2 a.m. || Choi San
pairing ⇢ idol! San x makeup artist (prev. sex worker)! (fem) reader x wooyoung (kinda)
synopsis ⇢ it’s funny, you never thought you’d be underneath the Choi San, having him worship your body as if you were a goddess. The truth? You were just his little toy he could play with and toss around—good thing you liked it rough with no strings attached.
genre/au ⇢ idol au, and smut. Literally just smut.
warnings/tags ⇢ 18+ minors DNI, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), they use each other for sex, Also San is dominant as shit, fingering, maybe a little toxic idk, licking, biting, slight choking, dirty talk (barely, but it’s there), creampie, hotel sex, fwb but they're not even friends, i am horrible with tags please let me know if I missed anything.
word count ⇢ 3.5k
taglist ⇢ @atinywhore @meowmeowminnie @roe-sinning @yeritheloml @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @sanshineeeeee @8tinytings @yukine-smx @jjhmk @yesv01 @halesandy @ch0isa99ie @y00nzin0 @spiderrenjunfics
You belonged to him. He belonged to you.
Breaths intertwined, fingers locked, hearts beating at the same time.
You met him at two in the morning, the first day you merged bodies as if it was the only way to survive. His lips became yours; your breaths became one as your bodies clashed into each other like waves of the ocean.
Powerful, so, so powerful they could knock you over with one little breath of wind. He clawed, grasped, clung to any possible surface as his power would rush through you, in you, all around you.
You gasp for air, for a breath, anything. He took away the reality, spinning into your world with those pretty eyes of his. His hips would crash, his eyes would shut, his mouth would open, crying out your name.
You didn't belong to him. He didn't belong to you.
You were his distraction; his resource to get rid of his pent up attraction. And he was the same, a way for you to release the tension you kept inside. His body was indeed yours at two a.m, as yours was his—the only time the word lover could be used as he’d make love to you, lustfully and powerfully. His lips would find your hips, your thighs, your breasts. He worshiped you on his knees for the night.
But when the next day comes, you wouldn't know each other. His lips weren't on yours, and neither would his gaze meet yours. His hands were at his sides, even if they were once gripping your hips as he pounded into you the night before.
Who? Who is the man that used you? Took advantage of your body? Caressed every curve, kissed every spot? He was no one other than a famous idol, known for his sexy image but sweet personality. Choi San, a wolf in sheep's clothing, attacking his prey the minute the clock strikes two.
And you would be his victim over and over and over again. Worst part?
You liked it.
You sat in the backstage dressing room, a bottle of water clutched in your hand and your phone in the other. You watched the time tick, second by second, as the time neared for the boys to arrive. You spent your daylight as a makeup artist for a k-pop group—none other than ATEEZ. You loved them, in all honesty, given the turmoil you've been through with other groups. This group was less of a headache, and actually cared for the people around them.
It was refreshing.
Before you worked for ateez, at night you became a fox—another level of the woman you already are. As your day ended, you'd walk into the darkness of femininity, becoming a creature of the night. You were the one to prey on men’s little hearts, taunting them with all kinds of sins.
Now that your day job took up time even through the evening, you lost that sense of desire, unable to fulfill your aches. Call yourself a whore or a slut, whatever, it didn't bother you one bit. You were just making money—it was business.
But after all this time of constant care for eight very attractive men, your femme-fatale roots are breaking through the soil, tempting you with something as little as a look in your direction.
Choi San, a literal nightmare-daydream, devil incarnate. It was so strong that even his breathing turned you on. He was built like a mountain—and you wanted to climb it.
Your hands were sweaty, nervous for the first performance of the tour. You weren't performing, no, you were carefully making the boys pretty, paying close attention to every part of their body. Your ice-cold heart was about to boil over when a certain boy walked in, his hair freshly dyed black and his face bare of any makeup.
You knew his name, his personality type, his favorite color. You knew he liked his dick sucked off while you kneeled on the ground. He liked his hands in your hair, on your ass. He liked it when you moaned his name, and liked to claw at your back like a feline.
And after all this, there was nothing other than that mutual attraction.
“San, you can sit in y/n’s chair,” the head stylist signaled to where you were standing, your eyes focused on his sinister smile and his heartbreaker appearance.
He was already fitted into his stage look. Tight leather pants clung to his muscular frame, and a cropped black tank top fit his torso like it was made for him. His toned abs basically screamed at you while he stood tall, staring at you for a long while. The main stylist made a knowing face, and walked away to take one of the other boys.
“You can sit here.” you spoke strongly, despite the urge to toss him in the chair yourself. He obliged, but not before giving you a flirtatious smirk. He sat down in your chair, manspreading the minute his fine ass hit the cushion.
God fucking dammit.
You didn't say anything else. You just reached for your hairband, and then turned to San, who was looking up at you with that glitter in his eye—a look you knew all too well. A look he’s given you many times, as well as others—including his best friend.
Your hands brushed against his face, fitting the hairband to keep his silky hair out of your way. He kept his gaze locked on you, and with every movement, his eyes followed.
“Did you enjoy last night?” he asked nonchalantly, a cocky, slightly jealous smirk on those lips of his. “I heard you all the way down the hall.”
You paid no attention to your racing heart, ready to pounce any minute. It brought Wooyoung’s attention, who was sitting in the chair next to him. You didn't even realize he was there.
You didn't spend the night with San last night, rather it was spent with Wooyoung, a slight mistake because San wasn't available—and Woo looked delicious.
“Of course I did,” you admitted, mixing the foundations together to get his perfect shade, glancing over at the younger boy who made you come the night before. “It was amazing.”
He let out a chuckle, throwing his head back. You couldn't help but watch as his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“Was it better than me?” he purred, looking at you, and then at Wooyoung, who just looked away.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I can.”
Ignoring the obvious answer, you set down the foundation tubes, gathering what you needed onto your hand and dipped the brush into it. You gently painted his face with the foundation, his already perfect skin looking even more flawless than it did before. His eyes pierced through yours, sinfully, as if he could see straight through your clothing.
Wooyoung couldn't keep his eyes off you, but he knew that messing with San’s toy wasn't a smart choice. It was too late, though, as you now know what wooyoung tastes like.
San was silent as the time passed while you took your time making him look pretty. The other stylists were done with the others, leaving you alone in the room with him, wooyoung leaving with hesitation.
He parted his lips as you applied a gloss to them, staring into your soul and setting your core on fire. His eyes were narrowed, dusted with black eyeshadow and sparkles.
You met his gaze. “What?”
He tilted his head at you as your fingers brushed against his lips. “You're just really fucking hot. Am I not allowed to admire?”
You raised your eyebrows, but you weren't surprised by his words. He probably needed to
You smirked then, leaning forward as you brushed your thumb over his lips. He let out a breath at your touch, his eyes locked on yours. “You can do more than admire.”
“Oh? Is that an invitation?” he leaned forward now, inches away from your lips. His eyes ignited a fire deep down. How could eyes turn you on? “What kind of invite?”
You shrugged, pulling back to set the lip gloss tube down. San leaned back in the chair, his legs spread wide, begging to be sat on. You looked down at his crotch for a moment too long. “Whatever you want it to be.”
“I can get on my knees now or later,” he said to you, dripping confidence.
You were lost in his lustful haze. You would be happy to let him kneel for you and mess you up to the point of no return, but you had a job to do—this can wait until later.
“Later, I’ll meet you in your room,” you hummed, pulling off his headband as you finished the look. You nodded your head towards the door. “You should go, everyone else is ready.”
He stood up, towering over you in his platform combat boots. He felt like some sort of god that lived off of worship, and you were going to give it to him. Worship him; his body.
And before he left, he didn't turn around when he said, “And no more wooyoung.”
You found yourself in your hotel room as midnight rolled around. San wasn't in his room yet, so you ended up distracting yourself with instant ramen and some TV.
You watched the clock with all your brain power, watching the arms move slowly and slowly. You couldn't take it anymore when the clock struck 1:45 in the morning, and you threw yourself out of bed to walk down the hall to San’s room.
It was late; no one else was awake to your knowledge. You knocked on his door, a totally different woman than you were when the sun was up. Your knees were already weak before he opened the door, but when he did, he grabbed your arm with a smirk, pulling you into the darkness of his room.
He spared no moment of time, slamming you against the closed door with force.
“I couldn't stop thinking about fucking you,” he groaned in your ear, his lips on your neck and his hands everywhere else. “It’s not fair.”
You let out a moan as he sucked on your neck, his hands piercing into your hips, fingernails like daggers.
“What's not fair?” you asked breathlessly.
He didn't let you say anything else. He was already shirtless, but began to claw at yours, pulling at the edges.
“That wooyoung got to be inside you.”
Your core twinged, sending pressure between your legs at those words. You began to wonder if he was jealous—or just territorial. It would make sense for him to only have you to himself, but only in bed and nowhere else. You liked it that way, it was less of a headache to share a physical relationship rather than emotional.
“Jealous?” you teased, your hands trailing down the waistband of his boxers, gripping his hard on. He gasped, as if you've never done it before, and shoved you harder into the door.
You were sure everyone would hear you.
You bared your teeth, biting his bottom lip as he tried to answer through his arousal.
“I,” he breathed, moaning as you sucked on his lip. “I’m the only one you can fuck,” His words were like fire on ice. You gulped, arching your body into him as his talented hands pulled your shirt off. “No one else can know how you taste.”
You gasped for air the minute his lips touched your breasts, his hand gripping it with force, his other hand on your ass.
“What if wooyoung does?” you mumbled out, trying to stir him up. It pleased you even more to see him disheveled over you.
He kissed your nipple, then your chest, and up your neck. All you saw was red.
“Never again,” he moaned, lips on yours now. His forehead clashed with yours, his eyes open to stare into your soul. “Your body is mine.”
You didn't care that he didn't love you. You didn't care that he only liked you for your body, because you felt the same way for him. His temple was there for worship, so you would become a believer.
Just as you were going to make love with your mouth, San was ahead of you. He gripped your hair, tightly, roughly, and pushed you to the ground. You peered up at him through your messy hair, his fingers still tangled in the strands.
“Suck me off.” he demanded, his lips parted and breathless already. It was already a pleasure to see you below him. Your fingertips grazed his sides, sliding down his underwear to his ankles. He kicked them off quickly, his dick pulsing for your touch. With his hands still in your hair, he shoved you into his length, causing you to moan immediately from his actions.
He was huge—bigger than most of your previous partners. Wooyoung was also big, But there was something about San that made you dream of everything. He made you come at the thought of him, wet dreams enveloping your mind.
As you drew your tongue along his tip, he grunted, almost crying out in an orgasm. You smiled as he cried out, taking pleasure in his sudden reaction. He may be skilled, but you were able to make him come with a single lick.
“Slow down.” he hissed, pulling you off him. You tumbled back slightly, noticing the pained look on his face. He was holding his orgasm in, almost as if he was embarrassed that it was almost over.
He interrupted you by picking you up, gripping the back of your knees, lifting you over to the bed. He tossed you, harshly—with such force to knock the wind out of you.
He stood over the bed, looking down on you. You were experienced; a nightmare for vulnerable men. San was, in fact, the opposite of vulnerable. His toxicity felt like purity, his devilish gaze felt angelic. You complimented each other, bodies crashing, limbs intertwining, and you couldn't get enough of it.
He looked down at you for a moment, paying close attention to the curve of your hips. His finger glided down your side, his body begging to be inside you.
He crawled on top of you, grabbing your hips to position you on your back. Your ass pressed against his cock, feeling the slight drip of precum. “Your body is perfect,” he praised, unable to keep his hands off you. His fingertips dancing down your spine.
Before he forced himself inside you, he had to take some time, worried that he would reach his high before he got to enjoy more. His lips brushed your back, from the beginning of your neck to the curve of your bones. His hands gripped your ass like his life depended on it, and as he entered you, he held your hands over your head, pinning you to the mattress under his weight.
“Ah,” he hissed as he pumped into you, moving slowly, but rough. “You take me so well, baby.”
You felt yourself flood at his words—he always knew how to get you going. His hand met the back of your head, slamming it into the pillow, while his other one kept him upright. You gripped the duvet in your hands, nearly tearing the fabric as you suffocated in his power.
He slapped your ass, causing you to cry out in a moan. You arch your back even farther, sending him into a fit of breathlessness, him gasping for air through groans and whispers of your name, dangling off his lips like the unspoken bond between you two.
You moved as he moved, rhythmically, sinfully, artistically. His teeth pierced into your shoulder to muffle his moans, begging you without words to react. You moaned his name, he pushed into you, his hips rocking, eyes closing. He was one within you, pulsing through you, hearts beating at the same time. There wasn't an ounce of romanticism—no love, no string of fate. You needed him in one way, and it was enough.
“You're so wet, babygirl,” he flushed, sweat dripping from both your bodies, the sweet smell of sex taking over your senses. “All for me.”
You shook in your high, your muscles tight and heartbeat racing. With your vision fading at the edges, you shut your eyes tight, moaning out his name, craving to ride him like no tomorrow—He had other plans for tonight; he always needed to be in control.
“Jesus fucking christ y/n,” he let out a groan, his hand fisting your throat. You gasped for air, but him choking you sent your body over the edge, seeing stars and lines dancing in your hazy vision.
He moved quicker, but still amazingly well. His movements were smooth, his expression hidden behind you. He noticed your struggle to reach the end, and flipped you over without pulling out, lifting one leg and tossing it onto his shoulder
He now preyed on you as if he were about to attack, and as he began to thrust again, harder and harder each time, his fingers brushed your clit—finding it immediately. You moaned, hands still above your head despite the lack of force holding them.
“Your hand..” you hummed, unable to see or speak clearly. “Your hand feels so much better than mine.”
You must've set him on fire, because the minute he processed those words, he tossed his head back, locks of black hair sticking to his forehead. His teeth were clenched and eyes were shut tight, letting your name fall off his lips.
You weren't sure how long this lasted—time became nothing but a number to you. He tossed you around like a ragdoll, spending the night as a pillow princess when you normally took the reins. San’s presence was stronger, overpowering your tasteful skills, ruling your body as if he were a king. He made you come all over his dick, wetness surging below. He chuckled cockily as you came, slowing his movements, but you saw he was about to reach his high, too.
“Let me cum in you.” he huskily whined, his head pressed against yours. It wasn't a question, it was a demand. You had no qualms with being filled in his arousal, nodding into the mattress, unable to speak.
He fucked you deeply, letting out shaky breaths and sighs. When he came, his head clashed against yours, his hands caging you in on the sides of your head. You felt warmth radiate your core—a thick, smooth feeling took over your senses, and he stared down at your naked, sweating body.
His chest heaved, the moonlight peaking through the lush curtains, hitting his side like stardust. He pulled out of you then, slowly—much more gentle than a minute before.
His eyes were on yours, his lips curved upwards. “Was that better than wooyoung?” He arrogantly interrogated, knowing damn well what the answer was.
You laid there in a daze, his body still over yours. You breathed in the air of his room, feeling as high as a kite. “Mhm,” you acknowledged, closing your eyes. Usually you left immediately, giving each other space without ties, but you were so tired out from his intensity.
His eyes softened, nothing more, nothing less. He moved off you then lay next to you, something he never did before. There was usually no aftercare; no need for it. He hesitated, not knowing what to do with his arms as you laid still, uneven breaths becoming uniformed. You weren't asleep yet, but you were on the verge.
He scrunched his eyebrows, studying your soft features and smooth lips. Finally, just before you fell into the darkness, his hand brushed away the stray hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear. You felt his gaze without seeing it, and to your surprise, he did something completely out of the ordinary.
He kissed your forehead—just a peck—and continued to lie next to you, holding back his touch even if he’s invaded every part of your body.
2:00 am became three. Three became six. Six became eight. You woke up next to him, warm in his distant yet comfortable embrace.
This was all you needed.
“I didn't get any sleep last night,” Hongjoong groaned, looking between San and Wooyoung. He smirked, noticing them both look away from his authoritative expression.
“Yeah me neither, Someone was getting their shit rocked. For HOURS.”
Wooyoung rolled his eyes.
“What can I say,” San clicked his tongue, baring that devilish smile of his. “Prepare for another night of no sleep because she’s in my bed right now.”
“She was in my bed the other day,” wooyoung shrugged, his lips in a frown.
“And mine last week,” Yunho cackled, unable to hold in the laughter as he saw San’s harsh glare. “I’m kidding. Kidding. Maybe.”
With one last look around his bandmates, he gave a knowing look around the dressing room.
“She won't be in anyone else’s room from now on.” He said, running a hand through his hair.