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rendaze · 1 year
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I just found your account through Work On You and I was wanting to see more of you work and I saw some comments about Triads and Tribulations but idk where to find it :(((
hi omg im so sorry friend i dont have a masterlist yet</3 if u go to my acct tho u can search "#bts fic"!!
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rendaze · 1 year
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work on you (m)
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+ featuring … manager!taehyung x idol!reader
+ summary … when your manager, kim taehyung, decides to avoid you after a massage turned sexual, you are determined to kill two birds with one stone: get him to talk to you again by fucking him.
+ genre … smut, fluff
+ wordcount … 12k
+ warnings … fem!reader, possessive/jealous!taehyung, dom!taehyung, perv!taehyung, brat!reader, a lot of dirty talk, orgasm denial, objectification, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, cumplay, cum swallowing, exhibitionism, public fingering, 
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For much of the night, Kim Taehyung is quiet. He rests on the crème couch, cat eyes observing you through the mirror. Outside, pink skies fade to indigo and crickets popcorn beneath the underbrush; the pattering of your feet against the practice room floor accompanies it. It has been hours since workers have clocked out and the last buses have run, but he knows this.
Your manager of two years is not known for the saccharine politeness of his peers nor the pedantic nature of his seniors. Instead, he is blunt. Reserved. An intrinsic part of your life whom you’d grown reliant on as winter faded to summer and back again.
His diligence is not due to principle but rather habit – if it wasn’t for you, he would be watching cable, cigarette ash tainting work clothes he was too tired to change out of. Instead, he waits—regardless of overtime—to drive you to your apartment where he bids you a weary ‘bye’ only to pick you up three hours later. He doesn’t need to, but he does. A habit.
But as entangled as your lives have grown, he has always kept a distance; hence your intrigue when he approaches you post-practice where he would have ignored you altogether.
Keep reading
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rendaze · 1 year
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damn u really have me googling words 😭😭 but thanks for helping me expand my vocabulary 😏😏
LMAOOO trust the rendaze experience to always be pretentious ! its a lil fun .. a lil goofy
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rendaze · 1 year
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The long wait is really worth it. That WORK ON YOU is written really well. Thank you so much, authornim!
-e✨
tysm e, that means a lot to me🥹 i'm rlly gonna try to be more consistent now esp w winter break coming up !! i have a lot planned hehe
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rendaze · 1 year
Text
work on you (m)
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+ featuring ... manager!taehyung x idol!reader
+ summary ... when your manager, kim taehyung, decides to avoid you after a massage turned sexual, you are determined to kill two birds with one stone: get him to talk to you again by fucking him.
+ genre ... smut, fluff
+ wordcount ... 12k
+ warnings ... fem!reader, possessive/jealous!taehyung, dom!taehyung, perv!taehyung, brat!reader, a lot of dirty talk, orgasm denial, objectification, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, cumplay, cum swallowing, exhibitionism, public fingering, 
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For much of the night, Kim Taehyung is quiet. He rests on the crème couch, cat eyes observing you through the mirror. Outside, pink skies fade to indigo and crickets popcorn beneath the underbrush; the pattering of your feet against the practice room floor accompanies it. It has been hours since workers have clocked out and the last buses have run, but he knows this.
Your manager of two years is not known for the saccharine politeness of his peers nor the pedantic nature of his seniors. Instead, he is blunt. Reserved. An intrinsic part of your life whom you’d grown reliant on as winter faded to summer and back again.
His diligence is not due to principle but rather habit – if it wasn’t for you, he would be watching cable, cigarette ash tainting work clothes he was too tired to change out of. Instead, he waits—regardless of overtime—to drive you to your apartment where he bids you a weary ‘bye’ only to pick you up three hours later. He doesn’t need to, but he does. A habit.
But as entangled as your lives have grown, he has always kept a distance; hence your intrigue when he approaches you post-practice where he would have ignored you altogether.
“You look tired,” he says in the disinterested tone you’d come to expect.
He studies you through the floor-length mirrors as you spread your legs in a stretch. You had been shy once, all too aware of how little your leggings left to the imagination, but Taehyung’s blank stares had assuaged those thoughts long ago.
You admit, his ignorance bothers you. He is there, but he is not, with all the presence of drapery that sways only when a window is ajar.
“I’m fine,” you say – and you are, for the most part. “Just a little sore.”
“Where does it hurt?”
You dismiss his verbosity as a sign of your own palpable fatigue. “No, it’s just that my shoulders feel like shit.”
“Do you need help?” His fingers flutter before your face. “I could give you a massage.”
As the sole target of his scoldings, the notion of such a Samaritan action is laughable. “Oh, really? You?”
“Why not?” Cherry-tinted lips twitch. “Can’t have your body breaking down on me before your comeback.”
His tongue pokes his cheek and he cracks his knuckles; the sound draws you to the length of his fingers, callused and long. The kind meant to caress piano keys or draw pleasure from a crooning lover. You think of those hands on you, enkindling a different type of satisfaction.
You are pulled to face the mirror as he stands behind you. “Like this,” he says, the ball of his wrist gliding against your upper back. His hands are rough as he kneads, tugging and pressing on the skin as he would dough, a harshness that should hurt but doesn’t. He moves closer, his pulsing heat a reminder of his proximity.
Sandalwood, you realize. That’s what he smells like.
You breathe it in as if the rest of him would follow. Once, twice. Then exhale as he finds a particular knot between your shoulders.
“Your muscles are so tight,” he says, with all the wispy quality of a fever dream.
It’s wanton to clench at such an innocent usage of the word but you do, thighs rubbing against each other in pursuit of friction.
The siren song of his whisper dallies close to your ear’s cusp. “You’ve really been overworking yourself. I guess this is sort of my fault, huh?” He heaves a great sigh. “It’s only right that I make up for it then.”
You nod, unable to part your lips for fear of the sounds that would surface. Had you always been so weak, you wonder, the tickle of his breath inches from your neck enough to compose your compliance. Comets of ideas, bad and worse, streak past your musings. You pluck one, entertaining the thought of grinding against his length until it hardens between your ass.
You instantly berate yourself though your underwear moistens still.
Your manager. He’s your manager. A person of whom your mortification would be parried, and your chagrin discarded. Such constant proximity would be unbearable if awkward, and Taehyung, as curt as he is, means too much to you to be cast aside due to your own lack of restraint.
Stood before a mirror, there is nothing else to focus on but the reflected image of him behind you. There’s no particular difference in his wardrobe today: a beige cardigan, dark jeans, and pale sneakers, reminiscent of a History major, art connoisseur, or both. Curled obsidian hair drapes along the curve of his eyes, eyes focused on his ministrations against your back. One would expect a more formal way of dress, but considering that most of his job revolves around following your schedule all day there’s no reason to.
He grins when he catches you staring.
You scoff, face burning. “What?”
“Don’t you think you’ll feel better if I massage you while you’re lying down?”
His hands rub your bare arms, coaxing a reply out of your quiet contemplation. You hesitate – not out of wariness, but rather embarrassment that he may find a swift reply too eager. Though he is not one to heartlessly poke fun at another, you attempt as casual a shrug as your nerves can handle.
He leads you by a gentle grip on your wrist to the spacious couch opposite where you’d been standing. The same couch he spends most of his time on while waiting for your practices to end.
He motions for you to flip over and lie down on your stomach with a swirl of his finger. The action combined with your obedience is almost dog-like, but you are so deeply entrenched in his spell that if he told you to bark you would.
Face planted into a pillow, you can hear his shuffling as he kneels atop you outside your thighs. He rubs circles against your shoulders, leaning forward to whisper: “Feels good?”
Below, your core aches like the starved, demanding sustenance.
“Sure,” you say, settling on the least innocuous of words. “You’re like… strangely good at this.”
“Good enough to switch careers? I don’t think the pay would be as good, though.”
“I wouldn’t be there either, so that would suck. For you.”
There’s a playful frown in his tone. “Oh, yes, because how could I ever go about my day-to-day life without you in it?”
He’s joking but you do wonder what he does outside of managing you. If he has hobbies, passions, friends… or a significant other he does this to. To be candid, the thought irks you.
“Are you sore anywhere else?” he asks, having focused on your shoulders.
You respond with a breathless ‘yes’, turning your head to meet his gaze. “My lower back.”
His fingers are a paradox of frigid and warm as he grazes your neck, making his way down your spine, then shoulders, then upper arms. He sits astride your ass, touch gliding against the exposed skin below your top. He digs into your muscles as if trying to see what is buried beneath them.
He’s never touched you so purposefully before.
He’s never done much of any of this before.
Talking. Touching. Tempting.
“Is it cool if I lift your shirt?” he asks. “It’s getting in the way.”
Your breath hitches, your heart races, and somewhere outside the company building the horn of a taxi startles you out of reverie.
“Go ahead.” You nod, helping him help you out of the shirt.
He’s clinical as he folds it and places it on the hardwood flooring. He doesn’t look at your bra—a gray, sporty number—and avoids touching the fabric as he continues.
A few blissful minutes pass when he says that he has an idea.
He gets up, walks to your bag, and (without needing to ask) locates the lotion you keep in a pouch. Settling back down, his crotch nestles between the warmth of your ass. The plastic pump splashes white cream onto your back which he massages into the skin.
“Does that feel better?” he asks, hands gliding across the exposed flesh. It smells like nectar on his hands and feels like ambrosia against your skin. His touch is overwhelming, every caress casting electricity straight to your lower stomach.
“My abdomen hurts too.” The words are a muffled whisper against the throw pillow your face is buried in.
“Then, turn over,” he says, as if it’s that simple. Perhaps, to him it is. Perhaps, this is all in your head, that lightning-charged static in the air. 
He moves up, allowing space for you to roll over.
When he sits down his crotch directly presses against your clothed cunt.
His pinky rests against your chest, moving with the sound of your breathing. It slips slightly beneath the stretch of fabric, poking the flesh. You hold your breath until you can’t– until your lungs demand air as much as your body demands his.
You hold his wrist. “Is my bra getting in the way too?”
His adam's apple bobs, pretty eyes flickering between you and your concealed chest. “A bit,” he shrugs, sliding another finger beneath the underwire.
Your voice is raspy, the way one sounds when in thirst. “Then you should remove it.”
He moves with the grace of a caught deer, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. Your back arches, allowing his hand to slip underneath and unclip it.  He slides the straps down your arms, inch by inch, giving you time to say no. You don’t, not able to even fathom the thought of doing so.
He drinks in your chest and the erect nipples standing in the centers of them with dilated pupils and hooded eyes. You imagine that he thinks you’re gorgeous, that it takes all of his will-power not to ravage you on that couch as beasts often do. It is that need to be made into poetry under his gaze that you push your chest upward, seeking his warmth.
He stills your squirming with a hand to your sternum. “Don’t move,” he says, a command you heed the moment it leaves his lips.
The rough pads of his fingers graze your hips then stomach before resting beneath the cusp of your chest. You are hyper-aware of every movement, every stutter, every pulse – if only so that you don’t miss that cataclysmic moment when his hands finally cup the flesh that hides your stampeding heart.
He grips you carefully, digging moon-shaped indents on your skin. Your nipples rest within the crevice of his outstretched fingers, surrounded yet untouched.
“This isn’t a good angle.” He pouts, looking around before finding the tossed pillows. Your back is moved into an arch as he tucks one of them beneath the small of your back, causing your chest to jut out from where you lay. He grins, satisfied.
His hands go back to your chest, working from the outside in circular motions, avoiding your nipples. He then reaches for the lotion bottle, pumping more of the white cream onto you.
“Do you like this?” He asks, fingers dragging around your slippery tits.
“Yeah, it feels really good.”
“Really good, huh?” He laughs when your body jerks at his finger brushing against your nipple. “How about this? Are you sensitive here?”
You groan when he pinches the bud. “What do you think?”
“No one’s giving them enough attention, huh?”
To your embarrassment, you whine when he moves his hands away.
“Shh, you don’t want to be caught getting special treatment from your manager, do you? Unless… that’s the sort of thing you’re into?” He laughs, eyes blown out as he watches you panic. You’ve never seen that look on him before.
“What the hell are you talking about, you dick?”
“Nothing.” He bites his lower lip in an attempt to quell his laughter. If you weren’t insanely horny at the moment then you would’ve been better able to appreciate the rarity of such a display of emotion. “You’re just being really cute right now acting all shy when all I’m doing is giving you a massage. You said you were tired, so I’m helping you.” He squeezes your tits. “That’s part of my job, isn’t it?”
You scoff. “You mean this is you being a pervert. I can feel your definitely average-sized cock hard as hell against me.”
Taehyung gasps as if that was the most insulting thing he’d ever heard. “Okay, three things: one, I’m not a pervert; two, my cock is definitely not average; and three, if you want me to stop then tell me and we can pretend that this never happened. Or, you know, if the pretending fails then we could just die from the inescapable awkwardness. That’d be fine too.”
Trust that he was only ever talkative when he wanted to bother you. You roll your eyes, mumbling: “Well, I didn’t say that…”
His gaze meets yours, dark and tempting. “Then what do you want from your poor, overworked manager?”
You answer by moving his hand back to your chest. “Nothing much,” you say coyly, though what you mean is ‘everything’.
His nails scratch tight circles around each bud, teasing you. He watches your wide-eyed desperation with amusement, alternating between fanning his fingers over the points and holding them between his slippery fingers, squeezing them until they slip out of his grip.
He blows phantom winds against the mounds, hardening them into stalactites. He rocks against you, hips against hips, crotch against crotch, stimulating your clit through the sheer fabric of your leggings. You whine and pant with every motion.
“You’re so noisy. Do you want me to stop?”
“No!” The word leaves you before you can fake nonchalance.
“Then be a good girl and focus on my service.”
Though he’d always been the strict type, you weren’t one to be so obedient: to follow his every command, bend at his will, become a pliable figure; to crave escape through the form of mindlessness. Between his periodic seeking of consent and cautious eyes, you feel safe, safe to drown in his touch and never resurface. You know, even then, that despite the blasé way you were both treating this moment, it was one that neither of you could take back.
He scoots backwards from where he sat on your thighs, moving your feet over his lap. From this angle, he is sure to notice the wet outline of your labia through your leggings.
The soles of your feet are a slight vermillion from having danced barefoot for the past three hours, and he briefly rubs them before moving upwards, to your ankles, your knees, your thighs. It is with an anxious draw of breath that you await his touch at your most sensitive center.
“Where do you want me to touch you?”
“Anywhere,” you say. “As long as you keep doing it.”
“I’m going to need a specific place, sweetheart.”
Head tossed back, you whine. “Just- Come on, Taehyung.”
He kneads your outer thighs, scarcely exerting pressure. “Is this what you want?”
“Please. There. Touch me there. It hurts.”
He chuckles beneath his breath. “Poor baby. I’m sorry, but I don't know where ‘there’ is. Oh, I have an idea. How about you show it to me?” He moves to give you enough space. “Come on, show me where and how you want to be touched.”
You, the rational you, would have been unable to process the erotic words coming from your manager’s lips. These are the whispers you’d conjured in daydreams with not even the hope of being subject. But you aren’t the rational you. The you beneath Taehyung is someone else entirely, someone caught in a dream without desire to wake.
Your hands crawl to the waistband of your leggings but hesitate at the breach.
“Don’t be shy. I know how you like to play with your little cunt in hotel showers, even though you know I’m waiting outside the door, subject to hearing your pretty moans. I’ve always wondered how you pleasured yourself, if you liked to finger your sopping hole until you passed out or if you preferred to press the stream of a shower head against your clit.”
Whilst your right hand sneaks its way into your underwear, your left slaps to your lips, rushed to suppress a gasp. “Are you actually trying to kill me? Have some fucking decorum. And what do you mean you heard me?”
“Decorum? I’m not the one touching myself where anyone could walk in and catch me.”
You didn’t even realize when you’d started the teasing motions, fingers caressing your outer labia.
You scoff. “You’re acting like you weren’t salivating over my tits a few minutes ago.”
“Is that what you want? Me salivating over your tits?”
His hair, like strands of inky silk, drape over eyes that refuse to part from your gaze. He is warm where he touches you, cold where he doesn’t, and temperate only when he mouths against your skin, marking you, in some invisible way, as his own. Your gasp echoes in that cave-like room, his lips an inferno keeping you sane. He nibbles at your breasts, teeth tugging at the perked tips. His spit dribbles down your flesh.
“So soft. I’ve always wondered what you taste like.” His mumbles vibrate against your skin.
You press tight circles against your clit at the same pace as Taehyung’s tongue against your nipples. The sounds, wet and sticky, are loud to an embarrassing degree.
“Baby, look at you. At this rate you’re going to dirty the couch, and then who’s gonna have to clean it? Maybe if I’m too tired I’ll have you lick it spotless instead.”
You push a finger inside, curling the digit with a gasp.
“Interesting.” He grins. “So, you do like it when I treat you like this. I knew it.”
“You talk way too much when you’re horny.”
“Only because it’s you,” he says. “You turn me into an absolute mess.”
“Is that why you only talk to me when you want to scold me?” It’s a childish question. His attention wasn’t yours to have, a fact you’ve grown well-acquainted to.
“Because I knew something like this–” he licks your neck “–was inevitable, and that it’d be my fault. Though… I’m starting to think you’re the type that likes to be scolded.” 
His face is inches from yours. The span of a butterfly’s wings, or a fallen autumn leaf. You prop yourself up with the arm that isn’t beneath your leggings, breaching the gap ever so slowly. “So, you imagined it, then? Something like this happening?”
“It usually went a little different.”
“How so?”
“Well, I’d already be fucking you, for starters. And I’d probably initiate it with something less lame than ‘offering a massage’.” He notices your slowing hand and laughs. “Tired, already? You really are such a princess. Do you want me to do it for you?”
You nod, though you should have known nothing ever came easy with Kim Taehyung.
His fingers creep up your legs before squeezing your thighs open. Between, a wet spot darkens the fabric, and he notices it with a smugness that annoys you. He moves your arm away before palming your wet cunt from outside your leggings. The touch is electrifying yet not nearly enough to sate you. As if sensing your dissatisfaction, he slips his hand beneath the cloth, directly touching your clit.
He sloppily plays with your juices, spreading them around your pussy. Deeming you wet enough, he sinks a finger into your warmth. The squelch sound is inescapable as he begins a moderate pace. You squeeze your eyes tight enough for your world to burst into starlight, flecks of shimmery white floating across your vision.
He lifts his hand to your face, and you could smell your moisture before you saw it, viscous strands hanging between his fingers. “Look at this,” he says. “They’re soaking wet.”
Without thought, you take his fingers into your mouth, rolling your tongue around the digits. You’d never tasted yourself before. It’s more sour than you imagined, but not as bad as one would expect.
“That’s a good girl,” he praises. “What’re you making that face for? Do you want more?”
You release his fingers. “Fuck, please just touch me.”
He leans over you, nibbling at your ear before whispering: “Too bad.”
All too abruptly, he startles you by clapping his hands and standing up. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”
You blink, dumbfounded. “To… fuck?”
He laughs, glancing at his watch. “As much as I would love that, I’m still your manager. And you have to be awake by eight,” he explains with a normalcy unsuited for your half-clothed, aroused state.
“Are we really not going to even talk about-”
He tosses you your shirt and bra.
“Thanks…” You don the clothes in haste. “And for the massage. Though, it was missing one thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“An orgasm,” you deadpan.
“Well, there’s always the option of getting me fired, though I’d prefer to keep my livelihood sustained, thanks.”
“Don’t give me ideas,” you joke. “And here I was thinking you’d risk it all for me.”
“I’d risk a lot of things for you, but definitely not if seeing you around everyday was at stake.”
A grin forms on his tinted lips as he turns before you can gather your words. The door slams shut behind his harried exit and you are left, alone.
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Several suns have set and risen, and on the eighth turning you decide you’d had enough of his boyish disregard. You recall being eight, blithe with even the gentle breeze lifting autumn leaves into tangerine storms. Boys at that age were difficult, if they weren’t picking at you they were ignoring you altogether, huddled into little clubs of their own. Every attempt at breaching their sanctified playground circles result in them scurrying in all directions, like mice caught lurking in a kitchen. Taehyung didn’t seem much different.
When he picked you up on the morning after that first intimacy, he had nary a word to say. Even a glance too many had his ears reddening and shoulders curling in, as if it were possible to shrink himself small enough to be unseen. He, who’d eat in his car if he weren’t eating with you, found himself talking to the other staff, if only to avoid your confrontation disposition as he knew you were loath to interrupt an uninvited conversation.
Prior to the current state of tension, you’d jokingly asked him to guess what your astrological sign was. His immediate guess was Taurus. As your manager, he was the one most subjected to your stubbornness, your unwillingness to give up if only to prove a point. But you—impatient, tired you—were reaching your limit.
Yes, you were stubborn, but you hadn’t realized how his obstination could rival your own. And more than your missing and wanting of him, the question of ‘why’ burned trails along your musings. Why? Why was he avoiding you when: one, he’d been the one to initiate the tryst; two, during the moment, he’d joked of things being too awkward (and surely joking about things being awkward meant that things weren’t awkward enough to not be joked about); and three, he had acted as if everything was fine until that dreadful morning after, when he picked you up from your apartment (as he always did) except with not a word to say or a glance to spare.
Yes, indeed, you were stubborn. It was how you’d gotten this far in such a consuming career, but you were sure that you’d have given up at this point – he was just a man after all, and you had other problems of greater consequence. However, there was one thing stopping you from ceasing the pursuit.
Alone in your apartment, you are unafraid of moaning or indulging in the characteristic sticky sound of masturbation. That wetness spurs you into speed. A rush to completion. It is more out of necessity than pleasure, and the pace of your fingers exhibit that. You don’t bother fingering yourself, finding the notion too tiring. Instead, your focus is on your clit and massaging tight circles against the protective skin covering it.
You’ve become an expert of your own body, having so few sexual partners over the years. The risk of dating was high for idols, and you’d found that the few times you had risked it it was never sex worth losing one’s career for.
You know how much pressure to apply against the nub, teasing yourself at the edge long enough to draw out the pleasure. Your other hand lazily drapes across your chest, softly gliding across the skin just as Taehyung had that week before.
You’d be quite the fool to not notice how he coughs into his fist, ears red, when he notices your staring, or the subtle ways he checks you out when he thinks you aren’t looking (that much, at least, hasn’t changed).
By this point, you’d masturbated to him and that moment on the couch one too many times.
When you cum it is not as satisfying as it should be. It is but a relief of pressure rather than a gateway to ecstasy. There’s something missing, though to question what it is would be a benign pursuit for you already know the answer.
It is then, winded and shaking, that you come to the conclusion you’d been dreading.
You need to fuck Kim Taehyung… and then you’d figure out it why it is that your heart aches so.
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The car’s hum permeates the air and settles on your skin unpleasantly, as if trapping you in its needly weight. Suffocating. There is no better word for it.
When his eyes flicker from the road to you, it is even worse. You hate that he looks good: styled hair, pressed clothes, expensive cologne. But what you hate most is that you don’t see any of it. Instead there is the image of him above you, cock sliding in as if nothing could fit better.
It isn’t silent from a lack of trying, but after the hundredth attempt at conversation you’d grown tired.
He has not regarded you once despite you wearing his favorite outfit (a favoritism you’d deduced when he glanced at you one too many when you’d last worn it). The corduroy atop his thighs becomes his handkerchief, more to wipe sweaty palms against than a piece of clothing.
When he makes a sharp right turn, your hand on the center console knocks against his.
He jumps but plays it off, turning off the blinker and pressing closer to the door than he had been.
You sigh. “Do I have some infectious disease I should know about? That’d be pretty bad for my career.”
He blinks at you, catches himself staring, then turns back to the road.
“No,” he answers plainly.
“You aren’t even gonna berate me for sleeping in this morning?” Tired from last night’s self-ministrations, you slept through your alarms, leaving him waiting in the car for over an hour. On a normal day, he would’ve spent the entire trip either glaring at you or complaining. He did neither.
“You must’ve been tired,” he said.
“Remember what happened last time I was sore and tired?”
He sucks a breath between his teeth, gives you an incredulous look of shock, then proceeds to pretend as if you’d said nothing.
In a series of losses, you consider that a win.
Emboldened, you lean across the controls and press your hand on his thigh, your face so dangerously close to his that you could smell the mintiness of his aftershave. You’d always liked the cleanliness in which he prided himself on. Smoking, he’d always joked, was his only flaw. When stressed, he had a tendency to hit a few sticks more than usual. It didn’t take a genius to surmise the reason as to why, despite the sun’s low place in the sky, you could smell that more-than-few on him. You were both figuratively and literally bad for his health.
He sneaks a glance down your chest, cleavage revealed by the low cut of your top. He’d always been so fond of your breasts, those soft curves of flesh that he spent so much time fondling when he had the chance to. He gulps before looking away.
“Oh, sorry,” you say, coyly. His grip on the wheel twitches as he contemplates removing your hand from his thigh but thinks otherwise, perhaps rationalizing that touching your hand in order to remove it was also a bad move in his plan to pretend you were but a figment of a mind tortured to want what it shouldn’t have.
The main road close to the company building appears before you, a heavy strip of crowded cars anxious to make it in time to their corporate rat living.
You glance downwards. “Did I make you hard?”
He makes a choking sound, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel because the answer is yes, you had. The stiff texture of his pants only heightens the image of his cock struggling beneath, forming a tent you have to look away from lest it distract you from your mission. “I have to focus on driving.”
A pointed look is thrown his way as you gesture towards the windscreen. “We’re going to be stuck in this traffic for probably more than twenty minutes,” you say, untucking his button-up from his pants. Your hands press against his toned stomach, making a home beneath his shirt. “Aren’t you bored?”
“Out of the two of us, I don’t think I’m the bored one.” He turns to face you, putting his hand atop yours. “Did you really like it that much? Me touching you? I’m starting to think that your excuse this morning was a lie. You were probably just playing with yourself, am I wrong?”
“Half wrong,” you grin. “I wasn’t fucking myself this morning.” You press your lips against his ear, chest against his shoulder. “I was fucking myself last night.”
He curses, head thrown back at the notion. “Has anyone ever told you how blunt you are?”
“You do,” you say. “Constantly.”
“That’s because you are.”
“Then what does that make you?”
“A horny fuck, who, by some stroke of luck, got paired to work for an idol that’s somehow even more depraved.”
Though you laugh, relief surges through you at the familiarity of his bantering. “Define ‘depraved’.”
He pushes your hand to his waistband. “This,” he says, as if it is some grotesque and beautiful thing. “How badly I want you.”
You unzip his pants and untuck his cock from his briefs. He’s larger than you’d expected; long yet girthy. You run a finger down the appendage, catching on the prominent veins.
“God,” he hisses at the contact. “You’ve been such a slut recently, it was only a matter of time before you did this, huh? Touching my cock where anyone could see.”
The flesh of him is soft and warm beneath your fingertips. You squeeze the head then trail down to the base, cupping his balls.
He’s beautiful when he moans. His head tosses back, curls cascading over shut eyes as he attempts to move away from the pleasure all the while begging for you not to stop. A beautiful paradox, and you its orchestrator.
“Right there,” he groans. “Rub the head just like that.”
His commands are hypnotic in a way you deign to follow.
“Shit, you’re such a sub, aren’t you? You do everything I ask you to if it means you get a nice, thick cock.”
Despite your forwardness, you lacked much experience regarding the kinkier side of sex, though not from lack of trying. Perhaps it was the consequence of a homogenous industry where every individual was fearful in the face of social ruin if word got out that they were participant in this or that.
“Maybe, I am.” You shrug. “But right now–” you squeeze his cock “–you’re in my hands. And you only get to cum when I say you can.”
With that, you take your hands off him. The look in his eyes is almost comical, as if you’d divorced him, taken custody of his three children, and set his house ablaze.
“Fuck. I was close,” he pleads. “Please don’t do this. I need to cum. Please.”
“You sound so pretty when you whine but that isn’t good enough.” You pout. “You need to promise that you’ll stop being awkward around me.”
“Shit, fine, I’m sorry, okay? I just didn’t want to make things more weird than they already are.”
“See, I want to make things weird between us. So there’s really nothing for you to worry about.”
“You seriously don’t understand how much I think about fucking you on a daily basis. I wasn’t even purposely trying to ignore you, it’s just-” He runs a hand through his hair. “Whenever I see you I…” You wait for him to find his words only for him to say something entirely unexpected. “...Can I cum in your mouth?”
You snort. “Nope, you don’t deserve that.”
“Aw, man. This car was just deep cleaned.”
“C’mon, Taehyung, cum on your dashboard like a big boy.”
You continue your ministrations, tightening your fist around his length as you stroke him faster and faster. “You know you wanna cum for me, don’t you? Tae’s precious little idol.”
His reaction to the nickname you’d heard his colleagues call him was not missed by you.
“Fuck,” he groans, head tilting back. “Say that again.”
“What? Tae?”
His cock twitches. “I don’t know why, but I really like it when you say my name.”
You lean in to whisper. “Then I’ll make sure to scream it when you inevitably fuck me.”
His eyes blink white, head slamming into the headrest. His cock twitches, then releases. You try to catch most of the mess in your hands but some escape onto his shirt and, unfortunately for him, his dashboard.
“You know what you’re doing, hm? My little slut. Made me cum so fast, baby.” He condescendingly pats your head as you help him wipe down the few strings of cum that misaimed.
“Far shooter, huh?”
“Shut up,” he huffs. “What about you? With how much you’ve been chasing after me, you must’ve wanted me that bad.” He nips at your ear. “Let me touch you.”
You feel his teeth drag against your skin, from your nape to your collarbone. You’re aware of the brush of his lips, the warmth of his breath, and the way he is pressed so close against you. Across the console, he reaches to slip his hand beneath the band of your bottoms. It is a familiar motion, reminiscent of what happened on the couch that night.
He wastes little time as his finger glides into you with an embarrassing squelch. You feel the rough pad rub against your g-spot, amazed at the swiftness in which he’d found it. Your walls tighten around him when he inserts a second then third digit.
“You’re so fucking tight. I want to bury my cock into this slutty hole so badly, you don’t even know,” he groans into your neck. His hand roughly paws at your chest. In want of more, he lifts your shirt, baring your chest to the traffic. “Thank god for tinted windows.”
He pinches your nipples, tugging them until they’ve extended farther than you’ve ever tried to. “My perfect little fuckdoll. My good fucking slut. All for me– only for me.” Hand confined in the tightness of your trousers, every motion caused his palm to slap against your skin, perfectly blending pleasure and pain.
He continues to rapidly finger you until you feel that telltale drop in the bottom of your stomach. He holds you as you cum, body shaking in the small space of the passenger’s seat. The fledgling feeling in your gut erupts with the incandescent sparks of some other foreign emotion. You wonder if it is happiness, or perhaps some remnant of lust. But then he looks at you—eyes soft as he caresses your hair, trailing fingers to your nape—and you think that it is the beginning of something else entirely.
“You good?” His voice is faint as he pulls you to face him. His flickering gaze searches your expression for some sign of hesitation or regret of which you have none.
“Yeah, I’m good. You?”
“Same here.” He smiles. “Don’t blame me though if you have a hard time during practice.”
You punch his shoulder with a chuckle, serenity descending upon you in the afterglow of a cause of stress meeting its resolution.
After lunch you see a carton of orange juice sitting innocently on that couch, a small sticky-note attached to it. In clean handwriting, it read: ‘a peace offering’.
You laugh, stabbing the plastic straw into the carton.
You’d take it.
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Kim Taehyung has always thought your beauty was the kind that accompanied devastation; attractive in a way that halted his breath and stymied his heart. Perhaps a bit too much for his sanity and his cock, which has been rubbed raw to the thought of you one too many times. You are much too pretty for his own good, and it has grown increasingly difficult to be around you without wanting to fuck you against every surface imaginable.
It’s made worse by the mask of nymph-like innocence that you wear around him, wearing those tight leggings and parading your pretty pussy for everyone to see. He knows you aren’t his. Knows it with all the confidence of blue skies and steady lakes, but there are times, strenuous times, where it is difficult to control the possessive nature he is chained by. When his co-workers mention how sexy you are in your latest comeback teasers he simply clenches his fists and stays quiet lest said fists pummel their faces. He isn’t a violent man by any means (and definitely wouldn’t stand a chance in a real fight, because, as his friends have said, he’d never do anything that could potentially ruin his pretty face) but he entertains the thought as a way to keep sane when forced to listen to their ramblings.
When he has to stand behind you during fansigns, he can’t help the bitter feeling that rises in his gut when you hold hands with fans he knows could never know you in the same intimacy that he does. When they talk about how much they love you, an indignant voice in his head fights back: do they know about all the pretty little lingerie you keep in the back of your closet? Do they know about how bad you are at hiding your moans when you play with your pretty pussy in hotel showers knowing that he’s waiting for you outside? Do they know the soft texture of your tits and the way your eyes roll back when he plays with your nipples just right?
It’s an irrational sort of jealousy, but he’s learned to bear it as part of the occupation. There are times, however, where it is much more arduous a task, such as the massage of last week and the car ride of yesterday.
The feeling is not one he is fond of; how at odds his desire to ruin you is with his one to have you ruin him. Such had been a constant in the past year. Blame proximity or his lowered standards of human decency after having worked with only the most heinous people in the industry – you were kind, even when you needn’t be, even when you shouldn’t have been. And it ached somewhere beneath his chest that you thought him deserving of it.
He knows such feelings are ones not meant for him to have, but he has long since been past the denial that it was only but a physical sort of affection. However, even with your initiation of yesterday’s tryst, he doesn’t allow himself to indulge in you in a manner less carnal; his gaze lustful as you prepare for a livestream.
You glance at him once as if sensing the shift in the air before you press ‘start’.
As your manager, he has to be in the room for most of your activities, even the boring ones – but he can think of a few ways to make it less so. For him and you.
You greet your fans with a laugh that is akin to sunlight bursting through foliage. “Of course I missed you guys, it’s why I’m doing this live right now.”
Your company-issued phone, to read and answer comments, is slid across the table with a note meant only for you: ‘Want to play a game, good girl?’
Though your eyes widen, you type your reply in the guise of looking through your fans’ messages, ever the professional. Your glance towards his phone is pointed and when he checks it he sees the notification of your text. ‘I don’t know what you’re planning, you horny fuck, but if you think I’m losing in any game then you’re on.’
There is little ceremony in how he drops to his knees to move underneath, cautious to keep silent. The table tall enough to situate himself. Oh, how he wishes he could see your reaction. He focuses on your voice: the hesitation in which you resume speaking; the hitch in your breath as he spreads your legs; the tremble in your tone as he places his hands on your thighs.
The sight of you beneath is lewd. Your underwear, a simple cotton gray piece, is already soaked. He’d always loved the color gray, especially because of how obvious it made wetness appear.
He allowed himself a moment to appreciate everything about you. The softness of your thighs. The stretch marks on your hips. The dotted marks that lined your legs. His nose grazes your knee, breathing in the saltiness of your sweat. How badly he wants to eat you up. To wholly consume you and spit you out in broken pieces, forced to crawl back to him in order to be fixed. It’s a horrible thought, he’s well aware, but he can’t help but be fixated on the idea that you might want that as well.
Your skin is as silken as he remembers, but touching it feels utterly different, stark raving mad; he leans into that sentiment, urgent in his need to pull you closer and kiss your thigh harder, desperately starved for something he could not yet name.
He imagines it difficult for you to read through the comments let alone reply to them when his hands are caressing your waist and playing with the garter of your underwear. Blood rushes to his cock at the sighs you release every time he teasingly dips his fingers past the fabric. You’re so pretty and perfect for him, his little slut.
Phone in hand, he sends: ‘Your pussy’s so wet for me already, baby. Do you want me to eat you out?’
It’s easy to surmise when you receive it, a light gasp disrupting your sentence.
He struggles to hold his laughter when your consent is given through a grab of his hair and a shove towards your crotch. Satisfied with your enthusiasm, his lips caress you above the fabric, catching against your clit but not wanting to give you what you want. Not yet.
He teases you for ten minutes, licking up and down your clothed cunt until the fabric is fully darkened – only then does he push it aside to expose your pussy lips to him completely. Having tested the patience of both you and him, he wastes little time in capturing your clit between his lips, suctioning onto it whilst swirling his tongue.
You spread your legs wider to give more access, allowing him to move from your clit to your tight hole, slowly edging his tongue inside it. Building up the pace, he begins fucking you with it whilst rubbing your clit with two fingers in quick circular motions.
He gathers his spit around his finger before pushing the moisture into you. You lewdly clench around the digit, sucking him deeper into your depths, just as he thought you would. You’re always so good for him. He could just picture your humiliated face as he slaps his cock around your cheeks, wiping your tears and his cum around your skin. He knows you’re a pretty crier, and he’s never wanted anything more than to see those tears be caused by him.
Another finger is pushed in. Then a third. But he knows you can take it – knows that you’d be able to take everything he gives you.
When your thighs begin to stiffen and you clench around his fingers—the tell-tale sign that you’re close to completion—he stops.
He shoots off another text. ‘What a horny fucking slut, getting fingered in front of her fans like this. I wonder what they’d think if they knew how you were really like. Just a pliant little bitch who’s always ready to slut herself out at her manager’s every whim. Don’t tell me you think you deserve to cum just because you want to?’
Above, he can hear your sardonic chuckles as your knuckles wrap against the table in obvious frustration.
“I know this was a short one, but I have to go practice. I’m sorry for leaving you guys hanging,” you say with blatant venom, kicking his shoulder beneath the table. “Bye!”
He pinches your thigh in retaliation.
Before you can kick him again, he stills your leg with a firm grip.
Accepting your loss with a sigh, you rush to turn the live off, gaping at him when emerges from where he’d knelt. “What was that for?”
He grins, gums showing. “Revenge for what happened in the car. I was scolded by upper management for bringing you late, y’know?”
You punch his shoulder. “At least I let you cum… asshole. This is the second time you’ve blue-balled me.”
“Good thing I prepared this, then.” In his hand is another carton of orange juice. “Peace offering?”
“If a thousand won juice is your form of a white flag then I must say you’re quite stingy.”
“Hey, you’re the rich one in our relationship.”
“Oh, so we have a relationship now?”
His smile drops slightly as he rubs his nape. “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t think I do, actually.” Though you’re smiling, your eyes are serious, searching his for an answer that he knows he’s not yet ready to give. “I-”
He grabs your hand and places the carton in your grasp. “I’ll get you two orange juices next time, alright?”
‘Next time’, he thinks. It’s the closest thing to an answer he can give you.
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The establishment of your newfound ‘relationship’ was one suffused with clandestine trysts in storage rooms and cars, and yet it had never gone past touching and tasting as if it were an unspoken rule. You sensed it in the hesitancy upon which he laid kisses across your neck and jaw, never moving upwards. There was a fragility to his movements that gave you pause as time went on and words left unspoken remained so. Taehyung was gentle even when he called you his whore, and what began as ways to relieve each others’ stress led to hours spent in the afterglow talking about anything under the weather.
What you appreciated most (even more than the times he’d go down on you for hours) were the rare glimpses into his thoughts when he’d let his guard down. His rants about how his friends sucked ass at gaming, him bringing the new mechanical keyboard he’d splurged on just to show off to you his custom-made keys, him quitting smoking when you nagged about the smell and how he subsequently would complain to you about withdrawals before having you suck him off to relieve his other urges.
You wanted to lurk upon every crevice of his mind, know every secret he held close, and you know he craved it just the same. You each felt the devastation of fear, hesitation; you shared moments lovely and small, sat beneath midnight stars in the back of his car, insignificant in the face of endlessness. A month in each other’s company and you’d grown to understand that you wanted more from him than carnality.
It is why it is no surprise to you to find his glare pointed towards the man you’re flirting with. In an effort to leave practice early to meet with friends, your hand lingers on your instructor’s arm, pleading desperation alongside a promise to work twice as hard the next day. Men are easy that way, and the next thing you know he gives you permission with a nod.
…And on the other hand, there are men like Taehyung.
“You really think you’re getting out of it that easily?”
You point at the emptied room. “Seems so.”
He scoffs with crossed arms, the definition of intimidation with his bangs casting shadows across his eyes. “You’ve been getting out of breath too quickly during dry runs.”
“I’ve been getting exercise through other means, don’t worry.” Your eyebrows wiggle.
“I’m sure your newly developed neck and hand muscles will help after hours of performing.”
“I think you’re just jealous,” you say.
His laugh is hollow, forced from the depths of some aching thing. “And why would I feel that?”
“Because you like me but you don’t want to admit it,” you say with a shrug. “And you use the whole ‘manager and idol’ thing as an excuse when really you’re just a pussy.”
There is little he can do to hinder the shocked guffaw that parts his lips at your blunt observation. “Confident, are we?”
“Very, actually.”
He shakes his head but smiles in exasperation. “What am I going to do with you?”
“A lot of things, I hope.” You wrap your hands around his shoulders, pulling him in closer.
“I thought you had somewhere to be.” His nose brushes against your neck, the warmth of his breath scattering goosebumps across your skin.
“My friends can wait,” you say. “I can bless them with the honor of my presence in another hour or two.”
“Oh, am I supposed to be honored that you’re choosing to spend time with me, then?”
“Don’t you know how charitable I am even if you can be kind of a dick sometimes. Or, well, all the time. But that’s just semantics.”
He hums in response, arms around your waist tightening.
“You never answered my question,” you remind him.
His brow raises. “And you never answered mine: do you really think I’m going to just let you play hooky?”
“Well, I was hoping to offer you something a little more fun than watching me exercise.” You trail your hand down his arm, nails scratching along his veins.
“Oh,” he scoffs. “Is that the same thing you were offering him?”
“I’m yours, aren’t I?”
He tilts your chin upwards. “You wanna be my object tonight, baby? Is that what you’re saying?” Taehyung tended to be all bark but no bite, but the embers lit beneath his pupils indicated that this time would be different.
“Is that even a question?” you reply.
You bite your bottom lip in anticipation, only to be met with: “Then do fifty jumping jacks. Now.”
“You’re joking, but I thought-”
“Objects aren’t supposed to think. They just do as they’re commanded... Or so your favorite erotic novel alpha males always say.”
You give him a pointed look. “Yeah, the key word being ‘erotic novel’, not ‘workout manual’.”
He holds his hands up beside his head in defense, making a face. “I’m doing this for you. And besides…” He takes a step towards you, caressing your chest. “We can always multitask.”
You groan but comply, though the feeling of doing that specific exercise is tantalizingly embarrassing when he’s watching you so closely.
“Sweating already?” He moves to stand behind you, observing from the mirror. “Let me help you.”
He stills your movement to reach around and unzip your hoodie, pulling the sleeves off your arms. Underneath, you’re only wearing a flimsy white shirt coated with sweat, leaving it transparent enough for Taehyung to see your red sports bra.
He presses his mouth to your ear and whispers, “Did I say you were finished, slut?” He laughs. “Don’t look surprised. What else could you be with your tits bouncing everywhere. The fact that you can’t even comprehend what I’m saying is just proving my point.”
You almost regret sharing with him your favorite romance books. Almost. If only because of the way your knees buckle at his degradation.
You continue the motions and Taehyung does little to disguise how he watches your chest as it bounces with every jump. With your arms outstretched, there is nothing to cover the jiggling weight.
Neither of you are keeping count but after two minutes he ceases your movement with a firm “stop”.
“You like playing games with me, don’t you? Want to play another one? I’ll reach into your panties and if you’re wet, you’ll be my personal little slut. Are you willing to take that bet, pretty girl?”
“Yes,” you say without further thought, and his hands dip into your leggings and past your underwear. You already know the answer, have known it since the moment he’d walked into the room with his heavy gaze on your body.
“Oh, you’re soaking, baby,” he purrs into your neck, his fingers caressing your folds but not applying the direct pressure that your humping hips seek. “Does your pussy like the thought of being owned by me?”
His hands still with the promise of moving only when you reply. “Yes,” you cry. “I want to be your personal… I want to be your personal slut. Just please… Touch me.”
“You think you deserve to be touched for your pleasure? Are you forgetting what you’re supposed to be doing right now?”
He retracts his hand but you rush to grip his wrist. “Tae, please. I need it so bad.”
“Need what, baby?” he coos, ever softened when you use his nickname.
“I need you to finger me. To make me cum.”
To your surprise he complies, shoving two into your snatch. His fingers scissor you, stretching you out. He pushes another in, all three pushing in and out of you, making disgusting and lewd sounds.
“Aren’t idols supposed to be pure and innocent? I’m ruining you, aren’t I, slut? What would your precious fans think if they knew you liked being a whore for your manager? They’d probably lose all respect for you. Your latest stage outfit was a pretty little number too. Probably had all your fans jerking their little dicks off to your fancams. I just know if I searched your name up the first thing I’d see is some asshole doing a cum tribute to you.” He laughs. “Too bad for them they’ll never know just how tight and wet your pussy is, because I own it now, right?”
“You’ve always owned me– Fuck!” You yelp when Taehyung bites your neck. Your makeup artists were definitely going to have a hard time covering that up. “I love the way you control me so easily.”
“If you weren’t such a brat all the time it’d be a lot easier.” The speed in which his fingers met your g-spot increased. “You always seemed so uptight. Did you ever expect that you’d get played around with by your manager? The other staff members would love to know that you’re into this kinky shit. Especially your fans. Everyone’s always talking about how sexy you are but I bet you know that, don’t you? You thrive on it – want everyone to jerk off to you.”
To your dismay, he pulls out. “You were complaining about your sore throat earlier, weren’t you? I know a good solution for that.”
He tugs you by the back of your neck, moving you closer to his crotch. He pulls down the zipper, releasing the familiar length of his cock. You run your hands from the tip to his balls as if driven by pure instinct, wrought only with the need for proximity. Taking the head into your mouth, you slowly begin to swallow him until it reaches your throat. As he’d taught you, you let him deepthroat for a bit before releasing him with a gasp for air.
Patting your head, he encourages you to keep going. “What a perfect fleshlight. Born to suck cock.”
It is an all-consuming task, leaving room for little else in your mind as you make sure to avoid your teeth from scraping him as well taking note of when to suction and when to draw him deeper into your throat.
He groans with every ministration. “Doing so good for me, baby. Always my perfect slut, so good at taking dick. It’s like you were meant for it. Meant to have your throat pussy be my cum dump. At this point, this should be your job.” You look up and meet his eyes, a twinkling obsidian shade. “Ready for your medicine?”
He grabs the back of your head and takes control of the pace, roughly fucking himself with your throat. His moans grow louder, taking full advantage of the sound-proof nature of the room. You could clearly hear the sounds of your choking, spit drooling down the sides of your mouth as you struggle to keep with his rhythm. The scent of his cock sends you into overdrive, and, though you’re already wet, you feel yourself gush beneath, your pussy clinging to your underwear.
You know well enough, from his pretty groans and tightening grip, that he was about to cum.
“There you go, pretty girl. Your favorite meal. Drink it all up like the depraved cum dump you are.”
You swallow, and gasp, and swallow again. His cum, sticky and bitter, lingers in the back of your throat as you choke for a decent breath of air. It shoots into your mouth, spilling all over your tongue and lips, dripping down the sides. You gag at the taste, coughing up the creamy fluids onto the floor. Your hands tighten on his thighs, struggling to steady your lightheaded self. When he releases your hair from his grasp, you stumble back onto his crotch, heaving breaths against his softening cock.
His thumb wipes sweat from your forehead. “What are you doing, baby?” He grabs the top of your head, forcing you to look into his eyes as tears stream down yours. “That isn’t what sluts do, and I thought we already established that that’s all you are. Objects listen to their owners, don’t they?”
“I-I’m sorry,” you whine, not really apologetic when you know that he knows that cum isn’t exactly your favorite flavor.
He tugs at your hair, lifting you back onto your knees. “You’re acting like I care about what dumb little brats like you want – I don’t. Lick my cum off the floor. Now.” He grins. “And don’t forget that you got some on my boots, too.”
You hesitate, eyeing the strings of white that decorate the wooden panels and the black of his shoes.
“Consider this as punishment for trying to skip out on your exercises.” He crosses his arms, looking down at you with an unimpressed countenance. “So, now, be a good girl and lick my fucking cum off the floor.”
You move your face to the ground and give it kitten licks similar to how you liked to tease Taehyung’s cock. The taste is salty, and you shudder to wonder when the floor was last cleaned. You look up, hoping that that act of obedience is enough to quell his thirst for domination over you. It isn’t.
“I said, clean it up,” he hisses. “Do I really have to grab the back of your head for this? Yeah?” He pushes your head to stay close to the floor. “Don’t just stay there like a stupid bitch. Open your fucking mouth, let me see that tongue. Yeah… There we go, baby.”
You do as he says, collecting his spilt cum.
“All of it,” he groans, watching you debase yourself for his entertainment. “The boots, too.”
You move towards his feet that are impatiently tapping against the floor. Your tongue hesitantly drops out of your mouth, trying to touch as little of it as possible.
Unexpectedly, he presses his shoe against your lips, causing you to deeply lick the length of it in surprise. “You’re not doing a thorough enough job, slut. Don’t disappoint me.”
Once you’ve deemed it spotless you look up to face him. “Is that good enough, your highness?”
He snorts, helping you stand up after having knelt for the better half of an hour. “You mean, was that good enough for you to finally cum?” He reaches between your legs to smack your sensitive pussy, aiming for your swollen clit. “Still want more, baby?”
You nod, whimpering in pain at the unexpected hit.
“Sluts are always horny, aren’t they? Since I’m so good to you, I’ll let you hump against my boot to relieve yourself.”
“Oh, fuck you-”
He grabs you by the chin, tugging you to his face. “Don’t try to hide that you’re an insatiable slut now. I know exactly who you are and what you want. And I know that what you want is to be humiliated like this. Now be a good bitch and fuck yourself on my shoe.”
What’s more humiliating is the speed in which you position yourself below him as you slowly squat down until your crotch brushes against the hard tip. Your hands grip his trousers as you begin humping his boot. You struggle to find enough stimulation, still wearing your underwear and leggings. “Tae,” you whine. “It’s not enough.”
Frustration makes way for pleasure when Taehyung angles his foot up just right. Your moans are relentless now as you buck your hips wildly without rhyme or reason. You are simply a vessel controlled by pleasure, exactly as he wants you.
“Yeah, rub your clit against my shoe like the well-trained slut that you are.” He spits on your face, the fluid dripping down your nose and onto your lips. “You know that I don’t care about your pleasure, right? You’re just an entertaining toy to me. Who owns you?”
“You,” you whine. “You own me, Tae.”
“Then cum, baby.”
Your orgasm is an all-consuming force that possesses your body. It starts at your stomach, that incendiary pulse, before you feel it between your thighs. You can tell that you’ve lost all bodily control by the numbness in your hands and feet and how one second you are humping Taehyung’s shoe and the next you’re laying flat on the ground, his figure towering over you.
Your pussy is still attached to his shoe, and, as if it is an unconscious desire, you continue to move against it until your senses return, reminding you of the pain that overstimulation causes.
He kneels down and lifts his hand, and you aren’t sure what he’s doing until you feel his fingers brush against your cheek, gently wiping away a tear. “You did so well for me, today.”
Rivers trail down your face as you shake your head with what was left of your strength. “I need more.”
“Whatever you want, baby.”
You meet his gaze. “Tae, I want you to kiss me.”
He blinks, gulps, and stutters, “What?”
“I want you to kiss me.”
Despite everything you’d done together you’d still yet to share that one intimate act. Perhaps because doing so would make everything feel so much more real.
You caress the side of his face, watching as he watches you, hesitant to make the first move. The silent anticipation weighs upon you like honey, dense yet saccharine, and you slowly move closer and closer until you feel his breath on your skin. His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes and back.
“You can kiss me already, you know,” he mutters.
“I’m not the one scared of my feelings,” you say. “I can wait for you as long as it takes.”
And so he does.
When you kiss it simply feels right. His head tilts as you deepen it, licking his bottom lip. Your hands run through his hair, the perm he’d kept when you complimented it one too many times. You kiss him until his bottom lip swells and he kisses you until your mouth is numb. He wrestles your top over you, kissing down your arms before meeting back at your mouth.
There are touches that feel like beginnings and touches that feel like endings, but this one felt so awfully far from either, tucked perfectly between as if whispering of times past and times present. It feels like comfort, his hand on your neck, a grip so gentle that the promise of it was what had you gasping for breath. It is new yet familiar all the same, and when he kisses you harder—pressed against you as if in fear of letting go—you kiss him back with all the same intensity.
When you break apart, he steadies himself with hands wrapped around your waist, hair covering his face as he looks down with astonished laughter. You think that he is gorgeous in a way that makes your heart ache, but it is when he looks up, noticing your admiration, that your breath catches.
You collide once more and there are no more questions, no more waiting.
He lifts his shirt off and tosses it to the side before draping his body across the length of your own. Though the floor is hard against your back, you’re distracted by the rigidity of his muscles pressed against you.
“Do you have a condom?” you remind him.
He curses, standing up. He almost trips over himself in his rush to his bag, rummaging through it for the plastic wrapper. He makes a victorious sound when he finds it, holding it above his head. “Got it!”
You laugh into your hand. “Hurry up, you loser.”
He gets back on top of you, pressing kisses around your face. He kicks off his pants until he’s as naked as you are before positioning himself above your hole.
“Is this okay?” He rubs the head of his cock against your clit.
“More than okay,” you say.
The heat of him sliding into your pussy sparks kindles in your gut. He’s rough yet gentle. Too fast yet too slow. A paradox of sensations encapsulated by the longing gaze in his eyes and the torturous grip he has on your nipples.
He pulls out until only the tip is in before slamming his hips against yours, balls smacking your ass with a clapping sound. He repeats the motion until you’re drooling, rocking back and forth.
“You feel so good,” he moans, moving to grip your tiger-striped thighs. He lowers you until he’s buried balls deep into your warmth, and you can feel his hard length spasming as he adjusts to the tightness. “Feels so much better than I could’ve ever imagined. No one compares to you, baby.”
Despite the thin layer of protection you can feel every vein rub against the soft walls of your cavern. It deliciously fills you up until you’re delirious, drowning in the feeling.
“How many cocks have you had before me?”
“Two.” A friend and a boyfriend – neither of which mattered when the only cock you could think of was Taehyung’s.
“What I would give to have been the one to take your virginity.” He sighs. “Guess I’ll just have to fuck the memory of them out of you.”
His hips begin to thrust into you with a pace you can barely comprehend. The head of his cock reaches so deep, much farther than any cock or toy has ever gone. He pushes into you as if you were a pussy pocket crafted for his pleasure, holding your thighs to your chest in a mating press.
Your breath hitches with every upwards thrust as you struggle to speak. Words swim in your head, a thousand lines of ink dotting across pages like stars that twinkle in and out of existence, unable to catch them before they disappear.
He bites the lobe of your ear, tugging it. His hands caress the entirety of your body with wild abandon, struck with the need to feel you – to ensure that you are really the one beneath him. You, the gravitas of which he orbits.
When you begin twitching underneath him he focuses on hitting your g-spot, lessening the speed. He pulls out then slams back in, repeating it over and over and over. He taps your clit in rapid succession, occasionally rubbing before landing a hard smack against the nub. His other hand goes to your neck, applying pressure to the sides of it. Your mind goes blank. Your legs go numb. Then somewhere between your legs you feel it.
The orgasm is euphoric. You thrash in his hold, the pleasure all too much for your mind and body to take. The feeling is everywhere.
“That’s it, baby.” His thrusts begin to lose rhythm as he chases his own release in wild abandon. “So good for me. Mine. All mine.”
He cums into the condom with one final jerk, burying himself as deep into you as he could. The overstimulation is just enough to not be too painful as he stays inside you for a few moments more, barely able to pull himself out of your warmth.
His eyes are blown wide as he flops to the ground beside you, tying then tossing the condom to the side. “That was…”
“I can’t believe we waited that long to fuck.” The punch you land on his shoulder is weak.
He carries your limp body to the couch he’d massaged you on that fateful month before and gently lays your head against a cushion. Brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead, he places a kiss on your temple. It’s gentle.
“How are you feeling?” He slips beside you until you’re laying side by side and nudges his nose against your shoulder like a cat seeking attention. “Was I too much?”
“No, it was really good, trust me.” Try as you did, there weren’t words in your vocabulary that could sufficiently explain what you had just experienced.
His eyes flicker the length of figure as if attempting to convince himself that he, indeed, had not accidentally fucked your body to the point of destruction. He pouts but sighs, taking your word for it.
Abashed in the afterglow, he asks once more, “You know I didn’t mean most of what I said, right?”
“Most?” You grin. “So what did you say that you did mean?”
“I’m sure I called you pretty once or twice,” he grumbles, burying his face in your neck.
“You already know that I like it,” you assured him. “You’re always so good to me, Tae.”
His eyes soften as he laughs, the melody of it soothing. “It’s because it’s you. And I like you.”
“If I had known that the way to get you to admit your feelings for me was to fuck you then I would’ve done it ages ago.”
There’s a long pause as he composes himself. His hair tickles your neck, his arm a gentle weight around your stomach, and you feel the warmth of skin not your own.
“Shut up.” His ears are red as he flicks your forehead with faux nonchalance. “Is that all you’re going to say?”
Dizzy in the moment, you reach up to cup his face and kiss him. He meets your lips with a gentle eagerness, trailing his fingertips across your chest and along the grooves of your collarbones.
“I like you, too,” you say. “But I also really, really hate you. I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.”
He laughs, pecking your shoulder. “Good thing I’m here to massage you then.”
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thank u for reading!! <3 if u liked it let me know ! : ✉
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© rendaze 2022. all rights reserved. copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform or by any means is NOT permitted.
6K notes · View notes
rendaze · 1 year
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Heyyyy so glad to see you’re back💕🫶🏽 are you going to do a part two of triads and tribulations?💕
tysm for welcoming me back bestie !!! i'll for sure write something for it <3 so .. if there's anything u guys wanna see in it lmk lol
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rendaze · 1 year
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I'm shookt. You're active again. I've been checking your feed since April. 🥺
ok this time i can actually feel that i'm gonna stay active n release the fics that ive kept in the basement very soon !! thank u so much for waiting i appreciate u checking on my acct so much🥺 hope u have a great day friend !!
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rendaze · 1 year
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are you planning to make a masterlist or make more fics in general? cause i LOVE your works so far 💗💗💗
i'll make a masterlist when i have more than 2 works LOL so stay tuned friends
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rendaze · 1 year
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HOW TALL ACTUALLY IS JUNGKOOK
he's the tallest man in the world to me ‼️ that's what big dick energy does to a mf..
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rendaze · 1 year
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can you perhaps tell us what fic you’re working on these days? or what fic we can expect to read next?
rn i'm working on two fics!! the first is idol!reader with manager!tae (picture him eating u out under the table as u do a vlive, w u attempting to act as if nothing's goin on down there LMAO). the second is jin as ur gynecologist with some consensual dubcon (basically, he's ur bf and u guys r roleplaying that he's giving u a coochie check up but is doing way more than a licensed doctor should lolll)
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rendaze · 1 year
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hi friends ik i've been gone for literally almost a year but i've finally got motivation to write again!!! i really appreciate all the replies n asks u guys send abt my work🥹 so if u guys wanna send asks/prompts im down to write them!!
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rendaze · 2 years
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Hii hello 👋🏼 another anon that checks on your account frequently to see if you’ve come back 🫡
im so sorry friend😭😭 i AM working on posting this tae fic by this week and i'm kinda maybe almost done ​and its like 12k words w some rlly kinky shit so hopefully that makes up for my absence. i also have a gynecologist!jin fic in the works LOL
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rendaze · 2 years
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you really did say you’d post something and then dipped us 😭 i actually come here almost everyday to see if you’ve posted anything yet lmao but glad you’re back !! am looking forward to your future fics
are u fr?? bc this is the sweetest thing ever but also sounds like torture im sorry LMAO but thank u for waiting thats crazy to me🥲 im gonna try to be actually consistent this time!! promise!!!
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rendaze · 2 years
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nah this is crazy😭😭 thank u friends for the 5k notes and all the support like ? my stupid ass brain cant process that ppl actually read my shit... ur telling me that u arent all tiny lil pixels living in my laptop????? also 5k ppl chose to read a fic that promises cum swallowing and breeding...? this is on yall! not me!
one morning stand (m)
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+ featuring . . . dom nerd!jungkook x gn!reader
+ summary . . . in which you and jungkook have one night stands with roommates and happen to be sneaking out at the same time.
+ genre . . . smut, fluff
+ wordcount . . . 7.9k
+ warnings . . . don't be fooled by the first half being fluff lmao; rough sex, a lot of dirty talk (jk will not shut up), heavy degradation (use of ‘slut’, 'whore', etc.), consensual slut-shaming (reader is into it), exhibitionism, cumplay, cum swallowing, unprotected sex, breeding kink, reader gets tied up at one point
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Most mornings arrived like a lover’s gentle touch, beguiling the horizon’s rays to surface with a golden grace; yours, however, often arrived with an acute headache, nausea, and the race to gather your clothes and dip before your one-night stand roused from snore-filled slumber. Though short was the list of things worse than hangovers, the dreaded walk of shame was often far more perilous with its intricacies and social hazards.
Between tossed beer cans and workout gear was a Chewbacca-themed alarm clock ticking away the minutes until it would wake its owner with a recorded growl. You, still in disbelief you had slept with a man with Star Wars paraphernalia, quickened your pace.
Some would call you tactless, but you were simply realistic. What else could come out of meaningless breakfast offers and forced conversations if not minutes wasted on both ends?
By the time you had wiped your face clean and thrown the prior night’s clothes over your head, the sun had arced through the sky with an obstination better suited for the winter months. For it was not the light that had awoken you, but the quiet rumble of steps falling down staircases as those who lived in the party house began their morning clean-up.
This, you’d argue, was the worst part of falling asleep after a hook-up: avoiding the ‘walk of shame’.
And it appeared as if you weren’t the only one facing this conundrum.
You opened the door to see a figure lurked near the hallway’s end, fluffy hair peeking at the crowded living room. The young man stuck close to the wall as if he were one with it, desperate to remain hidden. His coffee-colored eyes scanned the scene as if envisioning a multitude of escape routes and calculating their likelihood of success. His frown said that he wasn’t too pleased with the conclusion.
The sigh was a familiar one – one that had been directed towards you one too many times.
“Jungkook?”
His shoulders jumped as if he were the hare to your fox, fight or flight senses kicking in at your abrupt arrival.
Jeon Jungkook. Captain of the debate team, frequent charity donor, homework answer sharer, your seatmate, and the last person you’d ever expect to encounter on a Sunday morning.
His neck, besmeared with an array of violent hickeys, whipped towards your standing figure. He shushed you with a finger to his pink lips – an image you’d seen whenever you would bother him with useless remarks in the middle of a lecture.
You crept beside him, crouched to copy his pose. Though you nodded, your mind meandered yonder. The Jeon Jungkook you knew from History and the Jeon Jungkook who wore beer-stained Hawaiian polos appeared as two separate entities. One you were familiar with, the other you were unsure of.
He fixed his hands through his hair and buttoned his shirt higher, clearing his throat with a demure smile better suited for school hallways than sticky trash-covered floors. “Hey, you,” his voice cracked, causing the ‘you’ to sound like two words smashed together.
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean?” His brows raised as if the answer hadn’t been right in front you – which it had been, in the form of violet blotches and scratch marks across his sun-blessed skin.
“Did you trip down the stairs and pass out?” You half-joked. It was arduous to imagine how the teacher’s pet who did algebra for fun could find himself in the same spot you were in. ‘It’s relaxing!’ He’d argue, before timing himself on his Samsung’s stopwatch and beginning another worksheet while waiting for the professor. You were more inclined to believe the scratch marks had come from some cat Jungkook had pet-sat than someone he had fucked a room across yours.
His doe eyes grew, as if both offended and bewildered. “Do you seriously not-” The approaching sound of steps slashed his sentence short.
They must’ve been done cleaning the living room – which meant they were heading straight towards you.
Jungkook had always been quick to raise his hand during lectures. It was as if he was in constant competition with himself, as no one else bothered. And his answers were always right.
You weren’t sure if this one was; not when he nearly dislocated your shoulder dragging you up to a stand, and especially not when he shoved the pair of you into the nearest room.
With the precision of a bomb defuser, he closed the oak door as silently as his sweaty palms could.
“Jungkook, what-”
He pressed the rough pad of his fingertip to your lips.
Imprisoned within the cage of your ribs, a nestled heart thud.
This was the closest you’d ever been to him.
In the dim room, light fragments leaked from the doorframe’s gaps and highlighted his face in soft shades. You thought about sunlight: how it travelled at a nearly instantaneous speed, how distant it journeyed if only to linger on him, and how, in its earliest hours, it turned Jungkook’s brown eyes into honey.
This close, you felt more than heard the pace of his breathing; the warm air caressed your forehead as he leant past you to make sure the door was shut.
The silence allowed you to observe the room you had been pulled into, though you found it to be less of a room than you’d given it credit for. While the floor and lower shelves were crammed with an assortment of shoeboxes and house slippers, the upper half was littered with winter coats and gear. In the limited space, you could hardly exhale without your chest touching his.
It was a closet. Jungkook, in his panic, had trapped you both in a closet.
Beyond the door was the loud banter and cacophony of people as they cleaned up the prior night’s apocalyptic aftermath. Crushed plastic cups. Mops against floors. Changed bed sheets.
The two of you waited. A minute passed. Then, another. And another. They continued to clean the area outside where you hid, each too-close step causing him to flinch.
Whether it be his proximity or your ennui, you could no longer take it.
“Okay, you might have a problem with being seen but I don’t.” Your movement stirred a response from his then rigid frame. He had to maintain his golden boy reputation, after all. You, contrarily, had no notoriety of which you were caged by. The general population didn’t care about you the way they did Jungkook. The simple miracle of him attending a party would already be made a spectacle by Monday.
He reached for your wrist as you clutched the doorknob. His pout (which was horrendously endearing) compelled you to pause. “Please.” He kept your gaze, as if it were an insurmountable fact that one didn’t go against his wishes when faced with such a guise. You loathed how he was right.
“Fine, at least entertain me,” you whispered. Already, he looked as if he regretted not letting you go. “I’ve never seen you at a party before. Didn’t think you were the type to hook-up.”
You’d expected him to flush at your confrontational assumption, rather than the raised brow and head tilt you were met with. “And why’s that?”
“Because you’re so… you.” At his look did you shrug, rattled mind settling for the first adjective it thought of. “You’re cute.”
“Cute?”
“What? It’s a compliment.” You pat his head.
“What am I? A dog?” He huffed, blown air inflating his cheeks. He swatted your hands away and crossed his arms. You didn’t think it was a good time to point out how, in that moment, he very much looked like the kicked puppy he tried not to be. “You know, I’m not as innocent as you think I am.”
“Evidently not,” you said. “Or you wouldn’t be here, stuck in a closet with me, sneaking out after a one night stand.”
“Who said anything about a one night stand?”
Your brow raised. “You have a partner?”
The dark did little to conceal the crimson burn of his cheeks and ears. “No, but I’m just saying. I hypothetically could have one. You don’t know me.”
“We’ve been seatmates for five months, Jungkook.”
“And not once have we actually talked.”
“Unless I’ve been talking to your secret twin, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“You complaining about our prof everytime she gives out an assignment isn’t a conversation.”
“Only because you’re a teacher’s pet.” You huffed. While he might not have appreciated your circadian quips, you didn’t think it was the worst seatmate bonding time. “Which brings me to my next question: why’d you go last night?”
“I can’t go to parties like a regular college student just because I’m me?”
You sent him a pointed look because, yes, you didn’t think he went to parties like a regular college student. While you might not have known what he got up to during his free time (seeing as he didn’t have social media), you were certain that none of it involved vomiting in his grandmother's antique vase after declining a three-way with his dealer and her boyfriend – something that has totally never happened to you.
“What?” he whined.
“Who’s the lucky person that managed to drag the golden boy away from his studies?” If you were sure of anything, it was this: infatuation led people to the most unexpected of places. For what other reason would you stay entrapped in a closet with a man in a Hawaiian polo?
His hair, as wavy as a stygian sea, bounced as he shook his head.
“If you don’t tell me, I might accidentally start speaking too loudly,” you teased, voice rising in volume.
Panicked, he placed his palm over your lips. “Keep your voice to a whisper.” He sighed, relenting. “I… I came last night because I wanted to see you.”
You blinked.
“To see me?”
His bunny teeth gnawed his lip. “I’ve always thought you were kinda cool.” His hands rose to cover his overheated ears. “C’mon, you definitely know I like you. I always act like such an idiot around you.”
You didn’t know. How could you have possibly known when he never spared you a second glance?
Reading your disbelief, he continued. “You don’t remember the notepad incident?”
The cogs in your brain turned until a memory snapped to the surface; one of him leaving his desk unattended during lecture, and you ruffling through his post-it notes out of boredom (because for reasons unknown to you, he had dozens in numerous colors). What you weren’t expecting to find were short letters—if they could even be called that—written in the backs of them. They talked about infatuation and the art of unrequited passion, thoughts you’d never associated Jungkook to having. So engrossed in their messages, you hadn’t realized when he had come back. “Who’s this about?” you had asked him as he swiped his stationary back from you, face flushed.
“You said it was poetry.”
He groaned. “What about all the times I let you copy off my homework?”
“I thought you were just being nice!”
Jungkook pouted, his foot softly stomping in frustration at your idiocy. “I’m not that nice.”
“Then why didn’t you approach me?” You hadn’t seen him the entire night.
He took a step back. “You were… busy.”
“Oh.” Your stomach dropped. “Jungkook, I-”
“No, no,” he panicked. “You don’t have to explain yourself, you don’t owe me anything. Seriously.”
“But I still feel bad.”
“Well, don’t, it’s not like I didn’t… yeah.”
“Well, the past is the past.” You forced him to meet your eyes with a tug of his chin. “We can always make up for lost time.”
His adam’s apple bobbed. “What?”
Your hands trailed his arms, surprised at the hard muscle. He shivered as you blew on his ear. “I’ve always thought you were cute, too.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yes, really,” you giggled. “You don’t think I have good taste?”
“If you did, I would’ve fucked you last night.”
You liked this bolder Jungkook. The one who met your gaze rather than shied from it.
“Well, if you had approached me, maybe you would have.” Your hands trailed his chest. “But we can always do it now.”
“What? Now? There are people outside.” His words supposed one thing but the hands resting on your hips said another.
“Should’ve thought of that before you dragged me in here.”
He curled inwards. “Sorry about that, by the way. I panicked.”
“Yeah, I could tell.” You pressed against his chest. The rise of his heartbeat drummed against your skin. “But if you hadn’t then I wouldn’t have been able to do this.”
The back of your hand grazed his crotch.
The teasing motion awoke in him something you had yet to see. His eyes darkened as he took a step closer to you, hands spread against the door behind you. He trapped you between his arms, his breath cascading across your skin. So slowly did he lean in that your wrist’s pulse began to tick like clockwork, as if it too were counting the seconds until he closed the gap.
When he did, you were knocked breathless.
His kiss was rough, not at all like the way he pressed against you. It was soft and passionate. Strange yet comfortable. Everything and nothing like you’d expected from this Jungkook.
Your hands ran through his hair, tangled in its softness. He tasted like mouthwash and smelled like baby power. He was the definition of intoxication, and you were content to be engulfed in his waters.
Pushing his hair from his eyes, he used his other hand to drag you closer to the center of his storm, the music of lips against lips a resounding orchestra. His giggles as you touched his neck were just as melodious as he wrapped his arms around your waist as if the closet were a ballroom and you were its guests.
There was no need for violas or harps, not when he pressed against you in harmonic promises. Soft groans fell from his lips faster than wisps of smoke dissipating after a lit candle had been extinguished. More than the fear of getting caught, you thought of the pressure of his hand on your back and his nose touching yours. You’d lost count of the times you had stepped on Jungkook's feet in the dark but his smile never dulled. He was the sun to whom you’d risk lighting yourself ablaze for even just a moment of his warmth.
In the eye of the storm, you were but a bird, flailing about until you could take off with outstretched wings and storm-swept feathers. You had taken care of a bird just like that in your adolescence, young and injured. You nursed it to health until its wings could carry its weight across the ether canvas. The next day, you’d seen a pack of hunting dogs and feathers across the field. You never took care of another wounded bird again.
You wondered if that were you, rising only to fall. It’d been years, yet the memory lingered. Would he only stay for as long as you were risen or would he be the genesis of your undoing?
Jungkook was infamous for all the wrong things yet loved for all the right ones. He was smart, diligent, outgoing – but he was also awkward, arrogant, and obsessive, only caring about his grades even if it meant putting his peers down and eating alone at breaks. He did internships and extracurriculars all day and studied until the break of dawn, but with every second that his rare attention was spent on you, your delusions that he was telling the truth about liking you grew bigger and bigger.
You were aware of all of this and still you fell into the depths of his being so completely that to let go of him would be to drown and never resurface. You didn’t believe that it was his intention to be so beguiling, but it didn’t stop him from entrapping you in the net that you had crafted yourself.
He liked you. Three words, he had said. Three beautiful words. When he looked at you like you were the answer to every question he had been asking the universe all his life, how were you supposed to want to let go? He said it once more against your lips. Then twice. Then thrice, until you no longer cared if you’d wake up the next day and find that only feathers remained. And so, you said those three words back, even if it would be the cause of your ruin.
You had no want for his reaction to your scarce genuinity. So when he inched away to confirm that he hadn’t misheard you, you pressed against him harder. “Did you-”
“Shut up,” you were quick to reply.
His tongue slipped between your lips. He sucked on the muscle as his once shy hands roamed behind you, squeezing your ass. Motivated by your soft groans, he ground his crotch against your front.
“I want you to fuck me,” you panted into his open mouth.
For a second, he stilled, as if shocked by the bluntness in which your words pierced him.
“You want that?” he tested the waters, resuming your kiss.
But you were impatient. “Please, Jungkook.”
“You really want our first time to be in a closet where anyone could hear us?”
“Yes,” you said. You wanted it. Needed it. “You could fuck me anywhere, I just need your cock in me now.”
“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he groaned, unable to stop the jerking of his hips against you.
You smirked against his lips. “Really? Never thought my innocent little seatmate would be into this sort of thing.”
His eyes narrowed. “You really want me to prove it to you, huh?”
You played along. “I really don’t know what you mean.”
“You want me to treat you like the slut you are?” he teased. You shook, putty under his words. “You’re really sure?”
The dark rings in his eyes softened as he waited for your consent. His hands caressed the outside of your arms with a gentleness so sudden it gave you whiplash. Not that you needed his forbearance.
“Please, Jungkook, I want it.”
The heat between you returned at your panted answer. “You like being called what you are, huh?” The tone of his whisper made his voice that much more provocative.
“If I’m a slut, then what are you?” You eyed the marks on his neck with a grin.
He laughed as he dragged against your clothed core. His lips hovered over your own, smirking as you chased it when he pulled away. “You talk too much.” He tapped two fingers against your bottom lip. “Real sluts know what to do when I do this, don’t they?”
He pressed you harder against the door with his hips as you began to suck on his fingers. You had half a mind to tease him as he had teased you, but you had never been a patient person. Your tongue slobbered all over his digits as spit fell down your chin and onto your chest. You sucked and sucked; it rolled in your mouth the way you wanted to do to the cock rubbed against you. You humped him like a bitch in heat as his fingers reached as deep as they could in your mouth, trying to locate the spot that would make you gag.
He smirked at the sound when he found it. “Can’t even take my fingers? How is my cock ever going to fuck your warm throat?” His unoccupied hand applied pressure around your neck. You gasped at the new feeling and the delicious lightheadedness that came with it.
“Filthy slut, fucking some guy you barely know when you know I like you?” He grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to keep eye contact with him. “Had to watch you act like a dumb whore just for some cock when you could’ve had mine so easily, baby. I had to fuck some random chick because of how hard your little outfit made me.” He grabbed your hand and placed it over his clothed crotch. “You feel how hard I am? This is all for you.” He sighed. “Whoring yourself out for some other guy and not even offering me your services? I’m disappointed in you.”
The prior night had been a drunken blur, and you could barely recall how you grinded against the stranger you’d spent the evening with. Apparently, he had seen it all; how that other man had almost fucked you in the middle of the dance floor, lips pressed against your neck, fingers pinching your nipples through your top.
Jungkook grabbed your face. He squished your cheeks together until your mouth opened. His tongue swirled in his mouth to collect his spit. “Say ‘ah’,” he cooed, before dripping his saliva down your throat. He used his thumb to push back the bits of it that leaked from the corner of your lips. “Swallow.”
Your body burned as you swallowed both your pride and his fluids. He pried open your mouth after he watched your throat bob to ensure you had swallowed every last drop. “Messy slut,” he degraded.
His lips collided with yours once more. A nasty, wet kiss, that left your toes curling and lower stomach fluttering. He sucked on the skin all around your face, dragging his tongue back and forth as if claiming ownership over you in the messiest way possible. He suctioned his way to your collarbone, only stopping to help you out of your top.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he groaned. “I’ve jerked off to you so many times – even when I was fucking someone else last night, I thought of you. Do you know how difficult it was not to moan your name? I can’t believe I finally get to taste you.”
“But I wanna taste you first.” You pushed him away to unbutton his shirt.
His defined abs were a surprise in itself, but they weren’t what caused you to gasp.
“Okay, I know now that you’re not my innocent little classmate, but I didn’t expect this.”
‘This’ being the two metal rods pierced through his nipples.
He snorted at your genuine reaction. “Yeah, yeah, geek in the streets, freak in the sheets,” he said. “Now, suck.”
You didn’t need his command to lower your head and place his pierced nipple between your lips. You lapped at the left peak, the cool metal resting on your tongue.
He only bothered to unbutton and lift his pants low enough to free his cock. It bounced against his stomach, rockhard and covered with pre-cum.
Jungkook was huge. And he knew it.
“You’re…” There were millions of words in the dictionary, yet none could describe how wanton he left you feeling. His hands gripped the base and tapped it against his stomach. A droplet of cum leaked down the side, and it took all your mental strength not to drop to your knees right then. “Can I please suck your cock?”
He pet your head. “You’re only an obedient puppy when you want something, hm? Bet you say that to all the other guys you whore yourself out to.”
He pushed on you until you fell to your knees. You kept your gaze on how he licked his lips and looked down on you, though it was difficult when his large cock swang near you like a meal to the starved. He slapped his dick around your cheeks and forehead, his pre-cum rubbing across your closed eyelids to your chin. He avoided your lips.
You thought yourself akin to Tantalus, a man cursed by Zeus to stand in a pool of water beneath a fruit tree with low branches; when he’d go to drink, the water would recede, and when he went to eat, the branch moved out of reach.
“How badly do you want my cock in your dumb whore mouth?”
“More than anything.” Your hands tightened around his thighs. He still wore all his clothes, and the image was as teasing as the cock he continued to slap you with. “Only need you.”
“Oh, I know that, baby,” he said. “The question is whether you’re a good enough whore to deserve it.”
“Please let this whore suck your large cock,” you begged, taking a page from his book and staring up at him with puppy-dog eyes, mewling against his leg. “I’m just a dumb bimbo willing to do anything for cock.”
He, finally, tapped his length against your lips. You waited for his command before you licked the head, scared he’d retreat if you didn’t obey him.
“Open,” he said. A word you’d never been happier to hear.
Prepared now for his length, you held in your need to gag as you slid him down. His brow raised, impressed. “You must’ve taken a lot of cock down this throat, you’re too good at this.”
Deeper and deeper, he went. You winked when your lips met the base of it.
“You’re too fucking good, bet you have a line of guys dreaming about your pretty lips wrapped around them.” His hand pushed and pulled you harder, treating you as nothing more than a toy thats only purpose was to suck cock. “Do you know how my friends talk about you? They think you’re so pretty, baby. I can’t even blame them for talking about how much they wanna fuck you. Turn you into their cockslut. They’re so jealous that I get to see your cute face everyday. Of course, it’s not only your face that I look at.”
With the way your arousal increased with his every thrust, it was as if your mouth was connected to your hole.
The room filled with his heavy breathing. He bit his fist to keep quiet, conscious of the noise that continued to permeate the hallway a door away. You whined when he threw his head back, no longer able to watch how his skin pinked and his pupils widened at your ministrations.
Jungkook was ethereal, using your face as a glorified hole for his pleasure.
“Doesn’t take much to turn you into a cockslut, does it?” He pulled you to your feet, ignoring your complaints of wanting him back in your mouth. “You’re so easy that it’s almost boring.”
Every word out of his mouth made your core clench.
He turned you to face the wall and pulled your bottoms off to have access to your hole. You jumped when he lightly spanked your center.
When he noticed the ceiling hook directly above you, he grinned. “Lift your arms, slut.”
Your back to him, you couldn’t see how he grabbed one of your clothes and used it to tie your wrists to the hook. He adjusted it until he deemed you comfortable enough.
He pinched your ass, spreading your cheeks to reveal your winking hole. “Such a slutty fucking hole, all for me, isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” you said. “All for you, only you.”
“You probably don’t even need to be prepped, huh? Sluts are always ready.”
Still, he sat down on his calves and began to trace you with the rough pads of his fingers. His other hand held onto your hips as you began to buck around, the touch so teasing that it left you desperate for more.
You were no stranger to sex and the pleasure that came with it, yet Jungkook’s touch felt so different from all the others you’ve been with. Even your own hands, hands that knew your body better than anyone else, paled in comparison to his teasing movements. He would give you just enough of what you needed before retreating, leaving your body in a constant tug and pull of ecstasy and wanting.
And then his lips. Plush and soft. He kissed around you before diving in, his tongue making a home for itself in you. The muscle wiggled around to touch your tight walls.
“I knew it,” he groaned, losing himself in you. “You taste so fucking good.”
Wads of his spit were shoved into you with his fingers. He would gather his saliva and finger it as deep as he could, repeating the process until you were overflowing. It wasn’t even that he was prepping you, you realized, he just loved turning you into a messy slut covered in him.
He spat onto your ass once more, massaging it into your skin.
“I’d ask if you were ready for my cock, but I know you are,” he said, pressing his chest onto your back and rubbing his length down your crack.
“I need it.” You rubbed your ass against his crotch, enticing him to fuck you full.
So, he did.
“It slid right in,” he moaned. “Do I have to thank whoever fucked you last night for loosening you up for me?”
You wanted to watch him, but the knots above you were too tight to turn. All you could do was hang pliant, nothing but a body to be used for Jungkook. After all his teasing, he didn’t wait for you to adjust to his ginormous length before bottoming out. His pace was rapid as he jackhammered into you.
Your mouth hung open, brain emptied in pleasure.
“I’m gonna need you to be quiet, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “Wanna be a good slut for me and keep that whore mouth shut, hm?”
You’d been left drunk by his words alone, the consonants and vowels swirled in your mind until all you could think of was the shaft that dragged against your insides. Back and forth. Back and forth.
“Nothing but a dumb little fuckhole for me to breed, isn’t that right?”
It became more difficult with every thrust to hold back your moans without hands to bite on.
“You like that?” He delivered a harsh thrust into you. “Want to be nothing but a cumdump? Gonna make you take all my cum, have it dripping down your thighs as you walk home, forced to think of me fucking you every step of the way there.”
“Fuck,” you hiss. “Feels so good.”
“Did I say you could speak?”
You whined when his cock slipped out, fearful that he might leave you unfinished. Instead, he rustled through your fallen clothes on the floor. When he stood, you had a suspicion of what came next.
He shoved the wad of lace into your parted lips.
“Snap your fingers twice if you want out, okay?”
He slid his cock back into you, moving at a slower pace this time. He would pull out until only his head remained, before violently shoving back in until his balls pounded onto your ass.
“I think I like you better like this,” he smirked as he tugged your chin to face him. He angled your face side-to-side, as one would inspect goods in a market. After a moment, he nodded in approval. You could imagine what he saw: a slut with snot dripping from their nose, tears raining from their eyes, and new marks littering their neck replacing the ones before it. “You know what I’d do if you were mine?” He sniffed your neck, hot breath tickling your skin.
Your head shook.
“I’d fuck your pretty ass until it’s dripping with my cum. Would plug you up and have you walk around and attend class, feeling all of my seed in your belly with every little movement you make. You wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything without my help, hm, baby? I’d turn you into a dumb little bimbo who needs me for even the littlest tasks.” Your eyes rolled at the purr of his tone as he whispered every single thing he’d do to you against the lobe of your ear. “Good sluts take whatever I give them.”
“I need that so bad,” your voice came out muffled from beneath the fabric. You wanted to tug your wrists from where he’d tied them above you and feel his skin beneath your palms.
He caressed your nape with a condescending laugh. “I know you do. I’d train you to be the perfect cumdump. My cumdump. Would have you wearing the shortest clothes and bend you over every surface so that everyone passing by could see your messy hole. And you’d love it, wouldn’t you? Would love everyone watching you, knowing that I’m the only one allowed to touch you… until I ask my friends to play with you, of course. I’m not that selfish.” You tightened around him. “Oh, you’d love to be passed around and gang-banged. You’d be so filled up with cum that your stomach would bloat.”
Clearly, he had an exhibitionist streak (among a plethora of other kinks). Something you should’ve guessed by how quickly his pants tented when you suggested fucking in a closet. Evidently, you had the same streak, if your clenched slit had anything to say for it.
“You’re so fucking tight. I never wanna leave this hole.”
You were thankful he had stuffed your ruined panties in your mouth lest he heard your mindless babbles as you neared your climax.
His hips began to thrust even faster than you would’ve thought possible. Your heart spiked as each motion made noise loud enough for the outside to hear – but you could no longer care, lost in the sensations of his hard cock belitting you into nothing more than a hole to fuck.
“You take my cock so easily. Didn’t even need much prep. You’re just a common whore, aren’t you?”
You feverishly nodded.
He reached around you to remove the wad of cotton from your mouth. “Where do you want my cum?” he groaned, the words rushing from his lips as he chased his climax.
“In me,” you cried into your shoulder, barely conscious enough to not want to get caught. “I need you to fill me with your seed.”
“Fuck,” he moaned. “You’re so hot, you know that? Could fuck you for the rest of my life.”
In and out. In and out. His hips moved so swiftly that you could no longer think, sufficiently dick-drunk. He no longer cared about pacing, simply using you as a doll to get off.
“I want you to cum with me,” he said. His dominant demeanor faded as he desperately clung onto every inch of your skin, hand roaming your sides as he chased his end. His fingers began tugging at your nipples roughly, urging you to reach the finale with him. His words were breathlessly rushed as if they fell from his lips without thought: “Need you to cum, need to feel you cum around me. Shit. You look so pretty fucked out. Such a good slut for me. You’re doing so good, baby.”
Your orgasm crashed against you like a tidal wave, unexpected and violent. Your body thrashed against your binds, hips jerking back and forth as pleasure overtook you - possessed you, almost. Your hole pulsed against his cock, tightening around the length as fluids overflowed.
He jerked into you once more, his cum painting your insides. Soft expletives fell from his lips between praises as he gently rocked his hips into you to ensure his cum wouldn’t spill.
The sensation of his cock slipping out of you felt like heaven and sin.
You hadn’t orgasmed so destructively in… you couldn’t remember having ever experienced anything that came close to that. You weren’t certain if it was because of the risk of getting caught or because Jungkook was that good. Perhaps, it was a mix of both.
You shook at the binds above you, tired from your orgasm.
He wasn’t quite finished, however.
You waited, confused, until you felt his tongue lap your hole, sucking his cum out of you. Sensitive, your feet kicked at him to stop, but he was relentless in his mission to fill his mouth with his own seed.
Your stomach curled at the mischievous glint in his eyes as he stood. He pried your mouth open with his fingers before depositing all of his saliva-mixed cum onto your tongue. “Don’t swallow yet, baby.”
He leaned on your body with a softness that matched his gaze, his hand resting on your hip, his chest on your back. His fingers played with the fluids in your mouth, swirling it with your spit until it combined into a mess that ran down your chin (which he licked up and spat back in). Content, he finally commanded you to swallow.
The thick concoction ran down your throat slowly, becoming a part of you. You groaned at the heady sensation alongside Jungkook’s pliant kisses around your nape.
He gently untied your wrists from the hook, rubbing the skin from any soreness. When he was done, he rocked your tired body back-and-forth to soothe you. You crumpled onto his figure as if your bones had disintegrated to dust.
“We… We really just did that.” Jungkook had finally come back to himself, doe eyes widened as if he had broken from a spell. “Are you alright?”
You laughed breathlessly. “Yeah, you?”
He nodded, scratching at his nape.
The next few minutes consisted of an awkward dance, the pair of you picking up your clothes, constantly stumbling against each other in the process. Each time, Jungkook would avert his gaze to the ceiling or the floor – whatever he could do to give you privacy in the confined quarters of a storage closet. The silence was so thick that to distort it with words felt unnatural. He only spoke to tell you that the hallway was quiet, no longer occupied by the residents of the house, and that you were both free to leave unnoticed.
Even the goodbye was stilted, as if you had been possessed by beings other than yourselves during the incident and were now left to deal with the consequences.
Under the morning light outside, Jungkook flushed as red as a polluted sunset. He gingerly waved from where he stood, making sure that you got into your Uber safely (only after nagging the driver to escort you with utmost caution). Your lips parted, but the words wouldn’t surface. Instead, you settled for a wave back.
A smile cracked on his lips as he watched your car hug the corner of the street and disappear from view.
The next time you saw Jungkook was during a lecture. His glasses were back on his face, sweater vest tucked into his trousers. He looked nothing like the man who had fucked you dumb the weekend before, back to being the epitome of what you’d expect every nerd who took college too seriously to look like.
You took your usual seat beside him, unsure if bringing it up casually would make him uncomfortable. Already, his cheeks and ears were red, and you could almost feel the heat radiating off of them.
You exchanged shy greetings before returning to your individual tasks: him, pretending to rewrite notes (when really he was doodling on the corners of his notebook), and you, pretending to send a text (when really you were swiping your homescreen back and forth).
He shot you furtive glances when he thought you weren’t looking. His fingers drummed against the table and his knee shook as if he was working up the courage to say anything. Gone was the boy who had had all the words ready in the palm of his hand that morning.
“Hey,” you smiled. “Did you start on the final project already?”
His head whipped towards you, wide eyes and parted lips telling you he hadn’t expected you to make the first move, perhaps content to fester in the ruined classmate relationship after your somewhat strained goodbye post-rendezvous. How does one act after confessing your feelings and subsequently fucking in a closet? You knew how to react to hook-ups, and you knew how to react to confessions, but both? At the same time? Your head spun.
“I- That-” He struggled to gather his words as each consonant slipped through his fingers like fine sand. He, a past valedictorian, had been left dumb. “I did,” he croaked out. “You?”
“Of course, you did.” You laughed, the sound more metallic than you’d intended. “I’m gonna start next week.”
“Cool,” Jungkook replied.
The silence thickened the air between you like smog. The minute stretched on for forever, the pair of you waiting for the other to break the silence first in an unannounced game of chicken.
“I just-” “I don’t-”
Your voices overlapped each other, causing you to exchange awkward grins.
Jungkook cleared his throat. “Can I start?”
You told him to go ahead.
“I just wanted you to know that I meant what I said about liking you.” He rubbed his nape. “I didn’t mean for what happened to happen, but I don’t regret it.”
His gaze burned into your own as if he were searching for any clues as to what you felt. It was terrifying, the sincerity in which it pierced you. But you had no want to run from it. Not anymore.
“I don’t regret it, either,” you said. “Plus, that might’ve been one of the hottest hook-ups I’ve ever had.”
He blushed. “And about the ‘me liking you’ part?”
You dragged your chair closer to his. “After the way you treated me, how could I not?”
It took him a moment to compose himself, back ramrod straight as goosebumps ran down his arms at the turn he hadn’t expected the conversation to take. He anxiously glanced at the row behind where you two sat, teeth biting into his bottom lip in a way you found infatuating. You were thankful to every god out there that he had been caught in traffic that first day and forced to sit in the back row beside you. Jungkook, who had been nothing more than a cute, grade-conscious stranger at the time.
The minute it took for him to steel his nerves was worth it, you found out.
Just in time, the professor walked through the door and began taking attendance. You were so focused on waiting that you jumped when Jungkook’s hand began trailing up and down your thigh.
Your eyes widened.
“Did you really like it?” he whispered.
“Like what?”
“The way I treated you.”
There were thousands of ways you could’ve affirmed his statement, but you settled for a nod.
His hand moved up your inner thigh, nearing your crotch. The upward jerk of your hips caused a satisfied smirk to settle on his lips. “If you want to continue being my good pet, then don’t make a sound.”
So enthralled were you in his touch that you hadn’t realized that your professor had called you. Twice.
“Present,” you yelled, embarrassed by the startled shakiness in your tone.
“Good pet,” he praised, rubbing harder through your clothes. “You want more?”
Jungkook licked his fingers with a nymph gaze. With his free hand, he unbuttoned your pants.
Paranoid, you glanced around the lecture hall.
“Don’t kid yourself,” his low tone caused goosebumps to run across your arms. “I know a common whore like you wants to be stared at while being used.”
His hand dipped into your underwear, moving directly to your hole. He rubbed the area around it before inserting a finger into you, deliciously wiggling it around. His spit allowed it to smoothly enter you with a soft ‘squish’.
In front, the lesson had begun. Not that you could pay attention. Your focus zeroed in on the intoxicating slowness in which Jungkook made a toy out of you, hand moving back and forth.
“Can someone please read the first section on page 130?”
You froze as your professor began glancing up and down the rows in search of a prospect, disappointed at the disinterested gazes of her students. This would be the time that, like clockwork, Jungkook’s arm would raise. And yet it stayed, connected to you below the table.
A historical moment: Jungkook not volunteering.
Instead, he did something entirely different.
You gasped when he grabbed your arm and made you raise your hand.
“Great,” the professor acknowledged you, gesturing you to begin.
You quickly flipped through the pages, hands shaking when you realized that Jungkook wouldn’t stop. If anything he began to finger you faster, hitting the area that caused spots to cloud your vision.
Your voice shook as you read out the passage. Scattered letters chased each other on the page; your eyes raced to keep up with them. Had the words always been so small?
Jungkook had fingered you dumb enough to forget how to read.
“Though scholars believed that–” He pushed his fingers directly against your most sensitive spot. “–That, um, though they believed that–”
You accidentally made eye contact with a few of your classmates, their impatience with your slow pace making it hard for you to wring the words into sentences. Your voice came out breathy yet stilted, guttural stops after every few words.
When you finished the section, you leaned against the back of your chair in relief as the class resumed. Jungkook, however, was a stranger to giving you breaks, simply speeding his ministrations.
The feeling in the pit of your stomach heightened the faster he went. Your eyes bounced around the nearby rows to check if anyone noticed the slight creaking sound that came from this new speed, but were reassured to find that everyone was busy analyzing a chart on the projector.
When you turned to face him, you were pleased to find that half of his notes were in scribbles. You’d be quite offended if your tightness around his fingers weren’t at least a bit of a distraction to the star pupil. You had half a mind to joke about fucking one of your classmates to borrow their notes to lend to him just so that he’d jealousy-fuck you the moment class dismissed. You were just about to when you felt it – that tell-tale tightening.
“Jungkook,” you whispered, your legs beginning to shake. “I’m coming.”
His lips brushed against the lobe of your ear. “Cum for me then, slut.”
You breathed so heavily from holding back your moans that you became lightheaded, lost in the euphoria of your danger-filled release. The world was but a blur as you crumpled into your seat exhausted. You hadn’t even realized how Jungkook’s fingers slipped out of you, nor how he buttoned you up and kissed your forehead.
Above, the bell ringing signalled the end of the class, alongside the routine sounds of chairs scraping against hardwood floors and stationary being stuffed into totes and backpacks.
The two of you were left alone in the classroom, eyes finding one another in the solitude.
You grinned, still in a daze. “There isn’t a CCTV in here, right?”
He moved you onto the desk, hands gripping your hips. “Even if there was, would you care?”
And the answer was ‘no’, you didn’t. As long as you were wrapped in your seatmate’s warmth and greeted with his shy yet teasing smiles, you wouldn’t have cared where he touched you. What could’ve been a one morning stand began a series of trysts both public and private, and you both wouldn’t have had it any other way.
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thank u for reading!! <3 if u liked it let me know ! : ✉
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© rendaze 2021. all rights reserved. copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform or by any means is NOT permitted.
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rendaze · 2 years
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Please write haechan x reader im begging
omg.... im def planning to write sum nct fics in the future (esp ones abt my bf haechan<3) after i finish my current bts wips
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rendaze · 2 years
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Will there be a part 2 for triads and tribulations? I would love to have one especially when y/n finds out she is pregnant 🥵 keep up the great work. Can’t wait to read more of your stories 🥰
im srry im not rlly into actual pregnancy:') as for a part 2 for t&t..... we shall see
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rendaze · 2 years
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one morning stand is what i’ve been looking for in a jungkook fanfiction forever oh my god please don’t stop
im glad u liked what my lil rat brain came up n ill try bestie but the procrastination........ its too powerful........
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