Song Mingi x Fem! Reader, OT8 ateez x Fem! Reader (reader is mingi's girlfriend)
This is my very cute, very beautiful fic. It's super dirty. minors DNI but I can't really control it. when I say dirty I mean don't lock into this if u ain't a freaky freak.
I wrote this while listening to in your fantasy on repeat I think I got possessed.
super not proofread
Content warning: HEAVY smut, praise/degradation, multiple partners, oral (f), fingering, Train, dom/sub, biting, hair-pulling, choking, cream pie, overstimulation, gangbang, double penetration, oral (m) titfucking, anal, rough use, spit, cum play, fully consensual non-stop sex, color checks as in physical state. This gets freaky way too fast.
when I demonstrated the positions on my bed it made sense to me okay.
MASTERLIST
📍banners by @/cafekitsune
You always knew watching Mingi onstage would be the end of you.
You’d been to his rehearsals, stood in the wings while he perfected his lines, watched him bounce from joke to joke in recording rooms and hotel suites with his members, easy and boyish and glowing with passion. But it wasn’t the same. It never compared to the way he transformed in front of a crowd.
Tonight, you watched from side-stage, heart jackhammering as the lights turned red and warm, casting the whole arena in electric heat. The moment the beat dropped, Mingi hit his first verse with a sharp roll of his hips and a growl in his throat that sent heat straight between your legs.
He was on fire. Full throttle. Every movement carved from the kind of confidence only someone adored could wear naturally. He looked like he was born for it—sweat catching at his brow, jaw sharp and glinting under the lights, body draped in that outfit like sin.
And you knew that look in his eye.
Not just the “I own this stage”, The one that locked onto you, even in a crowd of thousands. The one that said "Just wait until we're alone."
By the time the concert ended, your thighs were pressed tight together, breath shallow. You’d nearly combusted watching his tongue peek out before each verse, his low growl during the dance break, the way his shirt rode up over his abs as he hyped the crowd.
When the lights finally dropped, the roar of the fans lingering like thunder, the boys filed offstage high on adrenaline.
Seonghwa gave you a gentle shoulder bump and a smirk as he passed. “He’s been talking about you all night.”
You scoffed. “He’s been growling into a mic and body rolling. Doesn’t seem like he missed me much.”
Jongho snorted. “Oh, he missed you. He’s barely held it together. Told us not to say anything crazy after the show.”
“Why?”
Seonghwa smirked, slinging a towel over his shoulders. “Because he’s planning to fuck the soul out of you. Right here in the dressing room.”
Your eyes widened. “You’re joking.”
But then, he arrived.
Mingi—towering, drenched in sweat, shirt riding up, chains swaying. His gaze locked on you the second he stepped offstage.
“Baby.”
The rest of the group faded from your mind. You barely registered the way Wooyoung shouted a congratulations or how San collapsed onto the nearest couch. All you could see was him.
You opened your mouth to speak, but Mingi was already tugging you into his chest with a hand firm on your waist.
He kissed you like it had been weeks. Tongue deep, lips bruising, teeth catching on your lower lip.
And right there, in the chaotic post-show dressing room—filled with managers leaving, towels, and backup dancers filtering out—he leaned down to whisper in your ear:
“You wore that dress just to torture me, didn’t you?”
You blinked up at him. “You’re the one moaning into a mic, Mingi. You started it.”
His smirk was sharp. “And I’m going to finish it.”
“Here?” you whispered, breath hitching.
Mingi turned, glancing toward the other members, who had sprawled out on the plush couches, half-stripped, chatting and laughing about a stage mishap. Hongjoong caught Mingi’s eye — and gave a little nod.
Your heart skipped.
Mingi pulled you closer until your thighs brushed his. “You sure?”
“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes.”
“Color?”
“Green.”
“Good girl.”
You didn’t miss the way Yunho raised an eyebrow from across the room, grinning as Mingi sat back on the couch and pulled you into his lap like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Like you weren’t already throbbing from the heat of his voice and the press of his bulge under you.
Like the rest of the members weren’t right there.
He nuzzled into your neck, lips brushing your ear. “You’ll let me keep you warm for a bit?”
You swallowed. “Mingi—”
“I’ll ask one more time, baby.” His voice dipped low. “You wanna sit on my cock while they all talk about the concert?”
You whined, the noise barely audible. He reached between you, thumb stroking the inside of your thigh, and you felt him press against your panties through the thin fabric of your dress.
“I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” you whispered, trembling. “Please.”
He didn’t rush. That was the worst part — the way he took his time lifting your dress, pushing your panties to the side, unzipping his pants just enough to free his cock.
Thick. Hot. Already leaking.
He guided you down onto him with practiced ease, one hand under your ass and the other around your waist as you sank down, inch by inch.
You gasped at the stretch—so full, so sudden—and he bit your shoulder to muffle his own groan.
The room didn’t stop moving. San was still talking about missing a cue during one of the dances. Jongho had a drink in hand. Wooyoung and Yeosang were bickering over who nailed their choreography harder. Hongjoong typed on his phone like nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
Only Yunho seemed to notice how you shifted in Mingi’s lap, breathing a little quicker, cheeks flushed.
Mingi stayed still inside you.
“Just sit,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “Let me warm you up, baby. That’s all. You can do that for me, right?”
You nodded, barely holding in a whimper.
His hands rested on your hips like they belonged there. Occasionally he’d stroke your back or toy with your hemline, and every so often he’d roll his hips just the slightest bit. Just enough to remind you he was there, buried deep, owning every inch of you.
Your legs shook.
“Mingi—”
He tightened his grip, voice warm but commanding. “You move without permission, and I’ll make you beg in front of all of them. You hear me?”
You clenched around him.
He chuckled darkly, biting your shoulder again. “Knew you’d like that.”
You tried to stay composed—tried to focus on anything but the way he throbbed inside you, twitching slightly every time someone laughed too loud or got too close.
You tried not to moan when Yunho walked past and ruffled Mingi’s hair with a knowing look.
Mingi just grinned. “She’s the best recovery I’ve ever had.”
You whined, barely audible, and Mingi took it as permission to start moving.
Slow. Deep. Barely rocking his hips—but enough to send sparks licking up your spine.
He didn’t stop talking, didn’t stop acting like nothing was happening.
Just slid in and out, inch by inch, while keeping you sitting pretty on his lap. His arms cradled you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your thigh tightly enough to bruise.
“You’re doing so well, baby. Letting me stretch you out like this, just soaking me in while they all sit here like nothing’s happening.”
His praise sent a shiver through your entire body.
And then he added, voice low and smug, “So fucking desperate. Can’t even keep quiet, huh? Gonna cry just from sitting on my cock?”
You whimpered—and this time, Jongho turned.
“You alright over there?”
You opened your mouth to answer, but Mingi beat you to it, smiling sweetly. “She’s just shy. Gets overwhelmed easily after shows.”
Jongho chuckled. “Don’t tease her.”
Mingi kissed your shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But you knew he was lying—and you loved it.
You tried to keep still.
Tried to stay composed in his lap while the other members chatted like nothing was happening. But Mingi didn’t make it easy. His cock sat deep, the stretch delicious, maddening. Every time he shifted slightly beneath you—under the disguise of adjusting, of leaning back, of laughing at something Wooyoung said—your insides clenched, needing more.
It was unbearable and he knew it.
“You’re dripping,” he whispered, mouth brushing your ear, lips ghosting your neck. “Just sitting on me like this. Fucking filthy, baby.”
You whimpered.
He brushed a hand across your lower back, the pressure grounding and cruel all at once.
“She’s squirming,” Yunho muttered from the other couch, half-smiling. “You planning to stay like that all night?”
Mingi chuckled low, slow. “She begged for it.”
Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, amused but unbothered. “Is she okay?”
You nodded quickly—flushed, trembling, thighs soaked.
“She’s perfect,” Mingi answered for you. Then his voice dropped, all control and command. “Aren’t you, baby?”
Your voice cracked when you whispered, “Yes.”
“Louder.”
“Yes, I’m perfect—”
“Say it like you believe it.” You gasped as he rolled his hips just once—a long, slow push deeper that stole your breath.
“I’m perfect,” you moaned out, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m perfect for you.”
“Fuck yes, you are.”
And just like that, the teasing stopped.
Mingi’s grip tightened at your waist as he lifted your hips—not all the way off, just enough to slide back in with agonizing precision. You let out a choked sob at the sensation.
“Oh my god—”
The couch creaked slightly as he began a rhythm—slow, brutal, possessive. His cock dragged along every sensitive spot inside you, every thrust making you feel more and more like you belonged to him, like nothing else existed but the drag of his cock and the way he filled you up so perfectly.
Across the room, the conversation shifted—slowly, deliberately—into silence.
One by one, the members turned to watch.
No one said a word for a long moment. The air was thick. Hot. Heavy with permission and understanding.
You whimpered again when Mingi tugged your hair back, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“Look at them,” he growled. “Look at the fucking mess you are in front of them. Moaning on my cock like a brainless little doll.”
You could hardly see straight, eyes glazed over, lips parted and wet.
“Do you wanna stop?” he asked suddenly—voice softer. Checking.
You shook your head immediately. “No. Please. Please don’t stop.”
He exhaled sharply, eyes dark with something primal. “That’s my good girl.”
His thrusts sped up—deep, heavy, measured. Not pounding yet, but full of heat and promise.
“She likes this?” Yeosang asked, voice breathless but respectful.
Mingi glanced up, one brow raised. “She loves this.”
You could barely breathe, let alone answer—not when your pussy was gripping Mingi’s cock so tight, not when the heat was curling in your belly, threatening to snap with every slow grind.
“She looks fucking wrecked,” Wooyoung said, his voice low and aroused.
“She is,” Mingi said proudly, dragging his cock out halfway just to slam back in, making your whole body jolt in his lap. “But she can take it. Can’t you, baby?”
You nodded frantically. “Yes—yes, I can.”
A tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Not from pain—from the overwhelming need. And Mingi saw it instantly.
He softened again, brushing his thumb gently across your cheek. “Color?”
“Green,” you whispered.
His praise hit like lightning. “That’s it, sweet girl. Take it all.”
He adjusted your position, spreading your legs wider across his thighs, one hand gripping your ass, the other at your throat — firm, steady, never cutting off breath, but controlling.
“I could keep you cock-drunk forever,” he whispered. “Keep you stuffed and filled and fucked in front of everyone. Let them see how much you love being mine.”
A chorus of quiet groans surrounded you.
You dared to look up—saw the way all of them stared.
San was palming himself through his pants. Jongho sat still, flushed and hard. Wooyoung had one hand in his hair, biting his knuckle. Yunho’s jaw was tight, chest rising. Seonghwa had that unreadable calm, but his hand was curled into a fist. Even Hongjoong looked darkly entertained, as though he’d known this would happen all along.
But they didn’t move closer.
Not yet.
“Want them to watch you cum?” Mingi murmured into your ear. “Want to show them how good I fuck you?”
You whimpered, back arching. “Yes—yes, please—”
“That’s my girl.”
He lifted you, slammed you back down.
Once. Twice. Again.
You choked on your moans, the slap of skin loud now, filthy in the quiet of the room.
“You feel that?” Mingi groaned. “You hear how wet you are for me?”
He was close. You could tell in the way his breathing hitched, the sharpness of his thrusts, the tight grip he had on your hips.
“I’m gonna cum in you,” he growled. “Gonna fill this pussy up in front of all of them. Gonna make you fucking drip.”
Your head dropped back onto his shoulder, mouth open, eyes shut tight.
“Beg for it,” he demanded.
“Please, Mingi, please cum in me—fill me up—I need it so bad!”
He snapped.
With a broken groan, he slammed deep and stayed there, twitching inside you as hot pulses of cum filled your cunt.
You came with him—hard, shaking, clenching tight around his cock as your orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, nearly screaming his name, nails clawing at his arm as you unraveled.
It took you a full minute to stop shaking.
You collapsed against him, panting hard, your thighs still twitching around him.
And he held you like glass—kissed your hair, whispered praises, stroked your sides until your pulse slowed.
“You still with me?” he murmured.
You nodded. “Green.”
“Fuck, you’re amazing.”
Then you heard it—the soft rustle of someone shifting closer.
Your head turned.
It was Yunho.
Kneeling beside the couch, gaze hot but gentle.
“She really okay?” he asked, voice husky but calm.
Mingi looked at you.
“She is,” he said. You and mingi eyed each other, gazes saying everything words couldn't. He nodded briefly, arms tight around you. You turned to everyone else, voice soft. “If you all want to... if you’re okay with it... I’m open.”
One by one, they approached. Every single member paused before touching you. Every one of them asked.
“Can I kiss you?” Seonghwa whispered.
“Can I taste you?” Wooyoung asked.
“Can I touch her with you watching?” San growled at Mingi, not you.
And Mingi—flushed, possessive, proud—nodded slowly.
“Make her feel good,” he said. “But she’s still mine."
You were still trembling when Seonghwa knelt in front of you.
He was so gentle with it—reaching for your hand, kissing your wrist. His touch soothed the burn Mingi had stoked to a roaring fire.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” you breathed, blinking through tears. “Please.”
Mingi sat back, still deep inside you, arms wrapped around your waist. He didn't move to pull out, didn't try to hide the proud smile on his lips.
“She’s still full of me,” he said darkly. “So don’t waste time, Hwa.”
Seonghwa leaned in—pressed the softest kiss to your inner thigh.
“Can I taste you?” he murmured. “All of you?”
“Yes,” you whispered, legs falling open more.
Mingi slowly shifted you off his cock, groaning as you slid free with a wet sound. His cum dripped from your spent cunt, but you barely had time to process before Seonghwa dove in.
His tongue was angelic.
He licked you clean—slow, deep, reverent—moaning softly into you like your pleasure was his favorite melody. He tongued Mingi’s cum out of you like it was holy, spreading your folds with long fingers to suck gently on your clit.
“Oh my—Seonghwa—”
He hummed, dragging two fingers inside, curling them perfectly.
“Such a pretty mess,” he murmured between strokes. “You take everything so well, sweetheart.”
Your moans came louder now, legs twitching as he devoured you—his tongue flicking, his fingers curling, and Mingi holding your hips still as you writhed.
You came quickly again—bucking into Seonghwa’s mouth, sobbing his name as he coaxed you through it, never once letting up.
By the time he pulled away, your whole body shook.
And the San stepped in.
“Still green?” he asked, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face.
You nodded. “Yes.”
He smirked, slow and wolfish. “Good.”
San wasn’t soft.
He was fire—all grabbing hands and teeth and growled praise.
“Want me to fuck you with my fingers first, or do you want my cock now, baby?” he asked, cock already out and heavy in his fist.
“Now,” you moaned, eyes wide. “Now, please—”
He didn’t hesitate.
He hooked your leg over his arm and slid in deep in one thrust, groaning loud at the tightness. You screamed, overwhelmed by the stretch and the leftover sensitivity.
“God, you’re ruined already,” he moaned. “Mingi fucked you open just for me, huh?”
He pounded into you—hard, fast, relentless—but never once stopped looking at your face, checking for signs of discomfort. His hand snaked around your throat, squeezing lightly as you moaned louder and louder.
“She’s so loud now,” San teased, glancing at Mingi. “You always fuck her this dumb?”
Mingi smirked. “Only when I want her brain off.”
“She’s close again,” San groaned, feeling you clench. “Cum on me, please,I want to feel it.”
You came like a shockwave—head tossed back, walls fluttering around him. San fucked you through it, pulling out last-second and cumming across your belly with a low, possessive grunt.
Then came Wooyoung.
“Oh baby,” he purred, wiping San’s mess from your skin with his shirt. “You are a sight.”
He didn’t go in right away. He teased. Kissed his way up your thighs. Bit your hip. Smacked your pussy gently to watch you twitch.
“You like being everyone’s little toy?” Mingi whispered as wooyoung licked a stripe up your folds. “You want him to wreck you?”
“Please—”
He didn’t fuck you with his cock—not yet.
Wooyoung ate you out like it was a competition.
He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking hard, while two fingers worked you open again. The filthiest sounds came from you—sobs, gasps, choked apologies as you tried to hold back an orgasm and failed every time.
When he slid inside finally after your third orgasm—he grunted and leaned down to bite your shoulder.
“So tight still. So fucking greedy.”
He didn’t last long—not with how wrecked you looked.
He came inside you, whispering filthy praise in your ear as you sobbed for more.
And Jongho…
Jongho surprised you.
He was firm. Silent. Rough in the most disciplined way.
He bent you over, held your hips like iron, and fucked you from behind while Mingi kissed your face and whispered how perfect you were.
Jongho didn’t moan much—but the low growl in his chest when he came deep in you made your walls clench hard again.
You nearly blacked out from the overstimulation.
Yeosang and Yunho were last.
Yeosang was curious. Almost reverent, asking if he could watch you fall apart from just his fingers.
He slipped two in, then three, hitting your spot again and again until you screamed his name, coating his hand in slick and shaking like you’d been hit by lightning.
“You’re unreal,” he whispered, kissing your knees, your ankles, your trembling stomach.
Yunho fucked you sweet.
He held you in his lap, murmured soft praises, told you how beautiful you were even while his cock dragged in and out of your slick walls.
“You’ve done so well,” he whispered. “Let me give you one more.”
He tilted your hips just right—and you came again, body limp in his arms as you squirted, a wet gush that made every member groan.
And through it all, Mingi watched.
Eyes dark. Arms crossed. Hard again.
When Yunho gently set you down, shaking and boneless, Mingi came back to you.
You didn’t know how long it had been. How many orgasms they’d pulled from you. How much cum was already dripping out of you, soaking your thighs, your chest, your throat.
The concert was already over—long over. The space was empty and quiet. staff didn't dare to enter, and everyone had left.
When Mingi looked at you—ruined, limp across Yunho’s lap, trembling and slick—he grinned like the devil.
“Still green?”
Your voice cracked. “Yes.”
“Then don’t think we’re done.”
He grabbed you by the hips, dragged you to the center of the suite’s large bed, and flipped you on your stomach like you weighed nothing.
San was already behind you—hard again, spit-slick fingers rubbing over your folds.
“Want her like this,” San growled, “With you inside her too.”
Mingi’s mouth curved. “D.P?”
“She can take it. Look at her already—cockdrunk and drooling.”
You moaned at their words, knees shaking as they spread your legs apart. Mingi leaned down, grabbed a handful of your hair, and tilted your head back.
“You want both of us inside you?”
“Y-Yes,” you gasped. “Please, please—”
San shoved two fingers into you while Mingi rubbed the head of his cock against your rim, pressing slow and firm.
“Then beg for it.”
“Please fuck me,” you sobbed. “Fill me up, stretch me—need you both.”
They didn’t make you wait.
San lined up and thrust in deep, groaning as your cunt clamped down on him.
“Fuck, how are you still so tight?”
Then came Mingi—careful at first, easing into you backside with slick-coated fingers first, then the thick head of his cock. He kissed your spine as you trembled beneath him.
“Breathe, baby.”
“I’m okay,” you panted, teeth digging into the pillow. “Please—”
He pushed in slow. The stretch was unreal—the two of them moving together, both panting curses as they bottomed out.
You screamed into the sheets.
“Fuck—she’s so full,” San groaned.
“Taking it like a perfect little slut,” Mingi snarled, biting your shoulder. “You love being ruined like this, don’t you?”
You nodded wildly, tears falling freely as the pressure overwhelmed you.
Mingi set the pace—brutal, coordinated thrusts with San, pistoning into you like they were on the same rhythm. Every drag of their cocks inside you stretched your walls, lit every nerve on fire.
You came faster than before—sobbing, choking, shaking—and they didn’t stop.
“Hold her still,” Mingi barked.
Yunho moved first—kneeling at the head of the bed, hand gripping your chin.
“Open for me, princess.”
You parted your lips just as he slid his cock between them, filling your throat until you gagged around the length.
“God, she’s so good at this,” he groaned, gently guiding your head with one hand.
Right beside him, Yeosang stepped in, cock already hard and leaking.
“Can I…?” he asked softly.
Mingi grunted behind you. “Yes. Stuff her full.”
You moaned around Yunho’s cock as Yeosang slipped in too—not deep, just enough to stretch your lips around both of them.
“You’re doing so well,” Yeosang whispered, fucking into your cheek. “Look at you.”
San and Mingi never stopped—one brutal thrust after another, cocks dragging through both holes until you felt split wide open, cock in every hole, hands on every inch of skin.
Then came Hongjoong and Jongho—kneeling beside your tits, stroking themselves slowly.
“She’s ready for more,” Jongho muttered.
“She’s a masterpiece,” Hongjoong said simply. “Let’s ruin her chest.”
They leaned in together—hands gripping your tits tight as they slid their cocks between the plush curves, dragging slick heads over sensitive nipples.
“Fuck, fuck—” you moaned around the cocks in your mouth.
“You want more?” Mingi growled behind you. “You want to be used like this?”
Yes, your brain screamed, even as your throat was too full to speak.
Your body was on fire.
And then… the last two stepped in.
Seonghwa and Wooyoung, already hard, already grinning.
“You okay?” Seonghwa asked one last time.
You pulled off Yunho and Yeosang for a moment just to whisper: “Yes. Don’t stop. I want all of you.”
Wooyoung kissed your temple. “Good girl.”
They knelt behind Mingi and San, hands on your cheeks, slicking your already-spread ass.
“She’s taken Mingi’s cock before, and he's huge,” Wooyoung muttered. “She can take us.”
And you did.
First Seonghwa—easing in steady beside Mingi, slow and steady. Then Wooyoung—slipping into your pussy beside San.
You screamed so loud Mingi slapped your ass hard.
“Quiet,” he growled. “You can cum as many times as you want, but you keep your fucking voice down.”
You nodded desperately, tears streaming down your cheeks.
Now there were four cocks inside you—stretching both holes beyond reason. Each thrust felt impossible, raw and powerful, and you came so hard you nearly blacked out.
And they still. Didn’t. Stop.
They fucked you harder—hips slamming in sync, cocks pulsing, hands dragging over your body like they couldn’t get enough.
Jongho came first—all over your tits with a grunt.
Then Yeosang, painting your face in thick cum.
San came inside your pussy, groaning your name as he twitched deep.
Wooyoung followed, filling you so full it leaked onto the sheets.
Seonghwa was next—soft curses and gentle kisses as he emptied into your ass.
Yunho pulled out, finished across your chest, moaning into your hair.
Hongjoong didn’t even grunt—just tightened his grip and came all over your neck, cock twitching between your breasts.
And finally… Mingi.
He bit your neck hard as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself fully before spilling inside, cum dripping down your thighs, your holes leaking.
You collapsed.
Sobbing. Twitching. Barely breathing.
And then it shifted—everything softened.
Hands touched you like feathers.
A towel on your cheek. Gentle strokes through your hair. Warm water on a cloth dabbing between your legs.
“Green?” Mingi asked softly.
You blinked slowly. “Green. Just… no more.”
“No more,” he promised, voice breaking. “You were perfect.”
They carried you—arms wrapping around you like a nest—to the wider couch. Someone pulled a blanket over you. Someone else lifted your hair, to cool your neck.
Mingi curled beside you, brushing your temple with his lips.
“You’re safe.”
“I feel amazing,” you whispered, weak but glowing.
Each of them took turns—kissing your forehead, stroking your back, massaging your thighs with warm oil. They didn’t rush it. Didn’t joke or laugh. Just took care of you.
Hongjoong wiped your mouth and gave you water.
San kissed your knees.
Seonghwa held your hand the whole time.
Wooyoung whispered compliments in your ear.
Yunho cradled your head in his lap.
Yeosang helped clean between your legs, murmuring, “You’re so good. So strong.”
Jongho brushed his fingers along your arm and hummed a lullaby.
And Mingi?
He held you until you stopped shaking. Ran a warm bath with rose oil and bubbles. Sat behind you and cradled your body, massaging your back while you relaxed.
“You’re mine,” he whispered. “And I’ll never stop showing you how much I adore you.”
❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀
The bathwater was still warm when the others began gathering their things. One by one, they slipped out with gentle touches and soft kisses, leaving you tucked between Mingi’s thighs, your back pressed to his chest beneath the bubbles.
San knelt beside the tub, still shirtless, and ran the pad of his thumb over your cheek.
“You were amazing,” he whispered.
You gave a tired smile, voice hoarse. “You guys were…”
“We know,” Wooyoung cut in with a wink, tossing his towel over his shoulder. “Total gentlemen.”
Mingi didn’t say anything—just kissed your shoulder and watched them with his arms tight around your middle.
Jongho gave you a fresh water bottle and a quiet “Rest well.”
Yeosang rubbed your back with long, soft strokes. “You’re glowing.”
By the time Hongjoong shut the door behind him, leaving the bathroom quiet again, the tension that had buzzed in your bones for hours finally began to fade.
Just you and Mingi now.
His chin rested on your shoulder, arms around your middle, both of you submerged in warmth.
You reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his.
He squeezed, then kissed your temple.
“Color check,” he murmured.
You laughed softly. “So green.”
“Good,” he said. “You scared me for a second. You were shaking so bad.”
“I was wrecked, Mingi.”
“I know.” His voice dipped, pride curling at the edges. “You took everything. Let me share you like that. Let them touch what’s mine.”
You tilted your head to look at him. “You liked watching?”
His eyes darkened instantly. “More than I should’ve.”
You grinned, even as exhaustion tugged at your limbs. “You didn’t look jealous.”
“Oh, I was,” he said, brushing your wet hair away from your face. “But not in the way you think. I wanted them to see what I get. I wanted them to know no one could make you fall apart like me.”
You leaned back against his chest, melting into his embrace.
His next words were quiet. Almost reverent.
“You’re unreal.”
“You’re gonna make me cry again,” you whispered.
He kissed your cheek. “Good. I’ll clean up the tears too.”
You stayed there in the bath until your fingers pruned, Mingi adjusting the temperature once, then twice, until you were fully relaxed. He washed your hair with delicate fingers, massaging your scalp like it was sacred. Then he lifted you from the tub like you weighed nothing and wrapped you in the fluffiest towel he could find.
Your legs trembled when he carried you to the bed.
“You want something to eat?” he asked, tucking pillows behind your back and draping a blanket over your lap.
“Not yet.”
“Water?”
You nodded. He held the bottle to your lips, letting you sip until your throat stopped burning. Then he dried your arms and legs gently, kissing each new bruise he found.
“You okay with the marks?” he asked.
“Love them,” you murmured. “You know that.”
His gaze burned. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re ruined.”
He pulled on a pair of sweatpants, then climbed in beside you, shirtless and warm, his arms open wide.
“Come here.”
You curled into his side immediately. He kissed your forehead. Your temple. Your eyelids. Then just held you, rocking slightly.
“I still feel full,” you whispered.
He smirked. “You are full.”
You groaned, face in his chest. “Don’t say things like that or I’m gonna want another round.”
His hand slid under the blanket. “Another time. Tonight was too much already.”
You nodded. “Yeah. But I don’t regret any of it.”
His fingers gently traced your lower belly. “Me either.”
He shifted, nudging your chin up so you could meet his eyes.
“Thank you for trusting me with that,” he said seriously. “Letting them join. Letting me push you way too far.”
“I’d let you take me apart a hundred times over,” you whispered. “You always put me back together.”
His arms locked tight around you at that.
“Sleep, baby,” he whispered into your hair. “I’ve got you.”
And as you slipped under, sore and floating, you knew that was true.
Mingi always had you.
Let me Know how it is and PLEASEE like comment and reblog if you enjoyed this, it really helps.🫶🏾
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In which, Choi San gets way too drunk during a drinking show with ATEEZ, starts acting up, and just wants his girlfriend by the end of it. 𐙚⋆.˚
˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ drunk!san x gf!reader
⋮ ⌗ ┆short story. fluff. golden retriever bf. small gestures of love. mentions of alcohol. random confessions. cute. cute domestic life. soft loving. 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚
masterlist ౨ৎ˚₊
The set was warm and full of laughter, a low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air. Ateez was filming a casual drinking show, the kind where they relaxed, told stories, and teased each other between rounds. San sat at the end of the table, cheeks already pink from his second glass of soju, his eyes droopy.
“Yah, San-ah,” Hongjoong warned playfully, pouring him another shot. “You sure you can handle more? You look like you’re already flying.”
San shook his head stubbornly, hair flopping over his eyes. “I’m fine! Totally fine. It’s my turn to toast anyway.” He raised his glass high, slurring slightly. “To Ateez, to our fans, and to my girlfriend—”
The members groaned immediately.
“There it is,” Yunho laughed, clapping him on the back. “He lasted what, twenty minutes before mentioning her?”
he turned to the members, face flushed and voice low. “Please. I just wanna go home.”
“Home?” Mingi asked, amused. “You mean to your girlfriend?”
San nodded pitifully. “Yeah cause she actually appreciates me. You guys don’t do that.” He snapped, standing up, ready to leave. “Just say you’re jealous, Mingi.” San smirked as Mingi muttered swears, clearly insulted.
“Okay okay, drink and sit down, Romeo,” Seonghwa interrupted, rolling his eyes but smiling.
San drank. And that was where it started to go downhill.
By the third round, he was slumped against Wooyoung’s shoulder, giggling at nothing. By the fourth, he was talking too loud, smacking the table, and arguing with the staff about when the show should end.
“No, no, you don’t understand,” he said, pointing dramatically at the camera director. “I need to go home.”
The staff tried to explain they were still rolling. The manager laughed awkwardly, trying to guide him back to his seat. But San shook his head like a stubborn child.
“I miss her,” he said, almost pouting now. “You don’t get it, hyung. I miss her so much. Why are we filming for so long? You guys are mean.”
“San!” Seonghwa called sharply, sensing the tension.
But San just turned to him with glassy eyes. “Hyung, you don’t understand either.”
The members were torn between amusement and horror. Jongho was trying not to laugh, biting his lip. Wooyoung whispered something like, “He’s gone,” while Mingi muttered, “We warned him about that last shot.”
Then came the rudeness — not cruel, but tipsy and blunt in that way only drunk people could manage.
When a staff member tried to take his empty glass away, San snatched it back, saying, “Hey! That’s mine, don’t touch it. You don’t even know me.”
When the lighting director told him to sit down, he blinked blearily and said, “Why are the lights so bright? Are you trying to blind me? Turn them off!”
Wooyoung leaned over, whispering urgently, “San-ah, you’re being rude.”
“I’m not!” he protested loudly, standing up. “I’m honest! And honestly, I wanna go home!”
Yunho reached out to steady him before he tripped. “Okay, okay, that’s enough. Let’s get him out of here.”
The staff nodded, chuckling awkwardly, and the camera crew decided to cut early. The other members apologized on his behalf as they helped San toward the waiting van.
He was mumbling under his breath the whole way out. “Why is everyone so serious… this is a bunch of bullshit… it’s not that hard to take me home.” San muttered bitterly under his breath.
When they finally got him into the van, he slumped against the window, eyes half-closed. “Can someone call her?” he mumbled. “Please? Tell her I love her. No, wait—don’t tell her. I’ll tell her myself.”
By the time they arrived at the dorm, San was fully clingy and miserable. He refused to go inside.
“I’m not going in until she comes,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Call her.”
Wooyoung sighed and pulled out his phone. “You’re impossible.” He sent you a quick text: Hey, San’s really drunk. He’s being difficult. Can you come over or at least FaceTime him?
A few minutes later, your voice came through the screen. “San-ah?”
His head shot up instantly, eyes lighting up. “Baby!”
The members laughed as he grabbed the phone from Wooyoung, holding it too close to his face. “You’re so pretty,” he said earnestly, voice slurred. “I told everyone about you. They don’t believe me but you’re real.”
You tried not to laugh. “I believe you, love. You should go rest, okay?”
He shook his head violently. “No! I’m coming to see you.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Seonghwa interjected, taking the phone gently. “He’s fine, don’t worry. We’ll take care of him.”
San was already half-asleep against Yunho’s shoulder, mumbling, “Love you, love you, love you…”
Later, when he finally sobered up, he woke up with a pounding headache — and a dozen missed messages teasing him about his “romantic meltdown.”
He groaned, burying his face in his pillow as Wooyoung smirked from across the room. “You told the lighting guy he had no soul,” Wooyoung said, laughing.
“I what?!”
“Oh, and you begged to be taken to your girlfriend like it was a K-drama finale.”
San groaned louder. “Please tell me it’s not on camera.”
“Don’t worry,” Hongjoong said dryly, walking past. “We made sure they cut it. But we’ll never let you live it down.”
Later that night, you called him, and he immediately apologized, cheeks red. “I didn’t embarrass you, did I?”
You laughed softly. “No, San. You just missed me too much.”
He smiled sheepishly, rubbing his neck. “I always do.”
taglist ₊⊹ @loveeviaa @hoonings @f1-lh44
(Ask to be added!)
Okay please shoot me now is this cringe..
I promised the soft san will come soon and it will be a longer story!
warnings: smut (i mean,,, it’s me), d/s undertones, reader is kind of a brat, brat tamer choi san (yes), unprotected sex, rough sex, manhandling, hair pulling, oral sex (female receiving), spit kink and play, spanking, praise, name calling, possessive sex, kind of a breeding kink?, creampie, past abusive relationship (so if that’s a trigger skip the first few paragraphs), reader is a badass (i love women), lots of teasing.
summary: you’re tired of your ex trying to control your life, and as you’re once again faced with him, you know you’ll have to rely on yourself to make it. but… things don’t go as planned, and for once, someone steps in, and helps you. instead of going home, you decide to give the stranger a chance at making your night memorable. and fuck, he does.
A part of you is scared. But more than fear, the emotion burning and growing in your chest is anger. Maybe even humiliation? So many feelings flicker incessantly through your body, and even when you try to reach out and grab hold of some, they mock you, swirling away, resuming their constant motion: their circus dance.
“Please, let me go,” you plead again. Because even though you’re angry, you’re trying to be clever. Trying to find a way out, trying to escape quickly and painlessly.
But he doesn’t seem to care. Jaewon grips your wrist with force, with arrogance. You’d like to say it’s something you’re not used to, but you’d be lying. Still, you swallow your tears. Even though too many have already fallen, and even though you wish you could push them back, you know it’s impossible.
“I told you to fucking listen to me!” he shouts. His eyes are bloodshot and god knows what else. His hair is disheveled, dark circles etched under his eyes. So far from the image you once had of him.
Jaewon was your boyfriend. He was, for a while. Nothing too serious, at least not for you. You ended things when he started becoming more aggressive, more inclined to control you. You ended things when you found pictures of other girls on his phone, and the undeniable proof that besides you, others had also warmed his bed.
He didn’t take it well. Constant messages, sometimes calls. He showed up under your apartment more than once, and now—now he waited for you outside the club you were heading to. He probably followed you from home or used whatever other insane method he thought of to keep tabs on you.
The fact is, you can’t do anything now. He’s gripping you tight, and he looks desperate. Nothing about this promises anything good.
People are ignoring it: some too afraid, others utterly indifferent. You’d like to blame them, but you don’t. Maybe you’ve always been used to indifference. It doesn’t surprise you at all. In fact, for you, it’s the norm. You’ve always had to take care of yourself. No one else ever did.
“I don’t want to! No… we’ve already said everything there was to say. We’re done, Jaewon. I’m done. Let me go and leave. Can’t you see you’re only making things worse?”
He doesn’t like you talking back. He doesn’t like you standing above him. And you are, fuck. You are, and pretty much anyone would be, compared to the scum you have in front of you. A small, petty, useless man. A coward.
“Y/n, watch your mouth, you hear me? Don’t piss me off more than you already have,” he growls, yanking you closer to him. With the boots you’re wearing, tripping is almost impossible. You hate being so close to him and try to push him away. But he takes advantage of it, and now he’s gripping both of your wrists, moving your body like it’s made of rags and forcing you to look him in the face.
“Look at how the fuck you’re dressed! Don’t you have a shred of respect for me? Don’t you feel ashamed?”
You’re exhausted. You want to scream, you want to shove him away and kick him until he feels the pain he’s causing you. And you hate it, hate that he’s trying to make you feel this way. You even hate that a tiny part of your brain is pushing you to feel guilty. But you don’t listen to it. You swallow your emotions and try to stay sharp because he deserves nothing. He doesn’t deserve your suffering, your reverence. He’s just a self-centered lunatic who wants something he knows he can’t have.
“I’ll dress however I want, I always have. I owe you nothing, Jaewon. And you’re hurting me, I told you. Go home before you do something you’ll regret.”
Despite everything, you can’t swallow down your own nature. As if some part of you still wants to protect him, too used to taking care of everyone and everything. But you’re at your limit. You just want some peace. You just want to enjoy your night. Better yet, your life.
“What’s this, are you threatening me?” he snaps back, a twisted laugh escaping from his lips bitten raw. He misunderstood because he always misunderstands everything—every word, every thought.
You don’t know how to get out of this. You don’t know what to do. It all keeps getting worse, second by second. You feel like you’re suffocating. You feel small, crushed under the weight of something far too big. But you want to be strong. Really, you desperately want to be. But more than anything, you wish you didn’t have to be. You wish you could be small, fragile. But safe.
You open your mouth to respond, even though resignation is already growing within you.
Something — someone — interrupts you.
“She’s not threatening you. But I am. Get your hands off her, buddy.”
You’re confused. This… this shouldn’t be happening. It never has before. No one has ever tried to help you, and it feels so surreal. But when you raise your eyes, you realize you’re wrong.
Your first thought, absurdly, is that the guy — the man — who spoke is one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen. Black hair, feline and intense eyes, broad shoulders. Jaewon’s jaw clenches. He’s not used to being interrupted, either.
But the nameless man has a hand gripping his arm, and he seems to be holding tight. And yet, his face shows little emotion. A stern gaze, but one that seems to soften slightly when it lands on you.
“Who the fuck is this? Someone you’re screwing, Y/n?”
The coward doesn’t have the guts to talk directly to him, so he keeps trying to belittle you, who are gasping, confused and scared, panic slowly growing in your chest. “No. But I am someone who’s about to hurt you really bad if you don’t let her go. You’re a pathetic worm, and I crush worms like you, buddy.”
Jaewon hesitates, his grip on your wrists loosening just a fraction. He looks at the guy up and down, a flash of doubt crossing his eyes. But then, like the pathetic creature he is, he tries to recover by puffing out his chest and snarling, “Mind your own fucking business, buddy. This is between me and her. Isn’t it, Y/n?”
The man’s gaze turns icier, his hand still gripping Jaewon’s arm like a steel vice. His expression remains calm, unsettlingly so, like he’s not even remotely threatened by the man in front of him. If anything, he looks vaguely irritated. Especially due to the fact that Jaewon tried to use you as a support for his own fucking tantrum.
“I don’t think you understand,” the man begins, his voice cutting through the night like a beacon. It’s something tangible where there was only darkness before. Maybe even a shred of hope. Salvation. “I’ve been polite up until now. Leave her alone.”
Jaewon seems stuck. Confused, maybe. You know him well enough to tell he’s seething with rage far beyond what he’s showing. But like the coward he is, he only targets those who seem defenseless, weaker than him. Jaewon doesn’t fight battles he knows he can’t win. “Fine,” he growls. It’s almost animalistic. His hands release your wrists with the same violence he used to grab them. He shoves you away, and you stumble a bit.
He doesn’t let go out of remorse or a guilty conscience. He lets go because he’s a coward.
The man next to you takes a step forward, steadying you. But before he can move any further, you find yourself clutching at the fabric of his shirt, desperate to keep him from leaving you alone.
Jaewon stalks off, radiating fury.
“Don’t leave me alone,” you whisper. You’re shocked by your own words because you never ask for help. It’s just not you. But now? Now you feel drained, overwhelmed, lost in a whirlwind of emotions you can’t fully process. And you don’t want this guy — this stranger who actually dared to intervene — to end up getting hurt because of someone as worthless as Jaewon. It wouldn’t be fair.
“No, hey, it’s okay. Everything’s fine now,” the man reassures you, his voice softer this time, actually addressing you directly. His gaze is completely different now: gentle, comforting. Still feline, yes, but more like a cat’s rather than a fierce predator’s.
“My name’s San,” he murmurs, and there’s a hint of shyness there, like he’s not used to introducing himself under these kinds of circumstances.
“I’m Y/n. Thank you, San. I didn’t think anyone… that anyone would help. You didn’t have to, but thank you. Really.”
San shakes his head, a tiny, dismissive smile curving his lips. But there’s something sad beneath that smile, something that looks almost like frustration. “No one was doing anything. I couldn’t just stand there and watch,” he mutters, his eyes casting sharp, judgmental looks at the bystanders — those who chose to do nothing yet couldn’t resist gawking at the scene.
“I’m used to it, don’t worry,” you reply with a sad smile of your own. Your body feels sluggish now, adrenaline bleeding away and leaving you with a mess of feelings you can’t quite untangle.
“Doesn’t make it right,” he counters, and the firmness of his words feels like a reminder, one you almost needed to hear. He gives you a little space, stepping back just enough to make sure you’re not uncomfortable. And that’s when you realize your hands are still clutching his shirt. You pull away as if you’ve been burned, embarrassment heating your cheeks. You mumble some kind of apology, but he quickly brushes it off.
“Are you okay? Do you want me to get you some water or something?” he asks, concern lacing his tone.
You shake your head. The ghost of Jaewon’s touch still lingers on your skin. “I’m fine, really. I just… I just need a minute.”
San doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push. You’re grateful for that, and grateful that he stays nearby, radiating a sense of security that feels so strange and new. “Take all the time you need,” he says, his eyes darting around as if making sure Jaewon’s really gone.
As your breathing steadies, you notice your whole body is trembling. You were planning to drink yourself into a carefree night at the club, not get stranded in the cold, fighting off the ghost of someone you never wanted to see again. You rub your arms, trying to warm yourself. The thin blouse and mini skirt you’re wearing do nothing to protect you from the chill.
“I owe you. Really,” you murmur, hating how weak your voice sounds. San shakes his head, almost annoyed by the thought of you owing him anything.
“You don’t owe me a thing. That guy’s a piece of shit, and you shouldn’t have to deal with his crap. No one should. I just did what was right,” he explains, and even as he speaks, he’s already shrugging off his leather jacket. Underneath, he’s wearing a simple black t-shirt that clings to him with an obsessive, almost painful elegance.
“Here, put this on,” he says, draping the jacket over your shoulders before you can even protest. Its weight is immediate and comforting, the warmth sinking into your skin and chasing away the last of your chills. It smells like him. Intense. Overwhelming. Alluring. And you hate that your first instinct is to bury your face in the collar and breathe him in like he’s the oxygen you’ve been starved of.
“Is that better?” he asks, his voice a little gentler now. And you can’t help but be thrown by how genuine he sounds, how every word feels like it’s meant just for you.
You nod, offering him a shy smile as you pull the jacket tighter around yourself. Your body’s finally starting to feel warm again. “Yeah, much better,” you reassure him, shrinking into the comfort of his jacket, trying to make yourself as small as possible within its safety.
"Do you want me to walk you home?" San asks, his gaze lingering on how your body all but vanishes within his jacket. His smile is soft, disarming, and you can’t help but notice how the delicate dimples decorating his face only enhance his allure. They’re a subtle charm, something that both fascinates and entices you in a way you can’t quite place.
You hesitate. Part of you wants to say yes. To go home, hide away, retreat to the safety of your four walls where everything is quiet and predictable. But you don’t want that. Not really. You refuse to hand Jaewon that satisfaction, to let him force you to abandon something you had planned for yourself. He's not worth it. And you've always promised yourself you wouldn’t sacrifice any part of who you are for anyone, especially not a man. And if that man is that sleazy idiot Jaewon, then your resolve is all the more unshakable.
So, you shake your head. And while your decision feels uncertain at first, the moment you take a long, grounding breath, you know you’re making the right choice.
“No,” you murmur, your shoulders tightening slightly before relaxing again. “I still want to drink and have fun. If I go home now, then he wins, right?”
Something flickers in San’s expression, a curious mixture of pride and admiration. His head bobs in an immediate nod, that dimple of his still very much present. “Exactly. Good. You shouldn’t let him think he has any power over you.”
You shift your weight from one foot to the other, a trace of hesitation lacing your movements. San is gorgeous. One of the most beautiful men you’ve ever laid eyes on, if not the most beautiful, period. Maybe it’s irrational, maybe it’s reckless, but who could blame you for trying to salvage something good out of an otherwise disastrous night?
“But if you want…” you begin, and his whole face seems to light up, feline eyes glittering with something rich and deliciously intense. “If you want, you could still keep me company? I was thinking of having a drink, clearing my head... But I don’t know if you had plans or needed to meet up with someone.”
San’s response is immediate, as if he’s been waiting to hear those words. His hand moves to brush back a rebellious lock of pitch-black hair that frames his face just so, making him look even more captivating. “Gladly. No, I... just some friends, but nothing important. I’ll send them a message. Mingi’s probably already out cold, anyway,” he explains with a casual shrug, as if you have any clue who the hell Mingi is.
But that’s not the point. The point is that San is here, offering his time and attention like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And maybe, just maybe, tonight doesn’t have to end as badly as it started. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. His answer comes so easily, so naturally, like being here with you is exactly where he wants to be. And that thought alone makes your heart stutter a little.
“Okay,” you say, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I hope your friends don’t get too mad at you for ditching them.”
San’s laugh is low, rich, with an edge of something playful that tugs at your nerves. “If anything, they’ll be relieved. Especially if Mingi’s already passed out somewhere. He’s a lot to handle, believe me.”
You chuckle, the tension easing from your shoulders bit by bit. “Sounds like a wild group.”
“You have no idea.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting under the dim lights as he studies you. Not just looks at you, but really studies you, like you’re something worth figuring out. You don’t miss the way his eyes seem to flicker down to your exposed legs, nor the way his ears get red when he notices you caught him staring. “But right now, I’d much rather get to know you,” he adds, a boldness to his tone that you don’t know whether it’s genuine or fake.
You take a breath. The umpteenth one of the night. You smile, because even when courage feels distant, you force yourself to embody it. You force yourself to give everything you have, no matter the cost. Even when it feels like you have nothing left to give.
You take a step. Timid, maybe, but determined. The next one feels almost scorching. You reach out and take San’s hand. Your fingers slip between his, intertwining so naturally it’s like they were always meant to fit. San’s eyes widen, surprise flickering across his face as a gorgeous flush blooms along his cheeks. The sight leaves your own skin blazing, but even through the embarrassment, you push forward, daring to claim what you want.
Heat rushes through you, sweet sparks dancing across your skin—tiny, glowing constellations sparking to life wherever your bodies connect. You lift your gaze to his, and it’s like he’s already wrapping himself around you, his presence both sheltering and electric. That intoxicating sense of protection lingers, and you already feel yourself starting to get addicted to it.
Your lashes flutter, but your eyes remain locked on his, a magnetic pull neither of you seems willing to break. His breathing has quickened, his grip tightening around your hand like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.
“So, are you coming with me?” you whisper, your voice low and daring, trembling with all the possibilities hanging between you. His lips part, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that threatens to unravel you. But that’s fine. Because something about this moment feels real. Raw. Undeniably yours.
San licks his lips, and the he pulls you closer, his grip possessive and protective all at once. “Lead the way,” he murmurs, voice roughened by something you can’t quite name.
The club looms ahead, lights spilling out from the entrance, throbbing with bass-heavy music and the echo of laughter. You hesitate, but only for a moment, before tugging San forward, your fingers never breaking from his. As you step inside the club that was on other side of the street, the atmosphere swallows you both whole. You don’t usually go out clubbing, but when you do, you easily lose yourself to the feeling.
Neon lights slash through the darkness, painting everything in shades of electric blue and crimson. Bodies move and sway to the music’s hypnotic pulse, but it’s the warmth of San’s hand entwined with yours that makes your pulse stutter.
He leans in, his lips dangerously close to your ear, his voice low and tempting. “So, was this part of your plan? Dragging me in here just to keep me close?” The playful accusation sends heat spiraling through your chest. You meet his gaze, your smile taunting.
Despite the music, all you can hear it’s him.
“Maybe. But I wouldn’t call it dragging if you’re the one holding on so tightly.”
He chuckles, the sound dark and smooth, his dimple flashing as he looks at you like you’re the most captivating thing in the room. “Touché. Guess I’m not letting go anytime soon, then.”
“Is that promise?” you answer, tongue darting out of your mouth to wet your lips, his face following the way your lipstick stained lips shine under the lights of the club. “Maybe. Or a threat. It depends.”
You shake your head, but your answer gets lost when someone bumps against your shoulder as they pass by. San is quick: he tugs at your wrist, making you fall against his chest.
“Got you,” he says, looking proud of himself from doing so.
“Seems like it,” you answer, and he looks extremely pleased with the way you two seem to be playing the same game.
“You’re good at this,” you murmur, trying to sound nonchalant despite the way your heart is racing. He raises an eyebrow. “At what?”
“At making me forget about everything else,” you admit, softer than you intended.
San’s gaze softens, and his smile turns almost tender, though there’s still that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” he replies. “Never said it was,” you say, your body starting to tremble with the way the music dances around you two.
“Drinks?” he asks, titling his head towards the bar and pointing at it with his chin. You nod immediately, and San takes the lead, making you follow him as he makes room for the both of you in the endless sea of bodies that fill the space around you guys.
You reach the counter, and San leans over the bar with confidence, catching the bartender’s attention with a wave and ordering something you vaguely recognize as potent and smooth. Strawberry flavored, for the both of you. You like it, that that’s what he would choose for himself. He does indeed own a sweet vibe that you can’t quite capture.
When the drinks arrive, he slides yours toward you, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment—enough to make your breath hitch. He watches you intently as you take a sip, his own glass untouched.
“Good?” he asks, and instead of answering with words you decide to chug the drink down in one go, the alcohol immediately flooding your body and making your mind foggy enough to make the air thicken around you. “That’s my girl!” he says, laughing as he mirrors your gesture, a droplet of the drink spilling from his lips and leaving a sweet trace on his chin that he quickly dries with a flick of his thumb.
You’re momentarily stunned, your heart caught between beats. San doesn’t break eye contact, and suddenly the air between you feels charged, like a wire pulled too tight. Your instincts scream at you to look away, to break the tension before it swallows you whole—but you don’t. You can’t. You wouldn’t even dream of it.
“Let’s dance,” you say, the words slipping from your lips with more confidence than you feel. San’s smile blooms, wicked and beautiful, and before you can second-guess yourself, he’s leading you into the crowd, his fingers still interlaced with yours.
Once you reach the center of the floor, San doesn’t hesitate. His hands find your waist, fingers curling around you with a firmness that sends a fresh rush of heat through your skin. The music thrums low and sensual, and without needing any more invitation, you start to move.
At first, it’s just you finding your own rhythm, letting the beat guide your hips. But San matches you with ease, his body moving against yours with a grace that leaves you breathless. It’s like he’s made for this, the way his touch seems to melt into you, every subtle shift bringing you closer until there’s barely any space left between you.
His body is a dream. And on top of that, he knows how to use it. Your brain really has a hard time processing all that it’s happening, but you don’t find it in yourself to care. You keep moving, your bodies swaying in perfect sync, the music’s rhythm melting into the charged heat between you. San’s hands roam over your body like he’s memorizing every curve, every line, as if he’s known them all along. And you let him. You let him touch and explore, your defenses slipping away with each lingering brush of his fingers.
Your hands find their place behind his neck, your fingers pressing against the warm, feverish skin there. It feels like fire, a burn that leaves you craving more instead of pulling away.
Your fingertips glide through his hair, slow and testing, and you catch the way his eyes flutter shut the moment you touch him. His breath stumbles, just for a second, and it’s enough to make something wild unfurl in your chest.
Taking it as encouragement, you let your hands dive deeper into his hair, threading through the silky strands with a confidence you didn’t realize you had. The delicate texture brushes against your skin, soft but electric, feeding your courage. Then, with deliberate pressure, you tug at a few strands, savoring the sensation of his hair tightening against your grip.
The reaction is immediate. A deep, guttural sound vibrates from San’s chest, spilling into the air between you with a rawness that makes your own pulse stutter. His eyes snap open, dark and molten, searching yours.
But you don’t back down. You hold his gaze, your hands still tangled in his hair, daring him to show you more of that unguarded desire simmering beneath the surface. You want him to break. You need him to.
“Was that on purpose, Y/n?” he rasps, his voice thick and unsteady, the sound of it rumbling from deep within his chest. His lips are so close to your ear that his breath fans over your skin, hot and tantalizing.
“I don’t know, was it?” you bite back, mischievous and sweet, teasing him. You love the way your name sounds as it leaves his mouth. He smirks, and you can’t help but do the same.
“Looks like I found myself a little brat,” he comments, clearly amused by your antics. “Think you can handle it?” you ask, and just to prove your point, you tug again, just a little harder, and the way his jaw clenches makes your head spin.
His eyes flash, that competitive spark flaring to life. “Oh, I know I can, little one. But now you’ve got me curious. Just how far are you planning to push me tonight? Just how much you think you can take?” As he talks, San’s hands never stray far from you, his touch alternating between gentle and possessive, like he’s trying to figure out exactly how much of you he can claim. Little does he know, he already has it all. But, to be honest, you like the idea of him working for it a little bit.
“Sannie,” you start, smiling at him and enjoying the way the nickname seems to get through his skin, “I can take it all. And more.”
“Fuck,” he groans, eyes closing for a second. You’re making him lose his composure, and you couldn’t be more proud of yourself. “You’re impossible,” he murmurs, but the way his eyes roam over your face, lingering on your lips, makes it clear he wouldn’t have you any other way. “I should’ve known you’d be trouble from the moment I saw you.”
“Yeah, maybe you should have. But it’s too late now,” you tease, your nails digging into the skin of his neck, probably leaving tiny red marks as you keep on touching him.
Before you can think better of it, your fingers trail down his neck, brushing against his collarbone before settling on his chest. His heartbeat thunders beneath your touch, matching the wild rhythm of your own. “San…” His name falls from your lips like a plea, and you don’t even know what you’re asking for.
But he knows. Somehow, despite not even knowing you, San seems to know exactly what you need, like he’s reading you with a precision that leaves you breathless. Maybe it’s because it’s what he needs, too. You like to think so.
His hands tighten around your hips with a bruising force, and you gasp, the blend of pain and pleasure coiling hot and restless in your chest. His grip is possessive, commanding, and the way he handles your body leaves your legs trembling.
“I could make you say it out loud,” he whispers, his voice thick and dripping with wickedness. “Make you ask for it. Maybe even beg for what you want.” His face is so close to yours, his words brushing against your skin like a scorching caress. Your heart slams against your ribcage, your pulse a frantic beat under his ruthless attention.
“But maybe later, yeah? Right now, I think you deserve a little reward.”
And then he kisses you.
There’s nothing gentle about it: just pure, unfiltered hunger and greed crashing into you violently. His mouth claims yours, desperate and demanding, and it feels like everything suddenly clicks into place. His lips are rough and consuming, his tongue sliding against yours with a skill that leaves you reeling. And you try, you really do, to seize control of the kiss, to meet his intensity with your own. But it’s useless. He overpowers you effortlessly, his dominance written in every movement, every searing touch.
He tastes like everything you’ve been craving and everything you’re afraid to lose yourself to. He tastes like danger. Like hope.
You claw at his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscle beneath his shirt, but it only seems to encourage him. He loves how desperate you are. His grip on you tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin with a force that leaves you aching and dizzy.
“You’re trying so hard to fight it, aren’t you?” he taunts against your lips, his voice a low, sinful rasp. “Pretending you’re not dying to give in. Pretending it doesn’t make you wet that I’m so much stronger than you. That I’m in control.”
His words sting, but you can’t deny the truth tangled within them. The way your body trembles under his touch, the way your pulse races at the sound of his voice, it all betrays you. Your own body.
“I’m not pretending anything,” you bite back, but even you can hear the waver in your voice. It doesn’t matter. Not really.
“No?” His lips trail along your jaw, leaving a trail of sinful kisses over your skin. “Good girls don’t lie.”
Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a ragged groan from him. You want to claw back some control, to make him feel even a fraction of the desperation he’s stirring in you.
“Never said I was one” you manage to say, breath heavy and tone not convincing at all.
“Oh, princess.” His laughter is low, charged with an amusing darkness. “Then I’ll just have to turn you into one.” A promise, a threat. The middle point, the perfect balance, the unbreakable intertwining of the two. Your chest rises and falls quickly, each breath you take feels almost solid, tangible.
In the whole room, there’s only one thing: San. San. San.
“I’ll have fun watching you try, then,” you reply, your tongue darting out to wet your lips just a bit. San loves the way you challenge him; it’s more than obvious by now. His excitement is as palpable as yours, and in the surrealism of what’s unfolding between you two, everything feels perfectly right.
“Come home with me, then. So I can prove you wrong.” San’s words cut through everything. He looks at you with something you’re not sure you can read. His eyes are dark, determined, but you catch a hint of hesitation and sweetness. Yours probably look the same.
It’s not like his request surprises you all that much, and yet, you feel completely caught off guard.
San’s hands don’t leave you, their warmth keeping you anchored to reality. His grip is firm, certain.
“I’m never wrong,” you say to him. It’s not a yes, not yet. San waits, patiently. You love that he doesn’t push, not even a little. “But maybe you’ve earned a little sympathy from me, Sannie. So I’ll give you a chance.”
He smiles. The reaction is immediate. His face lights up, and a soft giggle escapes your chest, too.
“You should be grateful we’re in a public place and your skirt is short, or I would’ve already thrown you over my shoulder,” he explains. You rise onto your toes and, with all the naturalness in the world, press your lips to his for just an instant. He’s caught off guard but clearly pleased by your boldness.
“Already feeling jealous, San?”
He rolls his eyes. Bingo.
He leans in, just enough that his breath grazes your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Keep talking like that and we won’t even make it to my place.”
Your laugh is soft, a little breathless. “And here I thought you had more self-control, San.”
“Self-control, y/n?” His smile is sharp, eyes darkening as they trace over you with an unapologetic hunger. “I have just enough to get us out of here without breaking all the rules. After that...” His gaze drifts down your body, then back to your eyes, voice low. “...I make no promises.”
You don’t bother hiding your smirk. “Then what are you waiting for, Sannie?”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s like he was waiting for you to say those exact words. His hand finds yours once again, grip firm and impatient as he leads you through the crowd, the thrum of music and conversation fading to nothing.
Outside, the air is cooler, but it does nothing to dampen the heat sparking off of San. His fingers are still tangled with yours, and when he looks at you, you swear the city lights reflect his grin, sharp and electric. The moon touches his face gently, kissing his beautiful honey skin. Unreal. That’s how you’d describe him.
Then… it’s all hurried. He calls for a taxi, and you guys fight yourselves to keep your hands in place, trying hardly not to make a mess in the backseat of the car as a complete stranger drives you home. It’s- comforting. He tells you a little about himself: he dances. Teaches a class to kids to earn some money between his jobs as a dancer. Tells you you probably have seen him in some music videos in the past. Promises he’ll sing for you one day.
One day. The promise of a tomorrow.
Once you reach his place, though, there’s no time left for pleasantries. He holds your hands as he guides you to his door, and once inside his apartment the small talk dies.
Flames arise, and you’re ready to run through hell with him. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, San’s hands are on you, pressing you back against the wall with a hunger that’s only grown since that first playful exchange.
“I’ve been waiting for this all night,” he murmurs, voice thick and heavy. His eyes search yours, still checking, still giving you room to pull away. “Well,” you whisper, breathless and smiling. “Good things come to those who wait, right?”
The jacket he landed you falls on the ground, and he mutters a curse under his breath as he looks at you.
His lips are on yours before you even finish the sentence, though, all heat and intensity, the kind that leaves you dizzy and clutching at his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping you upright. And maybe he is. So strong and perfectly built, his body is towering over yours, making you feel small and helpless in the most delicious way.
The kiss you share is ravenous, a desperate clash of tongues and teeth. His mouth claims yours with an urgency that leaves you breathless. His tongue and yours twist and tangle, battling for dominance, as his teeth nip at your swollen lips. The small, unbidden moans slipping from your mouth only spur him on, his own growls of pleasure vibrating against you.
“Fuck, Y/n,” he groans against your lips, his voice thick and ragged. His breath fans over your skin, hot and impatient.
He doesn’t hesitate. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you from the ground like it’s nothing, pressing your body flush against his. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, your hips grinding against his without thought or restraint. You can feel how hard he is, the strained bulge of his pants rubbing between your legs, igniting heat that leaves you trembling. Your skirt rides up, leaving you scandalously exposed to him, and you catch the wicked glint in his eyes as he notices.
“Impatient,” you murmur, but your voice is breathless, betraying your own eagerness. His mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before sucking hard enough to leave you shivering. His grip tightens, his fingers digging possessively into your thighs as he carries you with firm, determined strides. You cling to his shoulders, the world around you a blur of shadows and heat. The only thing that matters is him.
He pushes the door open with his shoulder, his eyes never leaving you as he kicks it shut behind him. His bedroom is dim, but you barely register the surroundings. All you feel are his hands on your skin, his mouth teasing and tasting wherever he pleases.
“You have no idea,” he growls, his lips tracing along your jaw before his tongue flicks over your lower lip, drawing a shiver from you. “I don’t know how I stopped myself from lifting your skirt and fucking you on the dance floor in front of everyone.”
“You should have,” you moan, hands rubbing at his shoulders. “I would have let you.”
“You can’t just say shit like that, fuck,” he groans, his desperation palpable.
“Look at you,” he murmurs against your lips, voice low and filled with something almost primal. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You swallow, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as his mouth moves to your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His teeth scrape over your pulse point, a wicked smirk playing at his lips when he feels the way your body arches into him.
“San…” his name falls from your lips, a needy plea. It only seems to drive him further. You’d say more, but the words die in your throat, leaving space only to desperate little sounds that would make you blush in any other occasion.
“Say it again,” he growls, his hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin with infuriating gentleness. “Let me hear you. Say my name.”
“San,” you whisper, your voice trembling with desire, your nails digging into his shoulders as you press yourself even closer, arching your back to try and get some friction, your core pulsing and your panties getting wetter by the second.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and then he’s moving again, carrying you effortlessly until you reach the edge of his bed. You fall onto the mattress, and he’s on top of you in an instant, his weight pressing you down, his body fitting perfectly against yours.
“You have no idea how badly I’ve been wanting this,” he murmurs, his voice rough and drenched in heat. “Every time I looked at you tonight, all I could think about was this. You. Spread out beneath me, exactly where you belong.”
“Show me,” you whisper, hands moving to grab his shirt and pull at it, working with the fabric to ask him to take the useless piece of clothing off. “Show me what you wanted to do to me, Sannie. You promised. You said you’d make me good. Fucking do it already.”
It was the right thing to say. “Watch your mouth, brat,” he bites back, looking at you like he wants to devour you whole.
San finally takes his shirt off, and what you see almost takes your breath away.
He’s perfect, so much that looking at him is almost painful. His skin shines like honey, his muscles are defined and imposing, and his body honestly looks like a wet dream come true.
San licks his lips. His smirk makes your head spin. He grabs your legs, moving your body around like one would do with a doll. He takes your boots off, and as he does that he kisses your ankles, looking at you in the eyes and sending shivers through your whole body. Your boots are soon forgotten as they fall on the ground with a loud noise.
You play with the buttons of your blouse, teasing him. One. Then the other. You espose yourself to his hungry gaze, anticipation mounting into you and making your hands tremble.
When it finally falls open, San almost rips it off of you. “No bra?” he asks, hands moving from your sides up to your breasts, grabbing them and squeezing, making you hiss in pain. “Dirty girl,” he comments, thumbs rubbing against your sensitive nipples.
You fight your own body, and force yourself to keep your eyes open as your hips move to meet his, your aching pussy begging for attention as you try and rub it against his clothed cock.
“Want it that bad?” he asks, pinching one of you nipples and making you almost cry out in pain. Tears pool at your eyes, and his hips are finally being pushed against your core, too. The length of his cock rubbing over your soaked panties.
You feel helpless, really. You want— you need him to touch you. You need to touch him. So your hands move frantically, trying to reach his pants and their button, your fingers rubbing against his bulge and making him hiss at the feeling. He lets go of your breasts, reaching for your wrists instead and stopping you from getting his pants off of him. “Good girls ask for permission,” he says.
Your eyes roll at the back of your head in frustration, and you try to escape his grip, but to no avail. He’s way stronger than you.
“Fuck, fuck, San, take them off. Please, wanna see you, wanna feel you,” you beg, way too impatient to get his cock inside of you to keep teasing him about it.
San smiles, “you can do better than that, can’t you? But this will have to do for now.”
You really wanna cuss him out, but you stop yourself when he starts to finally take those useless pants off, showing not only his bulge, but those sinful, strong legs of his. The sight is too much for you to take, so as you spread your legs wider, you decide to tease him some more.
You shift your hips, pulling up your skirt up until it’s resting all crumbled against your belly, exposing your wet panties to him. Your fingers start to rub against your own pussy with hunger, your clit begging to be touched and relieved.
San’s eyes go wide at the sight, and you watch as he grabs his own bulge in return, hips moving forward as he fucks into his own hand as he watches your pitiful attempts at pleasuring yourself.
“I’m so wet for you, Sannie,” you whisper, moans escaping your lips as you arch you back to get more friction against your cunt.
“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you? Fuck, look at that, Y/n… Pull those panties to the side. Show me that pretty little hole, yeah?”
“It’s all yours, Sannie,” you whisper, eyelashes fluttering as you grab the fabric of your panties and pull them to the side. Air hits your core, and the cold makes you shiver all over. Your hole pulses with the need to be filled, and your lips are glistening with the thickness of your arousal.
San’s eyes burn your skin. He seems completely lost in the sight of your pussy exposed to him. Enough that impatient starts to show off on him, too. He pulls his boxers down, and reveals his cock to you. “Fuck,” you moan, cause you just can’t help yourself. It’s long. Thick, with veins running through the length. The tip is such a pretty shade of pink, shiny with droplets of his pleasure. Your mouth waters at the sight, and your mouth starts to feel empty, too.
What you’re feeling is so intense it’s overwhelming. It leaves you stunned, breathless, your body feverish and desperate for relief.
For a fleeting moment, you think of Jaewon and everyone who came before him—how utterly insignificant they seem now, more than ever. How San is beyond their reach, and maybe even beyond the rest of the world’s.
Standing naked before you, San looks like a dream. Even you can barely believe it, as if he’s nothing but a mirage. But he’s not, because his breath matches yours, its warmth colliding with your skin.
A delicious reminder that, tonight, the most beautiful man in the world is yours. And if you have any say in it, you’ll do everything to keep him close.
But what you don’t see is how San’s eyes drink you in, reverent and hungry all at once. To him, you are the very thing dreams are made of—something precious, fragile, yet burning with a fire that matches his own. San’s world narrows to the space between you, his thoughts muddled and clear all at once: he wants to be yours just as fiercely as you want him to be.
It’s your resolve that breaks first, and you find yourself taking your panties off, throwing them at his face. He laughs, and you do the same thing. But his eyes never cease to hide darkness.
His hand grabs the fabric, and you see him mouth at your panties, lips running through the wet cotton. It’s so fucking dirty, that you can’t help but raise on your hips and pull yourself up, your hands reaching for his neck.
You pull him down with you, making him fall on top of your body. You kiss him through your own fucking panties in what has to be the most desperate, nasty kiss of your own life.
Spit mixed with your own juices, the texture of it all fucked up and weird in a way that makes you even more desperate. San growls against your mouth, his hands going back to your breasts first, before one leaves to trace your body up to your neck. You freeze as the loudest moan of the night leaves your throat, and the panties finally fall on the bed, now forgotten.
“You like that?” he asks, testing the waters. “What do you think?” you reply, forcing yourself to be a brat just a little longer.
“I think you like it. I think you want me to be rough, and that’s why you keep being a brat. You want me to make it hurt, baby? You just had to fucking ask.”
And then- then his grip gets tighter. Just as he pushes down his hips, your pussy welcoming his hard cock. The tip slides easily against your abused clit, and as breathing becomes harder, you find yourself spreading your legs even wider than before. “Look at you,” he whispers, laughing softly. “So pathetic, huh? Cock makes you stupid, little one. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
You want to deny, really. But I’d be useless. You both know it. So you do what you do best: you take. You take and moan and feel.
San seems pretty satisfied, and while he never lets go of the grip he has on your neck, his other hand reaches your face. “Open,” he orders, tapping on your chin. Your mouth falls open almost immediately. “Tongue out,” he adds. You obey.
“Good girl,” he praises, making you moan.
“If it’s too much- anything. If anything is too much, you tell me, okay?” Softness. His tone caressing you. You nod, you voice it out. “Yes,” you say. He nods, then he spits. He spits in your mouth, and you feel the thickness of it as the juice slides on your tongue.
“Make them wet,” he says. Then he pushes two of his fingers inside your mouth. His skin is both soft and rough: hjs body must require hours in the gym, and you don’t have to wonder why his hands have that weight to them.
“You like it, don’t you? Having your little mouth full. I can see it. You’re humping me like a bitch in heat, princess.”
His fingers get more rough: he rubs them inside your mouth, pushes them down your throat and makes you choke a little, the passage tight from the grip he still has on your neck. “W-wish t’was your cock,” you manage to blurt out, words slurred as your mouth gets filled up.
“Yeah, baby? Fuck, you’d feel so good choking on it. A little cock sleeve for me, your head empty as you only have to fucking suck and get messy for me.”
You nod, moaning desperately. He chuckles, and then your mouth is empty. But- but then your pussy isn’t. He takes those wet, shiny fingers down, and pushes them between your legs. He finds your hole easily, and those two fingers are pushed inside your pussy without care. It drags a loud moan from you, and San starts to fuck you with them immediately, curling them up just the way you love, his thumb rubbing at your clit.
“So tight, fuck,” he groans, leaving your neck. He raises a little, cause he wants to fucking look at the ways your pussy swallows his fingers hungrily. They disappear inside of you and your walls clench over them, trying to get them as deep as possible.
“More, more, please,” you moan, your hands replacing his as you touch your breasts before his eyes. “Shit,” he whispers. “You’re gonna kill me, baby,” he groans, the slide of his fingers loud as squelching sounds come from your hungry core. You raise a little and look down, too, desperate enough to want to have the sight of his hand glistening with your wetness engraved into your mind forever.
Pleasure builds up from all the arousal you’ve felt during the night, and you almost feel like crying as San takes pity on you and decides to rub more constantly at your puffed clit, his thumb making circular movements to help you reach your climax.
“G-gonna… you’re gonna make me cum,” you groan, fighting your own body to keep your eyes open. You want to see: him, his body, his face. Everything. “Ask. Be good, Y/n. Ask for fucking permission, or else.”
It’s too much. His tone, his stern voice, the threat lingering behind his words. You can’t take it anymore, and your whole body starts to tense up as your legs being to tremble uncontrollably.
“Let me- let me, please. Sannie, m’gonna cum, let me, please, please, can I? I can’t- I’m going to…”
“Cum. Fucking cum over my fingers, princess. Be a good little slut and make a mess for me.”
That’s all you needed. You fall back onto the mattress, pitiful moans leaving your mouth as you hiccup through your own pleasure. San keeps fucking his fingers into you, your orgasm seeming to never end as you comply to his orders and make a huge mess of the sheets and of his fingers, wetness gushing out of your reddened pussy as you clench hardly over his hand, sucking in his fingers as they own you from the inside.
He guides you as you try and gather some control over yourself. Your hair is a mess, your skin flushed red and nipples so hard it hurts. A thin layer of sweat covers your skin, and you can see that the same thing goes for him.
He pats you, fingers leaving your body: he gives your overwhelmed pussy a few light slaps, a weak scream leaving your mouth as pleasure and pain seem to electrify you all of a sudden, making you take deep hurried breaths to keep yourself grounded. “Made me so proud,” he praises, and as he does that he brings his own hand to his face, tongue moving sinfully as he licks his fingers before your eyes, moaning as you juices invade and dominate his tastebuds. “Such a sweet pussy,” he comments, and something seems to flash before his eyes like a sudden realization.
He bends over, folding you in a half as he moves you around by the back of you thighs, face disappearing in between your legs as he attacks your cunt, licking at the skin to clean your own mess up.
You grab onto his hair, pulling at it in the way he so clearly likes, and the tip of his tongue fucks into you a few times, making your head spin.
“Gonna… Sannie, you’re gonna make me cum again if you keep doing that,” you warn him, legs closing around his head as you can’t help but ride his tongue which is now torturing your clit. You’re all puffy and wet, and San shows you no mercy, moaning loudly against your pussy. You see that he’s basically humping the bed under him, and the sight is so dirty that it brings you painfully close to the edge.
“Do it,” he groans, “give me another one, princess. Squirt your juices on my face, wanna taste you.”
How could you deny him? You scream his name: both because he loves it when you do it and because there’s nothing else your mind knows apart from that right now. Just: San. San. San. And his fucking magical tongue, apparently.
The second orgasm of the night is as powerful as the first, if not more due to the extreme overstimulation. Despite the pain, it’s still insane. Your body trembles all over, and your eyes roll at the back of your head until San slows down, lazily lapping at your lips and at your thighs, cleaning them up. “Fuck, you’re so hot when you cum, wish I could stay trapped between your legs all fucking night.”
He keeps kissing your legs, allowing you some time to regain control over yourself. He bites, too. Sucks on the skin to leave what surely are gonna be pretty marks. He rubs his cheek over the inside of your thighs, and then he helps you out of your skirt, which was still all ruffled over your waist.
San looks almost possessed, chin wet with a mixture of spit and of your pleasure, a satisfied smile on his face that makes him look like the happiest man in the whole world.
“Kiss me, please,” you ask, eyes heavy as you make grabby hands at San, feeling vulnerable yet safe. He doesn’t make you wait, kissing you immediately. Your lips meet once again, and you don’t dwell too much on the reason why it feels so right to be kissing him, rather focusing on the way you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue.
“Please, Sannie,” you whisper against his lips, “Fuck me. Wanna get fucked so bad, please. Wanna make you feel good,” you add, moaning as you let out all the begging you had been keeping down.
“Precious, you’re so precious,” he grunts, licking inside your mouth as he takes your legs and forces them open. You lick your hand, spit covering your skin.
You’re touching his cock now, having it into your hand and tugging at it, hand sliding over his length and rubbing at the tip, making him moan and whimper. It’s a delicious sound.
“So big,” you comment, guiding San’s cock to your pussy. “Such a big cock, Sannie. Biggest cock i’ve ever had, baby. You’re gonna split me in a half. Gonna have to make it fit, Sa-“. He interrupts you, probably going crazy at the thought of any other man ever coming close to you.
He just— pushes inside. In one sinful stroke. No condom, just raw skin against raw skin, all thanks to you mentioning being on the pill on your taxi ride back home.
It’s insane, cause yours weren’t lies. He really has the biggest dick you’ve ever had, and it’s stretching you open beautifully. You feel it all the way inside your belly, and even to the point in which you could feel in your fucking throat.
“Take it,” he says, looking down at where your bodies meet, “take it all. Take my fucking cock, baby. Gonna be the last cock you ever fucking take. Gonna keep you, yeah? Gonna keep you all to myself.”
Should it scare you? You don’t know. But it doesn’t, cause that’s what you’re thinking too. You want no one else. After this, it has to be him. He has to be yours. You have to be his.
“Gonna- my cock. It’s my cock now, Sannie,” you reply, smiling happily as you get stretched over him, the tip of his cock reaching so deep inside of your body you can feel it hit your fucking cervix. It’s so good, you already feel yourself getting dumb from it. “It’s mine, all mine. And m’yours. Fuck me like I’m yours, Sannie. Ruin me, hurt me, anything, please.”
He won, after all. He won and you’re happy he did, cause you wanted to lose to him ever since the start of the night.
“You’re mine. My pretty princess. My beautiful little slut. I found you, huh? Not gonna let you go.”
And now he’s fucking you. His cock slides in and out of your body, balls hitting you as he hurriedly moves inside of your throbbing cunt.
His forehead glistens with sweat, and you move your head to slide your tongue over the skin of his neck, the taste salty yet sweet. You suck on the skin, feeling something primal that shouts at you to mark him up. He must like it, cause he buries himself deeper inside of you as you lap and bite at his neck.
“Harder, please… fuck me harder,” you beg as your nails run through his back, leaving pretty red marks on his skin. “Yeah? Harder, baby?” he asks, smirk appearing in his face alongside his pretty dimple, feline eyes burning into your skin.
While you nod, he leaves. He leaves you empty and begging, and you feel yourself on the verge of tears as soon as he does. But he’s quick to take care of it, and he manhandles you around, moving you around until you’re face down ass up on the bed, all spread open for him as your pussy spasms with the need of being filled up again.
San spanks you a few times, ass moving with the force of his hits. You moan out each time, pushing back against him cause you seem to never have enough of it. Grabbing you by the hips, San finally sinks down back inside your cunt, balls hitting your clit now, adding yet another feeling to the overwhelming mixture of sensations you’re feeling now.
“Let’s see,” he murmurs, and you bend your neck to be able to see the wicked expression he’s showing now. He grabs you by the hair and fucking yanks, making you cry out in pain as he practically bends you in a half, “you like it, doll? huh? pulling my hair at the club and thinking you could fucking get away with it?” he growls into your ear, tongue lapping at your earlobe and sucking it into his mouth.
“Say you’re sorry, whore. Say sorry for being a fucking brat, be a good girl.”
For a moment, everything spirals into madness: a fierce, unrelenting overload of emotions and sensations. Tears stream from your glossy, reddened eyes, your face a wreck of smudged makeup, ruined and raw. Your mouth hangs open, a thin trail of saliva connecting your parted lips to your chin. You are the very image of desperate slut.
And yet, it’s time to confess.So you nod, crying beautifully through the wreckage. “Sorry, sorry, San, I’m sorry,” you babble, a frantic litany of apologies spilling from your trembling lips, earning an amused grunt from him, who hasn’t stopped fucking you.
He’s rough with it, touching your body all over. Holding you up by the hair and making it hurt just like you asked, fucking his cock into you over and over again, the sound of it nasty and loud. He pushes you closer to your limit, stuffing your mouth full of his fingers and commenting on how debauched you look. “Filled up from both ends just like you deserve, baby. Happy? Yeah, look at that pretty smile of yours, princess. You just love getting stuffed, it’s so hot.” His words are filthy, humiliating, and they burn at the pit of your stomach, making your arousal grow bigger than your own self.
You can’t answer, cause your mouth is getting pulled open by his fingers. He’s fucking them inside, holding your mouth open and making you make a mess of yourself as spit falls from your lips and reaches your neck.
Right before it gets too much, he lets go, using the hand that was in your hair to push your face back into the mattress, pushing you down using his strength and making you feel extremely overpowered.
“Stay fucking there. You stay there and take it, you hear me? Take my cock, Y/n, you were made for it,” he orders, and you feel how he’s starting to lose control, too. His cock feels even bigger now, and as crazy as it sounds you can feel it pulse inside of you, rubbing against your abused walls.
He’s just using you at this point, using your body, your cunt— turning you into his personal flashlight as he chases his own release.
You want it so bad, and the thought of him finally dumping his load into you has you getting closer and closer to the third orgasm of the night. You’re drooling over yourself like a dog, moaning so loudly you’re probably gonna have do deal with a sore throat in the morning, but it feels so good that you don’t care at all.
San takes and takes. Gives and gives. Hurts you and destroys you and puts you back together all at once, owning your mind and body completely.
“I’m so close,” he warns, shoving himself inside of you without care, hands coming down to hit your ass, probably leaving red marks resembling his hands all over your skin. You nod, over and over again, begging him to give it to you.
“Cum inside, Sannie, inside of me please,” you start, and you get interrupted by him blurting out a “fuck,” so loud that it makes you smile with pride.
“You want me to fill you up, princess? Want me to blow my load inside your pussy? Breed you full?” he asks, running his fingers and nails over your back, using your hips as leverage to fuck inside your cunt deeper, your walls convulsing over his cock as if begging to have it as deep as possible.
“Yes, please, want you to cum inside, want to be full of it, want your cum… i’ve been so good, Sannie, give me my reward, please,” you beg, crying freely and using your own hands to hold your cheeks open, moaning loudly as it only makes his cock slide deeper.
You don’t even need to touch yourself this time, because the thought of him filling you up would be enough on its own to make you cum.
You feel the orgasm approach and you surrender to it when he grits his teeth and blurts out a series of curses, calling you names and praising you all at once as his movements become more erratic and violent. You feel your stomach bulging with it, the tip of his cock poking at your belly from the inside, and your eyes roll back as he fucking spits on you- droplets of it hitting your ass.
“Here it comes,” he warns you, chest rising fast as his legs tremble. “Take my fucking load. Don’t fucking spill it, baby. All inside this pussy, I’m- I’m coming inside of you, pretty. Fuck!”
His last strokes are languid and dirty, deep and full of ownership. He shoves his dick as deep as possible inside of you, and your spasming pussy welcomes it and milks it. Your own juices gush out as you cum all over his dick, your orgasm strong and powerful, and he pumps his load so deep inside your cunt you can fill every drop of it as it paints your insides white. Thick and hot, his cum gets pumped inside of you, claiming your pussy and marking it up as his once and for all. Staining you, messing you up, breeding you full.
He stills, staying inside of you for a little longer, feeling every second of his orgasm as you clench over him, enhancing his pleasure.
Your breaths are both heavy and ragged, bodies hypersensitive and buzzing with lingering warmth. San’s body collapses against yours, but even then, he’s careful not to crush you under his weight. Despite his own exhaustion, he moves you across the bed with ridiculous ease, still making sure to handle you gently.
He holds you close like he’s afraid you might slip away, and, truthfully, you find yourself doing the same.
Eventually, he gets you both where he wants: him lying on his back, and you curled up against his chest, which is still heaving with every fierce breath. San’s fingers slide through your hair, playing absently with a few strands, while you leave tiny kisses along his chest, your cheek brushing against his skin.
“That was…” you start, biting your lip and blushing a little, “…incredible,” you both finish at the same time, laughing softly as you cling even tighter to each other.
You feel his hand trail down your back, fingertips tracing random patterns on your skin. He tilts your chin up with his other hand, smirking just enough to make your heart skip.
“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he teases, eyes glinting with mischief. “I might just have to keep you all to myself from now on.”
You roll your eyes playfully, but your cheeks burn, and he catches it immediately. His smirk softens into a fond smile as he pulls you even closer, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead. You nuzzle into his chest, feeling his heartbeat still racing beneath your touch. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you whisper, half-challenging, half-reassuring. A promise and a threat, both interlaced with hope.
“Oh, I know,” he replies, voice dropping just enough to make a shiver run through you. “You’re mine now. Not letting you go.”
He kisses the top of your head, then leans down to murmur against your ear, tone both teasing and affectionate. “Better get used to it, princess. You’re stuck with me.”
And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.
notes: thank you for reading this! this is my first san fic… can you believe it? since he’s my bias and all. i hope you liked it, really. let me know in the comments your thoughts (the dirtier, the better). i hope you had fun! see you next time <3
Sypnosis: what i think he would do to you when he's drunk.
Sannie's speaking: I was watching an ateez video when this idea popped into my head.
Word count: 260
Warnings: kiss scenes, other than that its fluff
Drunkboyfriend!san peppers you with kisses everywhere.
Drunkboyfriend!san clings onto you for life and only falls asleep when you do.
Drunkboyfriend!san comes home and drinks more but offers you a bit of the alcohol beverage because "he doesn't want his beautiful girlfriend to be drunk".
Drunkboyfriend!san sulks when you get made at him for drinking too much.
Drunkboyfriend!san hugs you from behind and gives you little kisses on your neck.
Drunkboyfriend!san pouts when you tell him no more alcohol for the night.
Drunkboyfriend!san buys you flowers because "he wants to give his girlfriend a gift".
Drunkboyfriend!san lays on your chest when he passes out.
Drunkboyfriend!san sighs loudly and when you ask him what it is he just stares at you like this 😐😐
Drunkboyfriend!san tells you that he's not a lightweight (he is) and goes into this big rant about it.
Drunkboyfriend!san hums songs to you off-pitch whilst he's half asleep.
Drunkboyfriend!san tells you how beautiful and pretty you are and goes on about it for 10 minutes.
Drunkboyfriend!san tells you about his plans for the future (it includes you)
Drunkboyfriend!san tells you how lucky he is that he met you.
Drunkboyfriend!san touches your hair non-stop.
Drunkboyfriend!san knocks over everything when stumbling into your guys' room.
Drunkboyfriend!san asks you for kisses and when you kiss him back he gets very happy.
Drunkboyfriend!san picks you up and plops you onto the bed and goes on top of you and just stays there.
Drunkboyfriend!san loves it when you run your fingers through his hair so he could fall asleep faster when hes drunk.
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