sounds sultry, then starts to lick your earlobe while whispering, "Let it out, baby. I want to hear your pretty sounds."

"S-sannie," you're whimpering, body leans to his chest as your hand grip the wrist of his hands— nails digging into his skin.

"Yes, baby? I'm here. Need something?"

How his knee keeps working to rub your clit and his two big hands squeeze your breasts while pinching your nipples, successfully making you lose your mind. Your breath is caught in your throat, unable to articulate what you want to say clearly. Instead, the only thing you do is spread your legs for him, so that he can be more flexible in providing stimulants.

"Sannie, fuck— it feels so—" your breath hitches.

"Good?" he smirks, while keeps licking your earlobe in the most sensual way. "Say it, baby. Or have your brain clouded so you can't speak properly?"

"I, fuck— need your tongue." your voice gets shaky, whimpering under his touch— signaling that you need more of him.

San chuckles, squeezing your breasts harshly. "That's not how i taught you to ask. You forgot something."

You turn your body around, facing San with big eyes that look pleading, trying to soften San's heart. "Please?" you beg. A beg that sounds so desperate and needy of your husband's touch, and San really can't control himself now, as he feels his cock twitching in his pants, getting painfully hard.

He cradles your cheek, kissing your lips softly even as he feels the lust building up, he is trying not to be rough tonight. Because he knows, it seems that tonight you are looking for his attention and just want to be served by your husband who has been too busy to pay attention to you lately. He realizes he has neglected to pay attention to you because he has been too busy. So, tonight is about your pleasure. His wonderful wife's pleasure.

San's other hand travels back to your clit, still covered by your panties, rubbing it gently and then pinching it. You're already wet, and you can feel your slick slide down onto your panties.

"Oh, baby." he coos. "My baby is all worked up for me."

He breaks the kiss, only to stare at your blushing face. He wants to see how you are giving up all power to your husband, despite the fact that you looked like you were flirting with him in the first place while wearing his favorite nightgown.

You turn your face away, unconsciously biting the bottom of your lip. The low laugh that escapes San's mouth makes your whole body feel goosebumps. Then your husband's forefinger grabs your chin, forcing you to look back at him. "Eyes on me," he says with a dominance that feels so intense. Suddenly you feel the temperature in the kitchen rise a few degrees because indeed, San's figure makes your body feel like it's on fire.

Your face is turning towards him, but your eyes still can't focus on looking into San's eyes. That action makes San grin, "Are you feeling shy?"

You nod weakly, then move closer to him and hide your face in the crook of San's neck. He can feel how the surface of your cheek feels so hot against his skin. Your husband laughs again, a sincere laugh that escapes because his chest feels warm. For San, your behavior now is adorable, making his heart melt like ice cream in summer. You succeeded in making him always fall in love with everything about you.

"Come on, baby. I want to see your beautiful face," he said. "Let's talk about things that can make me up all night besides the americano."

Fuck about americano, San speaks to himself. He knows that you're signaling that you're the one who can keep him up all night, but he wants to hear it from your mouth. Wanted to hear filthy things escape your mouth, with your voice that always sounds so innocent to San's ears.

"I— i think, i can replace the americano. You know, in regards to keeping you up all night..."

So with that, San lifts you up, sitting you on the kitchen counter, his warm palms rubbing your thighs, then slowly spreading your legs. Your body stiffens under his touch and he soothes you with his soft tone of voice, "Relax for me, baby."

And how can you relax when San looks at you as if he's a man starving for you? As if he can greedily devour all of you, as if he wants to touch every inch of your body that has been completely his since five years ago? You really feel weak and helpless if San has behave like this, as if you are the prey of a predator.

When you open your legs perfectly for San, your husband quickly lowers your panties down to your calves, takes them off gently, his face comes closer, then he blows his warm breath on your cunt. Making your cunt clenching for nothing, and he smiles triumphantly at the sight of it.

"Want my fingers, or my mouth?"

You don't even think, reply to his question quickly, "Both."

Without saying much, San goes back to playing with your clit, smiling a little when he sees your cheeks blush. He licks your lower lip, only to make you moan under his touch. Then his mouth slowly makes its way to your cunt, his tongue licking your clit, replacing the role of his fingers. His digits start teasing your entrance, which is already wet because you feel the need for his touch.

"Sannie..." you moan. "Put it in." you plea, your voice sounding hoarse from the heat. And San just smiles back down there, and you can feel that his pretty lips are smiling derisively at your plea.

"Don't worry, I've decided to stay up all night for you, wife." his deep voice becomes soften, eyes full of adoration toward you.

Oh, now San is sure that he will stay up all night.

This time, not because of the americano.

© jeonride 2023. Please do not copy, translate, plagiarize, or repost any of my writing anywhere! All rights reserved. Pics to @holyseonghwa, pretty divider by @benkeibear! <333

[a1sh1teruu]

don’t blame me ; p.sh

— synopsis:: he had one job as an angel sent to earth. and that was to purify the souls of sinners. for a millennia seonghwa was successful at his job, leading the sinners to the light—to the right path. as an angel, he had a resolve—unfortunately, the path of sinners isn't limited to human beings.

— contains:: angel!seonghwa, one-sided enemies to lovers, religious themes, religious trauma, profanities, smut, drug consumption, angst, alcohol consumption, toxic relationships, mentions of abusive relationships, more tba..

— note:: i’ve been working on this since last year 💀 and i was actually considering the fact to just discontinue/cancel this whole fic because i have this sick obsession with it even though i’m barely getting to finish it. but when @chokchokk saw the title and old banner i was like “it’s time to rebirth this bitch” so i decided to post it as a mini-series 😭 yeh i put my whole blood, sweat, and pussy in this so i hope it won’t flop 💀

— disclaimer:: you can call this fic porn with a lot of plot, so minors do not interact!

preview | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

send me an ask to be added to the taglist!

@a1sh1teruu 2023 | ©️ do not steal or plagiarize

[seonghwaddict]

no strings, no expectations — choi san PART FOUR OF LILO'S 600 FOLLOWER EVENT

requested by @chokchokk. "HELLO LILO BABES // first of all congratulations!!! <33 toasting on 600 followers and more to come YUH !!! so uh. about the request hehe. // friends with benefits to lovers!san (i think im a genius for this one) angstier hurt/comfort with suggestive themes! // i’ll leave the full scenario to your amazing mind!!! // hope you have fun with it xoxo" lilo’s notes. AHHH HI CHOY THANK YOU SO MUCH!! i absolutely love this request omg. also, i'm so sorry for taking so long to post this but it's finally here!!

prompts. “do whatever you want to me.” ; “are you jealous? want me all to yourself, do you?.” pairing. fwb! choi san x fem!reader

warnings. fwb !san, jealousy, suggestive themes, angst, hurt/comfort. wc. 1.3k

you and san had an unspoken agreement.

you were friends with benefits – two individuals who shared stolen moments, heated touches, and whispered confidences, all under the guise of a casual relationship. it was a pact, a bond that had no strings attached.

at least, that's what you both thought.

your connection was like a hidden flame, flickering in the shadows, igniting your desires whenever you were near. the chemistry between you was undeniable, an intoxicating cocktail of attraction and familiarity that drew you together time and time again.

one evening, you found yourselves entwined on your couch, your lips tracing the contours of his skin that no one else got to see. it was as if the world outside didn't matter, and in that moment, you were the sole occupants of a universe built on raw desire. breathless and flushed, you lay side by side, gazing at the ceiling.

your fingers traced circles on san's bare chest, your voice a low whisper. "this… what we have, it's nice."

san turned his head to look at you, his hazy eyes reflecting the dim light of the room. "yeah," he replied softly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your arm. if you paid attention, you would’ve noticed he was spelling his name over the soft flesh. "no strings, no expectations. just us."

you nodded, a small smile curving your lips. but in that instant, your phone pinged, signalling a message. you grabbed it from the coffee table and your smile faded as you read the text.

"who's that?" san asked casually, but his eyes were sharp, observant.

"just a friend," you said, but your voice held a hint of unease. "nothing important."

san's jaw clenched imperceptibly, but he chose not to press further. instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "you know you're important to me, right?"

you shivered at the touch of his lips, and for a moment, it seemed like the words held more weight than just casual comfort. but then you chuckled, a touch nervously. "yeah, i know."

after that evening, days turned into weeks, and your connection continued to burn brightly. yet, beneath the surface, an invisible shift was taking place. you had started spending more time with yeosang, a guy you'd met through mutual friends. you laughed at his jokes, your eyes lit up when he entered the room, and slowly, he became a fixture in your life.

san couldn't ignore the subtle changes. he noticed how your phone would light up with yeosang's messages, how you'd excuse yourself to take his calls, and the way your face softened when you talked about him. it was like a storm gathering on the horizon, and san felt a growing unease in the pit of his stomach.

one evening, after another intimate encounter, you lay entangled in each other's arms. it was your fingers that traced absent patterns on san's chest this time, just as they had done countless times before. but tonight, something was different. san felt a surge of frustration and insecurity building within him—and beneath all that, dread.

"y/n…" he began, his voice tense.

"yeah?" you looked up at him, your expression soft and open.

he hesitated, then blurted out, "do you ever think about… us? like, beyond this?"

you sighed and leaned up just a bit, your fingers gently brushing his cheek. "san, we agreed – no strings, no expectations. remember?"

"i know," he muttered, his jaw clenching. "but do you ever wonder if this could be more?"

your fingers stilled, and you gazed at him for a moment, searching his eyes as if trying to decipher his thoughts. but you couldn’t find anything. he felt strangely unreadable compared to all the times you were able to read him like an open book. "san, you know we were never exclusive. this was always casual."

he nodded, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "yeah, i get it."

it was hard to miss the gentle frown that overtook your face at his reply. why was he being so dry? your fingers gently nudged his chin so he was looking at you. "hey, we're still friends, okay? and i'll always be here for you. but i can't keep everything on hold because of our arrangement."

a bitter taste settled in san's mouth. "i know," he said, his voice strained.

you leaned in, your lips brushing against his. "i hope you understand."

later that night, san found himself alone in his apartment, wrestling with his emotions. he remembered your encounters, the stolen moments, the laughter, and the parts of him he had shared with you but wouldn’t dare even mention to anyone else. he had been so sure that your connection meant something more, even if you hadn't put a label on it. and now, seeing you with someone else, he couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

he picked up his phone and typed out a message to you.

"come to my place?"

within minutes, your reply came.

"i’ll be there in 10."

just as you had promised, you arrive in ten minutes. the process of ringing the door bell, him opening the door, and then leading you to his bedroom was mostly silent. you could tell something was on his mind, but knew better than to pry- knowing san well enough, he’d tell you upfront what was wrong without the need of your prompting him.

"do whatever you want to me." he muttered, his voice a mixture of frustration and longing as his hands traced your waist before stopping and pulling you towards him by your hips. “i need you.”

your gaze softened, and you reached out to touch his cheek. "san, i never wanted to hurt you. you mean a lot to me."

“do you, now?” he tilted his head to the side, a darker expression crossing his eyes for a split second. it was gone before you could fully register it, but his next words made sense of how he was behaving. “i bet yeosang means a lot to you, too, huh?”

taken aback, you blink at him silently. once the words processed, you clicked your tongue, your gentle grip on his cheek hardening ever so slightly. "are you jealous? want me all to yourself, do you?"

his lips quivered, and for a moment, it seemed like he might cry. but he controlled his expression so well it might compete with the way he controlled you in bed. "maybe a little," he admitted quietly, voice strained and jaw clenched.

“if it’s about yeosang, what does that have to do with you, san?”

his reply was sharp, cutting through the silent environment like a bullet. “are you not listening? i like you, y/n. i like you and for the past months i’ve had to watch a different guy get close to you in ways i could only long for.” he paused for a moment, his breath hot on your face. “and it bothers me because even though you’re the one waking up in my sheets, i thought that i’m not the one you long for.”

unsure of what to say, you slipped your hand down from his face and pulled him into an embrace, holding him tightly as if you could anchor him to you. “i… i’m so sorry.”

"i wish things were different," he murmured.

you clung to him, your fingers gripping his shirt that you knew would find a place on the floor by the end of the night. a beat of silence passed between the two of you before you spoke. "they can be."

sometimes, the heart had a way of demanding more than casual arrangements can provide. as you held each other, loved each other, you faced the uncertainty of what lay ahead – a future that was no longer just about stolen moments, but about the possibility of something deeper, something real.

[ networks . . . ] @cromernet @blankjournal

[ perm taglist . . . ] @ad0rechuu @sankatchu

[jaehunnyy]

If you were to assign someone from ateez to your moots (other than their bias) who would that be?

thank you for the ask nonnie, lets goo (sorry for not being able to include everyone, i truly love you all)

@pocketjoong - seonghwa. sky has the motherly instinct and will always be there whenever you need her, they also have the same quite of energy so i feel like he's a good match (joong, you have competition).

@bluehwale - mingi. their energies are really similar, they have the same curiosity for certain things and are always the sweetest beans ever, so i think these two would also be a match made in heaven

@justhere4kpop - hmmmm... i would say san. nadia is always there to cheer for me so i feel like, along with san, they would be everyone's hype people and id love to see this. and both are just sweet darlings so skkso

@hwaightme - hongjoong. hear me out. bai's ambition, the menace, the hardwork, it all makes me think about him. it feels right, these two would work all day and then comfort and praise each other for it

@nebulousbrainsoup - hmmmm... i feel like... you would suit yeosang's energy. usually very chill, but also always there whenever someone needs you. and this is cute, so JOONG WATCH YOUR BACK AGAIN CAUSE...

@starrysvn - yunho. adorable little menaces who would laugh together at silly jokes 🥺 i feel like you two would make a great pair and would if you are in the same room, you will only hear LAUGHTER

@i-luvsang - seonghwa. ITS THE MOTHERLY INSTINCT AGAIN OKAY??? ITS JUST HERE LIKE AKSKAKAKKA you two are so sweet and the pet names and the care akkdks please be together

@dairyminki - for you... i'll have to give you my man wooyoung... idk you are MENACING lately and so is he so like... i can absolutely see you as a match made in hell heaven (lovingly)

@seonghwaddict - jongho. hIM BECAUSE just imagine having free pass for jongho's voice? oh my god. he would serenade you and you would be in for it because i say so 🥰 (and you two will be just cute)

@sungbeam - you get a san. you get a san because i feel like your energy matches and if i dont see you with hongjoong, than i'd better see you with san okay? i know you wouldn't mind too much 🤭

@chokchokk - as much as i would have loved to give you san... i cant since he is your bias SO i will give you mingi. you are both darlings whom i adore so come get this 🥰

@ad0rechuu - hmmmmm... i will also go withhhhh yeosang for you because??? you are literally so cool and i just feel like you are going to slay this, two cute little flowers 🥰

@shakalakaboomboo - YOU. you will have to get a San (as much as I would have loved to give you Woo), but i feel like you will manage that as well. you have similar energies and both of you are sweeties who i love so

[yuncheoligans-archive]

Hi! I’m still particularly new to tumblr… I just finished binge reading your works and I enjoyed it A LOT! I’ve been into reading ateez aus lately, can you recommend accs where I can also read ateez fics? like an acc who oftenly posts recommendation or smth ❤️

Hii!!! Thank you so much anon!!! Sorry Im bad at updating hehe. Anyways can't recommend my mutals enough you can also check out the net Im in @cromernet.

@jaehunnyy

@hwaightme

@nebulousbrainsoup

@pocketjoong

@bluehwale-main

@ssaboala

@hanniiesuckle17

@byuntrash101

@i-luvsang

@a1sh1teruu

@starrysvn

@seonghwaddict

@ad0rechuu

@dairyminki

@cybrsan

@chokchokk

@hwasdollie

I believe there's also a few fic rec tumblrs. Like @atinyreads and others. Im old to tumblr but bad at it so...... internet grandpa you know.

[cromernet]

→ NEW RELEASE: drive-by me (part 1: clear "serve time") by @chokchokk

Feedback:  I don’t know how things spiralled from mc talking badly about the group of old men to San’s “Let me own you, too.” The way i malfunctioned ksjhdgbsnkdjf. “Make her louder.” AKISUDGFVSBNJDHG???? PARK SEONGHWA???? WHAT???? I????? HELLO???? CHOY WHAT ABOUT MY SANITY???????? I love how San knows exactly what buttons to push to being her real self out ahahaha. Also, I love the banter between sanhwa~ San is such a bratty dom it’s so infuriating asdfghjkl T^T Makes me wanna punch him but also it’s so hot (WAIT DID I JUST SAY THAT HELP NO I DIDN’T) OMG YES MC YOU GO GIRL, SHOW HIM WHO IS THE BOSS! …And she caves (am I surprised? NOPE~) I LOVE THEIR BANTER. Absolutely in love I can’t stop giggling at San and YN’s interactions akhdjhdkdj. San is just so infuriating but also so endearing, boi has so much character and I LOVE IT SO MUCH!! OH MY GOODNESS??? HWA HAS A TATTOO??? AJKSAHDKJHDJK!! Wait, did I mention how much I love the chemistry between San and Seonghwa??? Whoa. WAIT DOES THE READER GET KILLED BY SANHWA??? I NEED TO KNOW SJKDHD??? This is handsdown one of my favourite ateez fics right now and I don’t think anything is going to dethrone this masterpiece. There I said it. Amazing work, choy &lt;3

part one, CLEARING OUT : "𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞-𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞" 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 | park seonghwa x fem!reader x choi san

“Brother, can’t you see I’m doing this for you? Enjoy yourself.”

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : Picking your own poison, if poison was given to you in form of bankrolls by venomous men with high demands.

In which Park Seonghwa had a plan and Choi San has ideas.

“Sounds like you’re enjoying her more than anything."

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : noir, smut, angst | korean mafia/geondal!au | ceo/jaebeol!au

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 18.2k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : entitled rich people, workplace harassment, alcoholism, softdom ceo!seonghwa (headman park), half-drunk satoori-using dom mafiaboss!san (mr. choi), both are called by their names at some point, sub-leaning bratty switch servant!femreader, use of (pet-)names (missy, baby, princess), groping, thigh-riding, light choking, light hair-pulling, non-penetrative sex, voyeur!seonghwa, sex in the elevator, counts as mirror sex right, biting kink, manhandling!san, edging, breeding, cum-eating (m), cunnilingus; reader hates the rich except for when they are sexy, implied but not severe age gap, writer does not have daddy kink but mafiaboss!san does, gunshots and death, use of korean proverbs

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : this with the next part will be the origin story for reader, specifically the series synopsis’ first half :) originally, this has been a request, so please read this, if you desire to have a bit more insight to what the series actually is + translations of certain terms (mostly character dynamics) in this chapter !!

tl;dr: since it's all based around korean mafia/gangster/etc, there will be korean culture scattered between the lines. it is all translated, hopefully in an understandable way!!! (please hmu if there are difficulties) i let out honorifics/romanisation, except for "chaebol" since it's an actual word :) that being said, reader's ethnicity is not specified and won't be relevant to the series in any way !! 

smut comes after the second border, and uh,,, i had to shorten that shit (pls dont ask me where) but uh. you’re getting 8k words of smut so buckle up LMAO !!! i hope you enjoy as much as i did writing it !!! thank you for likes, reblogs and feedback xoxo (also this is NOT beta-read so pls dont hesitate to tell me about... like.... errors, tags and shit)

[ now playing : money ▸ pink floyd | listen to the playlist ]

It's getting repetitive. They are drinking their ninth bottle of expensive whiskey, smoking their third or fourth disgustingly pricey cigar— what the fuck, is this seriously what the upper men of your nation are doing at some stupid chairman’s dinner party?

“Missy!”

“Me, sir?”

No wonder the economy's fucking shit.

“Yeah, you, missy, give that gent over there one of our divine Denmarks!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Give him a kiss too, while you’re at it! What do you think? He’s still got it, no?”

Said ‘gent’, some old, scummy clown— winks at you, his gray eyelashes fluttering towards your direction.

“Yes, sir."

God, how bad you wish you had snuck your phone in to take a picture of these red, drunken, senseless faces, but you're a dutiful servant, abiding by the rules at all times, however difficult it may be. You’re holding in your puke professionally, not even doing something as to grit your teeth, just softly letting your jaw play along to your friendly smile.

“Does your willy even still work that way, old friend?", a cranky, yet humorous voice pitches in.

Agreeing to your supervisor’s offer to earn “big money” may have been a bad idea, but a good choice. Jongho said he’d seen you at your work, took special note of you— even though you weren’t sure where exactly he had observed you, since it’s only been a month of actually working as a servant in the lower tiers of the building— and wanted to give you a chance to swim with the big sharks. “I think you’re best suited for the job,” is what he said to make you giggle and think about your initial rejection of his proposition, “you have a talent for serving.”

Something you didn’t know you had, something you didn’t know someone would see in you ever in your life, “talent.” Sure, maybe you let yourself be persuaded a bit too fast, but it felt very touching that somebody saw you and saw potential, for whatever occasion it may be for. You don’t necessarily want to screw the rules of the hierarchical pyramid or what it was that kept you from being in the proximity of the chairman, but you really need the extra cash right now.

"What does a girl from the mountains look for in being a servant in the city?", had been the question you were asked by Lady Kim who gave you the leftovers of her restaurant at the end of the day, when you had just started with the training– poor, barely standing on your own feet. 

You remember how you explained to her that the buddhist monks who raised and send you here surrounded themselves with wells to remind everyone that water always returned, and you assumed it would work the same with wealth. You also remember how hard she tried to stay kind to you, showing you her sincerest sympathy by telling you that "the chaebol are no joke!" (at least not a joke, an innocent girl like you could laugh about, she later explained) and giving you an extra portion of her home-made dumplings to suit you up.

Her sharp, yet compassionate voice rings in your ears, as you reapply your red lipstick on the way to your target guest. Oh, Lady Kim, what a graceful woman– she put her all into her work for her restaurant to succeed, but had always made a place to share what she had for those who needed it. Such a lovable woman, she must have been well-liked by all around her.

You get it now, the way you had been so naive back then. Floating on the philosophical happy-go-lucky psyche of the city’s promise of prosperity, trying to live the Korean dream strangely enough as someone who was so sarcastically out of touch with it. If you had been in her position, you wouldn’t have been able to be as nice, no, would have warned yourself with a finger pointed upwards as if you were teaching a little kid about strangers, or how your monks said, ‘tigers in the woods’.

“After that cigar, his dick will turn to dust!”

Maybe things would have looked different, if you hadn’t taken that fund from the school’s superintendent, who slid you that card on your table with a smirk on his face. Oh dear, do you remember how excited you had been? You ran through the streets in your worn-out shoes with that plastic sheet in your hand, on your way to tell that the money on it was such a ridiculously high number that you could split— but Lady Kim had got to know it first, the ridiculousness of the rich, with the demolition of her restaurant-building.

“He’s got no cum in his nutsacks ‘no more anyway!”

No warning, no compensation, just everything crushed to pieces to make place for the big corporations; the fancy neon-signs she'd invested in, the ambition of her enthusiastic dreams, your only source of tender charity, shattered to a wreck. You have never seen her since, and can only laugh about how the fancy food of the chaebol—and you definitely know who they are now, those tasteless men gawking at you in the moment—doesn’t even look half as good as her low-cost black bean noodles you could more than afford now. 

The present day-you is less dreamy, but just as lost, forced to work off a debt you hadn’t been informed about when you lived off the favorable “fund”-money. No, Lady Kim, this is all a joke, you would tell her today. A really fucking bad one.

So, making room for another ha-ha in your life, you pulled your eyes up innocently, returning Jongho’s specious smiles. “Is it illegal to collect pocket-money from the rich?” It’s not like you had any doubts at that point, but 'they'll buy you out of prison if you’re good enough' was all you needed anyway to put your uniform on tightly at home.

"Can't even shoot his cum in missy to save his blood!"

Your more experienced co-workers are watching you work with a condescending frown, feeling both jealous you're getting all the men's attention, but also maliciously delighted you're being challenged as the new-coming servant who's obviously of erotic interest to these richlings. They want you to get a "taste of life" for you may be the most goody-goody fawning bitch they have ever seen; just a young birdbrain who has nothing to bring to the table except her body. Young thing won’t hold up, doesn't know who she's working with— though they are quite right about that part, you must admit, you frankly didn’t look up whose money you’re taking right now— she doesn’t know who the fuck she is.

"What? Did his son leave the company, too?"

It’s flattering to know that the other pretty servants look at you and only see some candy-coated muppet, but fairly, your ever-frozen smile on your face doesn’t give them much to work with. You’re simply an annoyance to their routine, and if you could, you would like to comfort them by saying none of the money you’re getting will stay in your hands– they’d be so happy to hear that you’re really worth nothing– but you must stay focused.

“Idiot, he’s only got a daughter!”

So yes, that being said, you’re glad nobody ever asks you about you. Everyone just assumes, judges from what they see, and if what they see is an opportunistic bimbo-girl chasing money, then so be it, right?

"You know, the one he married off to the governor?”

Right. Because you too have not a single second to think nor talk about your past. The present is scarce and the future is fragile, you know it the best. And you owe it to your old men to make the best out of their efforts, don't you? The air in this room may not be the one you inhaled in the mountains, but you still have to use it, breathe, be alive, despite how moldy and spoiled it simmers in your throat.

"Real mad! Anything to avoid that fee, huh, missy? Got no semen and no glory! You really want to give him that cigar?”

So, that taste of life? Fucking bitter, just like how that name 'missy' seeps and sweats on your tongue. You can’t loathe your co-workers for this reason, they're basically in the same wooden, shaky boat as you, but these asswipes here are floating on a fucking yacht. Of course they don't follow some type of code of human decency for you, they don't give two shits about the lowlifes, the poor. They watch them like a spectacle, and because they don't regard you as a human-being but rather a toy, they play with you on strings that are, on the other hand, binding together a big, fat bankroll.

Ka-Ching.

Eyes on the price, Y/N, eyes on the price. You may not own a lot, that's been more than established, but if there is something you have, it's dutifulness, commitment, and proficiency. It will remain difficult to keep inner peace and honor with a job of which "duty" it is to be a deferential, subservient doll, but at least you're alive and well, soon to leave this floor with more money to your name that these fuckers don't know anyway, right? Never let that smile drop, smart girl. You have a talent, just like your supervisor said. Just keep on serving.

“No children-makin' is better for the cheatin'— ha!”, the barren, that fruitless man who’s been made fun of whoops in to stand up for himself, and awaits his tobacco that's being driven to him by your cart.

You open up the wooden chest in which the cheroots, so unnecessarily gold-plated, sit and ridicule you with their rare existence. There are just thousands of dollars sitting in your hand right now, and as you fetch the thick roll with wary fingers, you think, fucking hell, this could feed so many people, and they're just smoking it away like it's nothing, assholes.

The other servants frown at you spitefully during the time you bow down. You're sensually placing the brown cylindrical object into his mouth, a match lighting held to his face to light it up. In addition to the experience, you hold one long stare with his washy eyes, because you assume it will ignite him.

And, oh, how excited he gets.

"Thank you, sir," you chuckle and flutter with your eyelashes, pursing up your lips like you’re an innocent little girl getting a piece of candy behind her parents’ back.

“Just mad! Missy's young enough to be your grandchild, fella!”

You’re aware of exactly what your dear co-workers are thinking, but being ordered to light their cigs and then ogled at is not "baby-treatment” or whatever they’re muttering under their breath, it's your subtle strategy to have that bankroll be slid between your thighs.

"Hey now, I still can get it on! Don't you think so too, missy?"

Dumb Y/N, only has money on her mind. Allows herself to be called "missy", like a dumb fucking slut. 

Hm, kind of has a ring to it, don't you think?

"Yes, sir."

Let them all think you're a dummy. Let them believe, believe each other's words in whatever they fucking want. You're almost too certain it's the secret reason Jongho offered you a place here anyway; "suited for the job", because he deems you dense enough to not understand any of the nonsense these twelve men are babbling, "big money", because he knows you will do anything for it. 

You’ll still take the talent, but if he really thinks the rest, then oh, sucks to be him.

Yes, you haven’t looked up the names of who the men here are for the same reasons they're not using yours, but the second you’re out of this whiny, weak testosterone-drowned room, you're going to write the most thorough blackmail, because you can not listen to their cheating, money-laundering, corrupted bullshit anymore. Getting involved with the handshakers is the last thing you should do if you want to live a silent, carefree life, and you know this too well, but they're not going to believe it was you anyway. They wouldn’t dream of their missy to do such a competent, smart thing. You even know what you're going to write under the letter so they have something to think about in their cells: 'birds listen to the words of day, mice to the words at night'— walls have ears, too.

Ah, the soft, sometimes very cryptic voice of your favorite old monk. Always there to teach you new things, remind you of how to live your life cheerfully. You still believe he would have rather kept you in the mountains and not drop you on a wild voyage into the unknown urban life, but your old man had his reincarnation coming. You should visit his grave again, it's been a while, hasn't it? Wouldn't he be so proud to see you? To see how much his little Y/N has grown and learnt, using his proverbs to restore justice? Well, for what you still can collect of your late mentor, he would probably make big eyes and use his whole body to keep your monetary gift away from him. "Teacher," you would ask, "don't you at least want to save?", and his answer would remain the same;

"Peace comes free."

You feel warm at the distant memory of the bald-headed man warming himself in his orange gown, teaching you about love, harmony and kindness, but that sweet veil of untainted innocence has long dropped from your eyes.

In front of you, you see tycoons continuing having a blast being their shitty selves, and as golden teeth blend your sight, they are entertaining each other by staring at your legs that are covered by your sheer black stockings, whispering their insight of how you'd look like under it, but the mini-skirt only leaves so much for imagination.

"Sweet missy!"

How could you not want to spit into their face? They have bought the war. They have bought the chaos. And why? Just because they can. It doesn't cost you anything to restore some peace, maybe that’s the thing your old man got right.

"Yes, sir?”

“Do you have any Cubans left, sweet missy?”

“A Cuban, coming right up, sir.”

“Hopefully someone’s gonna come after the party tonight!”

Are you humiliated? As someone who lived among the wisest, clearest heads, and was considered just as smart by them to be wished a ‘more fortunate life’ — No.

You couldn’t care less about their perversions. Especially now, when they seemingly don’t care enough to know your name you've introduced yourself with. You are here for one reason, and it's not to prove your worth to the world, it's to secure your place in it, get that parasitic debt off your shoulders.

And if anything, as long you are staying truthful to yourself, there’s nothing that could take away your spirit. That’s what you want to believe, at least. When you’re out of debt and continue with this job, you could spend every day downtown like the other servants, but for you, it's all going to the savings for the family you're going to feed with not one worry in life on the clear land in the mountains, not under a sky that's polluted by light even when the sun has set.

The clock has announced night long time ago. Outside the windows, there shines and roams a loud, restless city under a starless, foggy black blanket, inhabited by people like you who live day by day to make their living, like small flies forgathered in a hive of exhausting labor, buzzing their life away.

It’s what you think every time you peek down the glass room: Seoul has never looked so small. Across and around the ever-flowing Han-River, the metropole is the home of millions who are looking up with their heads far back their necks to the point right here, where you stand, at the center or peak of all the wealth gathered together, inside the highest building standing tall amidst of the tumult, on the 114th floor, towering over the world in a luxurious dining room decorated by exotic animals, marbled statues and most importantly the filthy glimmer of something they call ‘class’.

“Missy,” the chairman calls out for you, raising his hand, right after he’s made another infidelity joke and showed his luxurious wedding ring to the audience.

“Yes, sir?”, you call out, wearing your pristine servant-smile with your hands folded nicely in front of your stomach, voice not tainted by your disgust as to even one note, despite the other servants looking at you with hateful expressions. They wish you the worst; the worst treatment, the worst performance, anything to get you out of this place. 

Maybe they're driven by the same instincts and avarice that makes you hate the rich,  with them just thinking you're taking away their money, but it's free territory here with these predators; you just make for great prey.

It’s a challenge to all of the people involved and the contestants can only win. Will it be another pick-up line? You're going to pick on that with ease. Another joke about your age? That one is never going to get old. There, bring it on, you think, and feel proud of your confident spirit, ready to run with whatever they throw and stash it into your wallet.

“You see those youngsters back there? Get 'em some more ice."

“Yes, sir.”

“Chaps don't know how to drink the good stuff yet, what a waste! Next time, buy 'em the cheap soju from the mart! The ones for 5,000 Won, missy, you know those?”

“Yes, sir.” Your whole face flashes a smile, bowing to accept the task of refilling some ice, dragging your cart across the room, as male laughter rings in your ears. It's as if they don't realize they also drink cheap liquor, but you suppose that's forgettable when they are flushing the fanciest of meats down with it.

"Be careful, missy!"

Are you being too mild by saying you want to ram the green glass-bottles into their heads?

"They bite!”

Maybe choke them with their own money bills?

Yes, “Yes, sir.”

It's a fun exercise to fantasize about how to hurt them, so you thought you would be busy enough to ignore the chairman's warning, but as you are on your long way to the end of the even longer glass table to push your cart towards the men he is referring to, there's a growing feeling inside your guts that oh, the chairman may be ... 

Huh, right for the first time. The quizzical lump expands warmly as much as it is cold, with goosebumps running down your spine, your hands feeling hotter than ever over the metal cart. Your whole body is trying to signal you that something is off on the other side of the table, but you don’t know whether to ignore it or run.

The annoying, empty-minded, impertinent elders, who have been belly-laughing at the chairman's joke a second ago stop with their chatting and only exhale huffs, and prolong them nervously, that’s off. The servants gulping, loosening their crossed arms– that’s off, too. 

“So, uhh… Where was the, uh– food from?”

“Oh, lad, good topic, yes– the delicious food…”

It seems that everyone in the room is trying to fill in the silence with the fakest of laughter, so the chairman can move on from the topic, but you're well over your way there, uninformed to what you're going to be hit with once you halt.

Tycoons like them usually don't need back-checking. You know how to deal with ill-willed imbeciles that only use their estate as a weapon. Their bodies and brains have passed prime an eternity ago. Left behind are only their numbed minds that seek shelter in lust, ecstasy and aphrodisia because nothing else excites them anymore. They’re what you probably would have been if you hadn’t spent your teens brewing tea and listening to the leaves rustle, not experiencing all euphoria and more at a too early age– they’re washed out, just swimming in money they haven't worked a day for, are lazy, weary sloths.

However, opposed to the cloudiness in their class that's only getting more foggier through the many years of monopoly, these two men that are waiting in front of you, and you understand why your lungs are pinging now, they are potent.

Money is power, but twist it around and there is them, with that; a certain force that the rich ooze out by just acting and looking a certain way, and oh, Y/N, how they are, how they are looking at you right now, best believe you have to hold onto your strength like it's a small purse.

'Youngsters', he said— 'they bite', he said.

They have been rarely reacting to the chairman’s words, notwithstanding being the ones to be the most respectful in this meeting for their young age, just looking at each other with unamused eyes. Even the director who is older than the chairman lets out his best holler every time, but these two have not laughed once at his jokes, not the slightest chuckle has left their mouths to flatter or satisfy the chairman.

Interesting.

Both black-haired, the one you get to first has his mane gelled back, a cigarette hanging out his scarred mouth, as you approach his seat with your cart walking carefully practiced steps. His white shirt is opened up to where chains, most importantly a silver cross, hang from his collarbones to his chest that’s covered with scars and scratches you can’t quite identify how they got there. This man looks gigantic, muscular, dangerous. Shoulders terrifyingly broad popping out his black vest, he sits on his seat with widened legs, thighs flattened in his also black pants, fastened by a leather belt, and with his white sleeves pulled back to his elbows, his slightly tanned forearms only appear more huge after the rather average-looking wristwatch catches your eye, just when you stop with your cart in front of him.

“That old geezer just can’t keep his mouth shut, can he?”, he chuckles, the Gyeongsang-provincial dialect rolling so naturally off his tongue. Everyone else in the room has been faking their speech to cosplay a charm they didn’t possess, but even the slight lisp and lull from the drunkenness are not hiding how deeply masculine and sincere this man’s voice sounds. It’s a mixture of the sarcasm you've gotten used to by now, but also a brashness that the older men lack, and you’re a bit embarrassed to say it’s working you up a bit. "Empty carts rattle loudest, I say."

A wintry breeze goes through your breast and you feel your eyebrows flinch. You haven't heard that grandmotherly expression in so long, that it does feel somehow refreshing to reconcile with it, but maybe the whisk you sense shouldn’t feel as comforting given the way the man is looking up to you brazenly with a bit of atrocity in his appearance. He is far away from the serene sketch you drew to save the vision as you left the village, he is what you felt when you took your first train, asphyxiated by the big masses of people who you would never see again— an unhomely, yet intimate feeling of... adventure.

He glances through you smoking his cigarette with no hands attached, and it moves at the corner of his lip as he talks. Wait, cigarette? Missy, did you forget to bring him a cigar?

"Let's see when he runs out of words."

“It’s alright, sir,” you answer, suppressing a slight chuckle because yes, you too have been wishing the chairman would finally shut the fuck up, but haven't expected anyone to say it out loud that boldly. You watch the male in front of you take out the slim roll from his mouth with his thick fingers that are covered with silver rings that all look different and not matching each other, blowing out the smoke whilst maintaining eye contact with you. “If you require, I can bring you a cigar, sir," you say, but he waves his hand to brush off your offer.

“Ah, they give me bad breath.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please," the man progresses instantaneously, scratching over the vertical scar at his lip-corner with his thumb, his ciggy continues to burn, "Do be so kind and give brother his ice," then smiles, "he needs to preserve his cold head.”

“You are one to talk about keeping mouths shut,” the ‘brother’ answers, voice velvety and adequate despite dissing the man that’s sunken unmannerly into his seat, while he, on the other hand, is sitting up straight, his black suit buttoned up, tie set cleanly under his ironed pearl-white collars, elegantly decorated by a golden pin. A Greek "π" is chiseled into it, and you recognize it so well for you’ve seen it written all over the tall buildings you drove by on your way here. His hair is combed evenly to the sides and the more you look at him, he’s just— wow, flawless, prestigious, expensive. Everything about him is crystal clear; his rich voice, his unblemished skin, his eyes, oh god, you just noticed those eyes, how does such a shameful man have such pure eyes?

Orbs— and they're not innocent as much as you can't say they're not guilty— are looking at you with a defiance that is suffocating, as if you ought to do everything perfectly, not miss a single twitch of his eyebrows to understand whether he's enjoying or disapproving of the situation.

Well, is he enjoying you or disapproving of the way you're listening to his partner's order to refill his ice?

Huh. No fucking idea. He probably doesn't, but you must do it still— must still serve.

It feels irrationally sheep-headed, but hey, being a sheep is your job, is it not? Being in this herd is keeping you alive, and even in this situation, where you are following the orders of the blackest of sheep, no, wolves that can't be covered by any fluffy wool— you must mow your best.

"Ohh, brother, it's been a while since I heard you talk! Feels lonely droppin' all the good sayings by myself."

You’re serving Choi San and CEO of PARA-conglomerate, headman Park Seonghwa.

Sat right across the chairman, the percentage this couple holds of his company-share is more than most of the attending seniors combined, which makes them stand at the top of the guest-list. You couldn’t have missed their names, even if you’ve made the attempt to, and the other information you’re getting is just your co-workers whispering hurried words to each other, and it seems to you that you may be more in need of them than ever.

You already eavesdropped on them a little, and to be honest, you didn’t need any real confirmation that everyone in this room was unlawful and corrupt, but it is good to know you really don’t have to feel guilty stashing those bankrolls into your purse.

The man that is licking the tail of his scar at his lip, rolling his neck, clicking with his mouth and tapping his fingers onto the table, he is rumored to be the boss of the Choi-Clan, the infamous ‘Mad Dog of Namhae’, whose face had been unknown. The chairman has made a drunken joke about allegedly trying to sell him off to the government— “everybody act like you don’t know, okay?”— and nobody had taken him seriously, but once the supposed mafiaboss had entered the room, an hour later than everyone else, and sat down comfortably like nothing was strange about his heavy breath and slightly purple knuckles, nobody dared to say something else.

If you’d heard beforehand that you would be meeting a CEO and a mafiaboss today, you don’t know if you would have acted any differently. Thinking, here comes the chairman, his jesters, the mafia-guy, the chaebol; ah, all the motherfuckers aligned, let’s get to work, shall we? 

But this does challenge you a bit, indeed. If they just weren’t so young and intimidatingly good-looking, fuck, you could have treated them in the same cookie-cutter way you’d been at perfectly.

Maybe a bit of change-up won’t hurt, you were starting to get a bit too irritated anyway.

"Control yourself."

“You wanna see him dead too, brother,” the smoking male sneers— you’ll call him ‘Mr. Choi’ for now— pointing at his companion to accuse him of being a yawner, his cigarette stuck between his fingers.

Headman Park smirks with a short twitch of his lips that makes you think you just imagined it, but none of his extremities has moved since you came here: Every single action he takes seems so... calculated, thought through, measured, planned out. He is the only one to have brought a briefcase to the dinner, and looks a little bit out of place with his sober expressions which seem to you as if he was observing the whole room in its possible entirety, not leaving out a corner in his sight uncovered.

"Want," he parrots, face dropped to a neutral visage, highlighting the only word that seems to be bothering the CEO regarding his vis-à-vis' statement, eyes darting down  to Mr. Choi having his fingertips pointed towards him.

"Don't you become pushy with the words now, brother," the mafiaboss teases him, and tugs his sleeves up to his elbows again, eyeing you up and down while you're passing him with your cart. You discern his interest in the pockets of your skirt, or what is there underneath, instantly, but before you can think that the man may be just the same as the others, he cracks his knuckles. “Old geezer might die on his own at this point, look at how he's smoking his raisin-lungs away."

"Poetic."

So much for hearing government and company secrets, here are these two joking about the chairman’s death. You need the chairman a little bit longer if you want to earn money, but the idea of him dying soon isn’t too bothersome.

"You gotta get used to my Korean way of speaking, brother! Then we can communicate correctly!”

With your ears sharpened, but your face presenting unconcerned, you devote yourself to headman Park to refill his bucket, ice cubes jangling down the iron jar, whilst Mr. Choi stretches his arms behind his head, raising an eyebrow towards his elder who isn't hearing him out.

“Thank you,” headman Park says, very briefly and precisely. The tong you put in the bucket for him to use almost tips, and you don’t know whether he does it on purpose for he’s been frozen still all during the dinner, but with his reflexes, he prevents it from falling before you can, but if that wasn't surprising enough, he grazes your skin while returning.

Soft, uncalloused; not a single ounce of labor roughed up these hands, it seems. They tickled you featherly, and right now, you are looking for some type of confirmation in those black spheres of his to know that you're allowed to exhale and react to his touch, because you gasped slightly and have held your breath ever since.

Nothing. You are the first one to look— no, shy away from his stare, getting your hands in front of your abdomen again, your fingers searching for each other, fiddling around by themselves without your knowledge. 

Mr. Choi lets his wrist-watched hand fall between his lap, neck tilted slightly to the back, licking over his canine tooth with a grin, and it appears to you that he's either noticed his associate's small gesture or how headman Park is still staring at you. “You wanna do something, don’t you, brother?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

Mr. Choi shakes his head to irritate headman Park and make him explain himself.

“This is not business.”

Headman Park glances down his whiskey, droplets of water have formed around the brim of the cold glass. It is untouched. 

"I see you aren’t enjoying the whiskey, would you like something else to drink, sir?", you ask, trying to finish your job and get away from here before you get ideas that don’t include money between your thighs.

"The Fillico, please," the male answers, not having glanced away from your eyes once to inspect your cart, where the black, long bottle, donning a crown and wings adorned with Swarovski-crystals, awaits you to be grabbed.

"A glass of cold Fillico Black King!", you exclaim, your surprise of the particularity that anyone would drink water at the chairman's dinner can’t be hidden, and then hum, "Coming right up, sir."

“You’re really something, brother,” Mr. Choi wheezes, taking the last pull of his cigarette, watching you fill up a new glass for his unrelated brother with the finest mineral that can be bought to-date, pricing around 6 Billion Won, or 4500 US Dollars per bottle. “Wouldn’t you say it’s difficult to not be smokin’ or drinkin’ in this business, Y/N?”

Sure, whatever ‘business’ a man like him is talking about. “Yes, sir." Wait, hold on, did Mr. Choi just say your name? 

“You don’t look too impressed,” the male grins, seeing how you’ve narrowed your eyes in confusion.

"Pardon me, I was just– how do you know my name, sir?”

Mr. Choi shrugs as if to say ‘I dunno’ and presses his cigarette out on the table. It sizzles out, like your head is also slowly deteriorating. He throws the bud into the CEO's ice-bucket— headman Park is not even minorly irritated by it— and then, with his ringed fingers, goes through his hair, setting it loose behind his head. He’s picking on you, and you surely feel picked out, that's all you can think. It's so unusual to be hearing your name, not because it hasn't been said during the dinner, but because—

"Y/N Y/L/N, a pretty name for a pretty servant like you, huh?"

Your heart somehow flutters. A stalwart man like him taking your name into his mouth is nothing you hear on the daily. Deep, manly. It's not flattering, no, it sounds wrong, feels so dangerous for a guy like him to be taking something so personal and turning it into his possession, like you're slowly going to lose yourself in the words he speaks in a lax manner. Your name is precious to you, and it just drops off his tongue like it's candy. Where on earth does a man like him get your full name from?

"Sir," you insist, dipping your fingertip under your fingernail, fidgeting.

“Oh, don’t tell me ya prefer that stupid name ‘missy’,” Mr. Choi chuckles and fetches headman Park’s full glass of whiskey, his dialect draping out his mouth.

“Or do you secretly enjoy it," he grins, and with his eyebrows raised, Mr. Choi drinks up his acquaintance's booze in one big gulp, letting the glass fall down on the table with a thump, breathing out, "missy?”

People drink whiskey neatly, you know that. The guests have been doing it all evening, but that's for two ounces. Headman Park had a glass full of the oak-colored sherry liquid with an uncommonly high alcohol percentage placed in front of him. A taunt from the chairman maybe, to subtly scorn them about their apparent boyhoodish inexperience, but Mr. Choi makes it look so adept: The strong alcohol flows down his throat smooth and speedy, even though he did misplace the rim by an inch.

There's whiskey dripping down his chin as he glances over to his side, smirking at his neighbor who's blinking frozen, as well as the other guests, who are seemingly just as irritated that the mafiaboss got you as flustered as you look like.

You’re left with your mouth slightly open, shotting down a glass of whiskey shouldn't have looked as barbarous as Mr. Choi made it appear. Like a striking attack, baring his claws, he growls out the herby aftertaste. "'Scuse me, 'got really thirsty there."

The mafiaboss goes over his lips with his tongue, watching your hand play with the seam of your skirt, where he knows a handkerchief is buried in your pocket.

“Aw, shit, I got wet,” he wails over-dramatically, looking down on himself and then again locking his eyes into yours.

“Wanna clean me up, baby?”

“Pardon?”

Much to your continued bafflement, Mr. Choi smiles, and as he sees you taking a second to confirm what he said, he continues talking to you like you’re a hooker.

“Don't like that one, Y/N?” Again, with the name! Where does he get the name?!

“Sir, how—“

“You have introduced yourself to us,” headman Park finally reveals in the high Seoul tongue, perchance by pity, and you inhale, a bit embarrassed that you didn’t come to think of it earlier. What is happening to you? Is it because you’re finally away from those sleazes, that you’re being so light-headed? Lack of training? Sexual attraction? God, that’s a rookie’s mistake, Y/N, think about them as targets, not objectives. The objective is to not end up in a bed with them, remember? That’s like, rule number one. Even though nobody told you about the Mafia while you were at training, that’s a valid argument.

Don't let your guard down, you’re in a room with the men of men, no maybe the men. The most influential men you could be meeting in Seoul right now, aside from how little is known about them.

Whether he's a real chaebol or not, PARA-CEO Park Seonghwa is definitely the nephew of good ol’ chairman over there, just leeching off his money even if today is the first time the man is visiting his distant uncle who is definitely a bit sour about the fact he took so long to connect with him. Money has its sources and sometimes, most of the time, it’s nepotism. There you go, the explanation of his wealth and why the male is so well-mannered sitting on his seat. He’s woven into the conglomerate-family, been made CEO to keep him that way and all in all, you could care less about him, if he just wasn’t the only person that was kind of nice to you. Just thinking about his eyes makes you a bit dizzy, but you can get that fixed by turning your eyes to the mafiaboss.

Mafia and chaebol don't usually associate, for reasons that are rather obvious. Mafia’s rule the underworld with the overworld’s laws, and the chaebol rule over what laws the overworld decides on, digging their hands into the government like it’s soot, planting and pulling crops wherever they can profit from it. Money.

It’s sickening every time you think about it. How many people in this room could pay for your whole life? No, how many can’t pay for your whole life and beyond? You can count them with one hand and they’re all wearing the same clothes as you. 

Money knows where it belongs; that’s a phrase you made up the day you were told about the crippling debt by the letter and the bank declining your card. It sounds similar to your monks' sayings of water's ever-flowing life, but if water returns, money drifts. It wanders across the citizens, but follows a direction it's always bound to end up. Just like today, with you getting bankrolls to graze the inner space of your legs, only to know it’s going to end up in the same fingers that gave it to you.

So, where do headman Park and Mr. Choi get a say in this? Do they get a say in this?

“I did introduce myself, how could I forget? I’m sorry, sir,” you admit and let out a laugh that is half intended to sound as nervous as it did, and half regrettably filled with authentic uneasiness.

Old chairman, what does he know? Have those teeth really ever sunk into flesh? You can’t play with your fate here, but by hook or crook they intrigue you so much. You haven’t expected guests that aren't ass-kissers of the chairman, and apparently your talent only goes so far. You have no idea what to do with them to satisfy them except letting out your real thoughts and you can’t do that, definitely not in front of the man.

But you feel so connected to them. The caution everyone has, it confuses you just as much you're amazed by it, and you want that, you want that kind of safety. Every guest here has money, but not every guest has their authority.

“It’s alright, everybody makes mistakes, baby,” Mr. Choi smirks and musters you again, rubbing the liquid away from the corner of his lip with his thumb and kissing the remaining alcohol away, savoring every droplet of whiskey, but also savoring you by keeping his thumb leaned into his opened mouth, eyes looking sultrily at you, you might as well just—

“Mistakes, San. Beware of them,” headman Park falls in and his companion finally sways his eyes away from you, hand backing down. “Talkative drunkard.“

“Brother,” Mr. Choi sighs and grabs the glass from his neighbor that's filled with ice cubes to murmur, “I’m not that drunk," swinging it around with concise flicks of his wrist to enunciate his words.

With the couple bantering, you think you can calm down. Maybe you were overreacting. Bootlicking some birdbrains is a way easier life than to follow these two.

"Hey, baby?”, but there's another call of the bird of prey.

“Yes, sir?”, you answer, fingers letting go of your skirt that has thrashed your skin by how you abused it. You don’t even know when you started to react to the name 'baby', but truth be told it’s better than ‘missy’ by miles. Being over here is better than being over there by miles, that is unchangeable.

“Could you get me clean? This is kinda sticky."

With two fingers, he grabs the collar of his shirt and flails it softly, ice clinking in his glass, as he shows you his indeed quite syrupy breast.

"Yes, sir."

You nod towards the crevice that is the space where his muscles meet, and before your eyes can get lost in the plump thews, you collect yourself so you can do what you were asked for; getting your hands on his body.

“Please.”

“Ahh, I liked you more when you were quiet, brother! I don’t wanna call you a party-pooper, but c'mon! It’s your plan, and I’m just— doin’ my part.”

Mr. Choi twists his upper body a bit so he’s still able to hold the empty glass behind your back, though it feels more caging in than it should, when you lean forwards to softly tap his skin with your handkerchief. His arm hovers next to your hip and his upper body is extended wide around you.

“What do you say, baby?”, the male asks, and you harrumph to take your mind elsewhere from how rock-hard the mafiaboss feels under your hand, how his cologne smells so rich and inviting, and how— “Wanna be bitten?”

“Pardon?”, you ask, not understanding the context of Mr. Choi’s question, but without fail grasping the intentions of it.

The male grins, and you’re unsure as to how he got his hand on the bottle of whiskey from your tray as quickly as he did, but it’s there, in the hand that’s across your hip, and from then on, everything you do seems risky. His bicep is curled around your thigh so he can fill himself another glass, and if you take a step back, your ass will be pushed against his arm, but if you step forward, you’ll land on top of him; a straining dilemma that only inflames your guts the more you think about it.

“San,” headman Park grumbles quietly, seeing you struggle to stand on your feet.

“Agh, come on, brother, 's all going well! Live a little for me, will ya? Watch me and follow,” Mr. Choi nags with a juvenile pout and takes a disgruntled sip from his drink, making your imaginations reality by pushing you with his forearm with no forewarning. You trip closer to him and his arms raise, as you have to find safety on his shoulders to not fall into his crotch.

“Oops, ‘scuse me, baby,” he grins, feline eyes glancing up to you, your bust in his view. The other men are grumbling, fussy, yammering— if they knew, they would have done that with you a long time ago!— and in your head, you don't know whether you should be doing this at the chairman's dinner and not somewhere in a stripclub or just, god, anywhere else.

“It’s okay, sir,” is what you answer, and the short silence would be the perfect opportunity to scuffle back to your original stance, but you saw his ever-growing, throbbing bulge in his black suit-pants and it is staring you down.

Everything about him is so big…

“Really, baby?”, Mr. Choi asks, eyebrows pushed together, lips formed into a pout, feigning an expression of worry.

“Yes, sir,” you say, the big question of 'what is the goal here?' unnerving you, but with the quick, harsh movement of his leg against the back of your knee, you're—

“Sir!”

Sat on his thigh, your butt is bouncing on the hard flesh, fingers dug into his shoulders deeper due to the shock, ribcage moving up and down as you’re breathing fast and anxiously. At this point, you’ve gathered the attention of many who are seemingly more excited about the situation than you are, silencing all around, while the chairman continues to crack drunk jokes on the other side.

Mr. Choi chuckles at your nervousness and puts his glass down. “Aww, look at you, baby,” he coos, his rough, calloused fingers trailing between the inner space of your thighs that’s pushed into his leg. “Need a little break?”

As you sit there— securing yourself on the table, feeling his hand sit between your legs, you become lighter with each passing second, tingles being sent down your abdomen. Could Mr. Choi please stop smirking like that? It’s going to make you lose your mind, lose every thought of what you were trying to achieve at this table tonight.

“The chairman doesn’t allow breaks, sir,” you murmur, trying to cling onto the last sense of service you have, “I have to stay here.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper for the CEO in front of you to become curious, but loud enough for the mafiaboss to scoff and massage his hand deeper into your flesh.

“Sir, I really—“, you try to protest, but Mr. Choi uses his other finger to signal you to come closer to his face. You do as you’re told, his warm breath hitting your ear after you lean backwards.

“Baby,” he cackles, and his lips touch your earlobe, the smell of the smoke fading out his mouth.

“I practically own that wimp,” and Mr. Choi lets out a chuckle before his voice lowers an octave, “Let me own you, too.”

His tongue grazes over your sensitive skin as if he was a snake trying to convince you of eating the strange fruit, and you shudder forwards in surprise, his growl still vibrating in your ears.

You should get yourself together— yeah, that sounds like a good idea, if it just wasn't for the fact that this is exactly how you've been presenting yourself the whole evening. You're cornered, and not only by him, but your actions and it's, oh, old man, it's something. It's something that broadens the playground that was set out in front of you, something that gives you more to play, no, more to be played with.

The other guests are gawking already, forgetting about their prejudices when it comes to the 'youngsters', just happy to be seeing their missy in action.

The mafiaboss sighs, breaking his whispering and speaking louder than before. “But if you cherish so much about that old geezer, he’ll be taken care of, no? Maybe even better than before, or am I wrong here, brother?”

He clicks with his mouth— is it a habit?— and looks at headman Park, who rolls his eyes, as if they’re sharing some secret you’re not a part of. But before you can fall into further confusion, your legs tighten around Mr. Choi’s wristwatch, as his thumb strokes the surface under your skirt one time, right across your cunt which has been heating up since the first time you saw the reflection of yourself in his silver cross. A pant leaves your mouth and you have to grind your ass over so you can somehow clench your legs together.

“You like that?”, Mr. Choi sneers, chuckling into your ear, as he continues to move his thick finger against your clit. "Of course you do. Let me hear more of those cute sounds, baby.”

You grab his bicep, heat crawling up your abdomen against his forearm, your crotch feeling more and more buzzed as the male works his fingertip into you. Nobody says anything, just murmuring insignificant sentences to keep up the chatty mood.

Headman Park in the meanwhile, crosses his arms, catching the attention of the mafiaboss.

“Brother, can’t you see I’m doing this for you? Enjoy yourself.”

Mr. Choi flashes an eye-smile and keeps groping your cunt, you melting more and more into his lap and under the heated gazes of the crowd. Your servant-colleagues don’t know what to do, or no, maybe they knew exactly that this would happen and think you deserve all of this shame, just in general not helping you escape the touch of the mafiaboss.

“Sounds like you’re enjoying her more than anything,” headman Park says, looking indifferent, but his words don’t cross out the possibility that inside his pants, his cock isn’t growing too, how his arms are crossed, clenched around each other.

“Come on, baby,” Mr. Choi growls into your ear, “give that fucking bore a show, won’t you?”

You’re split open. He’s strong, oh gosh, so strong, taking not more than one push to grab you by your thigh and spread your legs, make you slip on his crotch, as he closes his knees together to support you from down under.

“San,” headman Park warns, but his mouth stays slightly open, tongue pressed against the surface of his upper teeth, suppressing a grin.

You flatten your back against Mr. Choi’s torso as an attempt to hide your face behind his neck, and breathe heavily against his freckled skin, the cold exterior of his pearly accessory grazes your chin.

“What?”, the male asks, taking his glass, his arm slithering under your armpit and his chin resting on your shoulder as he sips from it, not to forget the hand that is still pushed into the now moist fabric between your legs, moving in circular motion.

Headman Park doesn’t answer and folds his hands together, placing his elbows on the table, fingers touching his lower lip.

“Geez, brother, you should feel this cunt right now,” the mafiaboss wheezes, almost hiccuping from his excitement, “so fucking hot, you won’t believe.”

“Make her louder.”

Even Mr. Choi was surprised to hear that come out of the reserved CEO's mouth, and as he chuckles and takes the last sip from his whiskey, he puts down his glass once in for all to accept headman Park’s order.

With a slight lean forward, his free hand wraps around your neck and you gasp for air. Mr. Choi’s legs are spread so when you have to tuck in your pelvis, you can feel his bulge under your cunt. At this point, you don’t care for the piercing gazes anymore, and the chairman might as well give you a nice tip for the sight of you grinding your wet pussy into his biggest investor’s clothed cock. You’re such a master profiteer, Y/N, Jongho was right.

“Fuck, missy,” Mr. Choi grunts and he’s so frustrated he can’t take off more of your clothes, but it doesn’t prevent him from following the order when headman Park mutters, “grab her breasts.”

It is one shameless show.

You becoming needy and whiny on Choi San’s lap, the mafiaboss grinning, as CEO Park Seonghwa’s eyes are unmoving from your sullen, aroused expressions— it has persuaded the audience to want their own slice of fun, but even with hands wrapped around their no-use cocks, everybody in the room has their eyes sealed on the young servant whose only job was to refill some ice.

Mr. Choi can feel it; what a slut you are on top of him, how eagerly you’re grinding your cunt over his bulge, and how jealous the others are watching— and this includes all the blokes that are watching with cigars in their mouths, but also the servants that would have gladly taken your seat and not rub their hands over old, moist, wrinkly skin.

“Sir,” you whimper, as Mr. Choi knobs your breasts, his tough hands cupping each tit, just like headman Park commanded him.

Fuck, how he wishes to be able to see your face as well as well as headman Park does, but the sobby whines might as well do.

“So noisy on my cock,” Mr. Choi snarls, “you’re practically begging for attention, missy.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you hiss and the mafiaboss inhales sharply, gasping, his cock jumping, very turned on by your sudden spunky tone. Bingo.

“Did you hear that, brother?”, he whales, tempting the headman to interact with him more as the main viewer of his performance, but the man to his friend is only raising an eyebrow. “Baby's got some zest in her. You like that, don’t you?”

Mr. Choi continues to coo headman Park into defeat, “You like ‘em feisty, brother. I know you, chief execution officer, sir. You wanna ram your cock into this little missy's pretty mouth, just admit it.”

Little missy's pretty mouth. "Say that again, shitbag," you hiss, but Mr. Choi grins and pries into your bust, working folds into your freshly-ironed shirt. "Listen, brother," he breathes, "It gets your cock fucking going, doesn't it?"

The mafiaboss chuckles and adds, so only you can hear it, "Definitely gets my cock going, baby."

Headman Park scans the room, and you can see how he shakes his head, and looks at Mr. Choi with a slight distaste. “You may leave soon.” 

“Really?”, Mr. Choi grins, beaming, grabbing your hips forcefully in the joy of it, and while the CEO’s words leave you misled, you sigh into the pressure of being pressed down deep into his muscled thigh, your cunt pulsating through his flesh.

“Change of plans.”

“Alright," he murmurs, just as offended as you are by his lack of reactions, but quickly catching up on his lust to hear, see, feel you more. "But not before I make this baby come."

“Punster,” headman Park jeers and it does occur to you that you’re hearing more of his soft voice than before, but when he looks at his wristwatch, you suppose you’re not doing well enough for him. Look at me, you rich-ass prude, you think and whine, being moved across Mr. Choi’s thigh by his own hands. Your clit feels hot, like it is seriously going to burn and fall off, but you, fuck, feel so good; the sounds just keep leaving your mouth, your high approaching very soon.

“How long were you thinking, brother?”, Mr. Choi asks and is nibbling at your neck, as he rams you over his thigh, fighting with the pace you're breathing wispy and digging your nails more and more into the glass-table until your fingertips turn white.

"Five.”

“Five? Make it ten.”

“You only last ten?”

“You can be such a bully, brother,” Mr. Choi fleers, and you have no fucking idea what they’re talking about, since you are feeling your orgasm coming in less than a minute, stars appearing in front of your eyes. “Make it ten.”

The male takes note of how you're bucking in your pelvis and uses his canine teeth to make your neck flame on, his hand placed roughly around your throat, as you become more sensitive to every move. "Sir," you whisper, a knot forming in your stomach.

Your clit is begging you for mercy at this point, demanding you to get the clothes off your legs so your slick has some way to escape, but you're drenching Mr. Choi's suit-pants in your wetness with stuttered heaving, ready to moan loudly in any second now if you could just find that one fucking spot—

"Are you gonna cum, baby? Right in front of everyone?", he murmurs against your neck and you nod repeatedly, raving your clothed clit on his thick, pillowy muscle, desperately chasing your high. "Come on," he snickers, "Show them what kind of slut missy is, huh? Such a good fucking slut for us, aren't you?"

"Yesyesyes," you whine, not caring for anything than your release, and Mr. Choi is being so kind as to continue breathing heavily into your ear to make you melt into bliss, but nothing gets you on more than the gentle smile that headman Park is sending your way, head slightly tilted to the back— is he nodding? Is he finally approving? Oh, fuck, you think, and you're doing the best job darting your hips non-stop to continue feeling your cunt be stroked by Mr. Choi's flesh, pursuing the CEO's praising acknowledgment. "Good fucking slut on my lap," the mafiaboss cackles, "come for daddy."

"You fucking weirdo," you falter, not wanting to call him "I'm never gonna call you—

Mmmuh!" Mr. Choi grabs you by your hair and tugs it harshly, making your back arch and your head rotate to his side. In the open mouth, his tongue plunges into your throat, the taste of woody herbs and bitter alcohol are flooding your tastebuds. Smearing all of your lipstick, his mouth is pressed against yours like he's sealing yours shut. You convulse your lower body in surprise of the sudden act and holy shit, get that one spot over your clit that's also stroking your gaping entrance, your body releasing all of its heat into one blaring, roaring zap, with your eyes rolling back your head, your stirred voice screaming, "FUCK!"

There is a gasp heard through the dining hall and you're not sure whether it was the chairman, a servant, or headman Park in front of you, but as you are spasming on Mr. Choi's thigh and your back arches to his chest, you feel like the world is expanding on you, peeping, intrusive onlookers cramming out their money to thank you for the show they got, white trickling through the linen of their underwear. 

Coming down from your high, weakened and all the while more aroused by the mafiaboss whispering the words "good girl" into your ear, you try to open your eyelids to catch headman Park putting on some black leather-gloves he got from his briefcase, muttering something under his breath to the mafiaboss.

“Go."

What the fuck?

Mr. Choi hooks his arm under your legs while he re-applies his lips to yours, and lifts you up like the pretty princess you are to most of the gawkers that don't stop watching, when he stands up.

Everybody has their eyes on the kiss the mafiaboss and servant missy are sharing, but headman Park doesn’t even look at you, when his partner starts carrying you to the elevator that's waiting for you at the wall about in the middle of the dining table, and just retrieves his open briefcase from the floor. Has he had enough of you already?

“Where are we—“, you breathe, but Mr. Choi kisses you silent, tongue forcing its entry, preventing you from figuring out what's happening, after the mafiaboss puts you down in front of the door and pushes you against the frame roughly. Cheering and hooting encourages him to continue rubbing his thumb over your skin as the other ringed fingers are holding your thigh, and you're pressed against his leg, virtually fenced in by Mr. Choi while he pushes the button for the lift to come.

His eyes are squinting to the side while he works his lips against you, in a way confirming that all of the guests (except the CEO) are begrudgingly anticipating the next actions of the mafiaboss, not caring how the headman is slowly pushing his seat away from the table to get more leg-space, which you seem to be the only person noticing it.

The golden door opens with a bell dinging the elevator’s arrival, and Mr. Choi grabs you by your ass, leading the way inside it. You can't see it correctly with your eyes closed, can only feel his big arms push into your frame, but he even makes for a show-like exit, burlesquely saluting the audience with two fingers, clicking with his mouth. It must really be a habit, you think, and giggle into the kiss.

The men attempt to throw bankrolls into your space and some succeed, some don't, but while you're glad your plan worked out, you aren't too sure what you've just done with, or for the mafiaboss.

Your heated kiss continues and because you want to feel him, you unbutton his shirt that doesn’t need that much working, three buttons being pushed open by your jellylike hands. Before you can unclothe him though, Mr. Choi pushes his arm against the mirror next to your head, stopping you to take a look at his wristwatch. He strokes his hair to the back with the other hand, revealing some of his meaty abs, and once he’s reached the backside of his head, he slides his fingers down his neck and around his Adam's apple to scratch it, announcing, “Ten minutes on the clock. Shit, brother's dick must be fucking exploding in his pants right now."

“Sir?”, you ask, overwhelmed by the words that are not making sense in your head, but also distracted by his hand that’s around your tie.

“Given he really could've finished in five but,” he yanks you towards his face. “I wanted to have you a bit more for myself, missy.”

He smiles, very arrogantly like the patronizing fuck he is, like he knows how strong he is, what a dominating aura he possesses, but at this point, in between the mirrors and on this black, marbled floor, you are not at the chairman’s dinner anymore, aren’t a servant anymore– you aren’t bound to any authority, are you?

“If you fucking call me ‘missy’ again, I’ll bite your fucking dick off.”

Except for the moment that you’re talking to him, a mafiaboss, whose breast is marked by— and you can see it very clearly now for it fits perfectly into yours— hands that have shared the same, if not a similar experience with you.

“How’d you know I was into biting, baby?”

And holy fuck, his back looks even crazier.

“God, sir,” you breathe out in awe and a little bit of fear. You can count the lines of red scratches on his back and as you finally let his shirt fall from his shoulders, the reflection of his muscles, how they relax under your touch. You become starstruck. Everything about him is so scarring, but fuck, how it attracts you, the wildness, the savagery— there’s something so free about him.

"What, baby? You like what you're seeing? How naughty..."

Ten minutes aren’t a lot, but Mr. Choi makes his best attempt to hurry over the trivial parts of fucking you. He steps closer, your ass hitting the handrail, legs crossing together, and your buttons pop in one rip, as his two hands rupture your blouse open. He lets his shirt drop to the floor, all the while his lips clash against the nook of your neck, making you sigh under the luminous lights of the elevator and grab his neck. You’re getting hazy, horny; damn, it’s been so long you’ve had a good fuck. Satisfactory sex is another luxury you were postponing for later.

With his lips sewn on your shoulder, kissing and forcing his tongue against a spot he deems especially tasty, the half-naked male unzips your skirt to finally reveal the black pantyhose that looks soaked in your slick. After he chuckles at the sight of it, Mr. Choi licks over his lips and cups your jaw with his hand, drawing a trail of insatiable kisses across your skin.

“Still wanna bite my dick off?”, he asks with a sly smirk, breathy, having caught your aroused look locked on his silver chains, his jacked upper body inviting you to get your mouth in there until it’s molded around your teeth.

“Come on, baby,” the male provokes you, “You think I’m gonna fuck you just like this? Think I’m gonna ram myself inside your cute fucking cunt ‘cause I’m such a big scary fucking man?”

You inhale sharply. “N- no, I…”, you breathe out, letting your tongue run over your teeth.

“Aw, baby, am I making you shy?”, Mr. Choi hoots, “I didn’t think you were a shy one. You were pretty noisy on my thigh for your cunt, weren’t you? Getting all the sounds out for brother to hear them… You really served a show there, baby.”

Your mouth only lets out stammered gibberish– you have never learnt how to talk dirty, but Mr. Choi uses your opened lips to ram his tongue into it again anyway, and you're almost proud to say you've gotten used to it.

He breathes rashly through his nose, and he tastes less of bourbon but more of dulcet desire, mixed in with the red of your lipstick sitting on his lip. Your knee strokes his erection while he gets his hands behind your back to get your bra off, lips clashing and raving against each other. “Letting your body talk for you?”, Mr. Choi husks, panting at having his overstrained cock touched. He relieves you from the pressure around the bust and continues to ramble. "I knew I could have a lot of fun with you the second I laid my eyes on you.” You pant and reunite your lips with his. "Little missy, such a whore for the rich."

He’s overconfident he’s seeing right through you, it infuriates you. Mr. Choi massages his hands into your breasts, the cold rings grazing sharply into your warm flesh, and as your knee is still between his crotch, you huff. You can be a whore for the rich when you’re earning money, but right now, you’re doing things for your own pleasure.

“Are you going to have a lot of fun with me?”, you sing-song in a high-pitched female voice to the mafiaboss that’s immediately taken aback, and you know the word 'missy' is on top of his tongue again, when you interrupt him with a quick jab of your knee into his groin. "Shit-eating fat-cat."

Mr. Choi grunts, head tilting down. His feline eyes meet your foxy ones, and while you weren't preparing for a staredown, the mafiaboss smirks and bites his lip. 

He has a lot to say, you can see it. There’s something glimmering under the lust-drunken layer behind his eyes, and it’s deep, goes deeper, but for some reason, the mafiaboss, who just so despicably couldn’t hold his mouth, doesn’t let out the words that’s crossing his mind.

“Sir–” 

Wrong deduction.

Mr. Choi scowls in laughter, and you guess he meant to joke with you, but he means to play with you much more, when he, once again, lifts you up, by your waist this time, and balances you on the handrail.

Resting his forearm on your thighs to stabilize you, Mr. Choi digs in his pocket to fetch his cigarette box, looking at himself through the mirror and shaking some strands out of his face. "Shit-eating fat-cat," he repeats with a lisp, pulling out one of the slim rolls with the corner of his mouth, and he continues to chuckle, as he glances at you through his eyelashes, "you should've said that to the old geezer when you had the chance to, baby."

"The chairman?"

No answer. Mr. Choi lights his cigarette with a zippo, and keeps it lit in his mouth, as he, with no forewarning, tears open your pantyhose from your crotch with both of his hands, spreading your legs wide. You have to get your hands around his head to be able to keep yourself on the handrail.

“Why do you look so scared? Think I’m gonna fuck you?”, he lisps. “I’m just taking a good look, baby. What a pretty cunt you got there, baby.”

You gulp. Mr. Choi slides his index finger across your heated folds through the fabric and your cunt clenches together, wanting to be filled up. “Sir,” you sigh, and the mafiaboss pulls in smoke from his cig, raising an eyebrow.

“What, baby? ‘You need something?”, he asks, “You’re not a fucking servant anymore, or do you need to be ordered around, missy?”

You try to look angry, but Mr. Choi only pouts and presses his finger through your panties, soaking them in your slick that’s gathered at your entrance. “Desperate to please the money-man? So wet for him…”

“Fuck you,” you mewl, but Mr. Choi knows what he’s doing when he thumbs your clit and exhales smoke into your face, hiding his face for a short second which gives you confidence. “I need you… to fuck me.”

“What did you say, baby? I couldn’t hear.”

“Please, sir, just… fuck me, please…”

“Louder.”

“God! Just fuck me! Didn’t you say we have ten minutes? Make them fucking count!”

“There we go, baby. My slutty little missy. Oh, baby, you’re growing on me, brother’s gonna hate that.” 

You huff and Mr. Choi slides your panties off your legs, taking a short glimpse at his wristwatch. “Damn, ten’s really a short time.”

How many minutes have passed? Ten already? You know you said it, but you mentioned it only because it made sense, if you’re honest, you have no clue what the time is worth for. Aren't these the men who have time for gold?

The biting smell of tobacco enters your nose, making you cough out loud. Is smoking even allowed in the elevator? Wait, wait, wait, no, maybe you should worry about other things, for example what you're going to do when those ten minutes are over, when all of this is over. They clearly have some type of plan and thing they are carrying out right now, but you don’t know how much you’re invited in there. 

Mr. Choi finishes his quick break, inhaling one last puff and keeping his cig between his lips again, and his hands unbuckle his belt in silence, while you contemplate.

Clanking, ruttling, and steps begin to thump behind the door— have any of you two even pressed a button? The mafiaboss looks concentrated, fixed on your cunt, taking out his throbbing, panging cock out his underwear, stroking it a few times to god, fuck, finally get to touch it after having been dry-humped hot.

Squelching, huffing, and voices echo through the floor— is that the chairman you hear? You can only yelp, when Mr. Choi drags off your panties and slathering his thick fingers across your folds in one, then penetrating with another forceful movement.

"Fuck!", you hiss out, grabbing the handrail next to your hips, trying to balance yourself on it still. The mafiaboss snickers into your ear, and tours through your cunt, all the while it appears that all hell is breaking loose outside.

BANG!

"Sir, what—!"

"Shhh, baby," Mr. Choi hushes you, and takes out his cig with the fingers that are now glistening with your wetness, placing it on top of his lips vertically to the scar that is accompanying his smug smirk.

BANG!

"You got nothin' to worry 'bout, baby," he lulls, "we're just eatin' the pheasant and the egg here," and exhales smoke into your face out his mouth-hole, which distracts you from the third, fourth—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Another proverb, pheasant and the egg— 'two birds with one stone'. Mr. Choi unfolds his hand as if he was counting the minutes, or the shots— wait, yes, shots! Fuck, those are gun-shots, right? You've never heard something so loud ever in your life, where does someone get guns from in South Korea? What even would they need guns for? Why would they use them? What the fuck is happening outside?!

"Oh, fuck!", you moan out, before fear and realization can crawl up your scalp and take away your lusting for the male, Mr. Choi has jerked his hip up, his cock gliding into you smoothly as if your cunt was made for him, the length and girth perfectly curling inside. Your back arches, at least as far as you can arch it, and he grins bemusedly at your jolted reaction.

BANG!

With every blast that follows, Mr. Choi is thrusting into you, first slowly, but then adding more speed and vigor as he goes, or as the blasting goes, making you shakily watch yourself be wrecked by the broad man through the reflection on the other side, your legs dangling with his rough movement.

You don't know how he's fucking you through your tightness, because with each ducking of his hips it feels like your inner walls are expanding more and ungodly more, as if he was piercing you in half.

Small puffs of smoke leave Mr. Choi's mouth each time he pants out raspy "oh baby"s and loud claps of him slapping your ass overtone the screaming, scrambling noises outside, as you two work your lower bodies against and into each other, growing more passionate, throbbing feverishly.

"Fuck, baby," Mr. Choi hisses, cigarette tilting in his mouth, as his face frowns together. "So fucking good for daddy, aren't you? So fucking tight and wet, such a good fucking girl—"

The screams outside are dying down, but the mafiaboss and you are getting louder, breathier, lustier; with your head falling backwards, hitting the mirror, the twisting feeling of fear and the ecstasy to be bouncing on Mr. Choi's big cock mix up like one hellish drink, boiling and churning inside of you.

Smashing both his hands on each of you ass-cheeks to dig his fingers into them and get more stability to ram into you so fast, and oh boy, it's so fucking fast, you're going to spiral— Mr. Choi sputters, "Are you gonna come? Are you going to come for daddy, baby? Greedy baby gonna take daddy's huge fucking load?"

The male is unraveling, his once low, stable voice turning into a whiny, hoarse, cracked mess just like you, practically urging, begging you to finally take the name ‘daddy’ into your mouth.

"Come on baby, say it for me, huh? Feels good to be my slut?", he disentangles, "Be a good slut for daddy, baby."

"I'm not gonna call you— that, fuckhead!", you moan, though your insides are curdling together to finally be released, the knot tightening with each drop of sweat that is forming on your boiling face.

"Really? Think you can afford to misbehave, baby?", Mr. Choi snickers and spits his cig on the floor, your ass being handled at an insane speed, his cock slipping in and out of you with rough ease. He takes it upon himself to dig his teeth into the nook of your neck, biting you heftily, your pulse knocking against your throat, as you feel his cock run in and out of your cunt. Your head goes light and dazed, but before you can gasp out your high from being fucked, bitten, sent to bliss, the male sinks you deep into his cock fully, it does not give you the last thrust you would need to—

"Fuckfuckfuck, I'm gonna cum," you whimper, needing to tremble, but unable to move because his hands are restricting you from any movement, and you continue to bring out a string of weak "pleasepleaseplease" that bounces back from the mafiaboss, who is raising an eyebrow, waiting for the magic word to be spoken out of your wet lips. Tears have formed at the corner of your eye and he thumbs it away, grinning coyly.

"Fuck you, I'mnotgonna fucking, ugh—!", you sob, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

"Aww, you wanna hate daddy so bad, don’t you?”

“Fuuuck you!” Whines leave your mouth, wanting to cum, wanting to move, wanting for Mr. Choi to continue fucking into you and not wipe away your tears.

“Just say you love me, baby,” he heaves and returns his hand to your hip.

Thrusting into you once with a clap against your groin, to make your cunt clench around him, and then twice with the last blood-curdling BANG! from outside, his cock is deep inside you. He feels you tighten, pulsate, craving to be released, but Mr. Choi will not move again to your liking until you finally let go of yourself, which riles you up with no hope.

"F— Fuuuck, okay!", you scream out, annoyed, angry, wanting to fucking cum; "Daddy!", you sob and Mr. Choi smirks, instantly getting to work to toast the adieu of your pride. Thumb on your clit, he circles around your sensitive bud to double the tension you feel through all of your body, while you gutter, "fuck me, daddy, please, make me cum, please, daddy, please—"

He laughs, no, howls— elated, animated, drunk, and then, with his strong, buff fucking arms, pounds you into his cock like a punching bag, your ass hitting his pelvis so many times until you have to use his gelled hair as a last resort to hold yourself up and not push yourself from the handrail with your head against the mirror, but he holds you, holds you steadily in his grip.

"Good god, good fucking missy, such a good fucking slut for me, cum all over my cock–   all over my fucking cock, baby," Mr. Choi grunts, and the string that was keeping you balanced snaps, your orgasm hitting you like that makes your insides tighten around the mafiaboss and his throbbing girth, your whole body being flushed by an overwhelming wave of pleasure which you drink up whole. His cockhead rubs against your sweetspot, you riding out the high while seeing nothing but bliss.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, and your fingers grip into the thick skin of his back, and with Mr. Choi's hips not stopping to hit your pelvis, there are additional, injuring, deep red marks on there with every thrust. You’re scratching him like a beast wanting to tear up its prey, but the beast is fucking into you like there’s no tomorrow. His cock does not stop grazing against your deepest spot, tears rolling down your heated cheek, and your mouth is unable to get out the words you want it to when you get the feeling that he's going to cum soon.

"O- out," you warn him, but the mafiaboss makes a disappointed face, “I– I really can’t afford a child, p-please pull out–!”

He draws his eyebrows in, scoffs and looks you deep in the eyes, his muscular body tucked in, murmuring, rambling out his whiskey-painted throat, “Is that really your only problem, baby? That you don’t have enough money?” His forehead leans against yours and your eyelids flutter open– you are being a mitt around his dick– and he pouts in pity, his iron cross hanging from his chest, as he talks to you.

Mr. Choi gets his hand flat on your lower belly and presses down on it, feeling himself bulge inside you. He moves his hips slowly, his cockhead dragging across your sweetspot, while he gutters, “you’d look so sexy as a mother, don’t you think, baby? With the tummy and all.”

“S- sir, please I–”

"Come on, do you think I don’t have enough money to pay for a fucking kid? God, how fucking annoying– I’m not that kind of man, baby,” Mr Choi growls, his voice vibrating against your cheek, as he charges his forehead deeper against yours, “I still got some honor.”

You shake your head, unsure whether there are pills for after in the pharmacies, or whether the mafiaboss will really be there to be with you as he promises, but Mr. Choi continues to beg in his low breathy, guttery voice. “Baby,” he rumbles, pressing even harder on your abdomen, your ass being pushed into the handrail that you’re sure it’s going to leave one red straight mark, and his cock is almost exploding from the edge, “Let me, no, let daddy cum into your tight cunt, baby, please.”

God, he wants you. He wants you so bad, doesn’t he?

"Y- you should see yourself," you chuckle, stroking over Mr. Choi's gelled hair, and his head tilts up a little bit as your fingers get tangled in his black locks, the white of his eyes making him look like a wild dog waiting for its treat. "F-fucking do it, you fucking slut."

"Fuck, baby," he laughs, out of breath, "You’re really a price."

Mr. Choi hammers his hips into you, until the stars in front of you all look like wishes falling from the sky. Both of you feel it, how his cock just feels so right, fits in like your cunt is a fucking glove which is full and getting even fuller.

"God, fuck," Mr. Choi grunts from the bottom of his throat, his hot cum lading into you, and it's like your lower body is melting with it, becoming heavier with every drop he's unloading inside.

"Take all of my fucking cum," he husks and your faces clash together for one finishing wild kiss. Mr. Choi sucks on your lower lip, as he fucks his ejaculation deeper and deeper into your hole with slow thrusts, until he bucks up his pelvis the last time and moans out a raspy, “perfect fucking missy with a perfect fucking cunt..."

Ding!

For a man that uses his mouth so sparingly, his tongue surely works wonders.

"Sir, are you—"

Headman Park has entered the elevator without a word, pulling off his leather gloves, and with Mr. Choi stepping away, he has all the place he requires to get on his knees and throw your leg over his shoulder, his wet and warm muscle delving into your throbbing cunt. You've been bereaved of the time to inspect what was behind or around him when the door closed, but maybe that's irrelevant anyways. What is relevant, is how impatient, but also how careful the CEO remains, and how he still tries his best to slowly sift his tongue into your folds, feeling every inch of your wetness. He’s been dying to do this.

"Fuck, sir!"

"Please," the CEO chuckles, hastily pulling the black leathery from his hands to put it back in his briefcase that he's been carrying, but he doesn't miss your cunt once, purling over your clit and glancing at you. "Call me Seonghwa, princess."

You could cum right here and there, just at the sight of this pretty man looking up to you, who has laid out his first name and put it into yours, scream it out loud until everyone hears what a princess you've been made of.

Princess. You knew his eyes were different, but you didn’t know they saw the world differently too. Oh, how you wish you could see more of his world.

"Aww, what? That's why you're still a foreigner in our country, brother! 'Can't be dropping our titles," Mr. Choi huffs and lights himself a second cigarette, filling the elevator with smoke and tobacco. How his breath really doesn't smell is questionable to you.

Just like you, the CEO, or how you're allowed to call him now— Seonghwa, ignores his partner's words, laps over your clit with his tongue, gently easing into your cunt with his clean fingers, and your soft sighs are like a reward for him, for whatever he's done outside.

"Respect, brother, 's all about respect..."

You tighten your thighs around Seonghwa's neck. The charcoal-haired has closed his eyes, sighing into the taste of you, and you are flawlessly overlooking the loud mafiaboss, just completely concentrating on the commitment the CEO is eating you out with. His head fits magically between your legs, he works his fingers so flawlessly into you, this must be fate— and if it's not, you're going to make it your future in any which way possible. You're falling. No, flying; never coming down.

"Seonghwa," you whine, and your hand glides over the hooked male's forehead, his hair feeling smooth under your touch as he presses his tongue slowly— in circular motion— against your clit to keep you on the high, but not in a way that would make you trip over.

"Mmf," the mafiaboss in front of you huffs, clearly attracted, enticed by the way you've exhaled the other male’s first name, scratching his temple with the fingers that are holding his cigarette.

"Whether you wanna call me San or 'daddy', baby," the scarred male, no, San, the fucker grins, "I'm gonna be hearing both either way."

"Fuck—", you moan out, having to take a breath because of how Seonghwa has curled his fingers into you with his tongue ready to shovel anything into his mouth that comes out, "you, fuckhead!"

The CEO is giggling a bit, finding your tone very amusing— and he tries to tell you this by looking up and slanting his eyes a friendly way, no, a way that you've never even conjured up the fantasy to perceive him, the cold-faced Park Seonghwa who hasn't drunk a drop of alcohol tonight. What pureness in a man...

"I liked 'fat-cat' better,” San snickers and goes through his hair that definitely needs combing, turning around and looking at himself through the mirror, though his eyes squint towards Seonghwa's reflection on the other side, now again lost in your cunt, taking off his jacket and folding it in half behind his back.

"Brother, you're eating my cum, by the way," the mafiaboss jabs, puffing out smoke while he's decidedly getting hard again in his trousers. San really can't hide his emotions on his face, can he? His lips are pursed, eyebrows slightly pulled in— how obvious. The man is jealous and doesn't want to admit it, you're sure of it.

"Shut up," you hiss, having become a bit comfortable with teasing the frustrated, outwitted mafiaboss. Ten minutes were definitely too little for him, but you've already rid his thigh, let him cum inside, and Seonghwa is simply too good with his tongue right now.

"Fuuuck," you whisper, and feel every drowsy twirl of his finger inside you, but it's slow, so slow, Seonghwa is swerving around every sponginess inside you, savoring the contraction of your inner space, and how your muscles tighten, when he licks over your clit, he enjoys this; enjoys you.

And so it continues, Park Seonghwa exploring every detail of your cunt as if he's a sommelier tasting the rarest of fluids, appreciating every drop that lands on his tongue, his fingers making sure that they don't go to waste.

"Shit," San comments, "I should've eaten her out, too."

The CEO is not cocky about it, about the way you are grabbing into his hair and squirming, how he has to slightly lift you up so you don't fall from your position. And then, when Seonghwa thinks your taste has perfectly coated his palate, speeds up.

"Fuck, sir," and the title slips out of you, like a habit you can't change for good when you feel so small. The CEO between your legs doesn't mind it though, at least doesn't say anything on it and just lets his fingers hit your sweet spot until there is a distinctive "Seonghwa" leaving sighed out your lips.

"I'm going to—", you announce, but the male has been long aware of it, preparing himself more access by bending his upper body to angle himself across your cunt, giving his partner a better view on how you glisten in arousal.

San in front of you is standing frozen, with his cigarette slowly burning out in his mouth, and you recompense the lack of his cock in your cunt by moaning louder, so your voice can vibrate around his erection. He grins and gets a tongue to his canine tooth, naked upper body still glowing in sweat, muscles shining, cock twitching every time he hears you breathe, and breathe more intensely, "make me cum, Seonghwa, please!"

"I knew you would taste delicious," Seonghwa murmurs, silently, rather for himself, and this must be how he sounds when he's drunk, because he is so high on your taste, "but this is ambrosial, princess."

You curl up your pelvis, and Seonghwa holds you by your hips, as his tongue picks up in speed, drawing out every word he hasn't spoken tonight on your labia, stamping them into your clit, all the while his fingers row in more and every last drop.

"C- coming~", you purr, and your eyes close down, your hands deep in Seonghwa's scalp, exhaling the weight of your worries, that flushes down into the man who seems to have none in his life, and he breathes into your hot cunt through his nose, not letting go of it until he's made sure that your hips tremble around his head. "P- please, f- fuck, fuck, feels so good—"

Pumping the remaining come into you, Seonghwa licks up your cunt and kisses your clit until you go completely flaccid, your arms giving in, but Seonghwa catches you by your hand, kissing your thigh with his swollen pink lips.

With your body relaxed, your ass feels a bite sore, having been prodded into the iron rail for so long. You grab into Seonghwa's hand and try to push yourself up, but ultimately fail at getting yourself into a more comfortable position.

"San, hold her."

"Huh?", he asks, "'Need something more snuggly, baby? Or what did you call her again, brother?"

"Princess," the CEO answers immediately and you have to suppress a girly giggle, as Seonghwa turns his head around, lips still pressed against your thigh. He presumably sends San an admonitory look to hurry up, and gets up from his knees.

The mafiaboss shrugs, not offended by being ordered around. He puts out the cigarette against the mirror and cracks his neck by rolling his head around, his thick neck dousing into your sight as he does so. He's so intimidating, you think, but he's on his way to coast those monster-arms behind your back, hands down to each of your hamstrings to, "up you go," pick you up like real royalty. The giggle escapes your mouth but you don't feel the slightest embarrassed nor do you have a reason to be. You are sunken deep into San’s cushiony arms— his muscles make for a great seat, and hovering, air hitting your hot cunt, as your legs spread for the CEO in front of you when you fall into the elbows. You yelp, but the giggles just keep coming, making San in the mirror in front of you wink at you, cackling, "you like that, princess?"

Seonghwa smiles, satisfied by your enjoyment of this position and approaches you once more. "I have yet to kiss you, Y/N," he says with his sweet voice, and his gentle hands find your chin and waist, your eyes blossoming open for him to stare into.

Even San shuts up now, and you suppose he is too taking part in the beauty that is the embrace of you and Seonghwa; two sets of lips, crazing each other, meeting for one flowery affair, breathing out small vapors of life. You can taste yourself, which means that Seonghwa is fully consumed by your aroma.

God, you think again, your cunt tingling at how Seonghwa tugs at his tie, pulling it side to side as he kisses you— the golden 'π'-pin clanks shrill to the floor— everything about Seonghwa is so...

Clean?

You are inhaling the mellow smell of his satiny skin, and the CEO unbuttons his shirt with proficient, skilfull flicks of his fingers. He is so handsome, handsomely pretty, and even when it’s drenched in your fluids, his skin shines on its own, like Seonghwa has a light shining within. Once you can see his bare chest and get lost on the smooth surface, your eyes dive down, admiring his slim, yet very muscular physique.

Seonghwa gets his tie and drags off his shirt by tugging at one sleeve with his hand, the white fabric revealing the rest of body with one clean pull that matches one of the curtains.

"W-", and you have to jump back with your head to get the full spectacle that's presented in front of you, exhaling in awe— "Wow.."

"Not so blank, our brother, is he?", San chuckles from behind of you and lowers his head to press his chin against your temple, surveying the same sight.

Two colossal, monstrous dragons, red and black, are colliding, looped, entangled all around Seonghwa's right arm, fighting for dominance on his skin. The raven hydra has its jaw wide open where Seonghwa looks to his shoulder with a rather shy smile once he sees your reaction, baring its teeth towards his heart, while the crimson dragon ends at the CEO's wrist, sitting on top of his pulse.

"Would you believe me it was brother's idea, baby?"

"As if," Seonghwa murmurs, folding his shirt into a square.

San chuckles again, re-shuffling himself and pressing your back close to his stomach, granting the back of your head to rest at his collarbone. "I asked her if she would believe, brother."

You watch the delicate lines, the elegant strokes of tint meeting on his skin, but while your first impression made you believe they carried a certain viciousness with their svelte bodies, the second sight presents you a different image of two forces maneuvering into each other as a reminder that they both co-exist as supreme. It's not one another they're reviling against, it's the bearer of the both who is threatened by their fangs. Their existence is a warning reminder, but also a sign of pride.

"I believe it's... beautiful."

“Aw, you’re so sweet, baby.”

You haven't seen many tattoos in your life, none in the mountains, and even in the city the only observable tattoos were those of the sleazy guys in alleys that wait when you're done with your job to gape at your uniform. They got tigers and other animals roaring on their bodies to hide the fact they don't have the fighting skills to keep up, but for Seonghwa, a CEO, to have this amount of ink under his skin is a commitment and to imagine he’s hiding that under his ironed shirt and black jacket, no, that you are seeing it right now, it’s… You’re overwrought, steamed up, aflame.

"Wanna touch it, baby?", San asks, and you nod eagerly. Seonghwa chuckles, “Go for it.”

You let your fingertip ghost over the dragons' scales, tailing their curvature. Goosebumps form on Seonghwa's arm and his hand finds its way to your head, stroking your cheek, as you meet the red beast's eyes.

The mafiaboss whispers, almost sentimentally, "No blood or tears."

Another expression, which proves to you that the tattoo was undoubtedly his idea, but you see it, the romance that is spoken from the male's skin, regardless of the little insight you have on both of them. Loyalty, reverence, creed, a belief and a duty, and before you know it, you want Seonghwa to enwrap you with his arms and never let you go, which he does.

His slender hand cloaks the left side of your head, and he pulls himself into a kiss, while he unbuckles his belt with his other hand.

You don't know how much you understand of this situation, no, you don't know how much you want to understand of this situation.

You've been on your own. That's all you ever had after you left home: Your body and soul, the windstorms of the mountains pushing you from the back to keep going, and you've lived your best life living for yourself that way, in bliss, in ignorance— in peace, but what is peace in a place where you can't move by yourself? In a world that’s maimed by the rich, and sure, it may be that you’ve chosen your path, but you were never walking a road that was yours, always trailing behind something.

Nameless, that’s what you thought you would need to be.

Your monks wanted to be called their title like everyone else, it would have been disrespectful to ask Lady Kim for hers which you now regret, and not even as a secret did your old man tell you his name, but you— you, Y/N, you have a name and you want to scream it, live it as loud as you can, hear it echo back with a volume that feels stronger when it rings back.

You could have settled on being acknowledged by your supervisor to earn some good money, but this is what you’re here for, aren’t you? Why you trusted your gut to stick to the scary men? Why you walked to them with confident steps, even when a nervous knot was forming together inside you? Did you go as what, an act of defiance? One of independence? To prove yourself that you were still standing on your own feet?

"Speaking of, brother..."

Yes, with no shame.

"You really enjoyed yourself back there, didn’t you?”, San asks. “Didn’t expect that from you.”

Seonghwa is kissing you down your breast, observing closely how you breathlessly react to his tongue twirling around your nipple.

"You left me no other chance," the older male hums, coating your circular buds with his saliva, bringing out your heavenly sighs every chance he gets, stroking himself to the sounds of your pleasure.

"Well, I would have made sure you still fucked her, brother."

“Sure,” Seonghwa lisps and positions his cockhead at your entrance. 

You try to grab San's shoulder behind you, as the male pushes himself inside, and your torso rotates to the side with your eyebrows pulling together, your cunt being spread apart.  “F-fuck,” you exhale, and Seonghwa kisses the corner of your lip to soothe you. Your cunt squelches around his cock and your hips roll by themselves, wanting to take more of his length.

"Shit, look at her go," the mafiaboss woos, "Fuck yourself out, brother."

"Think you’ll miss this?", Seonghwa snickers and it must be the first question he has asked today. “Y- yeah, you will!”, you snap, feeling eager to be acknowledged for how good your cunt wraps around his throbbing heat. 

“Oh, princess,” the CEO laughs, and your stomach drops because of how pretty his laughter sounds, and he caresses your cheek, only making your confusion and desire to finally uncover what the two men have obviously been keeping from you grow bigger. You don’t want to say it abruptly, but you three are naked, in a confined space, skins pressed against each other, so you believe you’re worth some type of explanation– or are you not?

“C- can you tell me what’s going to happen?”, you whine, and Seonghwa moves his hips, grabbing you by your waist to get his whole length. “Are you, fuck, going to leave me?”

“I dunno, brother, you call it,” San mutters. “It was your plan.”

“D- don’t!”

“It’s barely my plan anymore,” Seonghwa breathes, bucking his pelvis in, his cockhead being sucked in by your sensitive cunt.

“Don’t leave me!”

“You needed a distraction, brother, I got you one.”

“No,” Seonghwa chuckles, but in his heat, he kisses you and glances up at San while his tongue brushes against your lip. “But I’ll admit she saved us some jail-time, San.”

They continue talking over your pleas, and though you would have loved to ask a second time how the night was going to end, your brain has started to give into the pleasure once San folds your legs together, holding you by your hamstrings, giving Seonghwa an easier angle to fuck you senseless. 

“F- fu-huuck,” you breathe out, and your eyes are disappearing behind your molten, droopy eyelids, with Seonghwa cumming for the second time on your abdomen and cleaning it up with his handkerchief, and you don’t even know when it was, that San crammed out his cock   again, but you can definitely feel the difference of his girth, when he re-enters your used cunt, your legs shakily landing on the floor. They feel wobbly, your thighs having gone loose, and the mafiaboss has to hold you by your arms behind your back to support you.

“Can’t take it anymore, baby?”, San whispers into your ear, and his voice is low, very low, you don’t know how much time has passed since you could make out any of his words, but it feels like you’re back here, in the elevator, and Seonghwa is putting on his belt again.

“I c- can!”, you manage to whine out, not wanting the night to end, not wanting to return to your small apartment, not wanting these two to be gone from your life. “I can!”, you repeat yourself, when San lets out a mockful cackle. “You’re not going to fucking leave me here, San!”

“Who said anything about leaving you here, baby?”, he asks you, and he does mean his confusion, but the sarcastic undertone makes you desperate grow desperate. San frowns. “What did I tell you, baby?”

“You aren’t telling me shit, San!”, you sob, and his cock running through you prevents you from finding a braver voice, his two hands find your wrists to bind them together in his grip. “Aren’t you such a smartie,” he growls into your ear, hot air hitting your dissolving ear.

“Brother,” San calls out, and the addressed man is busy opening up his briefcase, getting on his knee. “I’m still waiting on you, y’know.”

“If you had stuck to the plan, th–” Seonghwa murmurs, but the mafiaboss falls into his word. “Then we would have fuckin’ send the bitch to prison and someone else would have him killed him, but there! You know I didn’t come with the fucking patience for that, brother! Geezer was getting on my fucking nerves.”

Killed?

“And don’t you talk back now,” San warns, “It was you who killed all of ‘em, so you figure out how you’re going to carry that one out.”

Killed?

“You already know how I’m going to carry this out.” Seonghwa smirks. “But you’re stopping me, San.”

“Augh, brother, you’re too sober for your own sake!” San’s cock is too deep in your cunt and your body is too much in his control for you to stop moaning like a bitch, but in your head, you’re puzzling together tonight’s happenings.

Expensive whiskey. Ice cubes. Ten minutes, gunshots, black leather gloves– “killed.”

Oh, Y/N.

“What did you do with the chairman, Seonghwa?”, you moan out, feeling how the mafiaboss is ramming himself into you at a sloppy, greedy pace, prolonging how much he can be inside you before he comes again, and you don’t know whether his heavy breathing can cover up the silence that it takes for the CEO to react to your question.

Seonghwa is still kneeled on the floor, when he rotates his head, smiling, his eyebrows pushed up. “What do you think I did?” His second question of the day.

“I- I,” you stutter, but San shakes his head, and interrupts you with his voice still loose from the alcohol, “you really don’t know how to keep up a good mood, brother!”, grabbing you by your chin and yanking your head up. “Lemme make my baby cum first!”

You can’t see Seonghwa anymore. You can barely see anything anymore, you’re counting your fifth or sixth orgasm of the night, cunt growing hotter with each time San thrusts into it, and with your breath being cut off, you slowly feel your arms lose their responsibility, tingling up from where your wrists are crossed behind your back. His cockhead is flaying against your g-spot and your thighs tremble at how used you’re being, eyes falling in, throat feeling tied up.

“S- San,” you manage to cough out, back arching for your final cry of pleasure, and San grins, letting go of your wrists, which makes you immediately fall to the front, finding safety against the mirror with both of your hands. He smacks his hands against your ass and lunges into you until your whole breast is pushed against the cold wall. 

“Come on, baby, come for me,” San roars, and you wail, tired, exhausted, feeling the orgasm drown you like another wave in the ocean of bliss you’ve been swimming in, whining out, “coming, coming for you, San!”

The mafiaboss presses himself against your back, his silver cross being imprinted into your neck, as he unloads himself, his last drops of hot cum overflowing out of you. “Fucking slut… So fucking good…”

He kisses your jaw repeatedly and looks at how tiredly closed your eyes are in the mirror, cooing “aww, baby.” San strokes away a strand of hair and gets himself off your body, pulling out. “You look like you need some sleep, baby.”

You are trying to catch your breath, grabbing the handrail to hold yourself up, as it sounds like San is putting on his shirt again. They’re gonna fucking leave you here, aren’t they? Leave you here in the elevator with the– with the fucking bankrolls on the floor of the fucking men you fucking– Oh god… Keep breathing, Y/N. Keep on breathing.

“I mean all I’m saying… you know… lobsters and crabs are friends, pal.”

What the fuck is he on again…

“You’re making this hard on yourself.”

“I’m not doing anything, just sayin’ that she just grew on me, that’s all.”

Your legs tremble, as you try straightening them to stand up and see what the two are scheming again, but as you turn your body around, ass against the handrail again, you hear a very unfamiliar clicking in front of your forehead area which is not coming out of San’s mouth.

“You’ve grown soft. That’s what you did.”

“Ahhh, fuck you, brother.”

“Pathetic.”

You see a hole, and it also doesn’t take you long to see Seonghwa ready to pull the trigger, the mafiaboss leaning into the corner of the elevator, arms crossed, looking at you with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, pressing the button that leads to the lobby.

The night is over.

“A- are you going to– oh my g-god, are you going to kill me…?”

“Yes, princess.”

Your heart is going to burst, you could puke out so many words right now, but you don’t know what to do. You don’t want to die, not when you felt so fucking alive– you– fuck, you should feel sorry that your coworkers that they didn’t deserve to go the same way as the asswipes did, because you’ve long realised that the bangs were their skulls being crushed by the bullets, but at the same time you couldn’t care any fucking less about them right now. You just have to survive, that was the only thing that mattered since the very beginning. This is about your life. Your precious fucking life.

“Ah…”

Your body is too weak to hyperventilate, but your brain is working overtime. Do you run? Attack them? No…

Seonghwa hasn’t moved an inch away from your face, and you take it upon yourself to raise your hand and slowly push the cold, black gun to the side, so you can look him in his eyes, but he forces it back there.

“Please don’t kill me… I can do so much for you! I– I,” you stutter, trying to gather all the knowledge your monks have taught you. “I– I’ll do anything! You– you saw me, didn’t you? I have– I’ve been told I have a talent for serving! I– I can do anything, please, I beg you, just…”

You fall to your knees, and they burn on the glassy floor, your hands folded in front of your abdomen. 

“Just please, let me live…”

You’re not greedy. You’ve only taken what you were given, and tonight, you’ve been given so much. Too much? No, it couldn’t be…

“Brother.”

There are tears flowing down your eyes, and you feel so sorry for yourself. You miss your old monk, and hope that you may be reincarnated to a butterfly that he can admire, just so that he can look at you with his adoring eyes again. So someone can want the best for you once in your life–

“Brother?”

So anyone can finally love you for once in your life.

[cheollipop]

Do you have any other blogs that you think write immaculate San fics/smut and why? The ones you've read where you're just like wow

hi annonie!! of course I do~ there are more but these are the ones at the top of my head rn,, I'd recommend any fic written by these authors so give them lots of love!! ^^

train ride, late night swim, playing favorites, better late than never, & lights, camera, action (ft. wooyo) by @kitten4sannie

have your way with words, be my people pleaser by @chokchokk

a lesser man, & show me you're shameless by @min-gis

in the quiet spaces by @honeyhotteoks

safe and san, & golden hour by @hwaightme

[dairyminki]

☆- Put this star in the inbox of your favorite blogs. Its time to spread positivity! 😽

ILYYYY 😠💕

[ad0rechuu]

hello!! i’ve been following you for a while now and noticed how cute your interaction with your moots are~ could you maybe associated some of them with some songs and why? :P i’d love to get to know some of the cool people you interact with!!

hi anon!! that’s so cute, i like these asks but i always wondered why they’re send on anon because i wish i could thank you more personally for this ask anyway i decided to just give my moots random songs from my spotify liked list put on shuffle because im very tired but you should definitely give all of the people a follow :3

@ari-shipping-stuff ౨ৎ healer. — day6

@yuyusuyu ౨ৎ wildfire. — taeyeon

@kodzumo ౨ৎ flash. — perfume

@seonghwaddict ౨ৎ babydoll. — ari abdul

@tocupid ౨ৎ 突破口. — super beaver

@leo-seonghwa ౨ৎ my satisfaction. — ive

@felixsramen ౨ৎ i love you. — treasure

@gyumibear ౨ৎ yummy yummy love. — momoland

@nyukyujs ౨ৎ hocus pocus. — plt

@thelargefrye ౨ৎ best for you. — slchd

@i-luvsang ౨ৎ keepin’ our eyes out. — fitz and the tantrums

@rieuvie ౨ৎ same dream, same mind, same night. — svt

@cybrsan ౨ৎ what2do. — creepybuggirl

@justhere4kpop ౨ৎ the workout. — utada

@xpixie ౨ৎ have a good night (stage ver.). — victon

@atinycafe ౨ৎ water sign. — spider

@yunstarz ౨ৎ exodus ‘04. — utada

@jaehunnyy ౨ৎ endless night. — dreamcatcher

@brrrkdslek ౨ৎ in my room. — insane clown posse

@nebulousbrainsoup ౨ৎ the guns of brixton. — the clash

@pocketjoong ౨ৎ prisoner of love. — hikaru utada

@phantom-webber ౨ৎ 해장국 Hero's Soup. — stray kids

@a1sh1teruu ౨ৎ breath. — got7

@cheollipop ౨ৎ in the dark. — swae lee

@starryunho ౨ৎ pastel. — qu4rtz

@aestheticsluut ౨ৎ mine. — slayyter

@end0rchans ౨ৎ you spin me round. — dead or alive

@yourfatherlucifer ౨ৎ 나 변했나봐. — swi.t

@alixnsuperstxr ౨ৎ katoki. — oneus

@girls4cheol ౨ৎ not enough. — fur

@mintgki ౨ৎ love me do. — vix

@aoi-turtle ౨ৎ options. — doja cat

@renstears ౨ৎ 優しい彗星. — yoasobi

@alixnsuperstxr ౨ৎ 공중정원 (Garden In The Air). — boa

@mrowwww ౨ৎ girls. — nature

@hwaightme ౨ৎ pink!. — youra

@paradiqms ౨ৎ 雨のキモチ. — wasuta

@starrysvn ౨ৎ borderline. — one ok rock

@tubatu-wari-wari ౨ৎ touchin on my. — 3oh!3

@kitten4sannie ౨ৎ whore of babylon. — zheani

@chokchokk ౨ৎ you(=i). — bol4

@hee0soo ౨ৎ shadow. — seventeen

@joong-of-gold ౨ৎ ハルカ. — yoasobi

@armysantiny ౨ৎ 70億人の頭の上に風船を. — kikuo

@evilsailorsenshi ౨ৎ lumberjack. — tyler, the creator

@mundayoonimnida ౨ৎ viva la vida. — coldplay

@yunho-mp3 ౨ৎ nightmares. — set it off

i haven’t listened to some of these songs in years so i’m sorry if urs sucks lmao :p if u listened to any of these songs please let me know what you thought! and i love u guys have a great day <33

[cybrsan]

CHOY PLS UR TAGS 😭 I’M CRYING

Ily so much babes thank u for the hype <3

Spent 3 hours writing and got another 2.5 scenes done for waterbender!Wooyoung. Hoping to get another couple of scenes done later tonight! I really want to have this finished and posted by no later than the end of the month.

[vaztori]

... 💭 KALA'S MOOTS ! *.✧

just a soft agenda for saying how i'm grateful with all of you. you guys make me feel less alone in this platform and i'm so happy for that. reminder : you can always talk to me if you feel like the world is against you, if you feel like you aren't okay. because i wanna laugh and cry with you :(

@sunnylovespickles - #... sunny ☀️

i was so thankful when i met you, sunny you were my first moot back then 😭 you're so kind and omg the angel's trumpets fic that dedicated to me??? i've read it for the third time like- OMG I LOVE IT SO MUCH !! I'LL TREASURE IT FOREVER !! will always be rooting for you, sunny <3 you're amazing !

@novalpha - #... nova 🪐

nova is a shy person and i actually kinda like that because you're cute when you can't take my compliments shsjsjs your fic recs helped me a lot to find some good writings to be read !!

@yunjinified - #... buttercup 🦋

buttercup you are saur sweet and expressive 😭 i'm happy whenever i get your ask through the inbox and HEY! YOU REALLY GOT A LOT OF SVT MEMES

@beefboyandbabygirl - #... beefboy 🍖

you are sickk your writingss are wholesome ! along with babygirl too of course <3 and your theme? reminds me of good days when i used to watch my little pony shshs

@shuadotcom - #... cherry 🍒

cherry! you are a very understanding person, your heart is golden, you are always welcome with everybody and i love to read your fics, they bring comfort to me ! &lt;3

@min-gis - #... snow ❄️

snow! YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I ALWAYS GET LOST IN YOUR WRITINGS LIKE WHAT HOW CAN SOMEONE WRITE THAT BEAUTIFUL???? the way you write your fics feel like i'm reading poetries, i love all of them ! especially the mingi fic counting stars and then i've never felt alone with you drabble (i was crying when i read that *no clickbait*) i read them for the fifth time now 😭 i can feel your love towards mingi OM GOSH

@shuadrive - #... dani 🌼

it's funny how i just realized that we're moots lmao it's always to ramble abt about mingyu + wonwoo + taylor swift with you. maybe we can do spotify session someday? listening to taylor albums sjsjsj

@wonwoonlight - #...khione 🌙

my talented moot omg khione ! you don't know how your fics made my day 😭 they feel like a warm and fuzzy sweater ! i'd love to get closer to you &lt;3

@mimgi - #...lu 🍬

omgosh i remember i found your acc because of your mingi drabbles ! love them so so so much, lovely !

@jaysbiceps - #... amy🌷

wah you were so sweet back then by sending me an ask sjsjsh and thank you for being by my side and worrying about me :((

@chokchokk - #... choy 🏔️

I HAVE NO WORDS FOR YOU BESIDE A TON OF COMPLIMENTS CHOY YOUR WRITING SKILL IS ON ANOTHER LEVEL LIKE YOU'RE MY FAVORITE ATEEZ FIC AUTHOR ON THIS PLATFORM !! the mingi fic, worked hard harder for you? I'VE READ IT FOR THE SIXTH TIME NOW I CAN'T GET OVER HUBBY MINGI 😭 you're very sociable, easy going, what a jester and magician to me, and it's always fun to talk to you, sharing about different cultures, and experiences. i adore you so much, choy mi amor. i never get tired for saying your writings feel like first love 🥺

@dairyminki - #... elle🍦

your vibe is really, really, soft. i don't know why but i find it that way. like a vanilla ice cream. i remember your old header it was seonghwa with purple color scheme omg i'd love to get closer to you !

@smolyeo - #... yeo 🍓

MY STRAWBERRY YEO MY HYPE GIRL!! you're such a lovable creature how can't i'm not attracted to you :(((

@desirehorizon - #... dee 🔱

when i first saw your blog, i was like 'ohh, interesting' because you arrange your layout and your masterlist neatly. you feel like that friend who has power to protect the whole circle omg

@nishloves - #... nish ✨

nish ! your bubbly vibe always makes me smile you're so friendly and it's nice to be your moot !

@x03yd0cx - #... xoey 🐼

xoey, i know you from the blockbuster fic of wooyo and i enjoyed ittt ! let's get closer &lt;3

@babesindestroyland - #... ty 💅🏻

i'm new for being your moot but i know you have such a beautiful heart, supportive, and thoughtful ! i'd love to get closer to you !

@gummygowon - #... mai 🧃

MAI ! thank you for sending me message through inbox to begin with 🤠 i was flattering when you said my theme is sickkkk you have that girlcrush energy omg

@jaehunnyy - #... chip 🫧

chip sunshine! your cute pics and your expressive replies to my messages always made my day thank you for reaching out for me :(( i'm happy to be your moot

@cherryonigiri - #... alice 🌌

i know your blog because i searched for divider tutorial and then found it on your acc ! i will never forget it cause it helped me a lot sjsjsj

@yourfatherlucifer - #... felix⚡

hey lixie ! i hope you won't hate your writings anymore after this :( have confident in yourself you're enough !

@haosweater - #... mei 🧸

mei ! your vibe AGHHHH like that cottage core girl with comfort fr (i don't know why esp your usn is 'sweater'. can i be your heather? JSJSHHS)

@senpai-of-doom - #... doom 🚀

thank you for reaching out for me you seem sociable ! let's get closer &lt;3

@rubywonu - #... nia 💫

i'm your new moot so i haven't know you well but omgosh i know you from redamancy, you seem kind and loving, you too feel free to hit me up, nia !

@icyminghao - #... noelle 🥞

i'm new to be your moot and i was so happy when i saw you followed me back because GOSHH i've been reading to your fics and it's unbelievable we're being moots now ! your fics bring comfort to me (like honey pancakes for breakfast!), thank you for keep writing 🥺

@mingycr - #... ana 🪽

i don't know you have something within you, i sense it. you seem warm-hearted 🌷

@hanverse - #... kaira ���

kaira ! we're just being moots like- yesterday?? but oh, you seem like that girl with doll heart, your theme is saur cute too !