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solussan · 6 months ago

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The Guesthouse, part one | Choi San

Pairing: San x reader

Genre: angst, suggestive, slight fluff but mostly slow burn

Warnings: mentions of violence, general lack of consent (from the ‘guests’)

Summary: Y/n works off a debt as a dancer at the Guesthouse, a rowdy gentleman’s club where San is the newest recruit to join their security detail.

[ Part one ]

‘You’re on in 5’ Yeosang clipped, ‘at least try to pretend you want to be here’. His forlorn smile lingered a moment, letting the acknowledgement of your pretence sit in the air longer than necessary. You brushed off your robe, and headed past him to the stage, offering a small thank you, hoping it captured your gratitude not just for his tireless wrangling of all the dancers but for the gentle manner he shows all the girls at the Guesthouse. Like many others, you were not here by choice - a fact he understood minutely having witnessed your tumultuous arrival: dragged against your will through the back doors and thrust into a contract of effective servitude.

You had found yourself on Hongjoong’s staff a year ago when your family’s debts fell to you after a turf war went south. The technical term would be ‘sold’ but that doesn’t bear thinking about it. New to the industry, you had been assigned as a dancer and bartender, avoiding the soft glint of the backrooms - that is, for now. The thought of attending to the inflated egos that go back there and their attached sweating bodies was enough to bring you out in hives. This was certainly a kindness that did not go unnoticed and for the most part Hongjoong had made your time here comfortable. He could not help the clientele his gentlemen’s club - or, for the right price, brothel - attracted. The throng of repulsive executives that flocked to the Guesthouse was an occupational hazard.

Dancing and bar work was enough of a slog, though. You would often feel the aches of back-to-back sets in your lower spine and have to soothe the frequent injuries you were graced with on nights where the stage would be slick with the slosh of some banker’s whiskey loosely poured on someone. This has been your lot for a whole year and suffice to say you have felt every damn minute.

That is until recently. Time has since warped slightly, rippling in the wake of a certain individual. You do not remember quite when it happened but over the last few shifts you have felt the eyes of a new security guard trained on you, watching your sets and tracing your patterns throughout the night. Keeping the utmost security, of course. As he does for all the other dancers. But, you couldn’t help but think there was a layered intensity to his study of your movements. Besides, there are only so many fights that erupt here, most take place behind closed doors where limits loosen. There were more pressing security concerns, you thought, than what was happening in the open lounge space he routinely surveyed. Maybe he was just finding his feet.

Yet, he had the eyes of an ex-something - military or at least martial arts. This was a man weathered by years of service despite his youthful complexion. He started about a week ago and joined the ranks with dumb and dumber - Yunho and Mingi - bringing down the average height and then some. Though, what he lacked vertically he made up for tenfold in his build. His build definitely spoke of significant training.

The three-piece suit all the security wore practically tore apart as he walked, his broad back straining against its confines. Most nights he opted to remove the blazer altogether but never the waistcoat. No, the waistcoat was a defining characteristic it seemed, something he could not do without. This night was an exception, however. He had on only a simple black shirt and some dark slacks, his hair brushed away from his face save for a few loose strands. Not that you had noticed.

Tonight started fairly regular: a few hours on the bar trading jibes with Jongho and Wooyoung; a more upscale jazz duet you performed with Seonghwa - the Guesthouse’s only male performer; and finally, the Sip. This was the part you most dreaded. The part that demanded the closest proximity to the guests - the approved way to refer to the wily types and their sycophants that came through the Guesthouse’s concealed entrance.

The Sip was the last round of drinks poured to all the men that signalled the end of the night, normally rousing their most daring efforts to try to flatter and grab at the dancers. It always started the same, one pair of hands trying their luck for a particular dancer, inviting the rest to join in their antics. This was expectedly when the security would inch that bit closer, forming a ring around the stage in preparation for what ensued. Repeat offenders who have not quite grasped the concept of consent would occasionally be barred, but again, see: occupational hazard. The security guards were mostly powerless to help, watching as the dancers would trace their way back to the main stage, far enough from the tables to elude jabbing fingers but close enough to reach wads of crumpled cash.

One larger-framed individual had practically pulled himself onto the thrust stage, folding himself over its edge and swiping a claw at your legs. His bulging eyes pulsating with obsession, he heaved over the top and sat beneath you, tightening his grasp of your thighs ready to haul himself up towards your chest. His path was cut short, however, as he was abruptly tugged from the stage and promptly escorted out the exit by San, the stern newbie.

You continued with the rest of the set, politely jostling away other guests similarly testing the waters, feeling San’s practiced eyes watching you and your surroundings for further attempts to overcome the barricade. You ended with a few improvised moves before the curtain fell. Finally, you could heave a breath, laughing with the other dancers about the usual suspects but all sharing the same knowing look that once again the night descended as it always does.

—

The next night was much the same. Again, the Sip induced too much excitement and too little spatial awareness from the guests. The security did their best to corral the crowd toward the exits, towing the ever blurred line between protecting the staff and ‘creating space’ for the guests, as Hongjoong would say. San more than most. Either he had something to prove as the newbie or a particularly strong work ethic as his conviction completely eclipsed the other guards - present and previous.

He was somehow both unseen and everywhere. He would preempt a man’s lunge toward you before a hand was even raised, spawning at your side and firmly pressing away the individual like he were swatting flies. All the while, he maintained the same noncommittal expression, watching and waiting.

When a table of five rowdy men got particularly handsy, however, his gaze turned glacial. He stalked across the lounge to find one of them forcing you across their thigh, trying to pry open your jaw to allow them to pour alcohol down your throat. The man’s grip was carving marks into your skin. But the burning sensation was nothing compared to his sickening, jeering laughter at your discomfort, matched by the similar howl of his friends.

Then, the stream of liquor etching down your throat eased, as did the laughter. In its place, you saw the men cowering as San’s broad frame approached. He yanked at the man’s collar and jolted him upright, allowing you to slink to the floor. You spat some of the fiery liquor across the tiles, nursing the marks tracked across your uncovered thighs. San kneed the man where you would imagine, eventually dropping him by barrelling into his chest.

‘Out’ was all he had to say for the rest to peel toward the exit, dragging the prime suspect in tow.

Without a word, he gathered you in his arms and glided towards the backstage area.

‘Are you allowed to hit them - actually hit them?’ You stammered, the words rising raw from your now coarse throat.

‘I doubt it’ he returned, a slight smirk playing at his lips. At least that’s how it seemed from this angle cradled in his arms. ‘Do you always do what you are told?’ He questioned, lifting you gently onto the lighting deck so he was stood between your thighs.

It was weird to see the wall come down. The harsh stance he’d presented since his arrival appeared to soften slightly as he steadied you on the ledge.

‘So you think this is my fault?’ you ventured, eyes brimming with hot tears. You blinked tightly to stop yourself, gripping the edge of the lighting deck.

‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just wish you were allowed to be firmer.’ His voice was terse, as if holding back something further.

‘The guests don’t understand firm, not from me anyway. They just think it’s funny.’

He had been preoccupied wiping away the remaining alcohol that had poured down your face and neck, stopping at this to lock eyes with yours.

‘You just say the word and I’ll show them firm.’ Any trace of gentleness now completely dissipated from his gaze, his furrowed brows and dark brown orbs belying an intensity you hadn’t yet seen from him. ‘I mean it.’

‘Ok’ were the only two syllables you could string together in response, still quivering from the rush of the assault on your body.

‘Will you be ok getting home? I’ll tell the guys you’re done for tonight.’

You nodded.

He didn’t seem pleased with your answer but lifted you down and squeezed your shoulders gently. He then bid you a ‘Goodnight’ and traipsed back to the lounge.

You stared blankly at his retreating figure, the air around your thick with an uncomfortable heat. You weren’t one to normally question your read on people but you couldn’t reach any conclusion about San. His words had been those of a coworker but his actions had been anything but - running a towel over you to wipe away the alcohol? That certainly wasn’t in the job description. You could’ve sworn he had slowed his movements at your collarbone, labouring over the task more than was strictly necessary.

But, it was all easy enough to explain away. Yes, he was doing his job and going above and beyond as was his way. This was a man on the clock. Nothing more.

You gathered your things, signing out and deciding to call a cab after tonight’s events to go home and sleep off whatever that was. Hopefully by the morning you would know whether the heaving in your chest was brought on by the brute that accosted you or the man that pulled you away from the scene.

#ateez #san #choi san #choi san scenario #san scenario #san smut #choi san imagine #choi san x reader #ateez au #kpop #iomt #hongjoong #yeosang #jongho #mingi #seonghwa #wooyoung #yunho

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solussan · 7 months ago

Text

The Guesthouse | Choi San

[ preview ]

Pairing: San x reader

Genre: angst, suggestive, slight fluff but mostly slow burn

Warnings: mentions of violence, general lack of consent (from the ‘guests’)

Summary: Y/n works off a debt as a dancer at the Guesthouse, a rowdy gentleman’s club where San is the newest recruit to join their security detail.

A/n: Not finished this yet so let me know what you think of this preview ...

// // //

‘You’re on in 5’ Yeosang clipped, ‘at least try to pretend you want to be here’. His forlorn smile lingered a moment, letting the acknowledgement of your pretence sit in the air longer than necessary. You brushed off your wrap, and headed past him to the stage, offering a small thank you, hoping it captures your gratitude not just for his tireless wrangling of all the dancers but for the gentle manner he shows all the girls at the Guesthouse. Like many others, you were not here by choice - a fact he understood minutely having witnessed your tumultuous arrival: dragged against your will through the back doors and thrust into a contract of effective servitude.

You had found yourself on Hongjoong’s staff a year ago when your family’s debts fell to you after a turf war went south. The technical term would be ‘sold’ but that doesn’t bear thinking about it. New to the industry, you had been assigned as a dancer and bartender, avoiding the soft glint of the backrooms - that is, for now. The thought of attending to the inflated egos that go back there and the sweating bodies they were attached to was enough to bring you out in hives. This was certainly a kindness that did not go unnoticed and for the most part Hongjoong had made your time here comfortable. He could not help the type of clientele his gentlemen’s club - or, for the right price, brothel - attracted. The throng of repulsive executives that flocked to the Guesthouse was an occupational hazard.

Besides, there are only so many fights that erupt here, most take place behind closed doors where limits loosen. There were more pressing security concerns, you thought, than what was happening in the open lounge space he routinely surveyed. Maybe he was just finding his feet...

#choi san #san #ateez san #ateez #choi san scenario #ateez au #ateez scenario #ateez imagine #iomt #yunho #mingi #hongjoong #yeosang #wooyoung #jongho #seonghwa

35 notes · View notes