#Taehyung X reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gukcnt · 5 days ago

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۶ৎ SUGAR AND SPICE —

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, stepping closer, cupping your face, his thumb parting your lips. “So shy, so sweet, and all mine.”

pairing: sugar daddy dom!taehyung x sub!femreader

genre: ceo!taehyung, college student!reader, age gap (19 years), slowburn, luxury lifestyle, sugar daddy x sugar baby, strangers to lovers, seoul setting, romance, erotica, smut, fluff, angst

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, power dynamics, emotional vulnerability, reassurance, insecurities, mentions of financial struggles, emotional bonding, tenderness, light mentions of argument, D/s dynamics, use of "sir", possessiveness, obsessive!taehyung, lingerie kink, multiple sex scenes, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f. receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, vaginal sex, missionary position, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation (use of terms like "slut," "whore"), orgasm control, creampie, unprotected sex, clit stimulation, breast play, nipple play, nipple sucking, unprotected sex, doggy style, eating out, face riding, face sitting, tongue fucking, clit sucking, pussy worship, making out, hickies/markings, body worship, mentions of visiting a sex toy shop, mentions of dildo, blindfolds and vibrators, vibrator use (f. receiving), crying (in pleasure), vibrator used to stimulate nipples, vaginal penetration with vibrator, multiple stimulations, mild somnophilia, morning sex, missionary position, light choking, restraint play (implied with silk ties), consensual power imbalance, hair pulling, cum swallowing, oral sex (m. receiving), cock sucking, face fucking, several aftercare scenes, softest aftercare

wc: 10.1k

masterlist

۶ৎ

In Seoul’s pulsating heart, where skyscrapers gleamed like blades against the sky and the Han River shimmered under a neon glow, Kim Taehyung reigned as a titan. At 40, he was the CEO of Vante Enterprises, a conglomerate that dominated luxury real estate and high-end fashion. His life was a masterpiece of ambition, each decision a calculated step toward greater power. Standing at 6’1”, Taehyung’s presence was commanding—broad shoulders filling out bespoke suits, a lean frame sculpted by discipline, and hands that could seal a multimillion-dollar deal or silence a room with a gesture. His jet-black hair, lightly threaded with silver, framed a face both strikingly handsome and intimidatingly stern, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. His deep brown eyes, often cold and piercing, held a storm of intensity, capable of unraveling secrets or freezing someone in place. His voice, a low, gravelly timbre, carried an authority that demanded obedience, whether he was negotiating with tycoons or dismissing an inept assistant.

Taehyung’s world was one of opulence, but it was a solitary empire. His penthouse, perched atop one of his own skyscrapers, was a study in modern elegance—polished marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Seoul’s glittering skyline, and minimalist furniture in stark blacks and ivories. The air was cool, the silence broken only by the faint hum of the city or the clink of ice in his whiskey glass. He had no family; his parents had passed a decade ago, and he was an only child. His relationships were fleeting, often transactional—women drawn to his wealth and charisma but deterred by his gruff demeanor and unrelenting standards. Taehyung was grumpy, his patience razor-thin, and his temper could flare at the smallest misstep. Employees tiptoed around him, rivals respected him, and the world saw him as untouchable. Yet, beneath the iron facade, there was a man who craved something real, a softness to balance the hardness of his existence, though he buried that longing deep.

Across the city, in a cramped dorm at Seoul National University, lived you—Y/N, a 21-year-old literature major with dreams as vast as the ocean but a life tethered by scarcity. Your dorm was a cozy chaos of secondhand books stacked precariously on shelves, fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling, and a worn-out laptop that groaned under the weight of your essays. Petite at 5’2”, you had a heart-shaped face that radiated innocence, with wide doe eyes framed by long lashes and soft, wavy hair often tied back with a pastel ribbon. Your wardrobe was a patchwork of thrifted sweaters, flowy skirts, and scuffed sneakers, a reflection of your tight budget. You were painfully shy, your cheeks flushing at the slightest attention, your voice soft and hesitant when speaking to strangers. But your heart was warm, your kindness drawing people in, even if you were too timid to notice.

Your life was a delicate balancing act. Raised in a small coastal town by a single mother who worked two jobs, you’d grown up knowing sacrifice. Scholarships and part-time jobs funded your education, but money was a constant worry. You worked as a barista at Bean & Blossom, a quaint café near campus, where you spent evenings steaming milk, serving pastries, and scribbling story ideas in a tattered notebook. Submissive by nature—not weak, but deferential—you avoided conflict and sought approval, finding comfort in structure. You dreamed of writing novels that would touch hearts, but you also longed for stability, for someone to ease your burdens. Romance was a distant fantasy; your inexperience and shyness made intimacy both thrilling and terrifying. You’d never had a boyfriend, and the thought of someone wanting you felt like a story from one of your books.

It was a crisp autumn evening, the air thick with the scent of falling leaves and the promise of winter. Bean & Blossom was quiet, its warm lights casting a golden glow over the wooden tables. You were behind the counter, wiping down the espresso machine, your pale blue apron slightly askew, a smudge of flour on your cheek from baking muffins. Your shift was nearing its end, your feet aching, your mind drifting to a looming essay. The bell above the door chimed, a sharp sound that snapped you out of your thoughts. You looked up, and your breath caught as Kim Taehyung walked in.

He was a vision of power, his presence filling the small café like a storm. His tailored black overcoat brushed against his calves, the fabric catching the light as he strode toward the counter. His expression was stern, his jaw tight, as if the world had already tested his patience. He’d been at a grueling meeting with investors, his mood soured by their demands, and needed a black coffee to keep him sharp. You froze, your hands trembling as you met his gaze. His eyes were intense, twin pools of dark amber that seemed to see through you, and you felt small, exposed. Your heart raced, your pulse a frantic drumbeat.

“G-Good evening, sir,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. Your cheeks flushed pink, and you ducked your head, fidgeting with your apron as if it could shield you from his intensity. “What can I get started for you?”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing his stoic face. Your nervousness was refreshing, a stark contrast to the calculated flattery he was used to. “Black coffee, no sugar,” he said, his voice deep and clipped. “Make it quick.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you replied, your voice trembling as you turned to the coffee machine. Your hands fumbled with the portafilter, nearly dropping it, and you cursed yourself for being so clumsy. The machine hissed as you tamped the grounds, your movements jerky under his gaze. Taehyung watched, his expression unreadable, his eyes lingering on your trembling hands, the flush creeping up your neck, and the way your lips parted as you focused.

As you prepared his coffee, you stole glances at him, your curiosity warring with your nerves. He was older, undeniably handsome, with an aura of power that made your stomach flutter. When you handed him the coffee, your fingers brushed his, the brief contact sending a jolt through you. You gasped, pulling back, your cheeks crimson.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone softer. He noticed the flour on your cheek and, without thinking, reached out to wipe it away with his thumb. His touch was warm, firm, and you froze, your eyes wide. He paused, realizing what he’d done, and withdrew his hand. “You had something on your face,” he muttered, clearing his throat.

“T-Thank you, sir,” you whispered, mortified, your body tingling from his touch. He nodded, paid with a crisp bill, and left, the bell chiming as the door closed. You stared after him, your heart pounding, your mind replaying the feel of his thumb.

Taehyung, in his chauffeured car, couldn’t shake your image—your wide eyes, trembling hands, soft flush. You were a breath of fresh air in his sterile world, and he wanted to see you again.

Taehyung became a regular at Bean & Blossom, arriving late, just before closing, when the café was nearly empty, and ordered the same black coffee. Each visit, he watched you with an intensity that made your knees weak, his eyes tracking your every move as you worked. You grew accustomed to his presence, though you remained a nervous wreck around him. Your shyness manifested in small ways—stuttering when you took his order, avoiding his gaze, calling him “sir” in a voice so soft it barely carried. The honorific amused him, his lips twitching with a rare, fleeting smile that made your heart skip.

One night, as you were closing up, he lingered longer than usual. The café was empty, the lights dimmed to a warm amber, and you were sweeping the floor, the soft swish of the broom the only sound. Taehyung sat at a corner table, his coffee untouched, his eyes fixed on you. “You’re always so nervous around me,” he said suddenly, his voice low and teasing, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Do I scare you?”

You froze, clutching the broom so tightly your knuckles whitened. Your heart raced, and you felt heat flood your face. “N-No, sir,” you lied, your voice trembling. “I-I just… you’re very… um, intimidating.”

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down your spine and made your core pulse with an unfamiliar heat. “Intimidating, huh? Most people say that.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze pinning you in place. “But you… you’re different. What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you said softly, barely meeting his eyes before looking down at the floor, your cheeks burning.

“Y/N,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like a caress. He stood, his movements fluid, and approached the counter, leaving a generous tip—far more than the coffee warranted. “See you tomorrow, Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying a promise that made your pulse quicken. The door chimed, and he was gone, leaving you clutching the broom, your mind a whirlwind of emotions.

That night, you lay in your dorm, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of your interactions with him. His voice, his eyes, the way he said your name—it all felt significant, like a thread pulling you toward something unknown. You were intimidated, yes, but also curious, drawn to the enigma that was Kim Taehyung.

He returned the next evening, and the one after that, each visit stretching longer. He started engaging you in small talk, asking about your studies, your favorite books, your dreams. His questions were simple, but his attention was anything but. He listened intently, his eyes never leaving your face, and you found yourself opening up, your shyness easing slightly with each conversation. You told him about your love for literature, your dream of writing novels, the stories you scribbled in your notebook. He, in turn, shared glimpses of his world—tales of high-stakes deals, travels to Paris and Tokyo, the pressure of running an empire. He never spoke of his loneliness, but you sensed it in the way his voice softened when he talked to you, in the way his eyes lingered on you as if you were a rare treasure.

One evening, as you were locking up, he made an offer that changed everything. The café was dark, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside. You were slipping on your coat, your scarf tangled in your nervous hands, when he spoke. “Y/N,” he said, his tone serious, almost reverent. ��I’d like to take care of you.”

You blinked, confused, your scarf slipping to the floor. “T-Take care of me, sir?” Your voice was small, your heart pounding as you tried to process his words.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, and you caught the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and musk, rich and intoxicating. “You’re struggling, I can tell,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “School, work, money—it’s too much for someone like you. Let me help. I’ll pay for your tuition, your rent, anything you need. In return, you spend time with me. Be mine.”

Your heart stopped, your breath catching in your throat. You’d heard of arrangements like this—sugar daddies, sugar babies—but you never imagined it happening to you. The idea was both terrifying and thrilling, a lifeline wrapped in danger. “I-I don’t know, sir,” you stammered, your mind racing. “I’ve never… I mean, I’m not sure if I’m… good enough for that.”

He reached out, his hand gentle as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His touch was firm but not forceful, his thumb brushing lightly over your jaw. “You’re more than enough,” he said, his voice soft but resolute, a vow etched in every syllable. “I don’t want to pressure you, Y/N. Think about it. But know this—I see you. And I want you.”

You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, your eyes wide and glassy. He released you, stepping back, and gave you a small, almost tender smile. “Good night, Y/N,” he said, and then he was gone, the door chiming behind him.

That night, you tossed and turned, your mind a battlefield of fear and temptation. Taehyung was intimidating, a man who could command a room with a glance, but he was also kind to you, softer than you’d expected. The idea of being cared for, of not worrying about rent or tuition, was intoxicating. And deep down, you were drawn to him—his strength, his dominance, the way he made you feel safe despite your nerves. You imagined his hands on you, his voice praising you, and your body responded, your pussy growing wet, your clit throbbing with a need you didn’t fully understand.

The next evening, you gave him your answer. The café was quiet, the counter between you a fragile barrier. He stood there, his coat draped over his arm, his eyes locked on you as you spoke. “Okay, sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. “I’ll… I’ll be yours.”

His smile was triumphant, possessive, a predator claiming his prize. “Good girl,” he murmured, the words sending a thrill through you, your core pulsing with heat. He stepped closer, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips. “You won’t regret this, baby. I’ll take care of everything.”

That was the start of your relationship, a dynamic built on his dominance and your submission, his gruff exterior melting only for you. It was a dance of power and trust, and you were ready to step into his world.

Taehyung was true to his word, transforming your life with a speed that left you dizzy. Within days, your tuition was paid in full, your cramped dorm replaced with a sleek one-bedroom apartment near campus. The apartment was a dream—hardwood floors, a plush sofa, a kitchen with gleaming appliances, and a bedroom with a bed so soft it felt like sinking into a cloud. He filled your wardrobe with designer clothes—silky dresses, cashmere sweaters, delicate lingerie that made you blush when you tried it on. He gave you a black credit card with no limit, slipping it into your hand with a low, “Spoil yourself, baby. You’re mine, and I take care of what’s mine.”

He was lavish, almost excessive. He bought you first editions of your favorite books, their leather bindings smelling of history. He gifted you a rose-gold necklace with a tiny diamond pendant, clasping it around your neck himself, his fingers lingering on your skin. When he noticed your laptop lagging, he replaced it with a top-of-the-line model, complete with writing software you’d only dreamed of. He took you to restaurants where the menus had no prices, ordering for you with a confidence that made your heart flutter. He loved controlling the details—picking your outfits, planning your dates, guiding you with a firm hand that was both possessive and protective. But he was never cruel; his dominance was laced with care, his grumpiness softening when he saw your shy smile.

You, in turn, became his sanctuary. Around you, Taehyung’s stern demeanor melted, his sharp edges dulled by your presence. He’d pull you into his lap after a long day, his arms wrapping around you as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent—vanilla and jasmine, a fragrance he’d bought you. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” he’d murmur, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. You’d nod, your heart swelling at his praise, your body tingling at his touch. Your shyness never fully faded, but you grew comfortable with him, learning to trust his commands and revel in his attention.

Taehyung took you to a rooftop restaurant, a haven for Seoul’s elite. The table was set with candles and white roses, the skyline glittering below. You wore a red silk dress he’d chosen, the fabric clinging to your curves, the neckline revealing the tops of your breasts. His eyes darkened as he saw you, pulling out your chair, his hand brushing your lower back, sending shivers through you.

“You look stunning, baby,” he said, his voice husky, taking your hand. His thumb brushed your knuckles, and your nipples hardened, pressing against the dress. “T-Thank you, sir,” you murmured, blushing, your core throbbing.

He chuckled, leaning back. “Still so shy, huh?” His eyes flicked to your chest, smirking. “I like that. Makes me want to ruin you.”

You gasped, your thighs pressing together, wetness soaking your panties. “Taehyung,” you whispered, forgetting the honorific.

His grip tightened. “What was that, baby? You know what to call me.”

“S-Sir,” you corrected, trembling. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He smirked, sipping his wine. “Good girl. Eat. You’ll need your energy.”

The promise hung heavy. You picked at your scallops and risotto, anticipation coiling in your gut. Taehyung watched, his gaze predatory yet tender, sensing your arousal. After dessert—a rich chocolate torte—he led you to a private alcove overlooking the city. He draped his jacket over your shoulders, his hands on your hips, his breath warm against your ear.

“Look at that,” he murmured, his chest against your back. “All those lights, and you’re the only one I see.”

“Sir,” you whispered, leaning into him. “You make me feel so special.”

He turned you, cupping your cheek. “You are special, Y/N. You’re mine.” He kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue claiming you. You melted, your hands clutching his shirt, your pussy throbbing as his hardness pressed against you. “Let’s go home, baby,” he growled. “I’m not done with you.”

One Saturday, Taehyung took you shopping, a whirlwind of indulgence that left you dizzy. You started at a boutique on Gangnam’s fashion row, where he sat convencen a plush armchair, watching as you tried on dresses. Each one—a flowy chiffon, a fitted velvet, a daring satin—drew a nod or a smirk from him. “That one,” he’d say, pointing to a emerald-green gown that hugged your curves. “It’s perfect for you.” You blushed, twirling for him, your heart fluttering at his approval.

He bought everything you tried on, the saleswoman’s eyes widening at the total. “Sir, I don’t need all this,” you whispered, clutching his arm as you left, bags in tow.

He stopped, tilting your chin up. “You deserve it, baby,” he said, his voice firm. “I want you to feel beautiful. Besides, I like seeing you in things I choose.” His thumb brushed your lips, and you shivered, your nipples hardening under your sweater.

The day took an unexpected turn when he led you to a discreet shop tucked away in a quiet alley. The sign read “Velvet Desires,” and your heart raced as you realized it was a high-end sex toy boutique. Your cheeks burned, your shyness flaring, but Taehyung’s hand on your lower back was steady, guiding you inside.

The shop was elegant, with dim lighting, black velvet walls, and glass cases displaying toys—vibrators, dildos, silk restraints. You froze, overwhelmed, but Taehyung’s voice was calm. “Relax, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “I want to pick something for us. Something to make you feel good.”

You nodded, your voice caught in your throat. He led you to a case of vibrators, his eyes scanning the options. “What about this?” he asked, pointing to a sleek, rose-gold wand with multiple settings. “It’s versatile. I can use it on your clit, inside you… wherever you want.”

You blushed, your pussy throbbing at the thought. “I-I trust you, sir,” you whispered, barely audible.

He smirked, signaling the clerk to wrap it up. He also picked out a set of silk restraints, their deep burgundy color catching the light. “For when you’re feeling extra obedient,” he teased, making you squirm. The clerk rang up the purchase discreetly, and Taehyung paid with a card, his hand never leaving yours.

In the car, he pulled you close, his hand on your thigh. “Excited to try our new toys, baby?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

“Y-Yes, sir,” you admitted, your cheeks burning, your panties soaked.

“Good,” he said, kissing your temple. “Tonight, you’re all mine.”

Back at his penthouse, Taehyung’s demeanor shifted to commanding. The bedroom was vast, the king-sized bed draped in black silk, city lights casting a glow through the windows. He closed the door, his eyes dark with desire. “Strip,” he ordered, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his toned chest, his trousers hugging his thighs, his cock already straining.

You hesitated, shyness flaring. “S-Sir, I…” you started, clutching your dress.

His eyebrow arched. “Don’t make me ask twice, baby,” he said, his tone dangerous, sending a shiver through you.

You reached for the zipper, trembling as the silk pooled at your feet, leaving you in lacy black lingerie—a bra barely containing your breasts, lace teasing your hardened nipples, and soaked panties. Your skin prickled, your clit throbbing as he stared.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, stepping closer, cupping your face, his thumb parting your lips. “So shy, so sweet, and all mine.”

You whimpered, arching into him, your pussy dripping. He kissed you, slow and possessive, his tongue claiming you as his hands roamed. He unhooked your bra, groaning at your pink, puckered nipples. “Lie down,” he commanded, and you crawled onto the bed, the silk cool against your skin, your legs pressed together.

He parted your thighs, his hands firm. “Look at you,” he murmured, tracing your soaked panties. “Your pussy’s begging for my cock.” He slid them off, groaning at your glistening folds, your clit swollen. “So fucking wet,” he said, brushing a finger over your clit, making you moan.

Taehyung started slow, his fingers circling your clit, watching your reactions. “Such a pretty pussy,” he praised, slipping a finger inside, curling it to hit your g-spot. Your walls clenched, and he added another, stretching you gently. “So tight, so needy. All for me, right?”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you gasped, clutching the sheets as he pumped his fingers, his thumb brushing your clit. Your nipples ached, your pussy dripping as he worked you.

He leaned down, his tongue flicking your clit, and you cried out, your back arching. His mouth was relentless, sucking your clit, his fingers fucking you steadily. The wet sounds filled the room, mingling with your moans, and your orgasm built, intense and overwhelming. He added a third finger, the stretch burning deliciously, and sucked harder.

“Cum for me, baby,” he growled, his voice vibrating. “Let me feel you.”

You shattered, screaming his name, your pussy gushing as waves of pleasure crashed through you. He licked you through it, his fingers slowing, drawing out every aftershock until you were trembling, your clit throbbing.

He rose, shedding his clothes, revealing his toned chest, faint scars, and thick, veined cock, leaking precum. He positioned himself between your legs, his cock nudging your entrance. “Ready, baby?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Please, sir,” you whispered, trembling.

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, the stretch intense but delicious. You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as he groaned, his hands gripping your hips. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he said, his voice strained. “So perfect.”

His thrusts were deep, controlled, hitting spots that made you see stars. Your pussy was soaked, the wet sounds obscene. You moaned, your legs wrapping around him, pulling him deeper. His restraint slipped, his thrusts growing rougher, the bed creaking. “Take it, baby,” he snarled. “Take my cock like a good girl.”

You screamed, your nails raking his back as he pounded you, your breasts bouncing, nipples grazing his chest. Your second orgasm built, and he rubbed your clit, his fingers relentless. “Cum for me,” he growled, and you did, your pussy clenching, gushing as you screamed. He followed, spilling inside you, his cock pulsing, filling you with warmth.

Taehyung collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his chest heaving. “You were perfect, baby,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, his voice soft. He reached for a warm cloth, cleaning you gently, his hands tender as he wiped your thighs, careful around your sensitive folds. He checked for any discomfort, his fingers brushing your skin with care. “Feel okay?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, smiling shyly. “Just… wow.”

He chuckled, wrapping you in a blanket, pulling you against his chest. He stroked your hair, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. “My good girl,” he murmured, kissing your temple. He offered you water, holding the glass as you sipped, his arm steady around you. He whispered praises, telling you how beautiful you were, how much you meant to him, until you drifted off, safe in his embrace.

One morning, you woke to Taehung’s lips on your inner thigh, his breath warm. The room glowed with dawn’s light, the city waking beyond the windows. His hair was tousled, his eyes dark with desire, his muscles flexing as he held your thighs apart. “Good morning, baby,” he murmured, his tongue teasing your clit, sending a jolt through you.

“Sir,” you moaned, your hands tugging his hair as he sucked your clit, his lips closing around it. He slipped two fingers inside, curling them to hit your g-spot, and you gasped, your pussy throbbing.

He ate you out lazily, savoring your moans, his tongue circling your clit. “You taste so fucking good,” he growled, licking a long stripe up your slit. His fingers pumped, the wet sounds mingling with your gasps, and your orgasm coiled tight. He sucked harder, and you came, screaming, your pussy clenching around his fingers. He licked you through it, drawing out every aftershock.

He flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up. “Ass up, baby,” he ordered, his voice rough. You obeyed, your cheek against the pillow, your pussy dripping. He entered you from behind, his cock sliding in deep, filling you. “Fuck, I love this,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his thrusts slow but powerful.

He leaned over, his lips brushing your ear. “This pussy was made for my cock,” he murmured, his words sending shivers through you. His thrusts grew harder, faster, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles. “Cum again,” he ordered, and you did, your pussy gushing, screaming into the pillow. He followed, spilling inside you, his cock pulsing.

Taehyung pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as he kissed your shoulder. “You’re amazing, baby,” he murmured, his voice soft. He cleaned you with a warm cloth, his hands gentle, checking your skin for marks. He massaged your hips, easing any tension, and offered you juice, holding the glass as you drank. He tucked you against him, stroking your hair, whispering, “You make me so happy, Y/N.” He stayed until you fell asleep, his warmth a cocoon around you.

One rainy afternoon, you were curled up on the penthouse sofa, a book in your lap, the city blurred by rain. Taehyung came home early, his suit damp, his hair tousled. He smiled—a rare, genuine smile—and joined you, pulling you into his lap. “Hey, baby,” he said, his chin on your shoulder. “What’re you reading?”

You showed him the romance novel, and he chuckled, kissing your cheek. “My little dreamer,” he murmured. “Always lost in stories.”

“They’re better than reality sometimes,” you said shyly, blushing.

He tilted your chin up. “Not anymore. Your reality’s with me, and I’ll make it better than any book.” You smiled, kissing him softly, your hands in his hair. It was a quiet moment, but it spoke volumes—his love, your trust, the bond growing stronger.

That evening, Taehyung decided to use the toys from Velvet Desires. The bedroom was dimly lit, the silk sheets cool as he sat on the edge of the bed, the rose-gold vibrator in hand. “Strip for me, baby,” he ordered, his voice low, his eyes dark with anticipation.

You blushed, your hands trembling as you shed your dress, revealing a sheer pink lingerie set, your nipples visible, your panties damp. “Fuck, you’re a vision,” he growled, patting his thigh. “Come here.”

You straddled his lap, your pussy throbbing as he kissed you, his tongue possessive. He turned on the vibrator, the low hum filling the room, and pressed it to your nipple through the lace, making you gasp. “Feel good, baby?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Y-Yes, sir,” you moaned, your hips bucking as he moved the toy to your other nipple, the vibrations sending sparks through you. He slid your panties down, exposing your dripping folds, and pressed the vibrator to your clit, the sensation intense. You cried out, clutching his shoulders, your pussy clenching.

“Look at you, soaking for me,” he murmured, circling the toy around your clit, teasing your entrance. He slipped it inside, the vibrations pulsing through your walls, and you moaned, your hips rocking. He fucked you with the toy, his other hand pinching your nipples, his lips sucking your neck.

“Sir, please,” you begged, your orgasm building. He turned up the intensity, the toy buzzing harder, and rubbed your clit with his thumb. “Cum for me, baby,” he growled, and you did, screaming, your pussy gushing around the toy, your body shaking.

He wasn’t done. He shed his clothes, his cock hard and leaking, and entered you, the toy still buzzing against your clit. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his thrusts deep, the vibrations amplifying every sensation. He fucked you hard, the bed shaking, his hand gripping your throat lightly, his eyes locked on yours. “You’re mine,” he snarled, and you came again, your pussy clenching, triggering his release, his cock pulsing inside you.

Taehyung was meticulous, pulling you into his arms, kissing your forehead. “You were incredible, baby,” he murmured, cleaning you with a warm cloth, his hands gentle, checking for sensitivity. He massaged your thighs, easing any strain, and offered you tea, holding the cup as you sipped. He wrapped you in a plush robe, pulling you against his chest, stroking your hair. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, the rare admission making your heart swell. He stayed, humming softly, until you drifted off, his warmth a shield.

The love between you and Kim Taehyung was a living, breathing entity—a fierce, all-consuming force that wove itself into every facet of your existence. Taehyung was a man of iron, his gruff exterior and commanding presence a fortress that only you could breach. His deep brown eyes, often cold to the world, softened when they met yours, revealing a vulnerability he guarded fiercely. You were his counterpoint—a shy, gentle soul with a heart that radiated warmth, your doe eyes and soft, wavy hair a vision of innocence that disarmed him. Your relationship, rooted in a dynamic of dominance and submission, transcended its transactional origins, blossoming into a profound connection built on trust, vulnerability, and an unspoken vow to belong to each other eternally.

Taehyung’s love was not confined to the lavish gifts that reshaped your life, though they were a testament to his devotion. The diamonds that glittered on your neck—a choker with a teardrop pendant that caught the light like a captured star—the designer dresses that clung to your curves like a lover’s embrace, the first-class trips to Paris, Santorini, and Kyoto—these were symbols of his desire to see you shine, to elevate you to the pedestal he believed you deserved. He took pride in adorning you, his fingers lingering as he fastened a sapphire bracelet around your wrist, the cool metal a contrast to the warmth of his touch. “You’re my princess,” he’d murmur, his voice a low growl, his lips brushing the pulse point at your throat, feeling it quicken under his attention. “I want the world to know how precious you are.” Each gift was chosen with care, a reflection of his meticulous nature—whether it was a first-edition novel by your favorite author, its leather binding smelling of history, or a pair of Louboutin heels that made your steps feel like a waltz, he saw you as a canvas for beauty, and he was the artist.

But beyond the material, Taehyung gave you something infinitely more precious—his time, his attention, his heart. After a day of boardroom battles, his shoulders tense, his jaw tight with the weight of his empire, he’d come home to you, and the moment his eyes found yours, the world’s chaos fell away. You were his soft spot, the one who could coax a rare, genuine smile from him, even when a deal collapsed or a rival tested his patience. He’d pull you into his lap, his arms a fortress, and bury his face in your hair, inhaling the vanilla-jasmine scent that had become his sanctuary. “You’re my peace, baby,” he’d whisper, his voice rough with emotion, his hands stroking your back, memorizing the curve of your spine. In those moments, the grumpy, intimidating tycoon melted, leaving only Tae, the man who loved you with a ferocity that stole your breath.

You adored him with a devotion that was both quiet and bold, your shyness a delicate thread that wove through your every interaction. Even after months together, you’d blush at his compliments, your cheeks flushing a soft pink as you ducked your head, murmuring, “Thank you, sir.” But beneath that timidity was a growing confidence, a strength nurtured by his unwavering support. You learned to tease him, to push the boundaries of your dynamic in playful ways. In public, you’d call him “sir” with a subtle smirk, a secret code that made his eyes darken with desire, his hand tightening on yours. In private, you’d whisper “Tae” against his lips, the name a sacred intimacy reserved for your most tender moments. You’d surprise him by wearing the lingerie he’d chosen—a sheer black set that left your nipples visible, your curves accentuated—and watch his composure falter, his cock hardening as he growled, “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”

Your relationship was a dance of contrasts—his dominance and your submission, his grumpiness and your gentleness, his world of power and your world of dreams. It wasn’t perfect, and you both bore the scars of its challenges. Taehyung’s temper could flare, especially when work piled up or a business rival pushed too far. He’d snap, his voice sharp, his words cutting, and you’d feel the sting, your insecurities whispering that you weren’t enough for a man of his stature. “I’m sorry, baby,” he’d say later, his voice soft as he pulled you close, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You’re everything to me. Don’t ever doubt that.” You’d nod, your heart aching, and he’d kiss you, his lips gentle, his touch a vow to do better.

Your insecurities were a hurdle, the fear that you were too young, too inexperienced, too ordinary for someone like him. You’d lie awake some nights, the city lights filtering through your apartment’s windows, wondering if you were a fleeting obsession, a phase he’d outgrow. But Taehyung sensed these doubts, his intuition uncanny. One evening, after a quiet dinner at his penthouse, he caught you staring out the window, your expression distant. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked, his voice low, his hand resting on your knee, his thumb tracing circles.

You hesitated, your shyness making the words heavy. “I just… sometimes I wonder if I’m enough for you, sir,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “You’re Kim Taehyung. And I’m just… me.”

His eyes darkened, not with anger but with resolve. He stood, pulling you to your feet, his hands framing your face. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice firm, each word a hammer striking your doubts. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re mine. You’re the one I come home to, the one who makes this empty fucking world make sense. Don’t you ever think you’re less than that.” He kissed you, hard and possessive, his tongue claiming you, his hands gripping your hips, anchoring you to him. “I love you, Y/N,” he said, the words raw, unguarded, a rare vulnerability that made your heart soar. “And I’ll spend my life proving it.”

That night, he made love to you with a tenderness that left you trembling, his touches soft, his words a litany of praise. “You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his lips tracing the curve of your breast, sucking gently on a nipple until you gasped. “My beautiful girl.” He took his time, worshiping every inch of you, his fingers teasing your pussy until you were dripping, your clit throbbing under his touch. When he entered you, it was slow, deliberate, his cock filling you as he whispered, “You’re everything I need,” his thrusts deep, his eyes locked on yours until you both came, your bodies entwined, your hearts beating as one.

To deepen your bond, Taehyung planned a weekend getaway to Jeju Island, a surprise he sprang on you one Friday morning. “Pack a bag, baby,” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee in hand, his tailored shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of his toned chest. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

You blinked, still in your pajamas—a soft pink set he’d bought you—your hair a messy bun. “S-Sir, where are we going?” you asked, your shyness flaring at the suddenness, your fingers twisting the hem of your top.

He smirked, stepping closer to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending a shiver through you. “It’s a surprise. Just trust me.”

The private jet was a revelation, its plush interior a world away from your modest life. You sat beside him, your hand in his, your heart racing as you watched the clouds through the window, the sky a canvas of blues and whites. “This is too much, sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling with awe, your fingers tracing the leather armrest.

He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing your knuckles, the calloused pad a contrast to your softness. “Nothing’s too much for you,” he said, his eyes soft, a rare warmth in them. “I want you to feel special, because you are.”

The villa in Jeju was a dream—white stucco walls, glass doors opening to a private beach, the ocean a symphony of blues and greens. Taehyung was relaxed, his grumpiness absent as he pulled you onto the sand, his laughter rich and unguarded as you squealed at the cold waves lapping your feet. “Come here, baby,” he said, tugging you into his arms, kissing you as the sun set, the sky ablaze with pinks, oranges, and purples, the colors reflecting in his eyes.

That evening, in the villa’s master suite, he was playful, teasing you with featherlight touches until you were giggling, your shyness forgotten. “You’re so cute when you laugh,” he murmured, pinning you to the bed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He kissed you deeply, his hands roaming, and you felt the shift, the playful lover giving way to the dominant one. “But I think it’s time my good girl gets what she needs,” he growled, his voice sending a thrill through you, your pussy already wet, your clit pulsing with anticipation.

The bedroom was bathed in moonlight, the sliding doors open to let in the rhythmic crash of waves, the air salty and cool. Taehyung stripped you slowly, his hands deliberate as he peeled off your sundress, revealing a white lace lingerie set he’d packed—a bra that barely contained your breasts, the lace teasing your hardened nipples, and panties that clung to your damp folds. Your skin prickled under his gaze, your nipples aching, your pussy throbbing as he stepped back to admire you. “Fuck, you’re a vision,” he growled, his voice rough, his linen trousers straining against his hardening cock, the outline thick and promising.

He laid you on the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin, and kissed you, his tongue slow and possessive, tasting of the wine you’d shared at dinner. His hands roamed, cupping your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples through the lace, the friction making you moan. He unclasped your bra, his lips closing around a nipple, sucking hard, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud until you gasped, your hips bucking. “So sensitive,” he murmured, moving to your other nipple, his teeth grazing lightly, sending sparks of pleasure to your core.

He kissed a trail down your stomach, his hands spreading your thighs, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. He slid your panties off, groaning at the sight of your glistening folds, your clit swollen and begging for attention. “Look at this pretty pussy,” he said, his voice dripping with praise, his breath warm against your skin. “So wet for me, so fucking needy.” He licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, his tongue flat and broad, savoring your taste—sweet and musky, a flavor he’d never tire of. He flicked your clit, the touch light but electric, and you cried out, your hands clutching the sheets, your pussy clenching with need.

He ate you out with reverence, his tongue circling your clit in lazy, deliberate patterns, then dipping to tease your entrance, lapping up your arousal. His lips closed around your clit, sucking gently, then harder, the pressure making you moan, your hips rocking against his face. He slipped two fingers inside, curling them to hit your g-spot, the stretch delicious, your walls so tight they gripped him. “You taste so fucking good,” he growled, his eyes locking on yours, his pupils blown with desire as he sucked your clit, his fingers pumping in a steady rhythm. The wet sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the room, mingling with your gasps, the ocean’s roar a distant echo.

Your orgasm was building, a tight coil in your belly, and he sensed it, adding a third finger, the stretch burning slightly but oh so good, your pussy dripping onto the sheets. “Cum for me, baby,” he ordered, his voice vibrating against your clit, his tongue relentless, flicking and sucking in a rhythm that drove you wild. You shattered, screaming his name, your pussy gushing as waves of pleasure crashed through you, your body convulsing, your clit throbbing under his tongue. He licked you through it, his fingers slowing, drawing out every aftershock until you were trembling, oversensitive, your pussy still pulsing with the echoes of your climax.

He rose, shedding his clothes, his toned chest gleaming in the moonlight, faint scars adding to his rugged appeal. His trousers fell, revealing his cock—thick, veined, and leaking precum, the tip flushed an angry red, so hard it curved slightly upward. He positioned himself between your legs, his cock nudging your entrance, the heat of him making you whimper. “Ready, baby?” he asked, his voice soft, checking in despite the hunger in his eyes.

“Please, sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your eyes glassy with need, your pussy aching to be filled.

He entered you slowly, inch by agonizing inch, the stretch intense, your pussy clenching around him like a vice. You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders, the fullness overwhelming but delicious. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers bruising as his control frayed. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he said, his voice strained, his forehead resting against yours, sweat beading on his brow. “So fucking perfect.”

His thrusts were deep, controlled, each one hitting your g-spot, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Your pussy was soaked, the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out obscene, filling the room with a primal rhythm. You moaned, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper, your heels digging into his lower back. His restraint snapped, his thrusts growing rougher, his hips slamming into yours, the bed creaking, the headboard banging against the wall. “Take it, baby,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “Take my cock like the good girl you are.”

You screamed, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails, your pussy clenching as another orgasm built, faster and more intense. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, your nipples grazing his chest, sending sparks through you. He reached between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, rough circles, the pressure perfect. “Cum for me,” he growled, his voice a command, his thrusts relentless, his cock hitting every sensitive spot. You shattered, your pussy gushing around him, your scream echoing as your body shook, your clit pulsing under his fingers. He groaned, his thrusts faltering, and came, spilling inside you, his cock pulsing, filling you with warmth, his release so abundant it leaked out around him.

Taehyung collapsed beside you, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. He pulled you into his arms, his lips brushing your forehead, his voice soft as he murmured, “You were incredible, baby. So fucking perfect.” He reached for a warm cloth from the bedside table, cleaning you gently, his hands tender as he wiped your thighs, careful around your sensitive folds, checking for any discomfort. “Feel okay?” he asked, his eyes searching yours, a flicker of concern in their depths.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, smiling shyly, your body still humming with pleasure. “Just… perfect.”

He chuckled, wrapping you in a plush blanket, pulling you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your cheek. He stroked your hair, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back, untangling the damp strands with care. “My good girl,” he murmured, kissing your temple, his lips lingering. He offered you water, holding the glass as you sipped, his arm steady around you, ensuring you felt secure. He whispered praises, his voice a low rumble— “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. You make me feel alive.” He massaged your shoulders, easing any tension, his touch gentle but firm, and stayed with you, the sound of waves a lullaby as you drifted off, his warmth a cocoon, his presence a promise of safety.

One night, after a grueling day, you found Taehyung in his home office, papers scattered across his desk, his brow furrowed, his tie loosened. You knocked softly, holding a mug of chamomile tea, the steam curling in the air. “Sir, I thought you might need this,” you said, your voice shy, your bare feet silent on the hardwood as you set the mug down, your oversized sweater—his sweater—slipping off one shoulder.

He looked up, his expression softening, the storm in his eyes calming. “Come here, baby,” he said, patting his lap, his voice a low invitation. You settled against him, your head on his shoulder, your legs curled up, and he sighed, his arms wrapping around you, his chin resting on your hair. “You always know how to make my day better,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

You hesitated, your fingers twisting the hem of his sweater, your shyness making the words tremble. “Tae, I… I’m scared sometimes,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “That you’ll get tired of me. That I’m not enough for someone like you.”

He stiffened, his hand pausing on your back, then turned you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumbs brushing your skin. “Y/N, listen to me,” he said, his voice fierce, each word a vow. “You’re not just enough—you’re everything. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. You’re my home, my reason to keep going.” His eyes were raw, vulnerable, a window to the man beneath the tycoon, and you felt tears prick your own. “I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You kissed him, soft and desperate, your hands clutching his shirt, the fabric crumpling under your fingers. “I love you too, Tae,” you whispered, the words a sacred promise. He held you close, his lips brushing your forehead, his arms a shield, and you knew your love was unshakable, a beacon in the chaos of your worlds.

Inspired by the passion of Jeju, Taehyung decided to revisit the rose-gold vibrator one evening in the penthouse, a night charged with anticipation. The bedroom was dimly lit, the city lights casting a soft glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the black silk sheets shimmering under the amber light. Taehyung sat on the edge of the bed, the vibrator in hand, its sleek surface catching the light, his eyes dark with hunger, his tailored shirt unbuttoned to reveal his toned chest, his trousers hugging his thighs, his cock already half-hard.

“Strip for me, baby,” he ordered, his voice a low growl, rich with command, sending a shiver through you. You blushed, your hands trembling as you shed your silk robe, revealing a sheer red lingerie set—a bra that left your nipples visible, the lace teasing their hardened peaks, and panties that clung to your damp folds, the fabric dark with your arousal. Your skin prickled, your pussy throbbing, your clit pulsing as he stared, his gaze predatory, his cock now fully hard, straining against his trousers.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he growled, beckoning you to the bed, his hand patting the mattress beside him. You knelt before him, your thighs pressed together, your pussy dripping as he kissed you, his tongue possessive, claiming your mouth with a hunger that made you moan. He turned on the vibrator, the low hum filling the room, a promise of pleasure that made your core clench. He pressed it to your nipple through the lace, the vibrations sharp and intense, making you gasp, your back arching, your pussy leaking onto the sheets. “Feel good, baby?” he asked, his voice husky, his lips curving into a smirk as he moved to your other nipple, the vibrations sending sparks through you, your nipples aching, your clit throbbing with need.

He slid your panties down, tossing them aside, and groaned at the sight of your glistening folds, your clit swollen, your arousal dripping down your thighs. “So fucking wet for me,” he murmured, his voice dripping with praise, his fingers spreading your folds, exposing you fully. He pressed the vibrator to your clit, the sensation overwhelming, a jolt of pleasure that made you cry out, your hands clutching his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. He circled the toy around your clit, teasing your entrance, the vibrations pulsing through you, your pussy clenching with need.

“You look so pretty like this,” he growled, slipping the vibrator inside, the sleek toy sliding easily into your soaked pussy, the vibrations pulsing through your walls, making you moan, your hips rocking against it. He fucked you with the toy, slow and deliberate, his other hand pinching your nipples, twisting them just enough to make you whimper, his lips sucking your neck, leaving faint marks that claimed you as his. “Taking it so well, my good girl,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours, watching every moan, every shudder, drinking in your pleasure.

“Sir, please,” you begged, your voice thick with desperation, your orgasm building, a tight coil ready to snap. He turned up the intensity, the toy buzzing harder, the vibrations overwhelming, and rubbed your clit with his thumb, his touch rough and precise, the dual stimulation driving you wild. “Cum for me, baby,” he ordered, his voice a command, his lips brushing your ear. You shattered, screaming his name, your pussy gushing around the toy, your body shaking, your clit pulsing under his thumb, your orgasm so intense it left you breathless, your vision spotting.

He wasn’t done. He shed his clothes, his cock thick and hard, leaking precum, the veins prominent, the tip flushed. He entered you, the toy still buzzing against your clit, the sensation amplifying every thrust, his cock filling you completely, the stretch delicious. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers bruising as he fucked you, his thrusts deep and hard, the bed shaking, the headboard banging. He gripped your throat lightly, his touch possessive but careful, his eyes intense, locked on yours. “You’re mine,” he snarled, his voice rough, his cock hitting your g-spot with every stroke, the toy’s vibrations pushing you to the edge again.

You came, your pussy clenching, gushing around him, your scream hoarse, your body trembling uncontrollably. He groaned, his thrusts erratic, and came, his cock pulsing, filling you with his release, the warmth spreading inside you, leaking out around him. He turned off the toy, tossing it aside, and collapsed beside you, his chest heaving, his arms pulling you close.

Taehyung was meticulous, his touch tender as he kissed your forehead, his voice soft. “You were perfect, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing your sweat-dampened skin. He reached for a warm cloth, cleaning you gently, his hands careful as he wiped your thighs, your sensitive folds, checking for any discomfort, his fingers soothing. “Feel okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his eyes searching yours, a flicker of concern mingling with adoration.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, your voice soft, your body still humming. “Better than okay.”

He smiled, wrapping you in a plush robe, pulling you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your cheek. He stroked your hair, his fingers untangling the damp strands, tracing soothing patterns on your back. “My beautiful girl,” he murmured, kissing your temple, his lips lingering, his breath warm. He offered you tea, holding the cup as you sipped, his arm steady, ensuring you felt secure. He massaged your shoulders, his thumbs kneading out any tension, his touch gentle but firm, and whispered praises— “You’re everything to me, Y/N. My heart, my home.” He hummed a soft melody, his voice a lullaby, staying until you drifted off, his warmth a shield, his presence a vow of forever.

One crisp autumn night, Taehyung took you to the rooftop of his penthouse, a private oasis he’d transformed with fairy lights and a blanket strewn with pillows. The city sparkled below, the stars faint but visible, the air cool against your skin. You wore a cashmere sweater and a flowy skirt, your hair loose, catching the breeze. He pulled you onto the blanket, his arms around you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Look at that,” he murmured, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear. “All those lights, all those lives, and you’re the only one that matters to me.”

You turned, your eyes meeting his, your heart swelling. “Tae,” you whispered, your shyness fading in the intimacy of the moment. “How do you always know what to say?”

He smiled, a rare, boyish grin that made him look younger, softer. “Because it’s you,” he said, his hand cupping your cheek. “You make me want to be better, to be the man you deserve.” He kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue teasing yours, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer.

You talked for hours, sharing dreams—your novels, his legacy, a future together. “I want to build something with you,” he said, his voice earnest. “A life, a home, maybe even a family someday. If you want that.”

Your breath caught, tears prickling your eyes. “I do, Tae,” you said, your voice trembling. “I want everything with you.”

He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket, revealing a delicate ring—not an engagement ring, but a promise ring, a simple band with a tiny diamond. “This is my vow,” he said, slipping it onto your finger. “To love you, to protect you, to be yours, always.”

You kissed him, your heart full, the ring a tangible symbol of your bond. The night ended with you curled in his arms, the stars above a witness to your love, a love that would endure through every storm.

Back in the penthouse, the mood shifted, Taehyung’s dominance resurfacing. The bedroom was dark, the only light from the city below, the black silk sheets cool and inviting. He stood by the bed, his shirt discarded, his toned chest gleaming, his trousers low on his hips, his cock already hard. “On your knees, baby,” he ordered, his voice a velvet whip, sending a thrill through you.

You obeyed, sinking to your knees, your sheer black lingerie clinging to your curves, your nipples hard, your pussy wet. He stepped closer, his hand tangling in your hair, tilting your head back. “Look at me,” he said, his eyes dark, predatory. You met his gaze, your pussy throbbing, your clit pulsing with need.

He unzipped his trousers, freeing his cock—thick, veined, leaking precum, the sight making your mouth water. “Open,” he commanded, and you did, your lips parting, your tongue darting out. He guided his cock into your mouth, the taste salty and musky, the weight heavy on your tongue. “Good girl,” he growled, his hand guiding you, his hips thrusting gently, fucking your mouth with controlled precision.

You moaned, the vibrations making him groan, his fingers tightening in your hair. He pulled out, his cock glistening with your saliva, and lifted you to the bed, positioning you on all fours, your ass up, your pussy exposed. “So fucking pretty,” he murmured, his hands spreading your cheeks, his thumb brushing your soaked folds, teasing your clit. He entered you from behind, his cock sliding in deep, the stretch intense, your pussy clenching around him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his thrusts hard, the bed creaking. He spanked you lightly, the sting blooming into pleasure, your pussy gushing. “You like that, don’t you?” he growled, spanking you again, his cock hitting your g-spot, the wet sounds filling the room.

“Yes, sir,” you moaned, your voice breaking, your orgasm building. He reached around, rubbing your clit, his fingers rough, the pressure perfect. “Cum for me, slut,” he ordered, his voice rough, his thrusts relentless. You screamed, your pussy gushing, your body shaking, your clit pulsing under his fingers. He came, his cock pulsing, filling you with his release, the warmth spreading, leaking out around him.

Taehyung was gentle, pulling you into his arms, his lips kissing your shoulder, your neck, your forehead. “You were amazing, baby,” he murmured, his voice soft, his hands tender as he cleaned you with a warm cloth, wiping your thighs, your sensitive folds, checking for any soreness. “Feel okay?” he asked, his eyes soft, his fingers brushing your cheek.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, smiling, your body sated. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, his voice raw, pulling you against his chest, wrapping you in a blanket. He massaged your back, his thumbs kneading out any tension, his touch soothing. He offered you juice, holding the glass, his arm steady, and whispered, “You’re my everything, Y/N.” He hummed softly, his fingers tracing your spine, staying until you drifted off, his warmth a promise of forever.

Your love with Taehyung was a symphony, each note a moment of passion, vulnerability, and growth. His grumpiness, your insecurities, the challenges of your disparate worlds—they were the dissonant chords that made the melody richer. You faced them together, your bond a quiet strength that weathered every storm. He was your protector, your lover, your sugar daddy, but more than that, he was your partner, the man who saw you as his equal, his home.

As the months turned to years, you built a life together. You published your first novel, dedicated to him, and he stood beside you at the launch, his pride palpable, his hand on your lower back a silent vow. He expanded his empire, but made time for you, for quiet nights and grand adventures, for promises kept under starlit skies. The ring on your finger became an engagement ring, then a wedding band, each a symbol of a love that grew deeper, stronger, with every shared breath.

In the quiet moments, when the world was still, you’d lie in his arms, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under your cheek, and know that this—your love, your life together—was the story you’d always dreamed of writing. It was a love that endured, a flame that burned eternal, a tapestry of sugar and spice that would never fade.

180 notes · View notes

ctrlhope · 1 year ago

Text

Bound By Blood (m)

synopsis: A servant to the state since birth, forced to work for the royal family until you die. These are the conditions that have granted you life, yet are they are the same ones that can take everything away. He can take everything away. But he would never, for you are his future, his eternity.

k.taehyung x f.reader

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 16.0k

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: genre: royalty au, soft yandere, fluff, smut, smidge of angst

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: content: soft yandere!prince!taehyung, maid!reader, power imbalance, talks about death/violence, blood, slight predator/prey dynamics, manipulation, misunderstandings, dom!tae, tae calls reader lamb, oral (f.receiving), marriage related dirty talk, virginity kink/loss of virginity, size kink, praise, reader is fucked dumb, implied kissing reader while she sleeps, implied offscreen somno, implied stalking, ownership, tae is rlly sweet and adorable

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: notes: hello!!! this was meant to be a drabble but as you can see it spiralled out of control lmao. i got a little hyper fixated (and grew a really bad crush on this taehyung) so it ended up being way longer than i initially thought! regardless, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it!!

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The Kim Empire.

Your home, your family, your livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

They practically brandish your mind, have been since you were no more than a babe. Stuck in the clutches of everything Kim since you were born. Your mother a maid, your father gone from the face of the earth. At least as far as you are concerned he is, anyway.

He is better off dead. The alternative of him living scott free in some far off land, meanwhile you have to serve the hand and foot of the king sets no more than the bitter taste of coffee beans against your gums.

Bedding your mother, no more than a fresh-faced maid at the time. Outcasting her the second after when he had to have known the rules of the palace. The demise it would cost both her and her future daughter. Perhaps every generation that followed as well– if there were to be any, that is.

Housestaff are not meant to have relationships. They are meant to serve the king and his bountiful family. How are you meant to do anything else with a child bouncing at your hip, a husband grabbing at your ass.

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times. The words ingrained in your skull just as the brand you received when you were far too young to remember the pain of it. Evidence that you are bound to the palace by blood until the very moment you take your last breath.

The punishment for becoming pregnant within the walls of the palace are simple: your child belongs to them. For anything within the Kim Estate is their rightful property, given to them by the grace of god.

You, a gift from god to serve the empire. You would snort at the notion if training from a young age prohibited it. You are just a result of your mothers kindness, her naivety.

You could never find it within your heart to blame her. She was just a girl who thought she was in love. Fired for her love. Had her daughter taken from her to serve for her love.

Love is something you will never be granted the property of.

You will be granted an allowance to send home to your mother to keep her afloat. You will be granted a room to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat. A secure job in which you can never be fired– well. That is a lie. Though, your termination would come at the end of an axe, rather than a piece of paper.

You used to muse at the thought– when you were a young girl, no more than 11 or 12. Going through your melancholy years, hating the rest of the world for simply existing. For putting you in a position where you could not change your fate, instead had to endure your present. Feeling like a girl trapped in a tower just like the bedtime stories had always prescribed.

One time you had caused such a ruckus in front of the oldest Kim son you really did think you were going to get the axe. Hell, you were even prepared for it. Locked away in a cell for two nights, brought before the executor.

Right before the swing was meant to be brought down against your neck the head maid ran into the room, gave some sort of letter to the man. She apologised profusely, gripping your ear and dragging you away from the scene.

You hadn’t acted ary since then. It taught you your place. Made you realise the need to survive buried deep within your bones. In the innate way some sort of wildcat would lash out until it was bloodied and on its last breath.

You would not die at the end of a knife. You’d live your life, acting a maid until you could die peacefully of old age. Even if it meant surrendering yourself to servitude for the most annoying brat you’ve ever laid eyes on.

A quiet sigh slips past your lips at the mere thought of him. The sound would get you punished if anyone were to hear, especially in respect to the coveted crown prince of the kingdom. Few share the same opinion as you of him– but then again most that work here aren’t forced.

It is only when the stars are strung high in the sky that you allow yourself to feel such things. When you stay awake past the beginning of rest hours, most of the staff (save for the night shift) falling to sleep hours prior. Only then when you’re out in the gardens do you allow indignation to satiate your brain.

For the few hours of freedom you may hold dear until the next morning begins and you are forced to live the same day once more. Over and over again until the end of time.

Your fingertips reach out as you walk, bruised from the scrubbing of floors, to find purchase against the walls of flowers rimming the maze. Rough fingertips dance against the gentle petals of roses, lulling in the feeling. Picking themselves against the thorns without much of a thought, not withdrawing. Only pausing feet to observe.

How can something so delicate and beautiful wish to cause harm? It does not. It simply desires a way to survive. You could never fault it for that.

“Pretty, are they not?” A dark, husky voice sends cold down your spine. Hairs become on edge, back straightens taught, ears perk just as if you are an obedient dog. Fear flashing through your entire being.

You do not wish to turn around. Do not have any want to face the man that has caught the air in your lungs. The one catching you in the garden without any proper attire in place. Though you must. You must bow, grovel at his feet for forgiveness for allowing him to see you in your nightgown. For not being in bed as you should.

Prince Kim has never been known for being kind.

Your body acts for you while your mind sets on pause– taking several steps forward, bending your body at the hips to give a proper 90 degree bow. Your hands clasp before you, hair coming down in front of your face.

“Prince Kim–” You rush, suddenly out of breath, “Please forgive my insolence. I-I am not of right attire or mind to be standing in front of his excellency right now. Nor should I be excused for touching the property of the palace. I have no proper excuse and any punishment you decide will be deserving. Please forgive me.” The words recite from your lips like a bible– instruction of them being heard time and time again.

Cold night air whips at your ankles, fluttering the gown around your ankles. The chill only adding to the cold sweat you’ve discovered has perspired. Making your hair dance around your shoulders.

You expect something, anything really. A slap, a single word. Though there is only silence in response. Silence that extends far too long and feels far too pungent for your taste. If he was going to do something, you rather he just get it over with.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear the baritone of his voice once more.

“Pretty, are they not?” He asks again, repeating the same sentiments as before. Confusion bristles through as a kite in the summer air. Why is he asking you this? Is he not annoyed he caught a maid in such a level of disrobement? What is he trying to gain? What does he want?

All the questions you do not have any hope to answer rush through you causing you to feel confused and incomposed. Every boring lesson you were forced to sit through never taught you how to deal with this exact situation. You aren’t sure what he wants, nor your place in the garden. The thought scares you.

Against your better judgement, you allow your chin to tilt up only slightly. Only enough to look at the man– to try and read the expression on his face so you can better analyse your next action.

The shock you feel when you find his face is only inches from your own, frame bent down to make his eyes level with yours is something you cannot explain in words alone.

You would prefer to scream and run, however that is not an option at this moment, or so it appears. Instead, your eyes only widen in shock, in trepidation. Your mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as you stare.

Never before have you made eye contact with a member of the family. Never before have you had the luxury to view one so close. In any other circumstance, you suppose, you would surely be punished for such a thing. Someone lower should never view a future king in such a way.

You wish you could say he was a heinous, ugly beast for hatred of the palace alone. Yet you can’t, for he isn’t. He is beautiful.

Sure, you knew that already. Paintings of him are plastered across the walls– his face is everywhere eyes are able to reach. Yet this close, at this angle, you can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat. Can’t help but admire every facet of his complexion before being thrown in front of the lion again.

A gorgeous, blinding smile wipes across his face the moment you face him. Lips forming into an adorable box after he finally has your attention fully drawn on him. You’re startled back once again, sending your brain into a further whirlwind than before.

He desires an answer.

“I um… Yes. I suppose they are.” You nod slowly in response, following in his footsteps as he returns to full height.

You must follow his lead– it is how you will survive.

You usher a stray lock of hair over your shoulder, trying to stop it from hitting your face. The air starts to become stale again, feeling empty in the lack of his reply. It is awkward, and the way he stares at you, eyes darting around your face– your figure, has you feeling in some sort of girlish, embarrassed way.

You think you dislike the feeling.

“Are you a fan of roses?” His arms are pulled behind him, wrapped together as he bounces on his toes in something that looks like… boyish delight? The muddle of your brain can't help to understand a single thing. He is making no sense, trying to make conversation with you. Trying to find a morsel of companionship in someone who is meant to bow to him like he is the true god of your mortal plain.

You will have to oblige until he allows you to depart.

“I suppose so.”

He frowns. Try again.

“I adore them, the palace always has the most gorgeous petals all year round.” You smile at him, hoping it masks any discomfort you feel.

The smile returns to his own lips as he begins to walk. Tilting his head to you as a cue to join him. You try to keep your paces a few behind his own, a maid should never walk beside a member of the family. Though he only slows in response, matching your gate even though it is obvious he hates having to slow down.

Why is he behaving in this manner? It makes no sense to you.

“The flower of devotion.” He nods, breaking the silence once more and keeping his eyes straight ahead.

You almost want to admire his profile– the gentle curve of his nose, yet you refrain. Training your eyes ahead, keeping your fingers laced in front of you. Trying to look as put together as possible at this moment.

“Is it?” You quiz, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind it. Unbothered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose, flowing sleep pants.

“Of many other things, as well.” He nods, sending a slight smile at you.

“I don’t know much about the language of flowers.” Though it feels wrong to be talking with Prince Kim so casually, you try your best. The more you give in, mayhaps the sooner he’ll bore and the faster you will be able to run from the cage.

“Tell me your favourite, maybe I can tell you its meaning.” He pauses and you find yourself at the foot of the gazebo. He reaches out his hand, offering to help you up the small stairs of it.

All over again you find yourself taken aback. The prince is requesting that you touch him, not for his service, but your own. He desires to help you. Is for some reason treating you like a lady.

You don’t understand it, yet with great hesitation you oblige. You place your hand on his much larger one, allowing it to encase it. Help you up the stairs.

“I don’t know many…” You hope he cannot hear the hesitation in your tone, “Though I’ve always been fond of lilies.” You tell him, attempting to pull your hand away from his own as you reach the top.

He doesn’t allow it, keeping your small palm tight in his own. Fear trickles in once more, circling around your heart, constricting it.

You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him in the slightest. It is here where you shall face punishment for all the previous misdemeanours committed. White stone shall be painted with red and you will be left to your own devices to clean up the mess.

Your lungs start to take in more air, though of course you try to disguise it. Turning around to face him, to discover why he has kept you held firm, air is leaving your lungs for another reason entirely.

He holds your hand close, examining your fingers. Tilting it back and forth, smoothing his thumb over the back of your skin. If he takes note of the little dots of red, he doesn’t make comment of it. He only curls his fingers upwards, hooking against your own. Bringing your hand up to his lips as if it was the most delicate thing on earth. Staring at them with a passion you doubt you’ve ever seen before.

“Rebirth.” His breath fans across your knuckles, slowly lowering to place a gentle kiss against the skin. His lips are soft, so gentle against your weary flesh. So full of safety, so full of song.

When he retracts, he pulls away no more than a millimeter, though his grip tightens.

“Purity.”

Your first meeting with the prince had left you with a flurry of emotions, none of which you could hope to syphon through. For hours he kept you in the gazebo, sitting with you. Talking until it appeared the sun was cresting over the horizon.

He refused to release your hand the entire time. His fingers playing with your own, perhaps obsessed with the feeling of your tiny hand laced with his own pristine skin. Did not pay any attention the several times you tried to excuse yourself, only changing the subject of conversation to try and keep you in place.

It was strange. Confusing. You did not understand the reasoning or cause behind any of his actions.

Well, at least until the next morning while you were scrubbing the floors. Your friend Annabell cleaning right by your side. Catching up, gossiping about the new recruits found in the manner. It is only times like these when you actually get the chance to talk, to giggle with someone meant to be your equal in both age and house status.

The only chance you’re truly able to forget about the fact she is able to leave once her contract expires. But it does not matter– any small amount of spite you hold is slashed away by her kind smile. The understanding in her eyes as she treats you like just another maid set to work for the king instead of a captive.

It is only after the 7th yawn of the morning she asks about the poorly covered bags under your eyes. You had gone to bed with the rest of the girls, there is no reason you should be so tired. You never appear to be, at least it is not shown around others.

You struggle with yourself for a moment, trying to decide whether the night before was meant to be kept as a closely guarded secret to your chest. Yet one look at your closest confidant had you spilling everything.

The entire night– the stars, the flowers, the way he prattled on. How tight he gripped your dirty, calloused hand against his pristine soft ones.

You feel strange speaking of it, remembering it in any way. It causes your cheeks to heat and a fury to settle below your ribs.

It is a strange feeling, yet not an entirely unwanted one.

Your eyes train to the floor as you spill your soul, unable to keep it in once it starts pouring out. You try to keep your tone as neutral as possible– to tell her about the night as if it was a simple news story you heard from a guard. Though, you’re unsure of your success in the matter.

A poised laugh leaves the lips of your counter, her eyes cresting into half-moons.

“You cannot be serious right? You tell stories.” She giggles, shaking her head before continuing her assault on the floor.

You simply shake your own.

“It happened, I was as shocked in the moment as you seem to be now.” She lets out a small bellow of giggles once again.

“No, no. I believe it happened entirely. I’m only talking about the fluster of your face.” She giggles, lifting her rag and shaking it for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile.

“There is no such thing.” You laugh knowing that there is.

“Oh my heavens. Y/n, you cannot tell me you’ve grown fond of the Prince, have you?” Her words are hushed now, much more so than before. As if someone may be listening to the conversation.

You tense in reply, unsure of the answer yourself. The closest you’ve ever felt to fondness of another man was a stable boy a few years back. Only 17 at the time, head wrapped in romance novels that you didn’t entirely understand. He was handsome and he was kind. However just as you were starting to become closer to him, he was sent away to work at another palace.

You had not been optimistic since then.

She takes your silence as an answer in itself. Moving towards you, gripping your shoulders and hauling you to sit on your haunches. Forcing you to look at her face as she speaks.

“You cannot be serious.” She repeats again, hoping for any sign of doubt. All she receives is bewilderment in reply, “Y/n. You can never trust Prince Kim.”

You sigh, “I know, Anne, I–” You’re cut off with her own voice again.

“No, not in the way you’re imagining.” She sighs, letting her hands drop from your shoulders to continue scrubbing at the floor. Making work of herself as she speaks, “The other maids don’t tell you of much, do they?”

You can’t deny it. Your seclusion within the castle walls is only partly of your own design.

Other maids do not feel as though they can trust you, seeing as you are full property of the crown. In their eyes, you hold not a crumb of loyalty to your own kind. Few maids speak to you like Annabell does for fear the second they say anything wrong you are going to tell the world.

You would never, though your word is worth its weight in feathers to them.

“They don’t care for me as you do… no…” You admit, continuing to clean as well. She already knew the answer, letting out an exhale before she speaks.

“Prince Kim has a pension for… debauchery… I shall say,” She flinches at her own words, yet doesn’t know a better way to put it, “The variety in which he uses pretty words to seduce young ladies to bed with him. Royalty from other lands, general’s daughters, maids. It matters not. He likes them for the night then pretends they shall never exist again.”

Each word she speaks sends another stab into your gut. A dull pain blooming from the same places which a swirling was forming before.

Ah. It all makes sense now.

“Oh.”

“He has a particular fondness for the other maids, you know. Bedding them without a second thought.” A grimace forms on your friend's lips, scrubbing harder into the already shining floors, “There is no reason to form any sort of affection for that man. It will only end with his seed inside your core and a knife in your heart.”

Yes, everything she is saying makes perfect sense. You feel almost stupid to not see it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it– want to think about it in any sort of fashion. But this makes much more sense than the crown prince wanting to speak to you for any other purpose. Explains why he was acting as a true gentleman to someone so much lower than him.

However, you find that it does not take away the cavernous pit that has formed in your gut.

“I see, I have no desire for either.” You nod your head in understanding, not sure of what else to say. “I don’t understand why he’s taken an interest in me, though.”

She gawks, “I don’t understand why it has taken him so long to in the first place.” She shakes her head.

“Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Y/n, you must promise me. You will not fall for him, nor give any part of yourself to him. He is not someone that will care for you like you deserve.” She states, blue eyes piercing icicles into your own. She is determined and will not relent until you agree.

“I do not wish to. Not after hearing all of…” You make some sort of motion with your hand, “that. Anyone would be a fool to like him.”

You nod your head while Annabell smiles in agreement.

“Good.”

Those are the last words you exchange with anyone for hours. The rest of the day passed by with lightning, an endless turnstile of things to take care of. A ball was to be held soon meaning the castle would be a wreck for the next few days. Too much planning, cleaning, sewing, coordination had to take place before anyone could rest.

Honestly, you were grateful for it. A break from thinking was much needed. As is a good night’s rest.

You sigh, already imagining how lovely it would feel to pull off your shoes for the day. Peel the cotton off your body and replace your dress with something more comfortable.

Oo! Hopefully enough warm water will be left for a quick bath. That would be just wonderful, your muscles would be able to unfurl. The perfect thing to lull you into a glorious sleep.

Your arms stretch over your head as you finish descending the staircase into the maid hallways. Bones in your back pop from the pressure, causing a sigh to make its way from your lungs. Your nimble fingers make their way to the ribbon holding your hair in place, untying it and allowing the tresses to fall.

Soon you would be in the maid resting quarters– your appearance would matter not there anyway.

You send small smiles to other staff members passing you, those that have either just woken for the night or those who still have work to do. Yet in return, each one of them just stares at you with an incredulous look. Turning and whispering to their friends as if you were not still in front of them.

You can’t help to understand why. Those around you may not have considered you a friend, but they were never rude. Always polite when need be. It has you feeling strange, some type of nervousness as you get closer and closer to the hallway extending to the maids personal rooms.

Rounding the corner, you discover exactly why.

His frame looks entirely out of place standing there. A perfect, pristine picture in a hallway of drab, illuminated only by the lanterns hanging on the wall. Royal blue tunic draped on his shoulders only emphasising his status.

He looks as though he was never meant to be here. Like a mistake was made along the cobblestone walls. No, he looks as though he is meant to be among the living. Not in your dreary, windowless life. Nothing could change that.

You stand there frozen, a deer caught in the lanturn of a hunting party. A pounding of your heart, as well as the dark swell of your gut coming back to life. Why is he here? Why the hell does he have a bouquet of flowers?!

You wish to scream, but you don’t. You have already been caught.

His eyes look up from where he created a small pile of dirt on the floor. His face coming alight in an instant, pushing himself to full stature from where he once leaned against the wall. Long legs making their way towards you while he suddenly has the decency to hide the bouquet behind his back.

Annabell certainly did not mention this method of Prince Kim’s seduction. You had never seen him down here before.

“Hi.” Is all he says once he is finally face to face with you. His face bright and youthful. Excited.

It seems all formalities have been dropped in his mind, though you refuse the notion.

“Prince Kim.” You simply reply, lowering yourself in a curtsy.

He pays no mind, almost pretending you never did it in the first place. Instead, he simply rocks back and forth on his heels, bouncing slightly in delight. Wanting something, unable to voice it.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, hoping to end the encounter swiftly to stop all of the prying eyes leering into your being.

“I brought you something.” His eyes do not break contact with yours once and you can see his hand twitch by his side as if it wants to reach out for something. You're glad he has the decency to hold back, so you shall do the same by pretending you never saw the flowers in the first place.

You choose not to ask yourself why he brought you a present. It must just be a trick of seduction.

“I am honoured to accept such a thing.” You send a small smile his way, something between real and fake. It seems to make him beam.

His arm comes out from behind, holding the flowers between both of your bodies. You look down at them, shock written across your features.

Sure, you had noted them as flowers before. But you think these may be the prettiest ones you’ve seen in your whole life. Petals of orange, white, and purple cloud in your eyes. Stomatas filled with the sweet pollen.

Lilies. All different kinds– ones you’ve never seen before.

They’re out of season, at least you think they are. How did he get these? Why is he giving them to you? Why is he trying to get the butterflies to return? Why is he trying to make your heart explode?

“Prince Kim…” You’re not sure what to say– instead gently reaching out to feel the velvet of a petal. Staring intently at their colours, unable to pull your eyes away.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His voice is a husk of a whisper, as if you’re the only two in the hallway. As if other maids are not passing, as if they are not staring at the two of you.

“Yes… I… I’m not sure what to say.” It is all so hypnotic.

“Thank you would be a good beginning, no?” His smile is soft, a light chuckle present in the tone.

You pause, tilting your head to look up at him fully– a large, real smile donning your lips.

“Yes. Thank you.”

You feel as if you are floating, just as you would when reading those romance books in your late teen years. Like the world has stopped moving save for the prince in front of you slowly passing the flowers into your arms.

Your hands brush against each other and you feel his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slight. Wishing to grab onto your hand just as he had done the night before. Wishing to insect every line that traces over your fresh once more.

However, he refrains. Allowing his ringed fingers to sink themselves into his pockets.

“I was just going to have them delivered. I’m not really meant to be down here, you know,” His smile is shy, “But I didn’t know your room. That, and I wanted to see you again.”

You look down, unable to keep the eye contact he presses you for. Prince Kim is too much for you. You don’t understand how he couldn’t be too much for anyone.

“Oh…” You’re a flush, “Thank you for saying that.”

“It is nothing to thank me for.” He chuckles, bangs dimming the hues of his eyes, “I’m sure I bored you with all of my ramblings.”

He did, partly, but that was more discombobulation for the situation and a sense of tiredness creeping into your bones. You shake your head quickly.

“Of course not. I had.. Fun.” Mayhaps fun isn’t the right term, yet there is no word that exactly describes your emotions of last night, nor the ones of today.

“As did I.” His lips are tight in a smile again, feet bouncing on their heels once more. He’s nervous, wants to say something again but isn’t sure how.

You’re not sure how to feel about learning what that habit means. Not sure how to feel about what any of this means. You have not had a moment alone to truly dissect what all of it is.

“I would love to spend the night talking to you again, if you would allow me.” You don’t think you would love anything more, yet you know you would not be able to function. Would probably make a fool of yourself, too.

“I-I think it would be best if I were to get some rest… I had not even an hour before I had to start working last night.”

He frowns, “That’s not good for your health…” He pauses, searching your face for any signs of distress, “Then let's talk in your room. I will only stay until you sleep.”

You pause, air drifting back into your lungs.

Ah. Right.

The words of your friend sink in once again, breaking you out of whatever trance he had put you under. Whatever spell he laced through both of your ears to have you singing songs of praises for him and the crown.

He wants you as a notch in a bedpost. Nothing more. It is clear as day and you are a fool to think anything other than that. This is all just a cleverly rehearsed show. You will not fall victim like your mother.

All royalty is the same. Use use use. Beat a dead horse until it stops coughing up any sort of reprise.

Your posture is suddenly tense, fist gripping the flowers so tight your knuckles appear white.

How dare he think so low of you. How dare he think he might be able to fuck you for nothing.

“Men are not allowed in the women's private quarters.” Your voice is staunch, though it is not as if he can tell nor cares.

If he does, he doesn’t show it.

“Ah,” The lilt is still evident in his tone, the cat playing with the mouse, “But I am not any man, am I?” His body leans a bit closer, pulling his face parallel to your own. Smirk playing on his lips.

Beauty is a deceptive thing, isn’t it? “When I am king I’ll make it so I can see you whenever we both desire.” Something heats in your gut at those words, yet anger quells it just as fast.

“It is a shame that you are not King yet, then.” You nod politely in his direction, trying to excuse yourself. Yet your words only seem to excite something in his eyes, lighting a fire behind them.

“My, I didn’t know you felt that way.” He smiles coy. A flustered sensation overcomes you as you realise the double meaning behind your words. You had made it sound like you wanted him in that way when that could not be farther from the truth.

“I do not.” You state, your voice ice. Though once again, it seems that it does not pierce him.

“There is no reason to be so cold, Y/n.” He sing songs, tapping one of his long fingers against the side of his head.

“I am not being cold! You are just not listening.” You sigh in exasperation. Exhaustion and annoyance make you forget yourself, causing your volume to rise just as his own does. This only seems to excite him more.

“I have heard enough.” He giggles, boyish and what others would describe as cute. Right before you’re able to argue back once again, he cuts in with his own voice once more.

“I will leave you for now. Find a pretty place for the flowers.”

He smiles generously at you, beginning to walk away, “Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.”

In your shamble of a disposition, you’re left stuck there. Staring at his back as he retreats down the hallway.

The shock of everything that had just transpired coming over you all at once. How poorly you had behaved. How you spoke to him. He could have you killed for any one of those things however instead he left you with a bouquet of flowers and a promise for another night.

You scramble to find yourself, to move yourself from out of the eyeline of every other maid. To make your way to your room, your one sanctuary as quickly as possible.

It is only when you’re in those walls, hard oak door shut firmly beside you that you have to remind yourself of your promise to your best friend. Remember that the prince fights his battles with words and emotions.

Your second meeting with the man had left you even more confused than the first. Thousands of questions and emotions real through your bones at a pace your brain can’t manage to understand. Leaves you fuming, trying to form a single coherent thought as you analyse the last two nights with a ferocity unimagined.

In your state, however, you neglect to think of the one question that should be dancing before you, held on a string just out of reach.

Why did he know your name?

It is apparent that since that night, Prince Kim has located which room you find habitance in.

This morning, another letter has found itself slipped under the base of your door. They have become commonplace now– letters detailing apologies for why he was unable to visit, what he had gone about on his day, his regrets that he has not heard back from you in what feels like ages.

He’s tried to speak to you a few times in the palace when you work. His eyes always trained on you with something you’re unable to describe when you clean nearby.

You wish you could say it was perverse in manner, but it was nothing of the sort.

Every once and awhile you would catch a lily pinned to his breast pocket. He would send you a secret smile whenever it caught your attention. As if it was a tale meant for only the two of you to know. As if he wanted to carry a portion of you with him.

You may be naive in saying so, nor do you have much experience in the matter, but these do not feel like the actions of a man who simply wishes to find home under your dress. These feel more personal. More extravagant than anything else.

Nevertheless, you ignore every single advance. Annabell made you promise, and it was a promise you were intent on keeping until your dying breath.

Put the letters away in a box, never to be responded to. Avoided looking at him whenever he was near. Rushed out of rooms when it appeared he was intent on making his war for you.

Icing out the prince is what is best. Whatever lilies he will wilt and die and you will be able to continue on with your hatred of the Kim family as well as your blood pact with the throne.

You only wish it was that easy.

“Y/n!! Miss Y/n!!” There is a scramble outside of the door, voices hailing for your presence. You don’t know why– you’re on wash duty. Anyone, unless they’re extraordinarily new, would know that.

The voice grows more erratic, more panicked. As if their life depends on finding you in that very moment. The other maids in the quarters send their glaces to you, urging you to go yet not one opens their mouths.

At least one bonus of endenturing your entire life to the palace is that you have grown in rank. More than 10 years has granted you a decent position.

A hushed sigh slips past your lips and your hands find themselves forcing the pile of sheets into the washing tub. Your hands quickly wipe away at your apron, ridding them of any moisture before pushing open the door.

Stepping into the hallway lined with stone you notice only a single girl. Her entire form shaking as she paces the hall– panicked. Blonde curls bouncing with every step, cheeks a fluster.

A new recruit, indeed. Celley is the name she wears.

She had just entered with the last batch of new maids, starting at the palace no more than 2 months ago. She was a recruit you were unsure of– not having a lick of grace or balance, nor any experience with serving. But you suppose there are many reasons maids are chosen.

You do not like to think of them.

Her feet are suddenly clamouring over to you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’ve stepped in the hallway. Her small, shaking hands grip your shoulders, holding you with all the will she seems to possess.

“Excuse me have you seen–” She stops herself, tiny pants pausing as her eyes go wide, “Oh my days! Miss Y/n! You must hurry!” She rushes, hand gripping your wrist as she tries to pull you away.

Though your face twists in confusion, your feet remain firm.

“What’s the matter?” You ask, both sympathy and concern entering your frame. You can admonish her later for her lack of manners, however now, the girl seems truly frightened. Her large steel eyes looking back at you, pleading.

“The crown prince! He’s!” She’s out of breath once again, continuing to try and urge you on.

This time, the second the word prince is muttered, you begin to follow her pace, “He’s lost his mind! He’s going on a firing spree! Locking up anyone who tries to calm him!”

“What? Why is that? Did something happen?” You ask hushed, urging the girl to keep her voice down. Though you both are similar in age, it is apparent who has experienced this type of thing before.

“He got into some kind of spat with his father. His instructor was fired when he tried to continue on with their lesson.” It seems she understood your message, continuing to hurry you down the halls.

“And what am I meant to do?”

“I-I don’t know!” She lets out a quiet yelp, pulling you closer as you exit the maid hallways and enter the palace ones, “His personal maid is away visiting family. She said to leave everything to you if something were to happen! I-I didn’t know what else to do!”

Damn Eleanor and everything she stands for. Why the hell did she have to bring your name into this?! Shouldn’t the head maid be called in times like this?! Not you, someone who wants nothing to do with any member of the royal family. Especially the crown prince himself. Sure, there must be rumours spreading around but you had managed nearly three weeks without speaking to him!

You let out a sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident, more put together. You will do this, and you will come out victorious. Every battle before has left you victor. What is one more?

“I understand. It will be dealt with.”

The least you can gain is the idyllic picture of the prince to be shattered forever. That would be the most ideal outcome, something to truly force him out of your heart for good. You will not fall prey to him and his earthly desires. He will not win your heart.

At least that is what you hope.

The throne room's doors stand before you, delicate lacings of gold worth more than your entire being etched into its surface. A glittering picture for what is sure to be a bloodbath behind its contents.

A deep inhale of warm air fills your lungs, hand pressing against the door as you force it open. Face someone you have not wanted to see nor extinguish the flames of in nearly a month.

He stands before you, 20 paces ahead. A broken bottle in his hand as he heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the passion of ten thousand suns. The look of murder in his eyes as he stares down at a maid, her form on the ground. Bowing with as much might as she can possess, looking for any exit possible. Few other maids stand around the room, keeping their heads low, avoiding any eye contact possible.

Though he looks like a mad man– mayhaps a god of war himself, not a single hair is out of place on his head. He is still the picture of sovereignty. And though your breath spikes, you find that you are not afraid.

What a strange feeling it is.

The creak of the door sends single to him, has him whipping his head to face you. Anger etched into his features, a new target befalling his sight.

You stand tall, moving towards him. You will rise to the position given to you, even if it shall mean your inevitable downfall. As long as the new staff are safe.

Only, when he looks to you, no wrath is found. No anger or deceit. The second his eyes meet your own, his expression drops along with the bottle in his hands. More glass littering the floor in its wake.

His eyes soften, his lips turning from a sneer into a gentle frown. His shoulders automatically lower, and suddenly it appears that there is no one else in the room. His legs move automatically, carrying themselves to you with such a hurried pace you would have thought he had seen a long lost friend.

Oddly, this scares you more than when he was angered.

You start into a bow, “Prince Kim, I’ve come in place of–”

His arms wrap themselves around you before you can speak another word. Pulling you in, wrapping you into his scent as you're pressed against his sturdy chest. Strong arms keep you in place as he tries to make his body become one with your own.

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, one hand raising to tie itself in your hair. It forces you to stay in place, stay attached to him just the way he wants you to be. Allows him to inhale, breathing in all of you. Finally delving into the scent that he has been craving.

Your eyes only widen, hands staying firm at your side in shock. Heart beginning to race, head becoming lost in the soaps that only a member of a family could possibly own.

You’re not sure what to do. How to behave. As far as you are concerned or aware, this is something that no other has had happen before. At least not so openly. Not so brazenly in front of a myriad of other people.

But, it seems to calm him. To placate him in a way you’re not sure anyone could explain.

You try to make a small twisting motion with your hand, try to urge everyone else to leave while they have the chance.

They seem to take it, exiting the room as fast as possible.

You’re sure word of this will spread throughout the castle quickly. You hope the consequences will not be dire.

“Prince Kim–” You begin to speak after everyone has cleared out, after he holds you for what feels like a lifetime. You can’t find it in you to want him to pull away, no matter how embarrassing this seems.

“Shh,” He quickly silences you with a gentle press of his lips to your pulse, “Let me stay like this for a moment.”

You are unable to move. Unable to breathe after he kisses you. War could begin in that very moment and you’re not sure you would have noticed in the slightest. You are stunned into obeying his whim as he simply inhales and exhales.

The umber in his voice only comes after a millennia, after his shoulders have completely sagged. After all the tension is removed from his body.

“You didn’t respond to my letters.” He still doesn’t pull away, his grip on your hair tightening a fraction.

You pause.

“I…I didn’t know where to send them.” You lie and his hand loosens. The correct answer.

“My study. Put them under the door to my study.” He instructs like a king would.

You’re not sure why the tone of his voice sends shocks to your gut. Pooling into something you only find in your dreams.

“But if someone were to see them–”

“Let them.” Mumbles in your ear to you and you alone, a growl practically spiking through his voice, “I want them to know.”

Oh. This is new. This is definitely new. This is not the same way you felt with the stable boy years ago. This has become something entirely alienating. A completely different beast. You know that now as his baritone voice sends waves straight through your gut.

You simply nod in reply, your mouth unwilling to say anything back. The arm around your lower back grows more firm.

“Tell me where you will put your replies.” He commands into your ear.

“Under the door to your study.” Your reply is automatic, years of answering to the kingdom evident in your tone.

He sighs, unfurling his fingers from your locks to gently pet the top of your head, “Good girl.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft as he touches you.

“Good lamb.”

You sigh, fingers deftly searching through your wardrobe for just a single pair of underwear. But once again, you turn up empty. It seems like every day that passes, another pair disappears without your knowledge.

Perhaps one of the new girls is causing a fuss, messing up the laundry for everyone else.

That is the only logical solution, at least.

But logic doesn’t seem to make much sense at all anymore. You couldn’t hope to understand why few of your other belongings have come up indignant as well.

Your favourite perfume, one of your stuffed animals, even your toothbrush! All have magically vanished from thin air over the course of the last week.

It is too bad that you haven’t had the time to think about it, either. Preparations for the ball have been raging throughout the palace. Everyone has been on their toes, unwilling to face the wrath of the planners as they try to make everything perfect.

You have had not one moment alone to think, either swept up in cleaning, decorating, or well… recently you and the prince have been going on walks through the garden at night. Though that doesn’t matter much. It doesn’t mean anything– just another thing he made you promise to. Claiming he wishes to spend as much time with you as he can.

His recent fixation is trying to get you to call him by his true name.

You would never dare, nothing is more inappropriate than such a title. It is something only his most beloved is meant to call him, and that person is certainly not you.

You try to force any thoughts of him out of your head, though it is clearly a fruitless endeavour. Especially with the dream you had the night prior.

His hands finding themselves between your legs, touching you in a way no other has.

You flush, quickly shaking all thoughts of the night away.

The tea! Your tea, yes. A prescription from the doctor for this very thing.

More often than not, you wake to find a mess between your thighs. Sticky arousal between them in a perverse fashion. The region sensitive and overstimulated combined with a mess of dreams. More sexual in nature than ever before.

Embarrassed, you had turned to the only person you could trust. The palace staff’s doctor.

She had told you it was normal– that you were simply having what she described as ‘wet-dreams’. The title alone made you feel embarrassed.

Nevertheless, she prescribed you a tea to help calm your nerves. It was meant to be passifying in nature, calming any lush desires you may have beginning to form.

You were not sure how it functioned, however you trusted her. Found that it quelled whatever fire burned inside of your heart for the time being.

Perhaps just a new oddity to add to your reality, you suppose.

Finally, you find a proper set of undergarments to pull over your legs. Letting out a breath in relief now that you finally have them.

Today is going to be busier than the last month combined– the ball is tonight. You know for a fact you will be rushed around the palace all day, fixing everything into an acute sense of perfection that only the Kim family is known for.

You reach to spray your second favourite perfume across your skin, only to find that the bottle has gone missing as well.

Your hairs stand on edge, a dark pit forming in your stomach.

It is all too strange for you to want to understand.

Okay, now you’re sure Annabell must be wrong. She has to be, right? There is no other conclusion possible.

The thoughts run through your head as you pace the small confines of your room. Thumb between your lips, biting the skin feverishly. Contemplating what it is exactly that you should do. A heavy box sitting on your bed, a letter laying next to it along with a single lily.

A month ago, you met Prince Kim in the gardens. A month ago you spoke to him all night long. A month ago he brought you flowers. He has been leaving you letters ever since. Three weeks ago he held you in his arms, made you promise to write him back. Made you promise to meet him in the gardens as many nights as you can.

But this, you could not accept. You could not possibly think this is real. Why has he gifted you something like this?

A dress lays on your bed. The most gorgeous dress you have ever seen, in fact. Lined with crystals and gems, many layers of tulle poof from the underskirt. It must’ve cost a fortune, but it was not meant for you. It is a dress meant for a princess, not a simple maid of the palace. Not… Not someone the prince simply wanted to bed.

So why did it lie here, along with a lace mask and a pair of shoes. Why did it come with a note from the Prince, telling you to put it on for tonight's events? Is this why the head maid dismissed you so early?

No. You could not. You will not make a fool of yourself. You do not belong up there, dressed as a princess when you are far from the thing. That is your decision. It will be the one you stick to.

Even as hours tick past on the clock, even as you can hear the night in full swing, you stay locked in your room. Feeling the same as you did when you were a girl locked in the dungeon all those years ago. Helpless, indignant, stubborn.

Lost in your thoughts as you try to piece together a puzzle that has several spaces missing. Feelings for the stable boy– life with him, it would have been easier than this. You’re sure of it.

You allow yourself to imagine what life could have been like if he stayed. It would have been a cosy, peaceful. A straightforward one that didn’t leave so many questions in your head. Jungkook was always like that, spoke his mind without leaving anything to be guessed. You adored it, wished you could revel in it now. Wish you could kiss him under the cherry tree once more.

A pounding wakes you from the dream you were just beginning to weave. Loud, angry knuckles against the firm oak of your door startling you to your feet in an instant. Chills running down your spine as if your body already knew who was behind it.

You wait too long to reply, another series of rapts following in quick succession. You’re in trouble. You’ve angered the prince in a way you’re not sure you’ll be able to find your way out of, but you have no choice. He knows your inside. You know you must face him. You must be brave.

Right before another series of knocks can echo against the walls, you finally pull the door open.

There stands the man you knew would be there all along, sculpted like the lord had made him himself. You wish you could behold him properly, to stare at his beauty in the suit specially prepared for this night. One he asked your opinion of several times during its construction.

But you are unable to, not when his shoulders heave like a bull planning its charge. Not when his eyes are narrowed into a glare that enters your soul without consequence. Never before had you felt his anger directed at you.

The future king would be a fearsome thing.

“It appears you are not dead.” He states, cold and detached in a way you have never heard before. It makes you feel small, feel weak. Though by now, you know he wants an answer. He will not accept the lack of one from you anymore.

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, “I suppose not…”

“Then what do you suppose.” You flinch. You’re not sure.

“I– Prince Kim…”

“Taehyung.” He interjects, though you ignore him. Only his future wife is meant to call him by that name.

“Prince Kim, I could not possibly accept this gift. You have to understand.” The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink. To appear as small as possible to placate the lion you’ve wondered into the den of.

“I do not. You are to accept any gift I am to give you.” He is stern as if lecturing the ground beneath him. He looks massive in your tiny room, taking up much more space than you wish to grant him.

You begin to grow frustrated, annoyed. Does he have no sanity? Does he really think it is okay to play with the hearts of women so carelessly? It is disgusting. Repulsive even! You do not deserve anything like this. You begin to grow tense, grow firm like a wolf cornered. Ready to lash out with no remorse.

That is what you are, anyway. A cornered animal with no hope to escape.

“I won’t.” You raise your shoulders, stand taller and stare him straight in the eyes. If this will have you sent to the axe then so be it.

He grows just as tense in reply, his lips forming a sneer as he takes a step closer towards you.

Never before has Prince Kim been opposed like this before, you’re sure of it. The way his irises become darker is proof.

“And why is that, lamb?” He mocks, and the fire inside of you only begins to glow brighter Of course, you’re just the lamb that's wandered into the lion's den. The lamb being prepared for meal.

Steam clouds around your head, jaw becoming tense as you try to hold back your rage. Rage for your mother, rage for the life she was taunted into the same way the prince is trying to do to you now.

“I will not become another woman you bed and then lay waste to!” You practically shout, unable to hold back your emotions anymore.

His nostrils flare, “Excuse me?”

“You heard my words.” You state back, indignant, “I will not be an idiot. I will not become another woman who you use for your own pleasures!”

You hear him scoff, head turning away from you for the first time as he looks around your room.

“You think that little of me?” His eyes make their way back to you, his face having the expression of somewhat… hurt?

Suddenly, you’re unsure. You feel stupid all over again though you’re not entirely conscious as to why. You hurt him? How could you possibly hurt the most powerful person in the country?

You falter in your stance, and it is obvious that he takes notice. Uses it to his advantage as he takes another step closer, makes his hand find your own. His thumb brushing soothingly over the knuckle. His hands are always so soft.

“What else am I meant to think? I’ve heard the stories, Prince Kim.” Where once was fire lays blistering coals. Hot to the touch yet unyielding in their passion. The air in the room has changed in much the same way.

“Tell me of them.” He asks you, his voice now gentle, soft.

It is strange, the complete change he’s had since first entering your room. Has your brain going a little haywire. Especially with the way he stares at your hands. Like they could be locked forever.

“I…” You feel flush, embarrassed to mutter the words in front of the prince, “I’ve heard you seduce women… princesses, noblemen’s daughters, maids… the lot. Then you abandon them the next morning with your seed in their core and a knife in their heart.”

You keep your eyes to your feet, face feeling hot by repeating the words of your friend. You refuse to look at him, you cannot take the embarrassment.

A light chuckle leaves his lips, a hand coming up to attempt to muffle them, “Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. You’re baring your soul to him! How dare he laugh!

He coughs to muffle the rest of the sound, returning to the moment, “I apologise. I just had the realisation. You’re jealous of them, aren’t you lamb?”

A mess of flutters takes up your stomach, your shoulders raising in alarm. Your lips open to try and form words, to try and deny the allegations made your way, yet you are entirely unable.

Especially with the way he moves closer, crowds your space with such ease. Leads close to you, whispers words in your ear, voice lower than before.

“You wish it to just be you I lay with, is that so?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as another, more erotic chill finds its way down your spine.

“Th-That isn’t–” You try to speak, but your voice sounds as light as air. He moves closer, arm carrying itself around your back, pulling you flush against him as he speaks sinful words. Words only for you.

“Ah…” He sighs in relief, lips practically touching your ear once you’re finally connected to him, “You don’t like it when I go fuck your friends then come to spend my nights talking to you… writing to you… touching myself to the thought of you.”

You cannot take it. You cannot take this, take him. Your head is spinning, clouding with the drug known as Prince Kim. Your knees feel weak, your limbs feel all too heavy. How can someone so pretty say such sinful words without a second thought. It’s too much. Far more than your poor little heart can take.

Your arms come up, press as firm as they can against his chest despite how weak they feel.

“Mmm…?” He asks in response, pulling back to look down on your face. Mock confusion spread across his features. He takes a step back, pretending to look you up and down. Like he is just playing a game of poker while all of your tells are as clear as day.

“Or is that not what you wish?” He asks, head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “You would like things to remain the same?” He smiles, drawing conclusions all on his own.

He pauses, waits for you to say something, anything before continuing. But you do not, so he will keep playing this game by himself.

“Then I shall go find someone to keep me company for the night. Mmm..” He taps his chin in contemplation, turning on his heels, meanwhile panic and dread fills every facet of your being, “What were those ones you’re friends with again? Celley? That pretty blonde? Oh, or maybe Annabell. I’m sure she would be prepared to go for a second round.”

What? What? No, No! What is he talking about? Why is he starting to walk away?! Wait, Annabell, second time?! She has before?!

Oh heavens, oh gods.

“Anyway, I'll be sure to write to you after. Have a good night, dream of me.” You begin to hyperventilate as he takes one step out the door. No, he can’t leave. You don’t want him to. You don’t want him to be with anybody else. You can’t let it happen. You can’t afford such a thing! Ever! That is not where he is meant to be!

Your body carries you before your mind does. Hand slipping out, gripping onto the back of his coat with all of the strength you can muster. Feet planted firm in your room, doing everything in your power to not let him leave.

It is really too bad you do not see the sick smile that forms on his lips. Maybe then the pieces of the puzzle would have finally clicked in place.

Instead he only tilts his head backwards, painting a complexion of boredom.

“N-No! I don’t want that!” You finally manage to stutter out, knuckles turning white with the strength you hold onto him. Afraid if you let go in the slightest he will pull away and disappear forever. “I don’t want you to be with other women!”

The silence that follows your confession feels a mile long.

“Then go put on the dress.” Out of any response there could be, that certainly was not the one you were anticipating.

“What…?”

His chin tilts in the direction of it, urging you on, “If that is the truth, then go put on the dress.”

“I…” You hesitate for only a moment, but scramble to motion once the prince turns to leave once again.

You make quick paces to your bed, keeping your back to him. You feel his eyes on your back, intent on giving you no privacy to ensure you follow through on his order.

In fact, all he does is close the door behind you. Making sure no one will be able to see in. No one will be able to watch you save for him.

You slowly peel off the cotton of your nightgown, trying to appear brave even though his eyes are trained on your form. Even if your slip still remains on, you have never been this uncovered in front of a man before. You feel entirely bare.

You do not look at him as you finally find your way through the tool, slipping the garment over your head with struggle, yet his face is practically predatory.

You don’t know his plans, or what he wishes to gain. You never do.

As the fabric settles over your hips, half of you wants to question how the size is perfect, but you refrain. Too embarrassed by everything else to even consider it an option. Your hands reach behind you to attempt to lace up the back on your own, yet another pair are already present in their place.

When did he get so close? How did he get so close without you hearing a thing? Your heartbeat must be the only sound in your ears, that must be it.

His fingers work down your spine, tightening the dress so it fits you perfectly. Tying it off with skill you did not know he had. You feel his breath on the back of your neck. A fire begins to grow in your core.

“I was going to present you to my father tonight.” He admits, placing a gentle kiss to the base of your neck, “The ball was meant to find my bride.”

“Oh.” Those are the only words you can say when he is so close, arms enclosing around your waist. Pulling your back flush with his chest.

Only words you can manage at the revelation.

“Imagine his disappointment, more so my own when the girl I had been speaking to him about did not show.” He grunts, almost as if it hurt him. Guiding your body to stand in front of the full mirror in your room. Asking– telling you to look at yourself.

The sight is strange, yet incredible. The crown prince of the entire nation standing in your bedroom, in the maids quarters. Surrounded by squalor and chaos. Arms wrapped around a maid dressed as if she could be a queen.

You look up at him to the best of your ability, regret plastered across your features, “Prince Kim–”

“Taehyung.”

“--I’m so sorry.” He does not look you in the eyes. They stay trained ahead, not straying once from the mirror. One hand rubbing small circles into the fabric covering your stomach, the other sliding to your waist.

He touches you without care, without reason. Feeling you against him for all that it is worth.

“Actions have consequences, that is all. They can come later.” He states plainly, “For now I just wish to indulge in you.”

He brings his face down, placing it right next to yours. His hand rises, making your chin face the mirror as well.

He forces you to make eye contact with him through it, forces you to understand each of his words clearly.

“You’ll let me do that, won’t you?”

You take a deep breath, gulping down all the air you can manage. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more.

With no more than a nod, his lips are on yours.

Spinning you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands cupping your cheeks with such intensity you fear they may become etched into your skin forever. Keeping your lips closed against his own.

His body cages you in, pressing entirely against you. Forming against you in perfect harmony, feeling two souls become one. Feeling each other fully for the first time– no pretence or public eye in the way to stop it.

His teeth nip at your lower lip, biting in a way that has you opening them in pain. He takes the opportunity to lick his way inside, somehow pushing even closer to your body.

Something hard presses against you and the discovery has your knees wishing to collapse.

The prince can’t possibly be this big. He simply can’t.

The kiss has you reeling, unsure of anything. Unsure of what to do at all. It is nothing like your first kiss under the cherry tree with Jungkook. That was soft and sweet, docile as two people discover something new.

This, this is nothing of the sort. It is hungry. It is a beast that has been starved, finally getting its first meal. It is intoxicating. It is needy and desperate in a way that has your fingers trying to press themselves even deeper into the glass. It has your breath being robbed. Your lifeforce wilts away to satisfy only the prince.

The groan he lets out as you finally give into him, finally allow him to take control of the kiss as arousal pools in your gut. It is one of the most deadly siren’s calls you think you’ve ever heard. One that would have any woman throwing themselves overboard for just a taste.

“Finally,” He grunts, pulling no more than a millilitre away from your lips, wetness still connecting them, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for you.” He mumbles, hungrily connecting his mouth back to your own.

Before you know it, you’re lost in the man once again. Allowing him to move you, to guide you to your bed without withdrawing from you once. Tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull away. Making you drunk off of his taste, off of him.

When he kisses you like this, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to live without him.

Your knees hit the frame of your bed and all of a sudden you're falling backwards onto its plush lining. Panting, trying to regain some of the air he stole from you.

For the first time you’re able to look up at him, to discover the mess that he has become. Cheeks red, lips swollen. Eyes dark and twisted with lust. Hair ruffled messily from where your fingers laid. Shoulders rising and falling with effort as he catches his breath as well.

He looks gorgeous and you can’t help yourself hoping this will be only a sight for you forever.

He leans down, pecking your lips once more, “I couldn’t stop myself from imagining this. Since the moment I placed an order for your dress.”

He huffs, dropping to his knees in front of you. You sit up on your elbows, face twisted into confusion as you look down at him.

God. It is too dangerous to look at him right now. You know that as another wave of heat runs straight to your core.

“Pushing up the future queen's skirt.” He groans, hands gaining purchase on your hips, pulling you down so your waist sits at the edge of the bed, “Letting myself have a taste of her while everyone else at the party danced.”

O-Oh. Oh. He sees you as, oh god.

His fingers bunch in the material of your skirt, drawing in a shaky inhale as he holds onto any drop of sanity left.

When he sees no hesitation from you, he slowly begins to push the material up your legs. Eyes trained on your own, looking to you for any sign of discomfort.

“Have her come undone on my tongue while no else was the wiser.” He groans as he finally comes face to face with your panty covered core.

Your brain moves at a snail's pace, trying to keep up with every tiny movement the prince makes. Trying to process his words while your head becomes fuzzy with your own arousal.

You feel like mush, so pliable in his grip.

His large hands slowly begin to part your thighs, to look at what he has been craving for so long when your brain catches up with you, embarrassment overcoming your being.

“Y-You can’t! I-it is dirty to do such a thing.” At least, that is what you had been taught. Though, the look in his eyes and the growl from his throat tells you the opposite.

“You could never be dirty. No part of you could ever be.” The sound he lets out is more akin to an animal than anything else, and suddenly you feel like a schoolgirl. Flustered and embarrassed beyond anything else.

The muscles of your thighs untense, the look on your face blushed and biting.

“You will let me?” He asks again, and despite your embarrassment, you nod. He is going to be king… his word is rule afterall. He wishes it, so it will happen. You could not be more pleased to oblige.

His grip on your thighs is more firm than before, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he pries your legs apart. He lets a groan resonate from the back of his throat at the sight. Panties sticking to your center, wetness pooling just behind causing the material to almost become transparent before him.

You did not know it was possible for a man to have such an effect on you.

Without a second thought, he pushes the material down your thighs. His tongue licking a long stripe up your cunt, savouring the flavour for every cent it is worth.

He moans at the taste, not wasting a second before he dives back in. Lapping against you like it is his last meal.

A mewl leaves your lips, too many feelings crossing you at once for any of them to be worth anything.

Embarrassment, shame, fear all vanish the moment his lips wrap around your clit, sucking against the small bundle of nerves in a manner that has your back arching against the bed. Fingertips digging into the sheets to find a second lease on life.

You try to look down at him, to find him between all of your small pants of pleasure, however he is gone. Disappearing until the layers of fabric while he brings you sensations you never thought were possible.

His tongue moves like it is made to pleasure only you. Taking turns flicking your clit to lowering into your center. Licking up any bit of arousal he can make out. Trailing up once again to press flat against the bundle of nerves.

All of it has your legs kicking, your breath melting.

He is not quiet either, letting you know exactly how much he adores this. Adores the feeling of your thighs wrapped tight around his head. Adores every little sound and reaction you have to give him. Adores the taste of you on his tongue. It was only meant for him.

It feels like he has been wishing to do this far longer than you would ever know. Consuming you whole from the inside out. Causing you to become addicted, to desire him just as much as he carnally craves you.

His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking out every ounce of pleasure that he is willing to give you. Your adorable mewls and whines grow louder, peaking every time he sucks on your clit.

A coil has begun to form in your gut, feeling as though it could snap at any second. You wish you could see him, to look at his face and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. Observe the exact look on his face as he licks your cunt.

You try to picture it. Try to imagine the way he would look up at you from between your legs. The dark umber his eyes would become, the gentle circles he would rub into your thigh as you finally make eye contact.

Your walls clench around his tongue, sending a new waves of whines out of your mouth. He somehow moves faster, more precisely with every movement. Like he is able to hone in on the exact things that have your thighs quivering.

His tongue moves up, takes your small, worn clit into his mouth. Alternating between sucking against it, flicking at it, and pressing against it firm with the flat of his tongue.

Without warning, nor any reprise, one of his thick fingers is thrust into your wet heat. Filling you in a way you have never been able to do to yourself. Stretching you. And all of a sudden, you’re flying off the edge of a precipice.

“Prince Kim!” Your back arches off of the bed, head thrown back against the mattress as you let out a moan. Your hips jolt, cunt squeezing around his fingers, heels digging into the floor as you come undone before him.

He works you through it with ease and grace, finger slowly thrusting in and out. Tongue firmly planted against your clit to ride you through your high.

It would not be your last of the night. He must be gentle.

Slowly, you relax against the bed, chest heaving from exertion. He pulls away from you, standing to full height before leaning over your shaking form.

Your arousal coats his face, a sheen from his lips and chin evident against the soft yellow glow of the room. He looks down at you, concern and adoration written across his features. Though in his eyes, it appears that the beast has yet to be quelled.

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You taste yourself against them.

“You are delicious. I wish to eat you every night until I die.” He mumbles against your lips, his knee sliding between your legs. Muscle pressing against your swollen cunt.

You try to flinch away, yet the hand on your hip keeps you in place.

He will not have you running away.

Not now.

Your cheeks flush at his words, wide eyes looking up at him like he is all that matters.

He is.

He presses his knee further against your pussy while his lips trail down the column of your neck. Urging you towards the headboard with no words spoken until your head is against the pillows.

Your arms wind their way around his neck, keeping him in place, “I-if we were married, I would let you.” You manage to speak, your voice shaky.

He only smiles in reply. Fingers digging deeper into your waist as if he is holding himself back.

“Then we shall call this practice for our wedding night.” He smiles, sitting back on his heels.

Marriage, wedding night. You allow the thought to ghost through your mind, willing it to be reality.

He smiles down at you, taking note in the way you seem to gleam at the idea. A small chuckle leaves his lips, you really are too cute for your own good.

His voice is no more than a whisper, forcing you to stay enrapt, “You will let me, right?” He asks, eyes glancing down to where his pants strain against his hips, “I wish to make love to my future wife.”

Your mouth practically waters at the sight, his hard cock pressed taught against the expensive material. You swear there may even be a wet spot where his cum has leaked through.

Your pussy clenches, wanting nothing more for him to find his way inside. For him to claim you for himself. Destroy you so no other man can have you in the same way.

You struggle against yourself for no more than a moment, but the way his hand reaches down, grips at his cock. Brushes his thumb over the surface has you moaning in want.

“Please.”

He smiles, the motion following swift. All at once his hands unbutton his pants, pushing the material down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. He groans at the feeling, thick length hitting his stomach. Pretty pre-cum dripping down the side.

Your eyes go wide. If you imagined him to be large before, seeing it now looked impossible. He is thick, long. Far too big to ever hope to fit inside of you.

But the desperate groan in his voice, the hungry look in his eyes only has you spreading your legs. Wishing nothing more than for him to destroy you.

One hand wraps around the base as he moves closer, the other forcing the skirt of your dress as high as it will allow. He makes space for himself in between your thighs, slotting himself in. Ready to do what he has been waiting years for.

Not yet.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry. So he leans down, planting a gentle, soothing kiss to your lips. One filled with years of time behind it.

He knows he must be careful with you. Knows all of his patience will have been worth it when he is finally able to take your virginity.

“Will it hurt?” You as quietly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. You find comfort in him. Find a sense of safety within his eyes.

He nods in response, “Only for a little while, I promise.” He mumbles against your lips, placing a soft kiss against them once more.

He slowly rubs the fat head between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your hips buck slightly in response, and he can’t help but smirk.

So sensitive. So ready for him.

As much as he wants to be rough, he can’t. He can’t scare you away just yet.

He looks into your eyes once more, “Ready?” He asks, giving you one final chance to back out. You only nod your head, pulling him close, hiding your face in his neck.

His head catches on your opening with the final drag of his length through your lips. His hands practically shake in excitement, as he guides himself inside. Letting go only once the tip is buried within your walls.

He feels your teeth sink into his coat, your body burning with the stretch of him. He only has the first inch inside, yet you think it is more than you could possibly take.

A choked cry leaves your lips as he continues to slowly thrust inside. Your arms cling to him as tight as possible. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as he fills you, forming your entire body just around him. Just around his cock.

He pauses only once half of his cock is buried in your needy cunt. You feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, to bring you back down to reality from the pain you feel digging at your core. Trying to bring you some sense of comfort.

You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes, expecting to see them soft. Filled with concern. Though there is nothing of the sort there.

Behind his bangs is only the look of pure insanity.

Though he tries to be compassionate, he really does.

“Are you doing okay?” His voice is strangled, coming out in only desperate cracks. He shakes, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself inside. Fuck himself deeper and deeper, until your cunt is shaped for his cock alone.

But he holds restraint. Just enough.

The way he looks at you, the way he speaks has a wave of pleasure rushing through your skin. Your walls clamp around him, tightening even more.

He is falling apart before you, because of you.

He has gone mad because of you.

The feeling only makes you want to urge him on. See just how far the prince can fall.

You nod your head, looking at him with all the affections in the world, “Don’t stop.”

He groans at your words, mind losing itself as he snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock inside until his hips are firm against your own. Teeth digging into the fragile skin of your neck.

You cry out in pain, your walls squeezing around him in shock. Pain coursing through your entire system as you are filled to the brim. Walls stretched as wide as humanly possible. The head of cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your lungs.

“Shit.” He groans, mouth falling open, “This pretty thing is wrapped around me so tight, lamb. So fucking tight I can’t think.”

He slowly tries to move his hips, though you only shout in response. Your legs wrap around his back, doing their utmost to keep him in place.

“Hurts!” You whine, shaking your head quickly.

Fucking hell. What is the point of a pussy as sweet as your own if he can’t use it properly?

His hand moves between your legs, growl of impatience slipping past his lips as his fingers find your clit. They work with urgency, with need. Rubbing tight circles into it, trying to get you to feel the same pleasure he does.

You whine, overstimulated. Shots fired in all directions leaving you messy and confused.

With every circle, a mewl sounds from your throat. Slowly your legs behind him loosen, the pain from before mixing with pleasure to become something wonderful. Something that has you whimpering for him to not stop.

“See?” He grunts, slowly slipping out of your heat until only the tip remains, “We were made for each other.”

He forces his cock back inside, fucking you open just for him. Only ever for him.

Your nails dig into his back, heels digging into the mattress as you moan for him. As your cunt becomes addicted to the feeling of him filling you so perfectly. Addicted to everything he has to offer.

He moves too fast, too hard for you to even hope to keep up with. Hips pistoning into you, forcing you to take everything he has to give and more. Forcing you to be the perfect little doll for him, give him all the pleasure he can want and more. White mixing with red around the base of his cock.

Your back arches off the mattress to try and get closer to him, to try and keep up with him in any hope of the sentiment. Hips trying their best to keep him as close and as deep as possible, knowing they crave one thing and one thing alone.

“Prince Kim!” You moan, yet he growls in response. A sharp slap to your thigh sounds throughout the room as his hips pause, fingers removing themselves from your clit.

“That isn’t my name to you anymore.” His voice is low, menacing in your ear. One more poke of the bear and you will be punished. “Tae–Hyung.”

He emphasises the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, one that brushes against the bundle inside of you. One that leaves you crying out for him. Clinging on to him.

“Say it.” He grunts, animalistic and desperate. Yet you’re too lost in yourself to realise how debauched he’s become. Looking less and less like a man, more like a demon come to lay waste to your soul.

That is close enough to the truth, anyway.

“Say it until it becomes the only word you know. Every question I ask, every time I fuck myself into this sweet little cunt. Your only reply should be my name.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at him.

Your fucked out little features as you bob your head in compliance.

“I-I” You swallow, trying to understand his words as he pounds away at your core, “I understand!”

He smiles, almost proud of the work he has done today.

His hips only move impossibly faster, impossibly harder in a way that has that knot in your gut tightening once more.

“We’ll start simple then. What is my name?” He asks, angling his hips to press against your sweet spot with ever slight movement. Breathe panting, his mind falling deeper and deeper into the thralls of your body.

“P-Prin–” You stop yourself, a pinch coming down on your skin, “Taehyung!”

He groans, almost coming undone as he hears your name fall from your lips for the very first time. The pretty sound your voice makes with every letter.

It could be the only thing he hears for the rest of his life.

“Who are you going to marry?”

You whine, your head thrashing around slightly. He smiles. You must really enjoy the idea of that, huh?

“T-Taehyung!” You manage to stutter out again, feeling your release coming closer and closer as the seconds pass by.

“Who is the man you have fallen for?” The answer to the question is easy, especially when he is fucking into you like you’re the only woman that matters. Nothing matters except for him.

“Taehyung!” Your brain is too fuzzy to process anything else. Anything other than the way his cock fills you. Anything other than the one word he told you is your gospel.

“Who is the boy that kissed you under the cherry tree?” You don’t even know anymore.

Does any man exist beside Taehyung anyway? You doubt it.

“Taehyung!” He smiles into your neck.

“Who was the boy that was going to have you killed? That saved your life?” His words don’t process through your ears, yet you know what you are meant to say anyway.

“Taehyung!” He groans, his hips stuttering, losing their pace ever so slightly.

“Who do you belong to?”

“Taehyung!” You whine, your thighs shaking. The coil so tight you think you may just die if it doesn’t come undone in this very moment.

His breath is quiet, only a rough whisper in your ear, “Cum.”

Just as your king commands, you fall apart around him. White dots in the corner of your eyes as you clamp down around him, your legs pulling him close. A cry of his name leaving your lungs as if it is the very air you breathe.

You feel him paint the inside of your walls white, his hips stuttering– fucking himself as deep into you as he could possibly manage. If you had any sense left in your little head you would have told him to pull out, yet your brain is so high. Filled with pleasure that only Taehyung can provide.

Waves of arousal crash around you as he slows his hips, ensuring that you ride out your orgasm to its fullest before pulling away. You wish he could stay buried inside of you, just like that. Yet you doubt that would be very wise.

“Was that good for you, little lamb?” He asks, slowly helping you into a sit. You’re not sure how to properly answer– mouth feeling dry. Your head has not yet come crashing back down, though that is probably a good thing.

Facing reality is too scary right now. Especially when Taehyung is so warm. So caring as he removes your dress. Slips your nightgown back over your soiled body.

“Very…” You nod, unable to take your eyes off of him as he moves around the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, removing his shirt and dress-coat. Placing them over the back of a chair. Neatly hanging the dress on a hook, taking care that it is not damaged in any way.

Your arms find themselves reaching out to him, trying to pull him closer to you. He smiles once he takes notice.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” It is clear he was already planning on it, but hearing the words make you smile oh-so bright.

“Yes, please.” You nod quickly, eyes already feeling tired. You did not know how he had so much energy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Right now he is meant to be in your bed, arms around you. In fact, you become annoyed that he isn’t already.

“Alright.” He smiles, slipping next to your form. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

You feel so safe. So warm with him. So protected that you can’t stop yourself from falling asleep.

“Goodnight my lamb.”

The Kim Empire.

His home, his family, his livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

Yet, the only thoughts that seem to brandish his mind since the young age of 15 are about you.

When you first stumbled in front of him, carrying a tray of tea. Spilling it all over his shoes. That quick curse that left your lips before looking up at him. The wide, doelike vision you had once recognition had set in. One the realisation of error set into your bones.

He will never forget the way his heart began to race in that very moment. The way he felt a cloth of sickness overcome his whole body at the mere sight of you. Looking so serendipitous below him.

At first he thought it was hate, how silly he had been back then. Ah, the way he sent you to be killed was just funny to him now. He is grateful he talked to his mother before your execution date. Spilling his soul to her, detailing how he could not seem to remove you from his brain.

Ah, he was lucky he managed to get the letter to the executioner in time. What a pity that would be if he couldn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been able to lay next to you now. Wouldn’t be able to play with your hair, caress you like he pleases.

It is truly too bad that was not his only trial on the road towards you. It was really a pity he had to send Jungkook away. Taehyung quite liked the kid. He was fun to play with and wouldn’t shy away from his games.

But he just had to try and seduce you. Poor thing. You really were too innocent at the time. More than eager to kiss him for no reason. To give him even a peace of your heart that was meant for Taehyung alone.

He remembers as clear as day, the rage he felt as he watched your soft lips press against another mans. How terribly he wanted to go out and strike Jungkook with a sword. Of course he didn’t though, that would have scared you away. He would have hated that.

He thanks god every day he was really your first kiss, even if you didn’t know it.

Patiences was the hardest battle of all, and he will admit, he has faltered a few times over the years. Kisses stolen while you sleep, a few of your belongings robbed to keep him satiated. Mayhaps a few trips to your room in the night.

But who could blame him? He was a man in love. There was nothing that could stop him when he was so hungry for you.

Ah, and then of course his father. He wanted to separate your love as well. A maid could never possibly be suited to be queen, blah blah. He doesn’t care. And at least that fight allowed him to hug you for the first time.

God. You felt so perfect in his arms, then and now. You have always been meant for this. Meant for him.

If his father plans to keep standing in the way, he will simply have to remove him from the equation. His bonds to the man are as thick as water. He cares more for you than he possibly could anyone else.

You’ve belonged to him since you were born, anyway. If a maid becomes pregnant while working for the castle, her child becomes property of the state. Of the crown. Of him.

It only makes sense that you are meant to be with him until death. It is the path lined for you. Your fate since birth.

He knows it as his delicate fingers trace over the small patches of blood dirtying the sheets. Evidence of the hours before, of your virginity robbed. Of your promises to him.

You are bound to him by blood after all.

5K notes · View notes

youthguk · 16 days ago

Text

Come home | kth (m) | one-shot

pairing: idol!taehyung (bts) x f!reader rating: explicit (18+) genre: military!au, reunion smut, established relationship, angst with comfort, fluff & filth word count: ~3.5k

His hands haven’t touched you in months. Now they won’t stop. Taehyung is on military leave — just four nights — and he plans to fuck you like he needs you to survive. Under hot water, in tangled sheets, on kitchen counters. Each time rougher. Each time sweeter. Each time closer to goodbye.

You’re parked in a dim underground garage on the edge of the city, three levels below streetlight and sky. The air smells like concrete and quiet secrecy. The engine hums low beneath your fingertips, heater brushing warmth over your knuckles, but your hands are cold. You keep checking the clock. 21:43. They said 21:45 sharp. Not a minute before, not a second late.

Your heart hasn’t slowed once since morning. Not when you chose your outfit, not when you double-checked the address, not even now, tucked in the shadows with your mouth dry and nerves stretched tight.

Then—

Headlights slice through the dark. A matte black van turns the corner, slow and silent. No license plate, no markings. It rolls to a stop two spots away.

The passenger door opens first.

He steps out.

You stop breathing.

He’s in uniform — dark green fatigues that cling to his waist and shoulders like they were sewn to remember him. His buzzcut makes him look older, sharper. That signature softness in his eyes? Still there. Still only for you. The duffel slung over his shoulder looks too heavy, but he walks light, like every step toward you is lifting something off his chest.

He reaches the car. Pauses. Just stares through the windshield like he’s trying to convince himself it’s real.

You don't even remember moving.

The driver’s side door flies open. He drops his bag. And suddenly, you’re in his arms. Your coat is crushed between you, your cheek pressed against his collarbone, his arms locking around your waist so tight it almost hurts.

You don’t say his name. You breathe it. And he breathes yours back like a homecoming.

His lips find yours mid-laugh, mid-breath — it’s clumsy, a little desperate. Teeth clash. Noses bump. Neither of you care. It’s wet and real and God, he tastes the same. Maybe even better.

When he pulls back, your lips are slick, your pulse feral, and his voice drops into a growl. “Drive.” He brushes your jaw with his thumb, presses a kiss behind your ear. “Before I fuck you in the backseat.”

You laugh — a high, breathy sound that cracks open something deep in your chest. “Is that an order, Private Kim?”

His grin is crooked. His pupils are blown. “Don’t make me beg. I’ll do it.”

So you drive.

One hand on the wheel, the other clutching his fingers in your lap. You don’t speak. You don’t need to. His thumb keeps brushing over your palm like he’s reading every second you spent apart, and you feel like you're burning alive just from the way he looks at you.

You barely remember the elevator ride — his palm resting low on your spine, his eyes glued to your mouth like it’s something sacred. The moment the doors slide open, you're both already moving.

Your apartment greets you in shadows. The hallway light flickers on as the door clicks shut behind you, but you don’t even take off your shoes.

He crowds you back against the wall — not rough, just hungry. Like he’s been starving and you’re the only thing on earth that can feed him.

“Fuck—” he breathes when your lips part again, and this time the kiss is all tongue and low, broken sounds. His hands slip under your coat, pushing it off your shoulders with one smooth drag. It drops to the floor like it’s nothing.

“Let me see you,” he whispers against your mouth, his voice raw with ache. “Let me feel you.”

You nod, but words don’t come. You can’t speak with the way his mouth is moving down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make your spine arch, just enough to make you whimper. You feel him smile against your skin — that lazy, devilish smirk you’ve dreamed about every night since he left.

He tugs your sweater up, slow at first — but then his fingers tremble and he groans, desperate. "Off," he mutters. “I need it off—baby, please—”

It’s messy. Clothes halfway on, halfway off. His uniform jacket hits the floor. Your legs wrap around his waist before you’re even sure how you got there. He hoists you up like it’s instinct, strong arms under your thighs, back pressed to the hallway wall.

You gasp when you feel him grind against you — still clothed, but thick and hot through the layers. “Been thinking about this every night,” he rasps. “Fucking my fist pretending it was you. Couldn’t stop. Even when I knew I’d go crazy from it.”

Your nails scrape down the back of his neck, and he hisses, lips crashing into yours again. The kiss is deeper now. Dirtier. Tongues sliding, breaths shared, teeth biting.

He walks you to the bedroom like that — lips never parting, his body caging yours like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear into smoke.

When your back hits the mattress, you both pause. Barely. Just enough to see each other in the half-light.

He drinks you in like he’s memorizing. “Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers along the waistband of your panties. “Even in my dreams you didn’t look this good.”

You reach for him, voice breathy. “Taehyung, please—”

He groans, deep and guttural. That sound goes straight between your legs.

“Say that again.”

“Please.”

“Fuck.” He kisses your stomach, then lower. “I’m gonna take care of you, baby. Gonna make you feel so good you forget how long I was gone.”

He slides your underwear down and settles between your thighs like it’s the only place he belongs. The first lick is filthy— slow, hot, with a low hum that vibrates against you. You cry out, hand flying to his buzzed head. He moans at that — actually moans — like having your fingers tugging his hair is the highlight of his entire leave.

He doesn’t stop. Not when your hips buck. Not when your legs shake. Not even when you beg. He works you open with his tongue and fingers, slow at first — then faster, harder, until you’re chanting his name like prayer.

When you come, it hits hard. Blinding. Your vision whites out for a second, and he kisses his way up your body with a smug, drenched mouth, his eyes dark and wild.

“Still with me?” he whispers, stroking your cheek.

You nod. Barely.

“Good,” he says, lining himself up. “Because I’m not done yet.”

When he finally sinks into you, you both break. His forehead falls to your shoulder, curses spilling from his lips, and your back arches to take him deeper, deeper, like you’re trying to make up for every night spent sleeping alone.

He moves like he means it — slow at first, then grinding, rolling his hips until you’re gasping under him, one leg hooked around his waist, arms wrapped around his back. You feel everything. The weight of him. The stretch. The love.

“Can I…?” he asks, voice shaking. “Can I come inside?”

You nod. “Yes. Please.”

It’s the softest yes you’ve ever said. And it ruins him.

He presses his mouth to yours and spills inside you with a quiet cry, holding you like he’s never letting go again.

You don’t realize you’re crying until he kisses the tear trailing down your temple.

You’re still joined, him still inside you, both of you trembling in the silence that follows. His hips have stopped moving, but his hands haven’t. They keep roaming — over your ribcage, your thighs, the curve of your cheek — as if he’s trying to memorize you through touch alone.

Your fingers find the nape of his neck, where his skin is hot and damp, and you hold him there, forehead to forehead. His breath stutters against your lips.

“I missed you,” you whisper. “So much I forgot what your voice sounded like sometimes.”

He closes his eyes. His throat bobs. “I whispered it into my pillow every night.” A small laugh, broken in half. “Got yelled at more than once for talking in my sleep.”

You giggle, wet and breathy. It makes him smile again, that soft, crooked one that only ever appears when he’s fully stripped down — not just naked, but open.

Slowly, he pulls out, eyes never leaving yours, like even that distance is too much. He watches your face as he does, like he’s afraid it’ll hurt. Then he wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his chest, skin to skin. Your bodies are still slick with sweat, and your thighs sticky where he came inside you, but it doesn’t matter. The mess is sacred. The warmth of it makes you feel claimed.

His heartbeat thuds beneath your ear. “Did I hurt you?” he asks softly, lips grazing your hairline.

You shake your head against him. “You made me feel alive again.”

He exhales. Then: “Wait here.”

You blink. “Where are you going?”

But he’s already moving — sliding off the bed, grabbing his duffel bag from the floor, still half-naked, chest glowing in the low lamplight. You watch the lines of his back shift as he crouches, pulling something small and folded from the inner pocket.

When he returns to the bed, he holds it out like a gift — a little rectangle of worn paper, creased at the edges.

“I was gonna leave it for you to find after I left,” he says, voice suddenly small. “But I want to see you read it now.”

You sit up, pulling the sheets over your chest, fingers trembling as you unfold the letter. His handwriting covers both sides — messy, tight, like he couldn’t get it out fast enough. It smells like soap and something earthy you can't name.

The first line wrecks you.

I think about the mole under your left eye every time I close mine.

You blink back tears. Your thumb brushes over the ink.

It’s the first thing I noticed the night we met. You smiled with your whole face. I didn’t know people could do that.

I’ve been counting the days like they’re beads on a string. Every letter you sent, I read ten times. Sometimes I slept with them under my pillow just to dream softer.

I don’t know how to say this without sounding stupid but—

I’m in love with you.

You pause. Breath hitching. He’s watching you, bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“I know I never said it out loud before,” he murmurs, breaking the silence. “I just… wanted you to know. In case something ever—”

You launch into his arms before he can finish the sentence.

He catches you mid-sentence, mid-tear, holding you like you’re breakable and infinite all at once.

“I love you too,” you whisper into the curve of his neck. “I think I always have.”

Something cracks in him then — not loudly, just a soft unspooling. His hands tremble on your back. You feel his lips press to your shoulder, your collarbone, your heart.

“I’m gonna keep writing,” he says, voice shaking. “Every week. Every day if I can.”

“And I’ll keep waiting,” you promise. “Even if it kills me.”

You lie there for a long time after, tangled in limbs and love and the sheets you never made. He falls asleep first, breath even, mouth slightly parted. You watch him like you’ll never see anything so beautiful again.

And maybe you won’t.

But tonight, he's here.

And so are you.

_______

The morning finds you wrapped around each other like vines.

It’s warm beneath the covers, skin clinging to skin, his leg slotted between yours, one arm heavy over your waist. Taehyung breathes slow and deep, mouth resting open near your collarbone. His buzzed hair tickles your chin when you tilt your head. The light is pale and sleepy, spilling through your curtains in soft brushstrokes.

You don't want to move. Ever. But your thighs are sore, sticky. The delicious ache between your legs reminds you of everything he did to you last night — the way he whispered your name like a psalm, the way he came with his face buried in your neck, holding you like he’d fall apart if he let go.

You shift gently.

He stirs.

“Mmm…” His voice is pure gravel. Still half-asleep. “Where you going?”

“Shower,” you whisper, brushing your fingers along the slope of his spine. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re perfect.” His eyes don’t even open, but his arms tighten around you like a reflex. “But I’ll come.”

You laugh softly. “You’ll what?”

One eye cracks open. He grins. “I’ll come… with you. Don’t be greedy.”

The bathroom fills with steam in seconds. You step under the spray, head tilted back, water cascading down your shoulders. It’s hot enough to sting — in the best way.

And then he’s behind you.

Taehyung steps in, warm palms sliding over your hips like they belong there. His chest presses to your back, heartbeat steady and slow. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t grope. Just… holds you. Lets the water pour over both of you like a blessing.

“You feel like home,” he murmurs into your neck, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear.

You hum, eyes fluttering shut. “Do you say that to all the girls you shower with?”

He laughs, a deep, sleepy sound that echoes in your chest. “Only the ones I dream about in bunk beds.”

His hands move — up your sides, under your breasts, then down, gliding between your thighs with the gentlest pressure. It’s not frantic, not like last night. This is slower. Worshipful. One long finger dips between your folds, slick even under water. His breath catches.

“Still so wet for me,” he groans. “Fuck, baby—”

You reach behind you, find his cock hard and hot against your lower back. You grip it, lazily stroke it once. He curses against your shoulder, his forehead falling to the curve where your neck meets your body.

You shift forward, just enough to guide him to your entrance.

He slides in with a moan like he’s being reborn.

The water pounds around you, drowning out everything but the wet sound of skin against skin. He moves in slow, shallow thrusts, holding your waist with one hand, the other stroking over your stomach and chest, cupping your breast and flicking your nipple until you gasp.

“Let me stay here forever,” he whispers. “Right here. Like this. With you.”

You turn your head to kiss him, messy and wet, tongues tangled. It’s clumsy in the best way — all steam and water and mouths that can’t get enough. Your walls flutter around him and he feels it, groaning deep.

“You gonna come?” he asks, lips brushing yours. “Come on, baby. I got you.”

You do — a slow bloom, thighs shaking, voice caught in your throat. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep, breath broken against your skin as he lets go.

You stay like that for a while. Water rinsing you clean. Arms wrapped around each other. Nothing but warmth.

Later, you're wearing his hoodie — massive on you, sleeves hanging over your hands, his scent wrapped around you like a second skin. He watches you from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, smirking like you just painted yourself in gold.

“You look better in that than I ever did.”

You grin, flipping a slice of toast. “Well, good news — I’m never giving it back.”

He strolls over, kisses your bare shoulder. “Fine. But only if you burn breakfast with me.”

And you do. You both do.

The toast ends up black on one side, and the eggs are slightly rubbery. But it doesn’t matter. You eat it sitting on the counter, legs swinging, him standing between them, feeding you with his fingers and kissing the crumbs from your lips.

The laughter comes easy.

And for the first time in months, you feel full.

_______

You lie in bed, bare skin tangled in sheets, his head resting on your chest. Neither of you speaks.

The bag is still at the door.

His uniform is draped over the chair like a silent countdown.

Taehyung traces slow circles on your hipbone with the tip of his finger. He hasn’t touched you like this all day — not properly. Not since the moment you both realized what tomorrow would take.

So when he lifts his head, kisses the space between your breasts, and murmurs, “I need you again” — your heart breaks a little in your chest.

You roll to meet him, and the kiss that follows is already dripping in hunger.

It starts soft. Mouths brushing. A sigh into his lips. His hand on your jaw, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth.

Then the ache slips out of both of you.

He exhales sharply, pushes his body closer. “Let me make you feel it.” His voice is rough silk. “Let me give you something to hold on to while I’m gone.”

You nod, already breathless. “Touch me.”

He slides down the bed, mouth trailing heat along your belly, and when his tongue dips between your legs, it’s with purpose. No teasing, no patience — just a deep, slow lick that has your head falling back and your legs falling open.

You moan — low, needy.

He groans like a man starved. “God, I’ll never get tired of this.” His tongue moves in tight circles, then slow swipes that make your toes curl. His fingers slide in beside his mouth — two at once, deep, curling just right. Your hips buck and he holds you down, forearm firm across your waist, eyes locked on you like he wants to burn the image into his memory.

“Come on,” he murmurs, breath warm against you. “Let me feel you. I need to feel you come on my tongue.”

You do — hard, loud, thighs clenching around his head. He doesn’t stop until you're gasping his name like prayer, until he’s soaked in you, lips shiny, breathing heavy.

He climbs back up your body, kisses your mouth with your taste still thick on his tongue.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Fuck, I don’t deserve you.”

“Then ruin me,” you whisper. “So I won’t forget.”

He growls — a sound that comes from deep inside. Grabs your wrists, pins them above your head. His cock presses against your entrance, thick and pulsing, dragging through your slick folds until you’re begging.

When he finally pushes in, you both gasp.

“Shit—” he pants, forehead pressed to yours, voice shaking. “Tight… so fucking tight. Always so perfect for me.”

He starts to move — slow, agonizing strokes that make you feel everything. Every inch, every drag, every twitch of his body inside yours. Your legs wrap around his hips, nails scraping down his back.

“I love you,” you say, suddenly, brokenly.

He stills. Breathes hard.

Then kisses you like he’s dying.

“I love you,” he repeats, thrusting deeper. “I love you. I love you—”

His pace quickens. Rougher now. Messier. He lets go of your wrists to cup your face with both hands, holding you still so he can watch your every expression. He fucks you like a man desperate to leave a piece of himself inside — hips slamming, sweat dripping, teeth gritted.

The sound of skin on skin is wet, obscene.

Your breath catches every time he hits that spot. Your walls flutter around him.

And then he growls, pulling out suddenly, flipping you onto your hands and knees.

“You said ruin you,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “So I will.”

He enters you again from behind — one hand gripping your shoulder, the other sliding down your stomach to rub your clit in tight, filthy circles. You cry out, body arching like a bow.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Take it. Take all of me. Let me fuck you so good you’ll still feel me when I’m gone.”

You come hard — eyes rolling back, mouth open in a silent scream. Your body pulses around him and he chokes on a moan, hips stuttering.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, breath ragged. “Tell me—fuck—inside?”

You nod, whimpering. “Please. Please come inside. I want to feel it.”

He groans deep, loud, and spills into you with a broken cry of your name, body collapsing over your back, mouth pressed to your shoulder.

You both breathe hard, shaking, stuck in the wreckage.

He doesn’t pull out.

He stays there, wrapped around you, holding you tight, like if he moves, he’ll unravel.

“Don’t forget how I feel,” he whispers, lips trembling against your spine.

“I couldn’t,” you say. “Even if I tried.”

_______

You don’t cry at the station.

You stand in the same garage where he first appeared, same van waiting in the dark. His uniform’s back on. His duffel slung over his shoulder.

“I’ll write,” he says, cupping your cheek.

You nod.

“I’ll call. As much as I can.”

You nod again.

“And when I get out—”

You lean in, press your mouth to his, soft and shaking. He kisses you like it’s the last breath he’ll ever take. When you pull back, your voice cracks around the words:

“When you get out, I’ll be waiting.”

The van door slides shut.

And just like that, he’s gone.

But the warmth of him stays. In your sheets. In your chest. In the faint bruises on your hips and the ache between your legs.

You drive home with the hoodie still on.

And you fall asleep clutching the last letter he left under your pillow.

if you enjoy my writing, you can support me here and get early access to chapters and exclusive stories 🖤

#taehyung #taehyung smut #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x oc #taehyung x you #taehyung imagine #taehyung fanfic #bts smut

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silverozy · 1 day ago

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CHAPTER 33 WILL BE OUT TONIGHT! STAY TUNED!!

Amor tam pulcher | KTH - masterlist

❁pairing: senior!taehyung x junior!oc (Italian education system)

❁description: Daphne moves from the city to the countryside; objectively, a downgrade, but, emotionally, an upgrade. From the urban chaos straight into his warm embrace

❁synopsis:

"Would you go on a date with me? "Yeah." She nodded. "I'd love to go on a date with you." Voice light and teasing. "Yeah?" His eyes widened slightly. "Yeah." "Oh, God. I thought you'd say no because-" "Why?" Then her voice dimmed, shy and hesitant. "I like you."

❁genre: romance, fluff, smut, angst

❁wc: 219.68k+

❁date: 30/03/2024

❁warning: mature content

❁notes: strangers-to-lovers, teen love story, lots of fluff, smut, senior!taehyung (taehyung is like super smart), junior!oc (academic weapon, she loves herself an excellent academic performance), a lil angst, taehyung is head over heels for oc, nature lovers (oc loves flowers, taehyung loves butterflies), countryside (looks like Italy because that is the only type of countryside I know and love), oc has a lovely family, taehyung has daddy issues, jimin and jungkook are taehyung's besties( they also have other two girls as best friends); oc has a girl best friend (childhood best friend) and three boys as best friends); oc is so fucking prettyyy, like girl pretty; cross-posted on wattpad and ao3

❁chapters (status - ongoing) ⇀ updates every Friday, midnight

latest — 11/04

❀ ❛prologue❜ - 1.52k

Rewriting the story of Daphne and Apollo ⇀ «A love that drives me crazy, a lovely crazy, a sexy crazy, an amazing crazy»

❀ 01 ❛love is all around❜ - 4.24k

On a chilly summer morning, a bouncy curly-haired sun rose up and shone above the flower

❀ 02 ❛ying yang❜ - 4.28k

Photosynthesis: the sun shines bright above the flower providing it with energy which will be transformed into nutrients

❀ 03 ❛the exploratory stage❜ - 5.48k

As the sun shines in its might, it brightens the way for a little flower to see over the horizon

❀ 04 ❛just like old times❜ - 6.70k

The bright rays of the sun show the way to the flower, introducing it to an innocent little bear, a ferret and a little wasp

❀ 05 ❛a monarch butterfly❜ - 4.17k

There, going back home, was an unusual combination of subjects: a cricket, a wing-man, a monarch butterfly, a little pika and a puppy

❀ 06 ❛venus❜ - 4.82k

Who could have ever thought that a flower could grow in space? Who? No one surely and yet... there it was, standing upright in its beauty

❀ 07 ❛a laurel❜ - 4.92k

He knew he wasn't meant to fly to space because he physically couldn't but this thought wouldn't stop him. Was he being pretentious? Trying to exceed his limits?

❀ 08 ❛fuck you!❜ - 6.10k

Normally, flowers are in people's gardens or on a bed of green grass so... what the hell is one singular one doing in the middle of the ocean. Does it know, does anyone know, that too much water will cause it harm... especially when the water is salty?

❀ 09 ❛en route❜ - 5.07k

With its six tiny feet into proper boots, a good protective shield over his wings and an astronaut helmet on, the monarch butterfly embarks on a life-threatening journey, one believed to be a one-way ticket travel

❀ 10 ❛who we are, what we do❜ - 6.01k

Flowers don't have eyes, yeah, and neither does a pika glow even during the day. The flower is used to seeing only the sun shine during the day. The little pika walking by is unusual.

❀ 11 ❛an overly ambitious hedonistic seductress❜ - 6.04k

Cleopatra is the modern definition of the term "femme fatale"; she's known for ruling in ancient Egypt but also for her relationship with Ceaser and Mark Antony

❀ 12 ❛the butterfly, the cricket and the wing-man❜ - 4.49k

A butterfly, a cricket and a wing-man all have wings somewhat. The first does fly, the second mostly leaps and the last doesn't fly unless the first two do.

❀ 13 ❛the Titanic❜ - 7.31k

Between the night of the 14th and the 15th, in 1912, one of the biggest ships of its time sank, going against the expectations but did it? At the time, there was a little competition between countries so when it sank it wasn't so surprising: something so big with very few resources would have never made it across the ocean.

❀ 14 ❛from five to ten❜ - 11.44k

Brighten the mood. Increase the energy. Make a downturned flower rise high and flunt its beautiful petals for others to see.

❀ 15 ❛bold, red and underlined❜ - 14.70k

“You know? That party I wanted to host at mine? You’re so invited. In fact, you’re the first one on my guest list and I’ll underline your name in red as in ‘in great and urgent need of pussy’—”

❀ 16 ❛«it's Daphne»❜ - 11.30k

A monarch butterfly sees a lot of flowers in its short span of life but never has this one, nor its ancestors, seen a flower as pretty as the one ahead. The flower was there, living beautifully in space.

❀ 17 ❛hesperiidae❜ - 6.41k

Right when the sun faded away and the dark clouds took over, the little butterfly's wings fluttered less as it lost hope until something caught his eye, a gleam slicing through the gloom and focusing on a flower.

❀ 18❛opposites attract❜ - 5.59k

Winter and the Wind of the West come to destroy but nothing can touch a flower when it's under a shelter, something that will prevent it from dying in the cold or losing its beautiful petals.

❀ 19 ❛peek-a-boo (boo boo)❜ - 5.66k

Things have been too unusual for this butterfly. Wasn't it trying to embark on an impossible journey? To space? How did it end up in a shiny sea? it's floating and his pupils are swelling. The beauty is indeed out of this world

❀ 20 ❛lifejacket❜ - 6.97k

The wings grew with each flutter. There was a glowing dot on the ocean and it was slowly fading out into the darkness so the butterfly cradled it and protected the leur

❀ 21 ❛monarch and blue morpho butterflies❜ - 4.13k

The weather was chilly and slightly windy. Despite the discomfort it caused everyone, the flower stood out like a thumb as it danced and waved with the soft patterns of the breeze. The butterfly couldn't do anything other than admire with widened orbs

❀ 22 ❛rosy cheeks❜ - 3.91k

Did it see it? Did the flower see the butterfly? Because the butterfly has already seen the flower. Had already memorised every curve, every line, and every dot that brought the flower to life.

❀ 23 ❛caramel macchiato❜ - 4.23k

There was no way he could ever get lost: one look at those eyes and he'd see all the constellations, the map leading him to Venus

❀ 24 ❛butterflies, flowers... and butterflies❜ - 6.03k

«I mean, it's also an evergreen plant like the Laurel but it doesn't sound as special. Lauri does though.»

❀ 25 ❛bittersweet❜ - 4.10k

There were seven lanes, each welcoming an athlete, for a total of seven athletes. Yet, as the contestants got ready for the lace, some chose to acknowledge the presence of only a few athletes, the ones they were marking. Their true competition.

❀ 26 ❛open stage❜ - 9.78k

Floating and hovering around his spaceship, the butterfly moved closer to the round window giving to the dark glittered expanse. There was Venus and standing proudly in its infinite beauty was the flower.

❀ 27 ❛approach, round out, flare❜ - 8.08k

Poor Cinderella. She cried and cried. Then a small woman appeared in a cloud. It was Cinderella’s fairy godmother. “Biddidi, bobbidi, noo!” sang the fairy godmother as she waved her magic wand, but she gasped, hand coming to cover her mouth in bewilderment. Cinderella had turned into a tomato!

❀ 28 ❛a lighthouse❜ - 6.47k

Water flowed through the clothes, the hair strands, and around the body as the flower held onto a wide piece of wood. The water was chilling, the night was silent, and the ambience was dark, but right through the blackness slid the rotating rays of a lighthouse. Blinking to adapt to the brightness, the flower called for help.

❀ 29 ❛sus or sos?❜ - 7.12k

The rotating and flashing lighthouse lights shone upon a cricket, which floated barely a foot away from the flower. Yet, as the butterfly came to rescue, it didn’t see it, leaving the cricket trying to swim for its life, screaming and choking on water.

❀ 30 ❛a coup d'état❜ - 5.95k

Standing on a tower, two neurons patrolled the area, binoculars to their eyes. Suddenly, they sighted something. They squinted their eyes despite the instrument in their hands and tried to make sense of what they saw. "Hey, send in the alarm. Prepare the defensive barrier. Do something. Hurry up!" As this one darted away, the other remained still, binoculars back to its eyes. Confusion bubbled in its head. What had happened for the heart to be heading towards the body's headquarters? And what was that army of hormones behind it?

❀ 31 ❛the sun on the horizon❜ - 10.75k

The butterfly had finally found the flower. After travelling across space, it landed on Venus, where a singular ethereal natural being stood erect in its almighty beauty. After the coup d’etat, the heart realised that the situation was bigger than expected. The heat rose up to every part of the body. Butterflies increased and with that the flutters of their wings, which fanned the fire, expanding instead of quenching it. Infatuation at its peak.

❀ 32 ❛the lily family❜ - 7.09k

A new member of the Liliaceae. “You like butterflies, and she’s named after a flower.”

❀ 33 ❛stinkily cute!❜ - 12.75k coming soon

1905. Annus mirabilis. Three important elements: Einstein, the relativity of time, Planck, quantum mechanics, and Quantum entanglement.

❀ 34

❀ 35

❀ 36

❀ 39

❀ 40

❀ 41

❀ 42

❁pinterest board // my main

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voxslays · 27 days ago

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8K notes · View notes

lostrkives · 6 days ago

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FRI(END)S

18+

4k words

fwb, slow-burn, angst

—————————————————————————

At first, it was simple. You had this natural way of gravitating toward each other — without even thinking about it. You’d agreed not to make things complicated. Just two bodies looking for each other when the urge became too strong. Just a physical pause between two demanding lives. Nothing more.

But over time, you'd woven deeper ties than either of you wanted to admit. What you shared went far beyond physical attraction. It was a silent understanding, a kind of emotional support no one could ignore — even if you both tried to hide it.

In the studio, among the other dancers, your eyes always found each other first. No need to talk. No need to explain. One furrow of his brows was enough for you to know he was at his limit, and one gentle brush of your hand on his arm would help him loosen up a little. On his side, he always knew when you were pushing too hard on your injured leg, or when you got lost in your head so deep you forgot the world around you. A nudge of his shoulder, a smile, and you were back.

The others had noticed it long before you did.

The way you understood each other without needing to speak. The way you always ended up sitting side by side, never leaving much space in between.

There was something about you two — something obvious. A quiet kind of balance neither of you dared to put into words.

Message received at 2:37 PM Taehyung: You free tonight? Come to the studio. I wanna show you something.

You stare at your phone a little too long. He’s on leave. That’s the first thing that hits you when his name lights up your screen after all this time.

Taehyung.

When the weight of the world got too heavy, he was the one you turned to. And when the military started wearing him down, it was your words that always brought him back. It’s always been easy between you two. You knew exactly what the other needed.

Until it stopped being that simple. Until you found yourself scanning the room for him when he wasn’t there.

So, you pulled away. Carefully. Like backing away from a flame you’re no longer sure is warming you—or burning you alive. Not in a dramatic, obvious way. Just enough for him to notice.

You took longer to reply to his texts. You stopped letting his hands linger on your skin like they used to. Because you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

And on his end, he didn’t do anything to close the distance either. Like he knew. And he wasn’t ready to face it either.

“Y/N, Earth to Y/N!” Sophie’s voice breaks through your thoughts, pulling you back into the moment. You finally lift your head. Grace is staring at you, chin resting in her hand, while Sophie raises an eyebrow, arms crossed, waiting for you to say something.

You hesitate for a second before putting your phone down on the table, screen facing up. Taehyung’s message is still there, clear for them to see. Sophie and Grace exchange a glance, their faces lighting up with an understanding smile.

“He’s on leave”, Grace teases. “And you’re screwed”, Sophie adds, looking way too satisfied.

You roll your eyes.

“You’re exaggerating…”

“No one's exaggerating. We’re just tired of watching you avoid him”, Sophie corrects, shrugging.

“I am not”, you groan.

“You’re so scared of admitting you have feelings for him that you’re avoiding him like a fifteen-year-old”, Grace keeps going, ignoring your blatant lie.

You sigh and slump back in your chair. You’d joined them a little later, but the bond between you three had already started to form before that—before Taehyung, before any of it really made sense. Grace and Sophie had met through a mutual friend at a rooftop party, the kind that drags on until the city lights blur into morning. They clicked fast, the way people do when they laugh at the same things and recognize a familiar ache in each other.

Grace had been with Yoongi for a while already— she met him at a small live set in a basement bar, where he played something raw and beautiful that stuck with her for days.

Sophie had fallen for Hoseok during one of his late-night freestyle sessions, where he’d dragged her onto the dancefloor with that smile no one could say no to.

Yoongi, Hoseok, and Taehyung had grown up in the same circle of seven. A group of dreamers, artists, who had met young and stayed close, bound by late-night jam sessions, dance battles in empty studios, and a shared fire that never quite burned out. Even now, they moved like parts of the same rhythm, each on his own path but always orbiting each other.

And somehow, without needing to force it, the three of you started showing up for each other the same way the boys always had. Movie nights, impulsive trips to the beach, long talks on someone’s kitchen floor at 2 a.m. It was easy, grounded. A quiet kind of sisterhood that built itself between dance rehearsals and shared bottles of wine.

“What are you really afraid of?” Sophie tilts her head, suddenly softer.

“I don’t know… what if he doesn’t want more? What if I just end up ruining everything?” you say, uncertainty written all over your face.

Grace and Sophie look at each other.

“You won’t know that as long as you stay hidden. You can’t keep pretending it’s just physical, Y/N. It’s been more than that for a long time.”

Your heart skips a beat. Of course, it was never just about sex between you two. After your intimate moments, you both liked to stay there, wrapped up in each other's arms, talking softly, about anything and everything, like neither of you wanted to leave. You shared the same tastes, the same love for art and music. And that same fear of commitment, masked by a fierce need for independence. Your personalities, though seemingly different, complemented each other perfectly.

You stir your coffee, frustrated.

“You don’t have to make a big confession. Just go for it. Break the ice that’s formed between you two”, Grace shrugs gently.

A silence falls between you. You glance at your phone again. His name appears once more, and your heart skips a beat.

You take a deep breath, your finger hovering over the screen. After a long pause, you finally type your reply.

'What time?'

A small 'seen' notification pops up immediately, and you quickly drop your phone back onto the table. You hear them giggle, then Sophie lifts her glass, a triumphant smile on her lips.

“Now go find out what he really meant by ‘something to show you.’”

————————

It's already past 10 PM when you walk through the studio door. The cold December air still clings to your skin, despite the warmth that greets you inside. After weeks of recovery, you're finally back. But while your knee might have healed, your mind remains stuck in that sense of forced stillness.

As you enter the main room, your gaze immediately finds him. Taehyung is there, right in the center, dancing. And he’s not alone.

You pause for a moment, observing without imposing yourself. A small sting of jealousy tightens in your chest, but you quickly dismiss it. It’s nothing. He’s dancing. That’s what he does, what you’ve always done.

As if he senses your presence, Taehyung lifts his head and spots you. Without a word, he stops his movement and restarts the music. But this time, he begins the dance from the start. For you. He wants you to watch. And that’s exactly what you do.

His body syncs with the bass in a hypnotizing precision, each movement perfectly controlled, fluid, and natural. His ease is almost audacious. Beside him, the dancer follows his rhythm with perfect synchronization, brushing past each other without ever touching.

He’s dressed simply, but something about his demeanor has changed. Maybe it’s his body, more sculpted from months of training away from the studio. His white tank top hugs the curve of his broadening shoulders, revealing stronger arms. The shirt tied around his waist adds a nonchalant touch to his silhouette. A neck gaiter pulled up over his nose hides part of his face, his short hair concealed under a white cap. Only his eyes remain visible. Eyes that, not so long ago, used to be close to yours.

A familiar sensation stirs low in your belly before you shake it off. Blushing, you cross your arms over your chest, adopting a falsely detached posture. You watch him finish his dance and bow to his partner. She gives him a high five, says something, laughs, then gathers her things and leaves the studio, throwing you a polite smile.

“Is this why you wanted me to come?” you ask, your voice deliberately neutral.

He gives you a smile, noticing your slight eye roll, then nods.

“Yeah. It’s been a while since we danced together. So, I prepared a little something to celebrate your return to the studio. Want me to teach you?”

You hesitate for a second, searching for some reproach in his eyes. Nothing. As if you hadn’t been avoiding each other for weeks. Just the usual calm, that confident gaze.

So, without a word, you nod and walk towards him.

————————

The choreography he had prepared was nothing like the one you had seen earlier. This one was much more intense, more suggestive. The rhythm was fast, demanding both precision and fluidity. You held your ground, your body gradually finding its rhythm again after weeks of rest.

You should’ve expected it; he’s always been unpredictable, a little daring. But, as always, you went along with it.

The warmth of his body just inches from yours, the way his hands would settle on your hips to guide your movements, the tension building with every touch, every look that lingered too long… Your choreographies demanded closeness, synchronization. But it had never felt this intense before. You try to focus, but every fiber of your being is aware of him.

A pause. Taehyung cuts the music and runs a hand over his neck, slightly out of breath.

“Not bad,” he says, “You haven’t lost much.”

You raise an eyebrow, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He smiles, moving just a little too close, testing your boundaries. You stay still. He hands you a bottle of water, but doesn’t let go when your fingers brush his.

“Can we do the last part again?” you ask, as casually as you can.

He nods and moves behind you.

The move seemed simple enough: a spin, a pull closer, his hand sliding down your hip, your bodies in sync, your breaths matching. But when you actually did it, it was something else entirely.

When he pulls you against him, his grip is firmer than necessary.

When he whispers the countdown in your ear, his voice is lower, slower.

When you turn to face him, your eyes lock, and this time, neither of you backs away.

You lower his gaiter down, fully revealing his face. You can feel his breath on your skin, your heart pounding. Your bodies are still pressed close, the heat between you thickening the air. His eyes flicker between your lips and your eyes. No one moves, as if you’re both waiting for the other to break.

“Should we head out?” he finally asks, his voice a little rougher.

You nod slowly. You could’ve said no. You could’ve made up an excuse. But you don’t want to pretend anymore that you haven’t missed him.

————————

The night air was even colder as you left the studio, but it wasn’t the chill that bothered you the most. The drive was quiet, with only a few words exchanged here and there, nothing that really eased the tension between you two. Yet, he was there, right next to you, just like always. His hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, his breath forming little clouds under the streetlights. Nothing had changed. He seemed almost relaxed, like the weeks of distance never happened. Like nothing was wrong.

Every now and then, you’d glance at him. Checking his features, making sure everything was the same. That little crease at the corner of his mouth when he was lost in thought, the mole on his cheek or the way his eyes would flick to the ground without really seeing it. You’d missed that. With the time apart because of his military service, you’d started thinking he changed more each time, that something was slipping away from you each time you saw him again. But you could see now that he was exactly how you remembered and that reassured you more than you cared to admit.

Taehyung didn’t say anything until you two got to his place. He opened the door and let you go in first, just like always, with that casual smile, like you hadn’t been gone at all. You slipped off your shoes, your bag landing on the same chair it always did.

You went to his room, grabbed one of his favorite hoodies and pulled it on without asking. You could still smell him on the collar.

When you came back to the kitchen, he was leaning against the counter, waiting with a glass of wine in hand. He handed it to you without a word, and you took it.

“You look tired,” he says softly.

You shrug.

“Long day.”

He watches you. You can feel his gaze linger, like he's studying you.

“How’s your knee? Is it better?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, looking away, trying to ignore his eyes. “It still hurts a little sometimes, but it’s getting better.”

“You did good tonight. Even though you avoided my eyes the whole time.”

Always straight to the point. You take a sip of wine.

“The girl with you earlier, is she your new partner?”

He tilts his head a little, like he isn't sure how to answer.

“Yeah. She’s been around for a few weeks. I was supposed to start training during my time off... but you weren’t replying to my messages. Had to work with someone.”

“Of course,” you say, a little too quickly.

He raises an eyebrow.

“You seem annoyed.”

“Not at all,” you reply, staring at your glass. “It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.”

He looks at you for a moment.

“You’re the one asking.”

You shrug again.

“Just curious.”

“Where’s your curiosity been the last few weeks?” he scoffs.

You finally look up at him, but don’t answer. This time, it seems like he is the one getting frustrated.

Taehyung moves around and slowly steps closer. His hands come to rest on the edge of the counter on either side of your body.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you. I’ve been recovering.”

“Bullshit.”

He gets even closer. You can feel his breath, his lips just inches away from yours. You could kiss him. You want to. But you hold back.

You step back just enough to break the tension.

“I need to take a shower,” you say, gently pulling away.

You set your glass on the counter and walk down the hallway. He stands still for a moment, then smiles before finishing his wine in one go.

————————

You close the bathroom door behind you, without locking it. The water starts running as you undress, and for a moment, that’s all there is: the sound of water hitting the tiles, your breathing, the warmth slowly filling the space.

You step under the hot stream, close your eyes, trying to wash away the tension. You always said you liked being free. That you weren’t made for complications. That comfort was something you took when it came, but never something you turned into a home.

And yet here you are, in his shower, thinking about his lips almost on yours, the softness in his voice when he asked if you were okay. And you don’t know what scares you more: the thought that he might feel the same… or that it’s all in your head.

“YN…”, you hear the sound of the door opening just a little. You don’t move.

“Can I come in?”, his voice is low, a little rough. He hesitates.

You keep your eyes closed for one more second, your heart pounding. You exhale a barely audible “yes”.

The door closes softly. You hear his clothes falling to the floor, one by one. Then the shower door slides open gently. The water shifts slightly as it hits his body. You feel the warmth of him behind you before he even touches you.

And when he does touch you, it’s with that kind of slow intensity that makes you tremble. One hand sliding along your waist, the other resting at the back of your neck. He doesn’t say anything. His breathing is soft, like he’s still waiting for you to change your mind.

You slowly turn to face him. His eyes search yours, then drop to your mouth, your collarbone, your wet skin. The water runs between you, hot, almost burning — but it’s nothing compared to the heat rising between your bodies.

You don’t need words. Neither does he.

You wrap your arms around his neck, his damp hair sticking a little to your skin. His lips find yours, this time without waiting. He kisses you like someone who’s been hungry for too long. There’s no softness — just that barely-contained need finally breaking loose.

Breathless, you press your hands to his chest, pulling back just slightly. He’s right there, looking at you like something just shifted. Like a tide turning quietly.

You sink to your knees without breaking eye contact. He doesn’t say a word. Just watches you, lips slightly parted, as if he can’t believe this is real.

Your hands slide down his hips, then to his dick. You take him in your hands then into your mouth — slowly, letting your tongue explore every inch of him. Knowing exactly what you’re doing. You suck him with slow, deliberate control. You feel his muscles tightening under your palms, his hips moving on their own. He leans back against the wall, head tilted up for a moment, a raspy “fuck” escapes between his uneven breaths, and he puts a hand in your hair — gentle, but not too much. Tight, just how you love it.

You feel him losing control with every stroke. He tugs lightly at your hair, making you look up at him. You’re his, right there, on your knees in his shower, your lips wrapped around him, y our eyes locked on his — and he looks at you like he’s about to devour you.

“If you keep going…”, you suddenly take him all the way in, down to the base, holding there for a few seconds, before pulling back, breathless. You repeat the motion again and again, until his hand tightens in your hair. He groans your name and pulls you up without warning.

Your hands find his shoulders as he kisses you again, with that same urgent, almost painful need. He turns you around, pressing you against the wall, your palms flat against the tiles. His hand slides slowly down your spine, to the curve of your lower back. He watches you — you can feel it. He always takes that one second before truly touching you, like he’s making sure you’re still here, still okay, still his.

His hands settle on your hips. He leans in, presses a soft kiss to the back of your shoulder, then trails down your neck.

You close your eyes as he enters you so deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. You moan quietly, head down, water running down your back as his hands grip you tight. He moves inside you with that steady rhythm that slowly wears you down, makes your legs tremble. He knows. He knows exactly what this pace does to you.

Then, without warning, he pulls you back against him — his arms sliding up your body until your back is pressed to his soaked chest. And you feel him deeper now, filling you completely.

Eyes shut, mouth parted, steam curling around you. He doesn’t let you breathe. One of his hand finds your neck, his fingers slipping under your jaw. He doesn’t squeeze — he just holds you there, like a reminder: he’s in control. You don’t have to resist anymore.

His other hand starts to move. He begins with your breasts, fingers circling, pinching your nipples just enough to pull a moan out of you.

You arch your back a little, your hips moving on their own.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers, voice deep and low, right against your ear.

You nod silently, unable to speak. His warm breath mixes with the steam, his hips still pressed to yours, slowly thrusting in and out of you. He pushes just a bit deeper, and your head falls back against his shoulder.

You could feel his hand sliding lower — past your stomach, between your thighs. You tense, anticipation curling tight in your belly. Taehyung easily finds your sensitive spot and starts rubbing slowly, in a way that drive you completely mad.

He makes you feel everything. Every pulse. Every tremor. You cling to him, drowning, burning. He moves again — back to your breasts, squeezing with both hands, then back down between your legs and your moans grow louder each time.

But he doesn’t let you go. He wants you to fall apart like this — right here, wrapped in his arms. And you do. You cry out, loud and raw, your body trembling violently against his. He holds you tighter when it happens, like he’s trying to keep you from coming undone completely.

He doesn’t say a word. Just breathes, his mouth warm against your neck, one hand on your throat, the other steady on your skin, grounding you. And when your body finally relax, when the high starts to fade, he pulls out and turns you to face him. His arms go around your waist and lifts you easily, like you’re nothing but air.

Arms around his neck and legs around his hips, you feel his dick brushing against you, just enough to spark the fire again. He pins you to the wall, one hand gripping your thigh, the other holding you tight and looks into your eyes. His hair is dripping, his breath ragged.

And this time, he thrusts into you all at once — no warning. But he doesn’t move right away. He just breathes against your skin, heavy and hot, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You still not gonna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

His voice is low, almost teasing, but there’s something raw underneath. He starts moving again, slow at first, deep, like he’s trying to coax the truth out of your body instead of your mouth.

You gasp — it’s too much and not enough. Your fingers dig into his back, your nails scraping down his skin, making him shiver. Your legs lock tight around his waist, but the words are trapped, lodged somewhere in your throat.

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, the other gripping your thigh.

“Is this why, huh?” he murmurs, thrusting into you with more force. “Because you’re scared of what this does to you?”

You bite your lip. Your head tips back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. You can’t answer. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Can’t talk now, huh?” he growls, voice tightening with every word. “Too fucked out to lie.”

You moan, a soft, broken sound that gives you away. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The way he rolls his hips just right, hitting that spot that makes your legs shake.

“Tell me” he breathes against your ear. “You’ve been aching for this, haven’t you?” You want to say yes. You want to scream it. But all that comes out is a whimper, lips parted, breath caught somewhere a moan and a cry.

He laughs, soft and wrecked.

“All that attitude, and still, you melt the second I’m inside you.”

And then he changes the rhythm — rougher now, harder. You cry out, and his hand moves to your throat, not squeezing, just holding you there. His mouth finds yours, kissing and biting down just enough to blur pleasure and pain.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice sharp and trembling.

You do. You meet his eyes — and that’s what undoes you.

He sees it all. Every crack in your armor, every reason you ran, every silent confession you didn’t know how to make. And he fucks you through it, until you fall apart again, shaking in his arms, clinging to him like the truth hurts too much to carry alone. You want him closer, so close there’s no space left between you, nothing but him and you, tangled into one. The pleasure is so intense it brings tears to the corners of your eyes. Every unspoken feeling, every moment spent apart, every responsibility that kept you away — it all breaks open at once. With every thrust, something heavy lifts, leaving you both a little more free. And you forget everything. Why you left, why you keep coming back.

He doesn’t let you go. Not even when you’re gasping, your body limp and shaking around him. He holds you tighter, and keeps going until he breaks too. He comes inside you with a muffled groan, his face buried in your neck, his body shuddering with the release.

You’re both breathing hard. The silence wraps around you like the steam misting from the shower. The tiles are hot against your back, his skin warmer still. He hasn’t let go. You’re still clinging to him, legs around his waist, your arms slack but still looped around his shoulders.

He presses his forehead to yours, both of you trying to catch your breath. The sound of the water fades into the background — a soft roar that makes the rest of the world feel far away.

You think maybe you should climb down. Say something. Break the silence before it turns into something else.

But it’s him who speaks first.

“Let’s stop pretending.”

His voice is calm. Too calm. Like if he says it too loud, it might ruin everything.

You blink, not sure you heard right.

“Pretending what?” you ask, voice hoarse, still breathless.

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. He lets you down but his hands stay firm at your thighs, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t.

“That this is just physical,” he says. “That it’s not... more.”

You don’t answer right away. You can’t. Because it is more. And it’s been more for a while now. You were just too afraid to let it happen out loud.

He sees your hesitation, and his brows pinch, just slightly.

“We keep doing this,” he says. “Fucking, leaving, avoiding. And every time, I think I’m okay with it. But I’m not. Not anymore.”

You feel your throat tighten.

“So what are you saying?” you whisper.

He breathes deep. Like this is the hardest thing he’s had to say.

“Let’s make it official. You and me.”

Your heart stutters. You stare at him, eyes scanning his face — and something about the way the steam has settled on his skin, the way his hair sticks to his forehead, makes it hard to look away. And you notice it.

That mole just under his eye, the one you always pretended not to stare at. The one on the bridge of his nose, barely visible in certain light. The one on his lower lip that you’ve traced in your head more times than you’d ever admit.

You remember the mornings. The quiet ones, when he was still asleep and you were already awake, lying on your side, just watching him. You hadn’t known what to do with those feelings back then. So you’d said nothing.

You raise a hand to his face, fingers grazing over his damp cheekbone. Your lips brush his in a soft kiss.

— “Okay,” You whisper, your voice almost lost in the sound of the water.

His brows lift, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it.

You nod.

“Let’s stop pretending.”

His expression shifts into a smile. That shy boxy smile. The one you’ve only seen in glimpses, from the side, when he thought you weren’t watching. But now you’re front and center — chest to chest, nowhere to hide — and it’s just for you.

It hits you so hard you forget how to breathe.

Because in that smile, you see it all: the softness he tries to bury, the hope he’s too scared to name. And in that exact moment, with your heart thudding against his, his arms still holding you, you realize — you were already so far gone.

You just hadn’t let yourself look down until now.

#bts #bts smut #bangtan #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fwb to lovers #fwb au #taehyung x y/n #angst

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curryshesus · 10 months ago

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jeon jungkook fics that had me going feral

hi guys, here's a part 2 to my favorite jjk fics on tumblr! note that many of these fics contain 18+ content. you are responsible for the content you consume! as always, if you enjoyed any of these fics as much as i did, please take a moment to send some love to the authors! part 1 | other bts members

➺ cold nights & blurred lines - by @awrkive

summary: jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

➺ night crawlers - by @alphabetboyluvr

summary: jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too. but he doesn’t expect to run into you. in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning. there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it. so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?

➺ this is how you fall in love - by @jeonqkooks

summary: after years of drinking and clubbing most days of the week and leaving every gig with a different girl on his arm, jungkook feels what it’s like to want someone with his entire being.

➺ the dilf installments - by @mercurygguk

summary: this series follows jungkook’s life as a divorced father. but wait, how exactly does one balance being a father, a boyfriend, a friend, and a respectable boss at the same time? read the installments below to find out!

➺ ultimatum - by @parkmuse

summary: your pervy, idiotic boyfriend just so happens to also be your friendly neighborhood Spider-man (in bed).

➺ a hero's journey - by @hansolmates

summary: jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story

➺ tempest - by @kooktrash

summary: you’ve always considered your life to be more mundane than you would like to admit. it was a constant cycle of the same things over and over again that when you meet jeon jungkook at a bar, of all places, you didn’t expect to see just how much he would change your life and those around you. he’s got an air of mystery around him with his charming good looks and a violent past that you slowly begun to unravel when it feels like everything is going perfect.

➺ by its cover - by @gimmesumsuga

summary: the one where Jungkook makes a horrifically bad first impression.

➺ slow dancing - by @yoonia

summary: when your countdown appeared on your wrist right in the morning of your eighteenth birthday, you had thought that perhaps the universe was on your side, especially since the final seconds were already ticking so soon. You just never expected to have your first meeting with your soulmate to be the day when you had to let him go. But hope was not lost when you still found love without the bond, and Jungkook showed you that it was possible to find happiness beyond the system that was written for you. Except that the universe doesn’t seem to have enough of its game, when your past sacrifice comes back hitting you straight in the face, just when you had believed that you had written off the perfect ending to your bittersweet tale.

➺ e s p r e s s o - by @joonberriess

➺ hold me closer - by @ahundredtimesover

summary: when you're asked to look after your parents' house and meet them before they go on vacation, you, Jimin, and Jungkook take the trip to your hometown of Busan and relive memories of your youth. While your new relationship has you feeling like a lovesick teenager with all the affection that Jungkook shows you, you're still you - a professional trying to make it in the corporate world, and an eldest child trying not to disappoint her parents. And that turns out to be your undoing, as a little blunder causes a rift between you and Jungkook, resulting in a trip that you might as well have messed up… Not if your brother can help it, though.

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vesipha · 9 days ago

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the almost thing | kim taehyung

summary: taehyung keeps coming to your work place purely to flirt and insist you're a thing. content: fluff ♡ 565 words

You look at him like he’s a contradiction wrapped in Prada—soft brown eyes with razor-sharp cheekbones, the boy next door who also happens to grace the covers of high-fashion magazines. And somehow, he’s here, leaning against your retail counter like he doesn’t have a Milan runway to catch in a week.

“Taehyung, you can’t keep doing this.”

He raises a brow, lips tugged into that crooked little smile that always manages to make your pulse stutter. “Doing what?”

“This,” you say, motioning to the space between you both like it holds some unspoken offense. “Showing up. Flirting. Acting like we’re a thing.”

“You look so cute trying to deny we’re not together.”

You cross your arms, heat crawling up your neck. “That’s because we’re not!”

“See?” he grins wider, lazy and amused. “So cute proving my point.”

You groan and swipe the barcode scanner across the overpriced candle he insisted on buying, even though you both know he doesn’t care for lavender or citrus. It’s his fifth visit this week. Your coworkers have started calling him “Retail Romeo” behind the stockroom doors.

“You need hobbies,” you mutter, tossing the candle into a paper bag with more force than necessary.

“I have hobbies,” he says, watching you. “You’re one of them.”

Your heart skips a beat, traitorous and loud. “I’m not flattered. That’s objectifying.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, pushing his hair back like it’s not already perfectly tousled. “I objectify myself plenty.”

You glance around, suddenly hyperaware of the line forming behind him. One teenage girl is whispering into her phone, sneaking pictures with the subtlety of a jackhammer. Taehyung doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he’s just used to it.

“Do you do this at all your favorite shops?” you ask, voice quieter now. “Drop in, charm the staff, make them feel like they’re special?”

He pauses.

And the look he gives you then is not playful.

“No,” he says, and just like that, the air changes.

Your throat dries.

It’s not a confession. Not exactly. But it sinks into your skin like warm light through glass, catching on the parts of you that want to believe he means it.

You hand him the bag, avoiding his eyes. “Well, maybe you should.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not interested.”

He steps a little closer. You don’t move.

“I think you are,” he says.

You shake your head. “I think you’re used to getting attention, and I’m the first girl who didn’t fall for you in five minutes. It’s a novelty. That’s all.”

He’s silent for a second, the candle bag rustling in his hand.

Then he leans in, low enough for only you to hear, his breath brushing your cheek like a dare.

“You think I fly across the city, into traffic, during golden hour—my best lighting, by the way—because I’m bored?”

You stare at him, your mouth suddenly dry. “Taehyung…”

“I like you,” he says, simply.

And you hate how soft he sounds when he says it. How honest.

You also hate that your heart is now tap dancing against your ribs like it’s auditioning for a rom-com.

He straightens, adjusts the strap of his messenger bag, and flashes you one last look.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, already backing toward the door.

You don’t stop him.

You just watch him walk out, long coat fluttering behind him, and try really hard not to smile.

#bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts fluff #kim taehyung fanfiction #kim taehyung imagines #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung imagines #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #.txt

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the-djarin-clan · 5 months ago

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When you look for a fic on Tag Reader and the main character already has a name and social security number...

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mrsvante · 4 days ago

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Table Four

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: college au, strangers to lovers, angsty fluff

summary: when he sees you at a campus café on a random tuesday, he knows he has to know you. but you’ve sworn off love after a brutal breakup and want nothing more than to focus on yourself. what starts with a croissant and a crooked smile slowly turns into study sessions, spontaneous adventures, and a love story neither of you saw coming.

warnings: college setting, soft fluff ☺️💕, mutual pining, slow burn, a tiny sprinkle of angst, mentions of academic stress, an emotionally devastating finals week, and EXCESSIVE flirting by one very persistent taehyung.

a message from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: yes, the cover picture is huge af & in your face because…i mean he’s MY MAN, why wouldn’t i want to look at him all big and up close? 🤨💟

word count: 7,478

Taehyung wasn’t even supposed to be there.

He had an econ lecture in ten minutes on the other side of campus, a half finished paper on his laptop, and a group chat that was slowly imploding over whose turn it was to make the slideshow.

But all of that faded into static the moment he got a craving for a croissant. Not just any croissant—one from Bean There, the cozy little café tucked between the music hall and the campus bookstore. The one with honey butter, flaky layers, and, according to his friend Jimin, the best ratio of pastry-to-price-to-aesthetic.

He slipped through the front door, brushing damp curls from his forehead as the warm air hit him. It smelled like cinnamon and espresso, and he let the scent wrap around him as he approached the counter.

That’s when he saw you.

Table Four.

You were hunched over a psych textbook the size of a baby elephant, one earbud in, matcha latte sweating quietly beside your planner. A purple pen danced between your fingers. The other hand tugged at the sleeve of your hoodie every few seconds like your body needed something to do while your brain focused on neurotransmitters or Freud or whatever madness you were dealing with.

You didn’t notice him. Not at first. But Taehyung noticed you.

He felt it in his chest—the kind of jolt that said wait. You had a look about you—sharp but tired, soft in a way that people probably didn’t give you enough credit for. Like someone who carried their own weight and still offered to help others with theirs.

He stared a second too long, then caught himself and turned toward the counter.

“Can I get two croissants?” he asked, and then, almost without thinking, “And… those mini wildflower bouquets. That one with the yellow ribbon.”

The barista looked amused but didn’t question it.

Maybe they were used to college boys doing dumb things for pretty girls. Taehyung took his haul—two pastries and the little bouquet that looked slightly wilted but still sweet—and made his way over to your table like a man with a mission.

He cleared his throat gently.

You looked up slowly, pulling out your earbud, blinking like you were trying to place him in a memory you didn’t have.

“I’m Taehyung. Taehyung Kim,” he said, flashing his best smile.

You blinked again. “Okay?”

“These are for you.”

You looked down. At the croissant. The flowers. Back up. “Why?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said honestly, shifting his weight. “But I think if I give them to you, you might tell me your name.”

You stared at him like he was an essay prompt you weren’t prepared for.

Across the room, two girls at a corner table were watching and whispering, clearly invested. One of them mouthed, shoot your shot, and made a tiny fist pump.

He stayed where he was, not pressing. Just offering. The croissant was still warm. The flowers bent a little in the draft from the door, petals fluttering.

“You’re serious,” you said.

“Deadly.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re bold.”

“I’m Taehyung,” he repeated with a wink.

You looked him up and down like you were trying to decide if this was real life or a fever dream brought on by lack of sleep and too much caffeine. “No,” you said finally, returning your focus to your textbook. “But… thanks for the snack.”

It wasn’t a yes. It wasn’t a full no either. It was a door left open just a crack.

Taehyung picked up the untouched croissant, unwrapped it, and placed it gently on top of your notes.

“For your brain,” he said with a grin.

And then he walked away.

Out the door. Back into the cold.

And for the rest of the day, you occupied way more space in his mind than his paper, his class, or his very irritated group chat.

^^^^^^^^

Taehyung burst into their shared suite like a man possessed.

Jimin was upside down on the couch, legs draped over the back cushions and phone resting on his chest. Hoseok was perched cross legged at the breakfast bar, scrolling through notes while stress eating fruit loops. Seokjin was in the tiny kitchenette, slicing fruit like he was auditioning for a cooking show.

All three looked up as Taehyung slammed the door, breathless.

“I met someone,” he announced dramatically.

Jimin rolled his eyes. “You met someone last week. And the week before that. And the week before—”

“No, no. This is different.” Taehyung threw his bag on the floor and spun like a theater major mid monologue. “I didn’t even know her name and I bought her flowers.”

Hoseok dropped his chopsticks. “You bought someone flowers?”

Seokjin squinted. “Is this an emergency?”

“Yes,” Taehyung said, dead serious. “I’m in love.”

Jimin groaned. “You say that every time someone breathes near you with good eyebrows.”

Taehyung pointed at him. “She had a psych book the size of a small country and a matcha latte. She said no to me. With full eye contact. No. Like I was a door to door salesman trying to pitch essential oils.”

Hoseok choked on a fruit loop. “Damn.”

“And she took the croissant,” Taehyung continued. “But not the flowers. She just left them on the table like a message. Like—‘thanks, peasant, but I am not to be wooed today.’”

Seokjin looked mildly concerned. “Did she hurt you?”

“No, but she could. And I would thank her for it.”

Jimin sat up, rubbing his face. “You don’t even know her name?”

“Not yet. But I will. Table Four, Bean There café. Every day if I have to.”

“God, he’s spiraling,” Hoseok muttered, passing Seokjin his bowl.

“I’m fine,” Taehyung said. “I’m just… invested. Emotionally. Spiritually. Academically.”

“She’s a psych major, huh?” Seokjin asked, sipping from his water bottle. “Explains why she’s not falling for your chaos.”

“I think she’s been through something,” Taehyung murmured, more serious now. “She had that look. You know… like she’s trying really hard not to believe in good things anymore.”

The room went quiet for a second.

Then Jimin said, “You’re so whipped already. I haven’t even seen her and I want her to give you a chance.”

Taehyung grinned. “Same.”

^^^^^^^^

Taehyung had a reputation for forgetting important things—his dorm key, due dates, what time class started—but he remembered you.

The curve of your lips when you told him “no” like it was a complete sentence. The slight twitch of amusement in your brow when he insisted he was serious. The way you stared back like you were used to brushing people off, like you were tired of being looked at like a puzzle someone could solve with a smile.

You didn’t know it, but you haunted him.

So, he went back to Bean There. Every single day.

Not in a weird way. Okay, maybe in a slightly weird way. But he sat at a different table each time, ordered something new, and kept one eye on Table Four like a man casually waiting on fate to show up with her purple pen and unbothered energy.

Day two: no sign of you.

Day three: a glimpse. You walked in, spotted him already sitting at your usual spot with a croissant and a hopeful smile—and turned right around and left.

He blinked. Sighed. Took a bite of the croissant and muttered, “Bold of you to resist destiny.”

But day four?

You sat down across from him.

“I’ve decided I’m not going to let you win,” you said plainly.

Taehyung blinked, startled. “I’m sorry—what?”

“You’re obviously playing the long game. Showing up here every day, waiting around like you’re in a romcom montage. It’s textbook persistence. I won’t be manipulated.”

Taehyung pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking. “Is… is this your way of saying you missed me?”

“Not even a little.”

“Then why are you here?”

You looked at him then. Really looked. “Because I’m tired. And you’re… persistent. And I have a lot of reading to do and this place has the best quality drinks my money can buy.”

He leaned back in his chair, beaming. “I’ll take it.”

You rolled your eyes but stayed put.

You didn’t tell him your name. Not yet. But you accepted the croissant and took his pen when yours ran out of ink. You let him sit beside you instead of across from you, and when he asked if he could see your textbook—“just to check if it’s cursed”—you didn’t say no.

Progress.

^^^^^^^^

Later that week, he found you outside the library in a study circle with three other students. He nearly walked by—he didn’t want to be annoying—but then he heard you laugh.

Taehyung stopped mid step.

You were glowing in the late afternoon sun, head tilted back, cheeks flushed from something someone had said. The group looked tight knit. Comfortable. Like you’d known each other for a while.

He stepped forward anyway.

“You guys studying for Abnormal Psych?” he asked, backpack slung over one shoulder.

The girl with the buzzcut nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m in the class,” he lied smoothly. “Mind if I join?”

You looked up. Eyes narrowed.

“You’re not in this class.”

“I learn fast,” he said, already sitting down on the edge of the blanket someone had thrown across the grass. “Name’s Taehyung.”

Buzzcut girl perked up. “I’ve heard of you. You did karaoke dressed as an anime character at the bio major mixer.”

“Guilty,” he grinned.

“Didn’t know you were in psych, though.”

“Oh, I’m more of a… community learner.”

You snorted softly despite yourself. “This is a closed study group.”

“Not anymore,” Buzzcut girl said, pulling out her flashcards. “He brought gummy bears.”

Taehyung passed the bag to you first, catching your eye. “For your brain.”

You shook your head—but didn’t refuse them.

^^^^^^^^

Over the next two weeks, he became a fixture in your orbit.

He never asked for more than you gave, but he was always around—texting you helpful mnemonics, scribbling dumb doodles in the margins of your notes, bringing lattes and whispering jokes during tense study sessions.

You didn’t realize you’d started waiting for him until one day he was late and your stomach felt weird.

He showed up five minutes later with windblown hair and a sheepish grin. “Sorry, spilled yogurt on my pants and had to change. Very heroic story, I’ll tell it in full later.”

You didn’t say anything. Just nudged your shoulder against his as he sat down beside you.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

But he didn’t say a word. He just smiled.

Because you still hadn’t said yes to dinner. You hadn’t said yes to “just one date.”

But you’d stopped saying no.

^^^^^^^^

It was the kind of party that smelled like sweat, cheap beer, and bad decisions—one of those “someone’s cousin knows the guy who owns this place” situations where no one really belonged but no one got kicked out either.

The porch was packed. The lawn was wrecked. Someone had already duct taped a traffic cone to the roof.

It was a Thursday.

Your roommate had dragged you out. She was currently glittered from head to toe and sipping a vodka cranberry like it was a rite of passage.

“This is exactly what you need,” Nia said over the music. “One night. No textbooks. No overthinking. Just vibes.”

You weren’t sure if just vibes was medically advisable, but you’d worn your favorite jeans, a cute little corset Nia let you borrow, and actually styled your hair. So you were halfway committed.

And then he appeared.

Taehyung, standing in the hallway like he knew he was the main character—dress shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, rings glinting in the dim light, curls wild and his grin wilder. Jimin was beside him, all smirks and shoulder shrugs, clearly playing wingman for the night.

You caught Taehyung’s eye.

And he lit up.

“Look who finally decided to be fun,” he said, weaving through the crowd like he had a spotlight following him.

“You’re everywhere,” you muttered, sipping your drink.

“I contain multitudes,” he replied, offering his hand with zero irony. “Dance with me.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Just one song?”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet…”

You let him pull you in.

Just one song. One dumb, thumping remix with bass that shook the walls and made your teeth buzz. Taehyung danced like no one was watching—and if they were, he didn’t care. Loose, confident, chaotic in a way that made you laugh more than you should’ve. He pulled you into it without thinking—hands on your waist, forehead nearly brushing yours, smiling like you were already his.

Then it turned into two songs. Then three.

You pretended not to notice how close he got. How your body moved in sync with his. How his hands never strayed too far, but also never let you drift.

When the music shifted into something slower, more nostalgic, you ducked out with a mumbled, “Need some air.”

Taehyung followed. Of course he did.

The backyard was quieter. Cooler. The string lights hanging between trees buzzed softly, casting a golden halo around everything. You leaned against the porch railing, drink in hand, and tried to act unaffected.

“You’re good at that,” he said after a minute.

“At what?”

“Pretending you’re not having a good time.”

You glanced at him. “Maybe I’m not.”

“You are.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “You laughed three times. Snorted once. That’s a strong indicator of fun.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe I’m just easy to amuse.”

“I don’t think you’re easy at all.”

That pulled your gaze back to him.

Taehyung didn’t look away.

He wasn’t smiling now. Not exactly. Just… watching you, like he was waiting for something.

“Why me?” you asked softly. “You flirt with everyone.”

“Not like this.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Like I mean it.”

The words sat heavy in the air between you. Not overwhelming. Not demanding. Just there—a quiet truth.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

So you leaned in, just a little. Just close enough to tempt fate.

And then Nia called your name from across the yard, voice bright and urgent.

You stepped back.

Just enough to make Taehyung smile—small, understanding, but with a flicker of disappointment he didn’t quite hide.

“Almost,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

You didn’t respond.

Because almost was already more than you meant to give him.

^^^^^^^^

Inside, as the night wore on, Taehyung sat on the arm of the couch nursing a beer while Jimin hovered beside him.

“You okay?” Jimin asked, nodding toward the door you’d walked through.

“Yeah,” Taehyung said, eyes still on the space where you’d stood. “She makes me nervous in a good way.”

“Oof, that’s the scariest kind.”

Taehyung nodded. “I know.”

^^^^^^^^

The first day of summer was supposed to taste like freedom.

You’d graduated with honors, your cap decorated in glitter and photos, your cheeks sore from smiling. The night before, you and Damian had promised to meet at your favorite coffee spot to plan everything—dorm lists, road trip playlists, countdowns until move-in day. You were so ready for the next chapter.

He was fifteen minutes late.

That should’ve been your first clue.

You were halfway through your iced vanilla latte when he finally walked in, hands in his pockets, hair still wet from his morning shower. He didn’t kiss your cheek like he usually did. Didn’t smile like he had the night before when you slow danced to no music in your driveway.

He just slid into the booth across from you and looked down at his hands.

You remember the cold bloom of instinct in your gut. The kind that whispered, something’s wrong before anything had even been said.

“Babe?”

He didn’t look at you.

“I got into UCLA,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

“I applied in secret. Early decision.”

“But…” You laughed, confused. “We were going to State. We both committed—”

“I didn’t sign anything,” he cut in. “I waited.”

The room spun.

“Why?”

Damian looked up then. Not cruel. Not angry. Just… removed. Like he’d already made peace with the explosion and was just waiting for the dust to settle.

“Because high school sweethearts is cute,” he said softly. “But it’s also… high school. I want to see what college has to offer.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling like your lungs had forgotten how to breathe right.

“I don’t want to be tied down,” he added.

That part hit the hardest.

Like all your plans—every phone call about future dorm setups, every hand squeezing moment when college felt scary—had been your fantasy, and he’d just been playing along. Like your love had an expiration date, and he’d already circled it in red.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and asked the only question you could manage:

“When were you going to tell me?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess… today.”

You nodded slowly, as if your heart hadn’t just been cracked down the middle.

“You could’ve just said you didn’t love me anymore.”

He winced. “It’s not that. I do. Just… not enough to stay.”

That was worse.

You didn’t cry. Not in the booth. Not in front of him.

You just stood, left your untouched drink on the table, and walked out into the summer sun that suddenly felt all wrong.

That night, you packed away every picture. Deleted every message. Blocked his name from your college folder. And when Nia came over with a pint of ice cream and a bottle of tequila, you didn’t say a word.

You just shook your head and promised yourself:

Next time, it’ll be different.

If there even was a next time.

^^^^^^^^

The rain started around sunset—soft at first, like a whisper against the windows. But by nightfall, it was pouring, steady and rhythmic, turning the sidewalks into mirrors and the air into something heavier.

You were at the library, third floor, tucked into a booth that always smelled faintly of printer ink and pencil shavings. A hoodie swallowed your frame, sleeves pushed past your knuckles as you clicked between tabs on your laptop. Notes, study guide, quizlet, back to notes.

You were trying to be productive.

Trying not to think.

But the words blurred together, and your chest felt tight, and your coffee had gone cold an hour ago.

You thought about texting Nia.

You thought about crying.

Instead, you just sat there, headphones in but no music playing, watching the cursor blink like it knew how close you were to breaking.

I want to see what college has to offer.

You could still hear Damian’s voice. Calm. Certain. As if you hadn’t spent two years memorizing each other’s schedules and picking out twin bedspreads. As if you hadn’t built an entire future together only for him to drop it in your lap like a stone and walk away.

You blinked fast. Swallowed hard.

And then—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You looked up.

Taehyung.

Dripping wet from the rain, curls flattened against his forehead, hoodie dark with water around the shoulders. He grinned through it all, holding a brown paper bag in one hand and a lumpy, too bright bouquet in the other.

“Emergency snack delivery,” he said, voice muffled by the air pods still in your ears.

You tugged one out. “What are you—how did you know I was here?”

“You’re a creature of habit,” he said. “And you said you study here during exam week.”

“I could’ve gone anywhere.”

He shrugged. “But you didn’t.”

He sat across from you, no hesitation, already pulling things from the bag: chocolate covered pretzels, sour gummy worms, two croissants, and a lavender canned tea. Then—like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat—he produced a single, rainbow gel pen.

You blinked. “Is that mine?”

“I found it in your psych notes.”

“You stole my pen?”

“Borrowed. For morale.”

You stared at the offerings on the table.

“You okay?” he asked, quieter now. The smile hadn’t disappeared, but it had softened, curved at the edges with concern.

You hesitated. “Just tired.”

He nodded. “Tired sucks.”

And somehow, that made it easier.

You let him stay. Let him quiz you in a silly voice. Let him dramatically act out memory devices like you were cramming for a Broadway audition instead of a midterm. You laughed. More than once. He caught you smiling down at your notebook and said nothing—but he noticed.

Like he always did

At one point, you let your head fall against the window. He reached across the table and tucked your pen behind your ear like it was something precious. His fingers brushed your cheek, just for a second, and your whole body sparked like a struck match.

You didn’t pull away.

But you didn’t lean in either.

He didn’t push.

When the library announced its closing, you packed your things slowly. He waited. Held your laptop sleeve without asking. Walked beside you in the rain without offering an umbrella—just held it high enough for both of you to huddle under.

When you got to your door, you turned to face him.

The porch light flickered above your head. He looked at you like you were made of stardust.

“This the part where you kiss me?” you asked softly.

Taehyung smiled. “Nope.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Because I want you to kiss me,” he said. “When you’re ready. When it’s real. When it’s yours.”

You looked at him.

The kindness. The care. The way he never pushed, never pried, never reached for more than you offered.

Your chest ached.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I know,” he repeated. “But I can promise I’ll stay.”

You blinked.

He smiled. Tipped his head. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

And he walked away.

You stood in the doorway for a long time after he was gone.

Not thinking.

Just feeling.

^^^^^^^^

The text came on a Tuesday, sandwiched between a group project meltdown and a mediocre dining hall salad.

Taehyung [1:04 PM] important question: do you believe in spontaneous joy, glitter, and road trips with questionable wifi? 🙃

You frowned.

You [1:06 PM] …what are you planning?

Taehyung [1:06 PM] music festival. this weekend. us, jimin, nia, a few others. tents. loud music. bad decisions. snacks. it’s practically self care!

You didn’t answer right away. He waited a whole ten minutes before sending another.

Taehyung [1:16 PM] i’ll bring gummy bears and the collapsible desk. and i’ll make you a playlist. please come🙏🏻 i want to dance with you under ugly lights and yell lyrics off key.

You stared at the message longer than you should have.

Nia leaned over your tray. “Is that the chaotic guy with the eyebrows and the emotional support snacks?”

“Yes.”

“Are we going?”

“I don’t know.”

“You want to.”

“…Yeah. I think I do.”

^^^^^^^^

On Friday, when the sun was just barely making its daily debut, you stood on the curb in front of the dorm with your duffel bag, hoodie pulled tight, trying not to look excited.

The van was chaos in motion—Jimin behind the wheel in yellow sunglasses and a mesh tank top, Hoseok in the passenger seat playing DJ, and Taehyung in the backseat waving at you like he hadn’t seen you in years instead of twelve hours ago.

“You came!” he shouted, throwing the side door open like a golden retriever greeting its favorite person. “You came.”

“You said there’d be snacks.”

“I said there’d be magic. Snacks are a bonus.”

Nia climbed in behind you, flopping over a pile of blankets. Someone tossed you a warm muffin. Hoseok handed you a tiny bottle of hotel shampoo, no explanation. It was perfect.

^^^^^^^^

The drive was loud, messy, and full of laughter.

They passed around instant cameras and took blurry photos at gas stations. Played Taehyung’s Mixtape Mayhem game, your movie montage song: Cigarette Daydreams; his: SexyBack, with no shame whatsoever. Someone kept losing signal. Someone else lost a shoe.

You hadn’t laughed that much in a long time.

And Taehyung? He watched you with this soft awe, like every time you smiled it made something in him settle deeper. He didn’t cling, didn’t crowd, just found you with his gaze every so often like he couldn’t not.

When you sang along to a song you loved, he watched your mouth like it was art.

When your head drooped against the window, he tucked your hoodie hood up without a word.

And when you caught him looking?

He just smiled.

^^^^^^^^

The air buzzed with bass and heat, the kind of energy that stuck to your skin. You pitched tents between strangers and strung fairy lights between trees. Someone spilled a soda on your blanket. Jimin got into a debate with a guy selling handmade jewelry about astrology. You danced under colored lights and neon fog and laughed until your cheeks hurt.

At some point, Taehyung disappeared and returned with glow stick crowns. He placed yours gently on your head like it was something precious.

“There,” he said. “Royalty.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

He blinked. “Am I not always?”

You couldn’t argue with that.

^^^^^^^^

Later that night the fire pit had burned down to a sleepy glow. Everyone else had drifted off to their tents, leaving you and Taehyung in the silence of stars and smoke.

You lay on your back in the grass, his arm close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. Your glow stick crown still flickered faintly. His curls were tucked under a beanie now, damp from sweat and fog.

“Tell me something real,” he said suddenly.

You turned your head. “What?”

“Anything. Doesn’t have to be deep. Just real.”

You hesitated for a few minutes before deciding to push past the fear.

“I think…I’m afraid of how much I like you.”

His breath hitched.

You didn’t look at him.

You just stared at the sky and added, “Because last time I liked someone this much… it didn’t end well.”

He was quiet.

Then his fingers found yours in the grass, slow and careful.

“I’m not him,” he said.

You finally turned.

“I know,” you said. “That’s what scares me.”

He didn’t kiss you.

He didn’t rush.

He just held your hand like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like maybe you’d been holding his this whole time without realizing it.

^^^^^^^^

Finals week feels like the inside of a pressure cooker.

Sleep becomes optional. Meals turn into vending machine runs and half eaten granola bars that disappear somewhere in your bag. The library is open 24/7, and somehow still always full. Even Taehyung looks frayed at the edges—hoodie pulled low, dark circles under his eyes, curls tucked under a beanie he refuses to take off.

But he still checks in.

He texts you every day. Drops off snacks when you forget to eat. Leaves sticky notes in your textbooks with doodles and cheesy pep talks in his messy handwriting. On the morning of your hardest exam, you find a neon green post it tucked into your notebook:

you’re gonna crush this. and when you do, i’m taking you to celebrate. wear something that makes me weak.

You laugh out loud. Then immediately choke on your coffee and have to explain to your roommate why you’re smiling like the post it just confessed its love to you.

^^^^^^^^

It was past one in the morning, and the world outside your window had gone still.

Finals were less than two days away, your laptop fan was groaning like it was on its last breath, and your study guide looked like a crime scene—scribbled notes, scratched out equations, desperate reminders written in red pen.

You sat on your bedroom floor, a monstrously oversized t-shirt, bare legs tangled in a blanket, surrounded by empty coffee cups and open tabs you couldn’t bring yourself to close.

Your brain was fogged.

Your chest was tight.

The quiet wasn’t peaceful—it was loud.

You stared down at the mess of your planner, blinking back the hot sting in your eyes, and then reached for your phone without even thinking.

You [1:23 AM] can you come over..if you’re awake

You didn’t expect an answer right away. But thirty seconds later his reply came.

Taehyung [1:23AM] already halfway there

^^^^^^^^

You barely had time to drag your fingers through your hair and put on some shorts before there was a knock on the door.

You opened it to find him standing there in gray slacks and a too big sweater, and his backpack hanging off one shoulder like he’d come from war.

“Hi,” he said, voice soft.

You just nodded and stepped aside.

He looked around your room—saw the chaos, the barely contained panic—and didn’t say anything about it.

Instead, he set his bag down, pulled out a warm croissant wrapped in foil and a little folded paper crane he’d clearly scribbled something onto.

You opened it.

you’ve survived 100% of your worst days so far. let’s keep the streak going.

The tears came so fast you didn’t even feel them build.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whispered.

Taehyung was already crossing the room.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said, pulling you into his arms like he’d done it a thousand times. “You’re just tired. You’ve been carrying the world on your back for weeks. Let someone hold it with you for a minute.”

You buried your face in his chest, breathing in that warm, cozy scent that had become your favorite thing.

He didn’t rush you. Didn’t ask for anything in return. Just rubbed your back slowly and let you fall apart.

When the tears slowed and the silence stretched, he spoke again—low and gentle.

“Can I say something, or will it make you spiral more?”

You sniffed. “Depends. Are you about to tell me you failed an exam?”

He smiled against your hair. “No. I was gonna tell you I think I’m falling in love with you.”

You froze.

Not in a bad way. Just in that whole body still way that happens when something hits too deep to move.

You leaned back just enough to look at him.

“Why would you say that now?”

“Because I’ve wanted to say it for a while,” he said, searching your face. “And because I think you need to hear something true right now. Even if it’s scary.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

And then slowly, carefully.

You kissed him.

It wasn’t cinematic, No swelling orchestra, no perfectly timed wind. Just his sweater against your skin, your hands in his hair at the nape of his neck, your breath hitching when he cupped your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real.

When you pulled away, he was smiling like he’d just solved a riddle no one else could.

“You… kissed me,” he whispered.

“You said you were waiting,” you murmured back.

“I would’ve waited forever.”

You leaned your forehead against his, voice barely there. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t leave. Don’t change your mind. Don’t do what he did, please.”

Taehyung kissed your nose.

Then your cheek.

Then your mouth again.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

^^^^^^^^

Finals week hit like a freight train.

The library turned into a second home. Cafeteria food lost what little appeal it had. Everyone walked around with under eye circles and iced coffee IVs. You were running on four hours of sleep, two protein bars, and blind academic panic.

But somehow, Taehyung made it feel almost survivable.

He didn’t hover—he just showed up exactly when you needed him. A text when your brain fogged. A forehead kiss on his way to class. A note slipped into your textbook that read:

you don’t have to do this alone. but I know you can.

Every time you felt yourself unravel, he helped you stitch yourself back together.

And he never asked for anything in return.

^^^^^^^^

The night before your last exam, you sat side by side in his dorm’s common room, surrounded by half open notebooks and the distant sound of someone crying over a chemistry final. Your head rested against his shoulder, your body warm beneath a shared blanket.

You hadn’t kissed again since that night.

Not because you didn’t want to—but because something about the pause felt sacred. Like the next time it happened, it would mean everything.

“I had a dream last night,” you whispered. “That we were back at the café. You walked in and didn’t recognize me.”

Taehyung’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Maybe because I wasn’t… this version of me. I was still the girl from the first day of summer. Still waiting to be chosen.”

He turned toward you, eyes soft. “I’ve been choosing you since the second I saw you.”

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

Because the silence between you wasn’t empty—it was full of everything.

He reached for your hand, weaving your fingers together slowly.

“I know you were hurt,” he said quietly. “And I know I can’t erase that. But I swear, every part of me wants to give you something better. Softer. Real.”

You looked at him.

At the guy who bought you croissants just to learn your name.

At the guy who stayed.

Who always stayed.

“Ask me again,” you said.

Taehyung blinked. “What?”

“Ask me again to go out with you.”

His mouth curved into a slow, sure smile.

“Will you go out with me?”

You leaned in.

Kissed him like you were sealing something that had already been written in stone and yet brand new at the same time.

“Yes.”

^^^^^^^^

Two days later on the campus lawn, post exams, the sun was shining too bright. Students were lounging like survivors after battle. Nia had collapsed onto a blanket with iced tea and a victory playlist.

You were half asleep, head in Taehyung’s lap, as he read a graphic novel with one hand and played with your curls with the other.

“So what now?” you mumbled.

“Now?” he said. “Now we do summer. We do late night drives and brunch and museums and maybe even a weekend at that lake house my cousin keeps bragging about.”

“Sounds like a lot.”

“It is,” he said. “And it’s all with you.”

You closed your eyes, smiling.

Because for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like a question mark.

It felt like a promise.

^^^^^^^^

You didn’t even need a destination.

Just Taehyung behind the wheel of his silver coupe, music low, the windows cracked open to let in the breeze. The sky stretched wide overhead, pale blue with streaks of clouds that looked like brushstrokes.

“You packed four pairs of jeans,” he said, glancing at your duffel bag in the backseat. “We’re gone for two days.”

“I like options,” you replied, flicking his sunglasses down over his eyes. “And you brought five different notebooks.”

“Those are creative tools.”

“Sure.”

He grinned, reaching for your hand across the console. His fingers laced with yours so naturally it felt like you’d always done it.

The road was empty. Just the two of you, the hum of the tires, and a playlist you built together that morning—equal parts indie slow burn, R&B, and old songs you both secretly knew every word to.

You leaned your head out the window and yelled into the wind just to feel it bite at your cheeks.

Taehyung watched you with a smile that made your stomach dip.

“Wanna stop?” he asked after a while, eyes flicking toward a peeling road sign that read:

EXIT 41 – Scenic Overlook | Fruit Stand | Antique Store

“Fruit stand?”

He wiggled his brows. “Adventure.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. But if this turns into a weird horror movie setup, I’m leaving you behind.”

“Noted,” he said, already flipping on the turn signal.

^^^^^^^^

Twenty minutes later you stood at the edge of a hill, hair whipping in the breeze, holding a strawberry soda in one hand and a bag of peaches in the other.

The overlook was quiet, just a small gravel lot with a single picnic table and a stunning view of rolling hills and wide open sky. The woman at the fruit stand had called you two honeymooners and given you an extra apple “just in case.”

Taehyung climbed onto the table and stretched his arms behind his head, shirt riding up just enough to make you look away and then look back a second later.

“This feels fake,” you said, settling beside him.

“What does?”

“This.” You gestured at the view. “Us. The quiet. Everything.”

“It’s real,” he said simply. “Just rare.”

You sat in silence for a while, sharing sips of soda and stealing bites of fruit, letting your bodies lean into each other without needing to say anything.

Then, out of nowhere—

“Marry me.”

You choked.

Taehyung was grinning, not serious, but not exactly joking either.

“Excuse me?”

He shrugged. “Someday. If you’re bored. If you need someone to keep bringing you snacks and calling you pretty forever.”

You looked at him.

At his messy curls and his sun kissed skin and the way he was watching you like he knew how to wait a lifetime for the right moment.

And for the first time, the idea didn’t terrify you.

It made your heart ache in a way that felt good.

“Maybe,” you said.

“Maybe?”

“Ask me again at another fruit stand.”

He leaned in, kissed your temple, and whispered, “Deal.”

| 3 years later |

The first chill of autumn always brought you back to the beginning.

It made the air sharper. The coffee stronger. The campus quieter, like it was exhaling after the noise of summer. And tucked between the music hall and the campus bookstore, Bean There Café still looked the same—wobbly table legs, moody lighting, a playlist that always seemed to know how you were feeling.

Table Four hadn’t changed.

Still near the window. Still a little crooked. Still yours.

Taehyung sat sideways in his chair, sketchbook resting on his knee, his left foot nudging yours under the table every few minutes like he couldn’t help it. His curls were longer now, his rings flashier. But his smile? Still exactly the same.

Across from him, you were highlighting a research article, one AirPod in, your cardigan slipping off your shoulder in that way that always made him pause.

He watched you for a long time before speaking.

“You’re really gonna make me sit here and suffer without saying hi to me properly, baby?”

You didn’t look up. “We’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes.”

“Exactly. That’s twenty minutes of missed affection. I’m traumatized.”

You set your pen down and raised an eyebrow. “Would you like a sticker or a kiss?”

“Yes.”

You leaned across the table and kissed his cheek.

“Greedy,” you said.

“Hopeless,” he corrected. “Hopelessly greedy for you.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, and Taehyung felt something settle in his chest like a song finishing its final note.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a folded piece of thick paper—worn at the edges, carefully smoothed out. He slid it across the table without ceremony.

You opened it slowly.

Inside was a new sketch. A recreation of Table Four—but not the one from the past. This time, there were two mugs. A laptop. Your favorite pen. A shared pastry. You were looking down, focused. Taehyung had drawn himself mid smile, eyes only on you.

In the corner, in soft graphite:

Still my favorite seat in the world.

You blinked hard.

“This is unfair,” you whispered.

“It’s accurate,” he said, already reaching for your hand. “You saved my heart when I didn’t even realize I’d given it away.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being honest.”

You looked up at him. Your Taehyung. The man who once brought you croissants for no reason. Who waited. Who never asked for more than you could give, but always gave you more than you knew to want.

You squeezed his hand.

“I’m glad I sat down that day.”

“I’m glad I saw you.”

Outside, the wind rustled golden leaves against the glass. Someone near the register was humming along to a soft acoustic cover of a love song you both knew. The coffee still wasn’t great. The wi-fi still glitched near the counter. But none of it mattered.

Because this table—this moment—this love?

It was yours.

And it always would be.

| 6 years later |

It was a Thursday night in late spring, and the city had finally started to bloom again.

You and Taehyung had gone to dinner at your favorite spot—quiet, candlelit, familiar. He’d been soft all evening, affectionate in that barely contained way he got when something was brewing behind his eyes. The kind of soft where his hand found your lower back for no reason. The kind of soft where his eyes never stopped smiling, even when his mouth did.

“I still say I could’ve made better risotto,” you teased, tugging on his sleeve as the two of you walked back toward the car.

“Untrue,” he said. “You would’ve burned the pan and added too much salt.”

You gasped. “You love my over salted cooking.”

“I love you, baby,” he corrected. “The cooking is a side quest.”

He kissed your temple and opened the passenger door for you, sliding into the driver’s side a second later like he hadn’t been checking the time on his phone every five minutes during dinner.

You didn’t notice.

Too busy pulling off your earrings and mumbling about whether or not you left the porch light on back at the townhouse.

^^^^^^^^

Ten minutes into the drive, you pass it.

A fruit stand.

Small, rustic. Just off the edge of a quiet road near your neighborhood. The wood was painted with soft lavender accents and little twinkle lights strung above it. There was a handwritten chalkboard that read:

Fresh Strawberries • Homemade Peach Jam • Love Optional

You blinked. “That… wasn’t here last week.”

Taehyung’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Wanna stop?”

You hesitated.

He looked over, a small, unreadable smile pulling at his lips. “Adventure?”

Your heart kicked up—familiar, fond, warm.

You smiled. “Sure. But if this is another horror movie setup, I’m leaving you behind again.”

“My beautiful creature of habit.”

^^^^^^^^

The stand looked even more whimsical up close. There were bunches of baby’s breath in tiny mason jars, a crate of freshly baked mini pies, and baskets of strawberries that still smelled like sun.

You wandered toward a basket.

Taehyung stayed a few steps behind.

You reached for a peach. “This is so weird, who puts a random fruit—?”

When you turned, he wasn’t beside you.

He was kneeling.

One knee to the earth. Holding a ring box that looked like it had been in his pocket for weeks, like it had been waiting for the right moment. For the right stand.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You barely registered the wind.

Or the smell of strawberries.

Or the sound of the breeze rattling the twinkle lights.

“I asked you once at a fruit stand if you’d marry me,” Taehyung said, voice quiet but steady. “You said to ask again someday. At another stand.”

You blinked fast. “Tae—”

“I knew then. I knew before then. Before croissants. Before gummy bears. Before that first party and the first road trip and the first kiss you gave me when you didn’t even believe in love anymore.”

His voice cracked.

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until a tear landed on your thumb.

Taehyung smiled—shaky, bright. “I’ve spent every day since just being lucky enough to love you.”

The ring was delicate. Gold band with a peach colored diamond. Your style, down to the last glimmer.

“So now,” he continued, “I’m asking again. One more time, with no expiration date, no more waiting.”

He looked up at you, eyes shining.

“Will you marry me?”

Your knees gave a little.

You nodded, too fast. “Yes. Y-Yes, I will.”

The ring slid onto your finger like it had always belonged there.

You barely had time to breathe before Nia screamed from behind a car, “SHE SAID YES, Y’ALL—COME ON!”

Laughter and cheers exploded around you.

From behind every parked car friends and family poured out, cheering and shouting, phones up, cameras flashing. Jimin was in tears. Hoseok threw confetti that stuck in Taehyung’s hair. Seokjin was already handing out mini champagne bottles.

You covered your mouth in disbelief as your world rushed forward in color and light.

Taehyung pulled you into his chest, arms around your waist, spinning you slightly.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” you whispered into his shoulder.

“I would’ve shut down the whole city if you asked,” he said. “But this felt more like us.”

And it did.

A quiet road.

A handmade sign.

The kind of love that started with a croissant and a ‘maybe’ at table four.

masterlist

#bts fanfic #bangtanarmynet #bts fanfiction #bts au #fanfic #bts v #bts kim taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #fluff #college au #strangers to lovers

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melancholy-of-nadia · 8 months ago

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i'm not sure?! (m) | jjk/pjm/kth

title: i'm not sure?! pairing: jungkook x jimin x taehyung x show producer!reader(f) rating/genre: m(18+) ; fluff, smut ; the canon idol au summary: You're a producer working on a BTS travel show, called "Are You Sure?!" staring BTS members Jimin and Jungkook, with their fellow member guest star Taehyung. Everything is going well on set as filming for the night comes to an end, but when Jungkook and Jimin inform you that they caught you staring at their shirtless bodies, things quickly escalate between you guys by the poolside. warnings: fluff, language, pwp, threesome, foursome, tit play, nipple play, licking, some body boob worship, blowjobs, hand jobs, eating out, multiple orgasms, ass slapping, light mlm moment, cumming, oral sex (m and f receieving), biting, praise, they all have a big dicks but they're different!, tatted jk and jimin is a warning in itself, jungkook is a bit more rough, jimin is soft :(((, taehyung dom tease!, insinuation that this is not their first rodeo lmfao, kisses note: i am watching are you sure?! and i've thought many thoughts... i hope this one shot can be prescribed to you and heal whatever insane and nasty intrusive thoughts you guys have when watching. i am a simple woman, but these men only slightly older than me have me wrecked :"))) also s/o to @daegudrama for editing despite her busyness total word count: 6.6k drop date: August 29th, 2024 5pm pst ao3 link

A day of filming wrapped as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue over the lush greenery of Jeju Island.

The final shot had captured the last rays of sunlight glinting off the shimmering pool, where Jimin and Jungkook had been playfully splashing each other and playing mermaids, their laughter echoing through the tranquil evening air. The crew began to pack up the equipment, the usual post-shoot chatter filling the space as everyone prepared to unwind after another successful day.

You, the producer, had been watching the monitors closely, ensuring every moment was captured perfectly for "Are You Sure?"—the travel reality show hosted by BTS members Jimin and Jungkook. You’ve seen how their chemistry was undeniable since filming started out in the US in July. Now, once again, their camaraderie was infectious as they explored the beauty of Jeju, Korea with their fellow bandmate and guest star Taehyung by their side. Each outing in Jeju had been a hit: indoor rock climbing, go-karting, savoring omakase as well as other Jeju delicacies, and now, the pool at the luxurious house accommodation, where they seemed to find endless ways to entertain themselves, and the audiences who would eventually be watching this.

However, throughout this filming project, you found your eyes constantly lingering. The cool blue water rippled gently as Jimin and Jungkook clambered out, their naked torsos glistening in the fading light. It wasn’t the first time you’d caught yourself staring a little too long, mesmerized by the sight of them so effortlessly carefree and touchy. There was something about the way they moved, their playful energy, that made it hard to look away.

You shake off the thought. Get it together, Y/N! You finally got a big gig producing a reality show for BTS in your mid-20s and you cannot be ruining it over your lust. You sigh. Maybe the lack of touch and a relationship is really getting to you, but that’s what happens when you value your career above other mundane things. You have to remind yourself that you have to continue staying professional to make it to the end of filming this.

What you don’t know is that your stares haven’t gone unnoticed, especially by the youngest of the trio, Jungkook.

As you begin to collect your things, your heart skips a beat when you hear a voice call out to you.

“Hey, PD-nim. Can you come join us by the pool for a bit before you go,” Jungkook says, his tone casual, but his smile inviting. “We wanted to talk about tomorrow’s shoot.”

Jimin nods in agreement, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans against the edge of the pool. “Yeah, we’ve got some ideas for tomorrow. Plus, it’s a nice night—no reason to rush off, right?”

You hesitate for a moment, your mind racing. The day has been long, and you can feel the exhaustion settling in. But the chance to spend a few more moments in their company, even if just to discuss the next day's itinerary, is too tempting to resist.

“Uh,” you turn to look around at the other staff, seemingly wondering if you should stay behind.

However, the ones who notice the interaction shrug, seemingly wanting to go back to their accommodation next door and eat dinner. Great.

“Sure, I can stick around for a bit.” trying to keep your voice steady as you walk over to where they’re waiting.

All the staff but you fully exit, closing the large doors that encase you in this space with these beautiful men. You sit on one of the comfortable seats by the pool, nervously hugging your knees as you watch Jimin and Jungkook swim toward you. You notice Taehyung is still inside the living room, lying on the floor as he scrolls on his phone. “Is he coming to join us?” You ask, wondering if there are any concerns for tomorrow, wouldn’t it be good to have him hear this information too?

“He’ll join us later~” Jimin answers, his tone sounding like he’s up to something, but his adorable smirk makes you not question it.

“Ah, alright.”

A brief silence follows as you look to Jimin and Jungkook to start the conversation, but instead, they exchange a glance and giggle.

You’re confused, but you recognize this as typical behavior from them. “Is there something wrong?”

Jungkook’s giggling becomes softer before it cuts, “You know, we’ve noticed you staring at us too much throughout the trip in America and here.”

Holy shit! They noticed!

Panic sets in. Oh no no no. Is this it? They probably think you’re creepy. What if they think you’re some sort of sasaeng fan who somehow got involved in the production of this show to stalk them?

You’ll be labeled a pervert, potentially losing your job and getting blacklisted from the industry. All because you couldn’t keep your eyes off of their beautiful faces… and bodies. It’s not your fault! While you were a fan of BTS years ago, you gave that up once you entered the entertainment industry a few years ago and started out as a production assistant. You’ve occasionally seen them at music and end of the year shows you worked on, but you gently admired them from afar, prioritizing your work over anything else.

“I–” You struggle to find the words to defend yourself. “I’m so sorry!” You cover your face with your hands, your words muffled. “I-I didn’t mean to! Y-You’re… He’s…”

The professional and stoic exterior you’ve maintained begins to crumble now that you’ve been caught red-handed.

But despite your panic, Jimin and Jungkook find your reaction completely endearing.

“She’s reacting exactly as cute as you said!” Jimin laughs, splashing water at Jungkook, who swims toward the pool ladder to get out.

“I didn’t realize she’d be this flustered, though!” Jungkook says, a hint of concern in his voice. He climbs out of the pool and walks toward you, dripping water onto the deck. “PD-nim, don’t worry about it.”

You peek through your fingers, still mortified, as Jungkook approaches, looking as attractive as ever with his body glistening from light reflecting on the remnants of water falling down his body. His expression is soft, reassuring, and it only makes your heart race faster.

Jimin lets out a soft chuckle. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re just teasing you,” His voice is light and teasing as he floats lazily in the pool “We’re not uncomfortable. It’s kind of flattering, actually.”

Jungkook nods, his expression gentle yet probing. “Yup! You’ve been nothing but professional this whole time. We just noticed that… maybe there’s more beneath the surface.”

Jimin gracefully lifts himself out of the pool and takes the seat on your other side. His presence is both comforting and disarming. “It’s like there’s something you’re holding back,” he adds, his tone hiding something deeper. “Something you’re denying yourself.”

You exhale slowly, trying to steady your nerves. Internally, you’re awestruck. It’s like they read you like a book. The intensity of their gazes still makes your heart race. Before you can respond, Jungkook’s eyes drop to your chest, his smile turning playful again.

“You know,” he says, “I noticed the black bikini top peeking out from under your tank top earlier.”

Your breath catches as his fingers touch the straps that tie behind your neck. You’d planned to swim later, after filming, wearing the bikini under your tank top and maxi skirt. Seeing how much fun they were having, you’d wanted to join in. But now, with their attention focused on you, you feel exposed in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Jimin leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Why don’t you take off your clothes so we can see it better? We’ll help you~”

Take off your clothes?! Your heart pounds in your chest, the suggestion hanging in the air between you. The teasing is taking a turn, and you’re not sure how to respond. Saying no might kill the mood, and who knows what they’d think—or say. But if you say yes… there’s no telling where this might lead.

You’re not sure. But after a moment’s hesitation, you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay…”

Jungkook gently takes hold of the hem of your tank top, his fingers brushing against your skin. His touch is both soft and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine as he slowly lifts the fabric, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath catches in your throat as Jungkook pulls the tank top over your head, revealing the black bikini top beneath. Your cleavage and the roundness of your breasts are on full display, which makes them slightly more excited. The cool air hits your skin, making you acutely aware of how exposed you are.

But the look in their eyes isn’t one of judgment—it’s something far more intense, more primal.

Jimin watches with a satisfied smile, his gaze flickering between you and Jungkook. “You don’t need to hide, okay?” he adds, his voice soft yet commanding. “We’re all just having a little fun, right?”

Jungkook’s hands linger on your waist, his thumbs brushing lightly against the skin just above the waistband of your maxi skirt. “This too,” he says, his voice almost a whisper as he hooks his fingers under the fabric.

You glance at Jimin, who nods encouragingly, his eyes dark with anticipation. There’s no turning back now, and a part of you doesn’t want to.

With a gentle tug, Jimin helps you slide the skirt down your hips, letting it pool around your feet. You stand up, stepping out of it. Now, your body is fully on display in the black bikini that suddenly feels far more revealing than it did before.

Jimin’s smile widens as his gaze travels over you, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. “Wow, you look even better than I imagined,” he murmurs, his voice sending a thrill through you.

“She’s really pretty,” Jungkook’s hands trail up your sides, his touch light but possessive. “Let’s go in the pool for a swim,” he says softly, his eyes locked onto yours.

You’re momentarily thrown off by the sudden change of scenario, blinking in surprise. The intensity of the moment shifts, and both Jimin and Jungkook burst into soft giggles at your reaction. Before you can say anything, Jungkook takes your hands and, with a mischievous grin, pulls you up from the lounge chair.

In one swift motion, he lifts you into his arms, the strength in his hold both reassuring and thrilling. “Hold on tight,” he says, winking at you before he leaps into the pool, bringing you along with him.

“Huh!? Wahh!!” The water rushes around you, cool and refreshing as you both plunge beneath the surface.

When you resurface, laughing and splashing, Jimin stands at the edge, watching with amusement. “Wait for me!” he calls out before executing a perfect cannonball right between you and Jungkook, sending a wave of water crashing over both of you.

The three of you laugh as the playful atmosphere takes over. The tension from earlier dissolves into something lighthearted and fun. In the pool, you play a variety of games: splashing water at each other, racing from one end to the other, seeing who can hold their breath the longest, and even attempting to dunk each other under the water.

You become more familiar with them and vice versa.

Jimin and Jungkook take turns lifting you up and tossing you into the deeper end, your laughter echoing in the night. At one point, Jungkook even suggests a round of “chicken fight,” where Jimin hoists you onto his shoulders while Jungkook does the same with an imaginary opponent, both of you trying to push each other off into the water.

As the night progresses, the games become more relaxed, the three of you floating side by side, your bodies gently swaying with the ripples of the water.

Maybe this is all that’s going to happen. Maybe you were overthinking any other scenario. They were just teasing you because you were staring at them throughout the filming. You guys are gonna call it a night, right?

Right–

“Y/N, can I touch your breasts.”

The sudden question jolts you out of your thoughts, and you quickly stand up in the pool, water cascading off your skin. Jungkook is closer now, his gaze fixed on you with a seriousness that wasn’t there before. His eyes are darker, a smoldering intensity taking over the playful spark you’re used to.

You swallow hard, caught completely off guard. “Is there… a reason?” you manage to ask, your voice coming out shakier than you’d like. You are on the bigger side than most girls here, so it’s not entirely surprising that your chest caught his eye.

Jungkook steps even closer, his presence almost overwhelming. “I’m just curious,” he says softly, his voice low and almost hypnotic. “I want to see how they feel.”

Your heart races, every nerve in your body tingling as the situation escalates far beyond anything you’d imagined. You can’t believe this is happening, and yet, there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes it impossible to say no.

“Uh… sure,” you respond, barely above a whisper, your cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation.

Jungkook’s hand moves slowly, deliberately, under the cup of your bikini top. His touch is tentative at first, as if he’s savoring the moment, but then his fingers press more firmly against your skin, exploring the softness with a deliberate curiosity. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel his thumb brush against your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

The sensation is heightened by the sight of his tattooed right arm, the intricate patterns of his sleeve adding a dark contrast to his skin. The ink swirls and curves with every movement, the bold lines almost mesmerizing as his hand continues its exploration.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the sound that threatens to escape, but you can’t help the way your body reacts to his touch. The water feels warmer now, the atmosphere is charged with sexual tension. Luckily the cameras outside are now off, but you still can’t let the staff in the building next door hear anything going on.

Jimin, who had been floating nearby, quietly watching, now moves closer as well, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Jungkook,” he says softly, his voice a gentle reminder that he’s there too, “Don’t hog all the fun.”

Jungkook pulls back slightly, his hand still lingering on your skin as he glances at Jimin with a playful smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jimin leans closer, his gaze intent and voice soft. “I’m going to touch you too, is that okay?”

You nod, anticipation and nervousness swirling within you.

Jimin’s hand moves under the bikini cup to grasp your left breast, his touch gentle yet confident as he begins to explore. His fingers graze and play with your nipple, causing a shiver to run through your body. His thumb and forefingers move in careful back and forth motions. Tenderly tweaking them, carefully observing the way your face reacts to his every touch. He appears as if he is under a trance, and looks at you with such a need in his eyes.

The sensation is heightened by Jungkook, who leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’m gonna remove your top so I can suck on them a bit,” He says shyly, pausing for a moment to untie your bikini straps from the back of your neck and remove your bikini top, before lowering his head and softly pressing his lips to your nipple, his tongue darting out to tease.

His hands push your breasts together as his tongue caresses the inner curves of your tits, swirling his tongue across them. Your hands are on his shoulders as he continues, licking every inch of your chest, nuzzling his face between them and leaving kisses along the path. His tongue flicks your right nipple and your breathing hitches in your throat. Despite the water in the way, you can feel yourself becoming wet from below.

Jimin watches, clearly intrigued, and soon follows suit, his mouth finding the other breast. He rubs his mouth along it, giving it a couple of kisses then wrapping his lips around it. Suctioning and taking in the tit with such hungry delight.

You feel like you have whiplash, as you cry out from the warmth of their mouths on your skin, your back arches off of the wall of the pool. You want to touch them, reach for them, feel the silkiness of his hair in your grasp.

But Jimin doesn’t let up, taking his time licking slowly around your areola until your nipple perks up, hard and stiff. He flicks it with the tip of his tongue, and with the sudden cold from the night air, it feels all too much.

Jungkook looks up at you through his wet hair, through black lashes as he widens his mouth over your breast, his teeth bared, scraping the fat of your breast without ever breaking the skin. You cry out in a cluster of pleasure, maybe pain, as your senses are confused about all of the sensations at once.

Despite the feelings of them against you, their actions are synchronized and perfectly in tune with each other.

The pool’s gentle ripples and breeze seem to fade into the background as the focus narrows to the intimate touch of the two men. Their movements are tender and explorative, a blend of curiosity and desire that leaves you breathless and overwhelmed.

Your mind is fighting for dear life to stay sane and not lose to your animalistic urges,

“Let’s get out of the pool,” Jungkook commands, his voice firm yet enticing. “I want you to sit back on that daybed couch, baby.”

The shift in how he’s addressing you in the past 45 minutes is striking—both intimate and commanding. You nod, your body responding almost instinctively to his command as you all exit the pool. The three of you walk over to the poolside daybed, water dripping off your bodies, cooling in the night.

You sink into the plush cushions, the soft fabric cool against your heated skin. The daybed is large, designed for lounging, but right now, it feels like the center of something much more intense. Jungkook and Jimin kneel on either side of you, their knees pressing into the mattress as they lean over you, their wet bodies glistening under the soft pool lights.

You look at both of them, a daring thought forming in your mind. “I want to… lick at your chests too,” you say, your voice trembling slightly with a mix of eagerness, shyness and uncertainty.

The thought of exploring the contrasting textures of their skin, the difference in their nipples under your tongue, is almost overwhelming. You wonder how each will react, the mere anticipation making your breath catch.

Jimin’s eyes light up with a mischievous glint. “Go ahead,” he murmurs, his voice a blend of encouragement and desire. “We’re here for you.”

Jungkook watches intently, his gaze dark with expectation. “We’re all yours,” he says softly, his tone dripping with promise.

You reach out tentatively, your fingers brushing against their chests to feel the firmness of their muscles under your touch. The warmth of their skin sends a shiver down your spine as you explore the contours of their bodies. Your hands glide over Jungkook's chest first, pausing to tease his nipples with your fingertips gently. His breath hitches, a low hum of approval escaping his lips as he watches you with darkened eyes.

Encouraged by his reaction, you lean in closer, your mouth hovering just above his skin. You start with a soft kiss on his chest before taking one of his small chocolate nipples into your mouth, your tongue swirling around it in a slow, deliberate motion. Jungkook’s hand instinctively reaches up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he lets out a quiet groan of pleasure. His chest rises and falls more rapidly, his breathing growing heavier as you continue to tease him, alternating between gentle licks and firmer sucks.

The sound of his pleasure fuels your desire, making you want to elicit even more reactions from him. But as you pull back slightly, your gaze shifts to Jimin, who has been watching with equal intensity. His eyes are filled with anticipation, his lips slightly parted as if he’s already imagining what it will feel like when it’s his turn.

You move towards Jimin, your fingers tracing the outline of his chest as you did with Jungkook. His skin feels different—softer, yet still firm beneath your touch. Just below his right breast, he has a delicate script tattoo, the word "Nevermind" inked in elegant, flowing letters. You've always found it sexy, this handwritten tattoo adds a personal touch to his perfectly sculpted body.

His nipples are also differently shaped, bigger, and a bit lighter in color. You can feel the slight tremble in his body as you gently roll his nipple between your fingers before leaning in to taste him. Your mouth closes over his nipple, your tongue flicking against it in a teasing rhythm that draws a sharp inhale from him. His hand rests lightly on your shoulder, his grip tightening slightly as you continue to explore him with your mouth.

Jimin’s reactions are more subtle, yet no less intense. His soft moans mix with Jungkook’s heavier breathing, creating a symphony of sounds that only heighten your own arousal. The way their bodies respond to your touch, the contrast in their reactions, drives you to explore further, to discover just how much pleasure you can bring them.

You pull back slightly, glancing toward the large doors that separate the pool area from the rest of the accommodation. A flicker of concern crosses your mind, and you bite your lip before whispering, “You two need to stay quiet. We don’t want anyone overhearing us.”

Any slight mistake and you will lose your job, remember?

Jimin and Jungkook exchange a glance, their playful expressions tinged with a shared understanding. They nod, their eyes never leaving yours as they silently agree to your request. But just as you start to relax, your actions come to a stop when you feel them guiding your hands downwards, placing them on their lower bodies.

Your breath catches as your fingers wrap around their growing hardness, the heat and firmness of their cocks hidden under their swim trunks pressing against your palms. Jimin lets out a shaky exhale, leaning in close enough that you can feel his breath against your ear. “I’ve wanted to feel you so bad for months now,” he confesses, his voice low and thick with desire.

Jungkook, not to be outdone, adds in a hushed tone, his eyes glinting with a dark sparkle, “Me too. You don’t know how much you’ve been driving us crazy.”

Their words send a thrill through you, intensifying the moment. You didn’t realize you were having this effect on them. You look at them both, their shared longing evident in their eyes. Slowly, you pull their members out from their swim trunks, your heart racing as you position yourself between them, sinking to your knees on the cushioned daybed.

Oh fuck…

The size difference even extends to their dicks. Jungkook’s is much longer, with veins prominent on its sides. Jimin’s is shorter, but the girth is insane. You can’t help but imagine how they’d feel inside your pussy. No, you can’t get ahead of yourself Y/N. Not yet at least…

With a mixture of boldness and anticipation, you lean down, your lips parting as you begin to lick at their members, starting with soft, tentative strokes of your tongue. The sensation of their heated skin against your tongue is intoxicating, their quiet groans spurring you on. You alternate between them, your tongue tracing the veins along their lengths, savoring the contrast in texture and taste.

Jimin’s breath hitches as you swirl your tongue around the tip of his member, the salty taste mingling with the slickness of your saliva. His fingers suddenly tighten in your hair, but he remains obediently quiet, the tension in his body evident as he struggles to hold back his angelic voice.

You shift to Jungkook, taking him into your mouth with a slow, deliberate sucking. His quiet sounds of pleasure are like music to your ears, the low hums of approval vibrating. His hands rest on your shoulders, his grip firm but not forceful, guiding you as you take him deeper, feeling the way his body responds to every movement of your tongue.

At the same time, your hand reaches out to Jimin, wrapping around his throbbing length. You start stroking him with a steady rhythm, making sure to keep him engaged, the sensation of your fingers gliding over his slick skin keeping his arousal high. Jimin’s breath hitches, his eyes half-lidded with desire as he watches you.

The two of them try their best to stay quiet, but the occasional gasp, lust-filled phrases or whispered name of yours slips out, betraying their growing need.

“You’re so good at this PD nim…”

“Y/N, you’re so fucking fine…”

“Such a good girl, Y/N…”

“Fuck, right there…”

The thrill of their restraint only heightens your own arousal, driving you to explore them further, your lips and tongue working in tandem to bring them closer to the edge.

While working your mouth over Jungkook, you feel Jimin’s hand sliding up your body, his fingers brushing against your wet skin before cupping your breast. His thumb grazes over your nipple, teasing it to a hardened peak, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you. The dual feeling—Jimin’s touch on your breast and Jungkook’s heat filling your mouth—intensifies the moment, driving you to pleasure them both with renewed focus.

The tension in the atmosphere thickens, all your quiet breaths turning into ragged gasps. You can feel the subtle changes in their bodies, the way their muscles tighten, and the way their grips on you grow firmer. The anticipation builds, and you know they’re close, teetering on the edge of release.

Jimin is the first to break the silence, his voice low and filled with need. “Y/N… can I come on your chest?” His eyes are dark with lust, the words almost a plea.

Jungkook isn’t far behind, his voice breathless and shaky as he adds, “And I–I want to come in your mouth. Is that okay?”

The heat in their words sends a shiver down your spine. You pause, looking up at them, their faces flushed with desire.

“Y-Yes that’s fine with me,” You nod, your consent clear in your eyes and the slight smile that tugs at your lips.

With their requests granted, you resume your ministrations with renewed intensity. Your hands work in tandem, stroking their members with a firm, steady rhythm while your tongue flicks and teases them both. The taste of them lingers on your tongue, salty and intoxicating, driving you to push them further, to bring them to the edge of ecstasy.

Their breaths quicken, and you can tell they’re both struggling to hold back, to savor the moment as long as possible. But the pleasure is overwhelming, and soon their restraint begins to falter.

Jungkook’s voice is the first to crack, a desperate whisper as he warns you, “I’m close… so close…”

Jimin removes his hand from your hair. Instead, Jungkook’s hand, adorned with intricate tattoos and the bold "ARMY" inked across his knuckles, slides from your shoulder to your hair this time. The grip is firm and possessive, his fingers weaving into your strands with a fierce, almost primal hold. The veins beneath his tattooed skin pulsate as he uses his arm to guide you closer, pushing himself deeper into you with each powerful thrust. His tattooed bicep flexes with every movement, demonstrating his strength and control, while the rhythmic thrusts become more urgent.

Jimin's breath hitches as soft, erotic moans escape his lips, each sound laced with urgency to let go. His voice quivers, with a strained yet sensual whisper, “Me too… I’m going to come…” The words tumble out in a series of ragged breaths

With one last, deliberate stroke of your hand and a final suck, you push them both over the edge.

“F-Fuck!” Jimin lets out a guttural groan as he releases, his hot seed spilling onto your breasts, painting your skin with his pleasure. The warmth of it spreads across your breasts, the sensation almost surreal as you continue to stroke him, milking out every last drop.

At the same time, Jungkook’s hips buck slightly as he comes, the hot, salty taste of his release flooding your mouth. You swallow him down eagerly, your tongue swirling around him to milk him of every last bit. The taste of him lingers, warm and slightly bitter, but satisfying in a way that leaves you wanting more.

The sounds they make—those broken moans, the gasps of pleasure—echo in your ears, a symphony of gratification. Their bodies tremble with the aftershocks of their orgasms, their hands gentle but insistent as they guide you through the final moments of their release.

When they’ve finally come down from the high, their breathing ragged but steadying, they look down at you with a mix of awe and satisfaction. The sight of you, your chest slick with Jimin’s release and your lips still wet from Jungkook seems to stir something deeper in them—a shared sense of intimacy that goes beyond mere physical pleasure. Your fingers move instinctively, collecting Jimin’s release and bringing it to your lips, savoring the taste as you clean yourself, erasing the evidence of what just transpired. The sensation is both surreal and thrilling, the intimacy of the moment lingering in the air.

Jungkook's voice breaks through the haze, his tone a mix of innocence and desire. “PD-nim, can we do more with you?” His eyes sparkle with the same enthusiasm you’ve seen during filming, making it nearly impossible to deny him.

“H-Huh!? Oh…” you stammer, caught off guard. That look in his eyes—it’s almost impossible to resist. But a small voice in the back of your mind reminds you that you should be heading back before the other staff starts wondering where you are.

“C’mon, we’ll be quick!” Jimin adds, his voice smooth and coaxing, making it even harder to stick to your resolve. “We can eat you out, or we can penetr—”

Before he can finish, another voice cuts through the tension, startling you. “Oh… so that’s what you guys were doing?”

You turn your head sharply to see Taehyung standing there, now wearing swim trunks, with a smirk playing on his lips. Your heart races, the sudden realization hitting you like a wave. “Oh my God, I forgot about Taehyung…” you gasp, instinctively trying to cover yourself, though it’s far too late for modesty.

“Hey, I thought you were going to head to bed?” Jimin narrows his eyes at the slightly younger man. He must’ve been watching you all this entire time, he thinks.

He chuckles, an amused glint in his eyes as he takes in the scene. “I thought you guys were still playing in the pool or something… but I’m not surprised things ended up this way. You two are always up to shit like this.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, clearly unimpressed yet intrigued.

“Huh?” you manage to squeak out, your mind reeling. Always up to shit like this? What’s that supposed to mean–

Taehyung’s smirk deepens, and he steps closer. “Anyways, I’m bored. Let me join in too,” he says casually with a boxy smile, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I won’t disappoint heh~”

He winks. HE WINKS!

The three members of the BTS maknae line look at you deviously, waiting to pounce on you at your command.

“I don’t think we should be–”

“Are you sure?” Jimin and Jungkook say in unison.

“I… “ The title of the show is going to come back to haunt you.

“I’m not sure…?” You can’t find yourself to say no, having already gone to the deep end.

You will be closer to getting fired if you get caught at this rate, but to hell with it, “Okay, fine!”

And immediately, they’re all over your body, reigniting the hidden flame in your heart that reminds you how much you loved them as a fan years before. You won’t survive this.

“Come over here,” Taehyung murmurs, his voice deep and commanding as he settles against the pillows of the daybed. He props himself up, making sure he’s comfortable, then motions for you to crawl in front of him.

Your heart races as you move into position, with Jungkook and Jimin on each side of you, their eyes dark with lust. The daybed is deep enough that you’re perfectly nestled between them.

As you get closer to Taehyung, you feel his hands sliding up your thighs, tugging lightly at the waistband of your bikini bottoms. You gasp softly, a thrill running through you as he pulls them down slowly, exposing your wetness. The sensation sends a shiver through you, heightening your anticipation and eagerness to get this over with. You lift your hips slightly to help him slide them off completely, leaving you fully exposed.

Taehyung’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.

He props himself up with the pillows behind his head, his hands settling on your hips as he guides you closer. “Sit on my face,” he tells you, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Your breath catches at the bold command, but the heat in his eyes, the way his hands grip your hips, sends a rush of excitement through you. You move to straddle him, your heart pounding as you position yourself over his face. Jungkook and Jimin remain close, their hands brushing over your body, adding to the growing heat between you all.

As you lower yourself onto his waiting mouth, the first touch of his tongue against your most sensitive spot sends a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body.

“A-Ah~ T-Taehyung…” You gasp, your fingers gripping the daybed as Taehyung’s tongue begins to work its magic, teasing and tasting you with skillful precision.

Taehyung’s tongue explores you, from your clit to your entrance. His mouth working in a rhythm that leaves you breathless, and your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

Jimin and Jungkook are on either side of you, their hands moving to your breasts, where they each take a breast in their grasp. Their mouths soon follow, lips closing over your nipples as they begin to suck and tease you with their tongues once more. The dual sensation of Taehyung’s mouth on you and the boys’ attention on your breasts sends your mind reeling, pleasure coursing through you to unleash an orgasm. But you need to be patient and let it continue consuming you.

Jungkook’s hand slides down, tugging off Taehyung’s trunks with a practiced ease before wrapping his fingers around Taehyung’s impressive length. The sight makes your eyes widen, but you aren’t entirely surprised by their actions—after all, you’ve seen how touchy BTS are with one another. Even filming earlier in the day and even back in the States. But this? Seeing them work together to push you to the brink of pleasure only makes you even hornier.

And Taehyung’s dick… it’s massive, much bigger than the other two. The way his tan skin contrasts with the thick, veined shaft is mesmerizing, almost too much to take in. You can’t help but imagine what it would feel like inside you, making you ache with the anticipation of trying it next time.

Jimin, not to be outdone, reaches over to stroke Jungkook, his touch slow and deliberate, making sure to keep him just as aroused. His free hand slips down to touch himself, fingers wrapping around his own length as he matches the pace. The sensation of their hands moving in tandem, coupled with the attention they’re lavishing on you, makes your body tremble with need.

You ride Taehyung’s face, grinding down against his mouth as his tongue works magic on you, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he can. Your hands clutch the edges of the daybed for support, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you lose yourself in the sensations they’re giving you. Since you’re facing outwards, Taehyung’s hands slide down to grab your ass, squeezing the soft flesh as he pulls you even closer, deepening the connection between his mouth and your most sensitive spot. His grip is firm and possessive, his fingers digging into your skin as he devours you with renewed intensity. He gives it a slap, which makes you cringe before you go back to indulging in the pleasure.

The feeling of the two men’s mouths on your breasts, Taehyung’s tongue inside you, and the sight of their hands pleasuring each other is almost too much to bear. The pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, your body quivering with the need to release.

Jimin and Jungkook suck harder on your nipples, their teeth grazing them just enough to send jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Taehyung’s tongue flicks and swirls with expert precision, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

And then, finally, it all becomes too much. The pleasure explodes within you, sending you spiraling into an intense orgasm that leaves you gasping for breath. Your body tenses, your thighs clenching around Taehyung’s head as you ride out the waves of ecstasy, the sensation amplified by the boys’ continued ministrations.

As the last tremors of your orgasm fade, you collapse forward slightly, your body spent and trembling. Taehyung gently guides you off him, his lips slick with your arousal, and you fall onto the daybed, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook quickly follow, their own bodies shuddering as they reach their peaks, their releases mingling, landing onto each others bodies or the fabric beneath them.

Now the three of you lay there, breathless and spent, with limbs piled on top of each other. The air is thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction, however a yearning for more still remains. The outdoor area is quiet, save for the sound of your heavy breathing, as you all come down from the high of your shared pleasure.

Jungkook leans in close, his voice low and filled with unfulfilled desire. “I’m so eager to fuck you, but I’ll wait until tomorrow after the itinerary is done,” he murmurs, his eyes smoldering with lust as he looks down at you.

Jimin, still tenderly stroking your skin, adds with a soft smile, “We don’t want you getting into trouble, PD-nim. We’ll be patient.”

You manage a weak smile, your mind swirling with the aftershocks of what just happened. “How have the staff not conveniently come in to check on us?” you wonder aloud, your voice shaky with exhaustion and disbelief.

The three of them exchange a glance, a shared understanding passing between them.

Don’t say that the staff are aware that they’re doing this…!? Taehyung’s words from earlier were already… odd, but you decide not to think too hard on it right now. You need to head back anyway, so let’s keep this drama-free, you think to yourself. Wouldn’t be the first time you hear about idols doing these things.

They begin to clean you up, wiping away the evidence of your intense encounter. They’re gentle, their touches soothing as they take care of you, ensuring that you’re comfortable before helping you to your feet to get dressed.

They walk you to the door, each of them pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before they see you out, their eyes filled with satisfaction. You step out, your mind reeling from the events that just transpired.

“Oh my god…” you say to yourself in a whisper.

As you walk away from the daybed, you can’t help but wonder how you ended up in this situation—tangled up with the three members of BTS in a way you never could have imagined. The memory of their hands, their mouths, their words lingers with you, a heady reminder of the connection you’ve just shared. And though you know the risks, the dangers of what you’ve done, you can’t bring yourself to regret a single moment.

With a deep breath, you start heading back to your accommodation, telling yourself you still have more days of this show’s filming to go. And more chance encounters with them as well.

The End????

A/N: HAPPY SURPRISE ONE SHOT DROP! OKAY. ALSO I HAD PLANNED TO BLUE BALL YOU GUYS AND NOT GIVE YOU A TAE SCENE BUT RAE SAID I SHOULD WRITE IT SO I DID! I've seen all y'all thirsting over are you sure?! and honestly, the maknae line really FED US SO WELL WITH THIS SHOW. also never in my life did i think there would be no censoring of their bodies, but thank you god for allowing us to indulge in their beauty and cute antics lmao. if you somehow survived this and made it to the end, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think or like bc i was going THROUGH IT writing this 🥴 if it wasn’t good, i am so sorry for wasting your time. 😭

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gukcnt · 3 days ago

Text

۶ৎ A SYMPHONY OF TOUCH —

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, his voice shaking with need. “Look at you, falling apart just from this. You’re mine, flower, all fucking mine.”

pairing: husband dom!taehyung x wife sub!femreader

genre: established relationship, slice of life, domestic fluff, passionate love, erotica, smut

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, slight d/s dynamics, oral sex (f. receiving), sensual body massage, oil play, sensory experience, breast play, intense focus on nipple stimulation, clit play, heightened arousal, fingering, light non penetrative anal teasing, making out, hickies/marking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, emphasis on heightened sensitivity due to oil, touch and prolonged foreplay, teasing, begging, intense reactions, crying and screaming in pleasure, dirty talk, passionate and possessive praising dialogues from taehyung, emotional and physical intimacy, vocalizations, oil slicked bodies, slight edging, body worship, emotional intimacy, showering together, loving and soft aftercare

wc: 4.80k

masterlist

۶ৎ

The apartment was a haven, steeped in the amber glow of the setting sun that seeped through gauzy curtains, painting the hardwood floor in warm, honeyed hues. The air was heavy with the delicate scent of lavender from the diffuser, laced with the faint, musky undertone of your perfume, now dulled by the relentless grind of a twelve-hour workday. Your body was a canvas of exhaustion—every muscle taut, your feet screaming from the confines of pointed-toe heels, and a dull, throbbing ache pulsing behind your eyes. You stumbled through the front door, your navy pencil skirt clinging to your thighs like a second skin, your cream silk blouse slightly unbuttoned, revealing the delicate curve of your collarbone. Too drained to even consider changing, you collapsed onto the bed, the downy mattress yielding beneath you, its cool, crisp sheets a fleeting reprieve against your overheated skin. A low, shuddering groan slipped from your lips, the sound swallowed by the quiet hum of the apartment.

Taehyung had returned an hour earlier, his tailored suit jacket slung carelessly over the armchair, his burgundy tie loosened to hang askew. His dark hair was tousled, strands falling into his eyes from the absent-minded habit of raking his fingers through it. He stood in the kitchen, the faint clink of a glass against the marble countertop punctuating the stillness, when he heard your footsteps—slow, dragging, each step a testament to your depletion. His heart twisted, a visceral pang of protectiveness and love. Setting the glass down with a soft clatter, he strode to the bedroom, his tall, lean frame filling the doorway. His eyes, deep and molten, softened as they landed on you, sprawled across the bed in your disheveled work attire, your chest rising and falling with shallow, weary breaths.

“My little flower,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety caress, rich with warmth that seemed to seep into your bones. He crossed the room in three fluid strides, kneeling beside the bed, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The pads of his fingers, warm and slightly rough, lingered on your cheek, their heat a stark contrast to the cool air. “God, you look utterly wrecked, love. I missed you so fucking much today.”

You cracked open your eyes, meeting his gaze—those dark, expressive pools that seemed to hold galaxies, pinning you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. A faint, tired smile tugged at your lips, though it took effort to muster. “I missed you too, Tae,” you whispered, your voice raw, frayed at the edges from exhaustion. “Today was… brutal. I feel like I’ve been run over, and I can’t even think about moving.”

His chuckle was a deep, resonant rumble, like the crackle of a fire on a winter night, warming you from the inside out. “I can see that, sweetheart. You’re still in those torture devices you call heels.” His eyes flicked to your feet, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features. “Let me take care of you, hmm? You don’t have to lift a finger.” His words were a vow, dripping with adoration, and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in his universe—made your chest ache with love. “How about a massage? I’ll make every ounce of that tension disappear, I swear.”

You nodded, too spent to form a proper response, but the idea of his hands on you, unraveling the knots in your body, was a siren’s call. “Please, Tae,” you breathed, your voice a fragile thread, barely audible.

He rose, retrieving a sleek bottle of massage oil from the nightstand, its amber liquid catching the light as he poured a generous amount into his palm. The air bloomed with the heady scent of jasmine and sandalwood, rich and intoxicating, wrapping around you like a silken veil. He rubbed his hands together, warming the oil, the soft sound of his palms sliding against each other filling the quiet. “Let’s get you out of these clothes first,” he said, his tone gentle but laced with a quiet authority that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

With reverent care, he helped you sit up, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your blouse. The silk whispered against your skin, cool and slick, as it slid off your shoulders, revealing your white lace bra, the delicate fabric clinging to the swell of your breasts. His eyes darkened, a storm brewing in their depths, but his touch remained tender as he unzipped your skirt, easing it down your legs. The fabric pooled on the floor, leaving you in your matching lace panties, the thin material hugging your hips. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking, but he didn’t linger, guiding you to lie on your stomach. “Lie down, love,” he murmured, his voice a soothing command, and you complied, the sheets cool and crisp against your bare skin.

Taehyung straddled your hips, his weight carefully balanced to avoid pressing too heavily, and began with your shoulders. His hands, strong and calloused from years of work, glided over your skin, the warm oil creating a slick, decadent friction. The scent of jasmine enveloped you, mingling with the faint musk of his cologne, grounding you in the moment. He pressed his thumbs into the knots at the base of your neck, working them with slow, deliberate circles, the pressure firm but exquisitely controlled. The tension unraveled, melting under his touch, and you moaned, a soft, throaty sound that vibrated against the pillow. The oil amplified every sensation, his rough palms contrasting with the softness of your skin, sending tingles radiating through your body.

“Fuck, that feel good, flower?” he asked, his voice low, husky, a trace of amusement curling the edges.

“So fucking good,” you slurred, your words thick with relief, your body sinking deeper into the mattress. “Tae, you’re a miracle.”

He laughed, a dark, warm sound that sent a pulse of heat through you. His hands moved lower, tracing the elegant curve of your spine with long, languid strokes. His fingers splayed across your mid-back, kneading the tight muscles with a rhythmic pressure that made you arch slightly, a louder moan spilling from your lips. The oil was warm, slick, and the glide of his hands was hypnotic, each stroke unraveling another layer of tension. He lingered on your lower back, his thumbs pressing into the dimples above your hips, and you whimpered, the sensation teetering on the edge of pleasure, your skin prickling with sensitivity.

“Taehyung,” you gasped, your voice trembling, “you’re killing me.”

“Patience, love,” he murmured, though his own voice was strained, a hint of his own arousal seeping through. “I’m just getting started.”

He moved to your arms, lifting one and starting at your shoulder. His fingers dug into the tight muscles, then slid down to your bicep, his thumbs pressing into the tender flesh with slow, circular motions. The oil made his touch glide, and when he reached your forearm, he massaged the muscles with a gentle intensity that made you gasp, the sensation almost ticklish but deeply soothing. He worked his way to your hand, kneading the palm, then rolling each finger between his own, tugging gently. The relief was so profound you moaned, a needy, high-pitched sound that made him pause, his breath hitching.

“Goddamn, those sounds,” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “You’re making it real hard to focus, flower.”

He repeated the process with your other arm, his touch unhurried, reverent, as if memorizing every inch of you. When he finished, he gently turned you onto your back, his eyes locking onto yours, the intensity in his gaze stealing your breath. He poured more oil into his hands, the liquid glistening, and started on your stomach. His palms glided over your abdomen, fingers splaying wide, the warmth of his hands seeping into your skin. The oil was slick, the scent of sandalwood heavy in the air, and the sensation of his hands moving in slow, deliberate circles was intoxicating. You let out a series of soft, breathy moans, your body trembling under his touch, your skin hypersensitive.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes drinking you in. “I could spend my whole life touching you like this and never get enough.” His hands moved to your thighs, and you tensed, the proximity to your core sending your pulse into overdrive. He kneaded the muscles there, his fingers brushing agonizingly close to the edge of your panties, the oil making every touch glide effortlessly. The roughness of his palms against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs sent sparks through you, and you let out an obscene whimper, your hips twitching involuntarily.

“Tae,” you whined, your voice thick with need, your body aching for more.

“Not yet, my love,” he said, though his voice was taut, and you could see the bulge in his trousers, his cock straining against the fabric. “I want to worship every fucking inch of you first.”

He moved to your calves, lifting one leg and pouring more oil, the liquid dripping onto your skin, warm and slick. His thumbs dug into the tight muscles, working out the knots with a firm, steady pressure, and you moaned, the relief so intense your toes curled. When he reached your feet, he took his time, cradling one in his hands, his thumbs pressing into the arch with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The sensation was exquisite, the pain from hours of standing melting away, and you let out a needy, high-pitched whimper, your body squirming. He moved to your toes, rolling each one between his fingers, tugging gently, the oil making his touch slick and decadent. The sensitivity of your toes sent shivers up your spine, and you couldn’t help the desperate, keening noises spilling from you, each touch making your core clench.

“Fuck, flower, those noises,” he growled, his voice low and rough, his eyes dark with hunger. “You’re driving me fucking insane.” He repeated the process with your other foot, lingering on your toes until you were panting, your body trembling, the oil and his relentless attention making you hypersensitive.

Your bra and panties were now drenched with oil, the white lace clinging to your skin like a second skin, nearly transparent. Your nipples were hard, straining against the fabric, and your pussy throbbed, the ache a pulsing, unbearable need. Every time his hands neared your breasts or inner thighs, you let out a keening, desperate sound, your head spinning with pleasure, your skin so sensitive it felt like you might shatter.

Taehyung’s breathing was ragged, his eyes molten with desire as he watched you writhe beneath him. “Jesus Christ, love,” he rasped, his voice shaking. “You’re a fucking masterpiece, you know that? Those sounds, that body… you’re killing me, and I haven’t even touched you where you want it most.”

“Please, Tae,” you begged, your voice breaking, tears of need pricking your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore. I need you, please.”

His smirk was dark, predatory, but his eyes were soft, full of love. “Oh, flower, I’m gonna give you everything,” he promised, his voice a low growl. He leaned down, his fingers brushing over your lace-covered nipples, the touch light but electrifying. You cried out, your back arching off the bed, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. “So fucking sensitive,” he murmured, his tone reverent. He pinched your nipples through the lace, rolling them between his fingers, and you sobbed, the pleasure-pain sending waves of heat through you. He teased you mercilessly, his fingers circling, tugging, until you were panting, your chest heaving, your body trembling.

Finally, he unclasped your bra, tossing it aside, the cool air hitting your bare skin. He peeled off your panties, the oil-soaked lace leaving you exposed, and held them to his nose, inhaling deeply. A guttural growl rumbled in his chest, his eyes flashing with raw hunger. “You smell like fucking heaven,” he said, his voice thick with lust, his pupils blown wide.

He poured more oil into his hands, the liquid dripping onto your breasts, pooling in the valley between them. His fingers found your nipples, slick and warm, and he cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks. The sensation was overwhelming, the oil making every touch glide, and you screamed, your hips bucking. He pinched and rolled your nipples, his touch firm but precise, and you writhed, your hands clutching the sheets, your voice reduced to sobbing his name. “Tae, oh God, Tae,” you gasped, your body trembling.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, his voice shaking with need. “Look at you, falling apart just from this. You’re mine, flower, all fucking mine.”

His hand slid lower, cupping your pussy, his fingers sliding through your slick folds, the oil mixing with your arousal. The sensation was decadent, slippery, and he circled your clit with slow, deliberate strokes, making you scream, your hips bucking against his hand. He slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and you saw stars, your body trembling as he worked you toward the edge. His other hand kneaded your ass, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin, the oil making every touch electric.

Desperate for more, you pushed yourself up, straddling his lap, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him. Your lips crashed against his, the taste of him—mint, salt, and something darkly Taehyung—flooding your senses. The oil on your skin transferred to his, his dress shirt clinging to his chest, the fabric growing slick and transparent. Your breasts pressed against him, the oil making them slide, and you ground against his cock, still trapped in his trousers, the friction making you moan into his mouth. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you, raw and desperate.

“Fuck, flower, you’re gonna ruin me,” he rasped, his voice rough with need. “Grinding on me like that, all slick and needy. You’re so fucking gorgeous, you know that?” He tore off his shirt, buttons scattering across the floor, and you ran your hands over his chest, the oil making his skin gleam, his muscles taut and defined. Your fingers traced the ridges of his abs, the slickness making every touch glide, and he groaned, his head falling back.

You fumbled with his belt, your hands trembling with need, and he helped you, stripping off his trousers and boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip glistening, and you whimpered, the sight making your core clench. He poured more oil over your body, the liquid dripping down your breasts, pooling in the hollows of your collarbone, and he growled, his eyes raking over you. “You’re a fucking vision,” he said, his voice shaking with desire.

He positioned himself between your thighs, his cock sliding through your folds, the oil making every movement slick and decadent. He thrust into you slowly, filling you inch by inch, the stretch exquisite, and you screamed, your nails digging into his shoulders. The oil amplified every sensation, the slide of his cock against your walls almost too much, each nerve ending alight. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, the oil making them glisten, and he growled, his eyes locked onto them, his hands gripping your hips.

“Goddamn, you feel like fucking heaven,” he groaned, his voice trembling, his thrusts deep and deliberate. “So tight, so perfect. Look at those tits bouncing for me, flower. You’re mine, every fucking inch of you.” His words were a litany, raw and possessive, and you moaned, needy and desperate, your body trembling as he fucked you. The oil made every movement slick, the friction both intense and luxurious, and you could feel every inch of him, stretching you, filling you.

“Tae, please,” you sobbed, your voice breaking, your breasts bouncing harder as he picked up the pace, his thrusts growing relentless. “I’m so close, I need you.”

“Come for me, love,” he growled, his thumb finding your clit, circling it with slick, rapid strokes. “Let me feel you, let me hear you scream my name.” Your body convulsed, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, and you screamed, your walls clenching around him, your vision going white. He followed moments later, spilling inside you with a hoarse shout, his body shuddering, his cock pulsing.

As you collapsed, panting and spent, he pulled you into his arms, his lips brushing your forehead, soft and tender. “I love you, flower,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” you murmured, your body still humming, wrapped in the tapestry of his touch.

The room was hushed, the air thick with the lingering scent of jasmine and sandalwood, now softened by the musk of sweat and intimacy. The golden glow of the setting sun had faded into a twilight haze, casting the bedroom in a gentle, indigo light that danced across the rumpled sheets. Your body was a languid, sated weight against the mattress, every nerve still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, your skin slick with oil and glistening in the dim light. Your chest rose and fell with deep, uneven breaths, your heart still racing, and a faint, blissful ache pulsed between your thighs. Taehyung lay beside you, his own breathing heavy, his bare chest gleaming with the oil you’d transferred to him, his dark hair damp and clinging to his forehead. His arm was draped possessively over your waist, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles on your hip, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the aftermath.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence a tender cocoon that held the weight of what had just transpired. The only sounds were the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you and the distant hum of the city beyond the apartment walls. Taehyung shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes—deep, molten, and impossibly tender—roaming over your face. His gaze was a caress, drinking in every detail: the flush on your cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat on your brow, the way your lips were still parted, swollen from his kisses. He reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek, their roughness softened by the oil that still coated them.

“God, flower,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, thick with emotion. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. All soft and glowing, like you’re made of starlight.” His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, and the reverence in his touch made your chest tighten. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you. Not in a million years.”

You smiled, a tired but radiant curve of your lips, and leaned into his touch, your voice barely above a whisper. “Tae, you’re too much. I’m a mess right now, and you’re calling me starlight?”

He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that vibrated through you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “A mess? No, love, you’re beautiful. My beautiful girl.” He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and slightly salty from sweat. The gesture was so tender it brought a lump to your throat, and you closed your eyes, savoring the feel of him, the scent of him—oil, musk, and something uniquely Taehyung—that enveloped you.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, his tone gentle but firm, the quiet authority you loved slipping through. He slid off the bed, his movements graceful despite the intensity of what you’d just shared, and disappeared into the bathroom. You heard the faint creak of the faucet, the rush of water, and moments later, he returned with a warm, damp washcloth and a fluffy towel, both folded carefully in his hands. The sight of him—tall, bare, his skin still glistening, his expression so full of care—made your heart swell.

He knelt beside you, his eyes locking onto yours as he gently took your hand, wiping the oil from your fingers with the washcloth. The fabric was plush, the water just warm enough to soothe, and he moved with meticulous care, cleaning each finger, then your palm, his touch as reverent as it had been during the massage. “You worked so hard today, didn’t you?” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with concern. “Tell me about it, flower. What made my girl so exhausted?”

You sighed, the weight of the day resurfacing but softened by his presence. “It was just… endless,” you said, your voice still hoarse from your earlier cries. “Back-to-back meetings, a client who kept changing their mind, and my boss piling on last-minute reports. I was on my feet all day, running between floors, and those heels were a nightmare. I feel like I aged ten years.”

His brow furrowed, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features as he moved the washcloth to your arm, wiping away the oil in long, slow strokes. The warmth of the cloth was heavenly, easing the faint ache in your muscles, and you let out a soft hum of contentment. “That sounds fucking brutal,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl, but tempered with tenderness. “You shouldn’t have to push yourself that hard, love. Makes me want to storm into your office and tell them to back off my girl.”

You laughed, the sound light and airy despite your fatigue. “You’d cause a scene, Tae. My boss would probably faint if you walked in looking like you do now.”

He grinned, a flash of mischief in his eyes as he moved to your other arm, the cloth gliding over your skin, leaving it soft and clean. “Good. Let ‘em faint. No one gets to wear you out like that except me.” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge of possessiveness that sent a warm shiver through you. He leaned closer, his breath fanning across your cheek as he added, “Seriously, though, I hate seeing you this drained. You’re too precious for that shit.”

Your heart fluttered, and you reached up, cupping his face, your thumb brushing over the sharp line of his jaw. “You’re too good to me,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “How was your day? You got home before me, but you looked stressed when you walked in.”

He paused, the washcloth hovering over your collarbone, and his expression softened, a mix of vulnerability and love. “It was a lot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, more introspective. “Board meetings, budgets, some asshole exec trying to undermine my team. I was ready to lose it by lunch. But the second I heard you come through the door, it all just… melted away. You do that to me, flower. You make everything better, just by being you.”

His words were a balm, soothing the raw edges of your day, and you felt tears prick your eyes, not from sadness but from the overwhelming depth of his love. He resumed his task, the washcloth gliding over your chest, careful to avoid your sensitive nipples, though his eyes lingered there, a flicker of heat in their depths. “Tae,” you murmured, your voice trembling, “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You make everything bearable.”

He smiled, soft and radiant, and leaned down to kiss you, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “You’ll never have to find out, love,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath warm and minty. “I’m yours, always. Gonna take care of you forever, you hear me?”

You nodded, your throat tight, and he continued cleaning you, the washcloth moving to your stomach, then your thighs, his touch gentle but thorough. The warmth of the cloth was soothing, the faint scent of lavender from the towel mingling with the lingering jasmine in the air. When he reached your feet, he took extra care, wiping away the oil from your toes, his fingers brushing over them with a featherlight touch that made you giggle, the sensation ticklish but grounding.

“Still sensitive, huh?” he teased, his voice light, but his eyes were warm, full of adoration. He finished with the washcloth and used the towel to pat you dry, the fluffy fabric absorbing the last traces of moisture, leaving your skin soft and warm. He draped the towel over your lap, then slid back onto the bed, pulling you into his arms, your back against his chest, his legs bracketing yours.

The heat of his body was a cocoon, his skin still faintly slick with oil, and you nestled into him, your head resting against his collarbone. His arms wrapped around you, one hand splaying across your stomach, the other tracing idle patterns on your thigh. The scent of him—musk, oil, and that indefinable essence that was purely Taehyung—enveloped you, and you let out a contented sigh, your body finally relaxing completely.

“Tell me more about your day,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low rumble that sent a pleasant shiver through you. “What was the worst part?”

You tilted your head, thinking, your fingers playing with his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand. “Probably the client meeting at three,” you said, your voice steadier now, warmed by his closeness. “They kept nitpicking every detail, and I had to redo the presentation on the spot. I thought I was going to scream. What about you? What made you want to lose it?”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back, and pressed a kiss to your temple. “This prick in a suit who thought he could talk over my team. Took everything in me not to deck him. But I kept picturing you, coming home to you, and it kept me sane. You’re my anchor, flower. Always have been.”

His words wrapped around your heart, and you turned your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were soft, unguarded, and the love there was so palpable it stole your breath. “You’re mine too,” you whispered, your voice thick. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

He grinned, a boyish, radiant smile that made him look younger, softer. “I’m the lucky one, love. You’re my everything.” He tightened his arms around you, his lips brushing your shoulder, and for a moment, you just sat there, wrapped in each other, the world outside fading to nothing.

He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a glass of water he’d brought earlier, and held it to your lips. “Drink,” he said, his tone gentle but insistent. “You need it after all that.” You obeyed, the cool water sliding down your throat, crisp and refreshing, and he watched you with a satisfied smile, setting the glass down when you finished.

“Better?” he asked, his fingers brushing your hair back, tucking it behind your ear.

“Much,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “You’re too good at this, you know. Taking care of me.”

He laughed, a low, warm sound, and kissed the crown of your head. “Gotta keep my flower blooming, don’t I? Can’t have you wilting on me.” His tone was playful, but the love in his eyes was fierce, unyielding, and you felt it in every fiber of your being.

He pulled the duvet over you both, the soft, cool fabric settling over your skin, and you curled into him, your legs tangling with his, your head resting on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat was a lullaby, grounding you, and his fingers continued their lazy dance on your skin, tracing patterns that felt like promises. The room was quiet now, the only sounds your soft breaths and the faint rustle of the duvet, and the world felt small, safe, contained in the circle of his arms.

“I love you, Tae,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard you, felt you, in the way his arms tightened around you.

“I love you too, flower,” he murmured, his voice a vow, eternal and unshakable. “More than words can ever say. Sleep now, love. I’ve got you.”

You closed your eyes, a smile curving your lips, and let the warmth of him, the scent of him, the love of him carry you into a deep, dreamless sleep, knowing that no matter how brutal the days might be, you’d always come home to this—to him, to love, to a haven woven from touch and tenderness. The night stretched on, soft and endless, and in his arms, you were whole, cherished, and utterly, irrevocably his.

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