Taehyung Things - Tumblr Posts

Heartache (M)

Summary: You didn’t know such a feeling was so real, so vivid, so hurtful. But it had happened and happened to you before you could stop it. Tae had become written into your life hard and fast, so when you leave you question that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t willing to unwrite him.

Pairing: Taehyung x Y/N

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Heartache for starters, Unprotected sex, Oral (male receiving), Swearing, Nude modelling, Taehyung’s a sappy mess, Mentions of Alcohol

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Can’t lie in saying how morbid it is that I enjoy writing angst. It’s light angst though and a lot lighter than how fucking whipped Tae is at the end. Much love for the bub though, so, enjoy x

Ahhh jungkook features as well forgot to mention. Still love him. Nothings changed there.

Heartache.

Cringy, you once thought to yourself. 

How could you be so dependent, so set and so immersed in something that your heart actually aches? 

It didn’t make sense to you until the day words were spoken that couldn’t be taken back, bags were reluctantly packed and more tears were shed than there is water in the Thames. Heartache was real, vivid and the hardest thing you have ever had to live through in your 24 years of life. 3 weeks of a deep set dropping in your stomach that couldn’t be shaken despite the booze intake, the occasional listening to his voicemails and the relentless tears.

Your mother told you that if you built up too many walls it would hurt so much more when someone knocked them down. You had told Taehyung this on the first date, your first date, ever, with any man. You had always drawn a line between pleasure and dependency, settling for short flings and the occasional online relationship (purely for the sexting) instead of the commitment and responsibility that weighed on vulnerable shoulders when you bear your entire self to another in a relationship. Taehyung knew this. But he fell and you fell harder. You fell completely and utterly under his spell for three years. 

And then he told you he wanted to marry you. Bastard didn’t even propose, just mentioned that one toxic word of marriage and you instantly laid the bricks of that wall he had so unceremoniously knocked down all those years ago.

It felt so adult yet so childish leaving someone over the concept of marriage, but when talks of marriage turn to talks of children and one party wants something completely different to the other, what kind of relationship is there to continue. 

So three weeks later, just as the physical pain of emptiness and heartache has begun ebbing away, the emotional trauma of your decision begins to cave in on you.

To Jungkook:

11:31pm

You: I know I said I’d stop this

You: But I really dont know if this is worth the pain

You: His mum sent me a get well soon card today bc he told her i was ill and that’s why i hadn’t visited

You: I’m never going to not love him

You: How does anyone get over this shit its not fair

11:35pm

Guk: Oh noona

Guk: It’ll take lots and lots of time and lots and lots of tubs of ice cream and wine but youre both adults who want different things and not everything is meant to be

Guk: Sacrifice for the greater good right

11:35pm

You: There’s no fucking greater good here

You: I hate this

11:37pm

Guk: Noona you know that down the road hyung wants children. I don’t think marriage was that big, but he’s always wanted to be a dad

Guk: It’s not fair of him to ask you to have something you don’t want but its also not fair to leave him without the thing he’s always desired the most

11:40pm

You: Its just too hard to take

You: It feels like three years for jack shit

11:41pm

Guk: If you’re really struggling that much, noona, talk to him. I know he wants to talk to you still, he’s tried to contact you everyday. Maybe it will give you some closure or just help you see what’s right

11:41pm

You: Love you

Your phone is down as soon as Jungkook mentioned talking to him. How could you take one step forward and a million steps back by talking to him? It would be like hanging just what you want right in front of you but no touching, no talking to them after that 5 minutes of hell, no seeing them ever again. Closure is what you need but never what you’ll want.

The sheets that surround you, nuzzled closely into your neck and still unwashed even after three weeks just to keep that tiny scent of Tae over you naked skin, warm you to the point your eyes drift. You don’t mean to fall asleep so easily, but when every little action weighs so heavy on you during the day, sleep comes too easily. However, so does the nightmares of crawling alone in the black abyss.

---------------------------------------------

Resuming work was never easy on a broken soul, but alas, here you were, with three weeks of sick pay under your belt you’d rather not have and 20 children at your feet.

Ironic isn’t it.

You break up with the only man you’ve ever loved because you can’t face a future of settling down with children, yet you wake up at the fucking godforsaken hour of 6 am to tend to a bunch of five and six years olds every day. No, you didn’t hate children, but they weren’t the joy of your life either. You were good at your job and you had this mad psychological complex that if you could help a child at five or six like you had so desperately needed at that age, then maybe you’d make their life just that little bit easier and that little bit brighter. Taehyung always found your reason for working so admirable - fuck that look of pure adoration in his eyes when you told him - so he found it equally hard to come to terms with when you told him the opposite. When you told him you couldn’t have your own children because the responsibility scared you. His ears were ringing at the point where you told him you also didn’t want to share him and his kindness, even so, the damage had been done, whatever the reasoning.

“Y/N! Jennie said you were back,” it’s a tight smile from you and a loose hug, but it’s amazing you’ve managed that with the way your head is far from in the room let alone the conversation at hand. “God, I hope you’re better, you were out for a while.”

You squeeze a weak laugh out, “Yeh, it wasn’t all that fun.”

“For a second me and Jennie were thinking you might be pregnant.” The heartache subsides, rivalled by the very distinct feeling of sickness. The ball of energy in front of you persists in conversation, but it’s to drowned ears and for a second you think you’ll faint. 

You miss your name being called. Shit, you don’t even know where it’s coming from, because the all-consuming feeling of this tide of emotions has swept you far from your spot in the classroom. Marie in front of you still calls, asking if you’re okay, but it’s the tug on your skirt, not harsh, but enough to garner a reaction that casts your eyes down.

“Miss Y/N?”

It’s Jojo, eyes wide and glaring up at you, still clung to the material of your skirt.

“Miss Y/N, why are you crying?”

You instantly draw the back of your hand to your face and it catches a cascading tear, much to your shock. You face must morph into a mortified expression at the thought of so carelessly crying at work, in the presence of the kids you look after with a smile and a skip in your step each day.

“Miss Y/N, it’s okay to cry. You can draw with me if you feel crying…” he shakes his head, “sad. Sad I mean.”

You feel Marie’s hand on your back, but Jojo’s eyes sweep you into a frenzy of more tears before you find yourself kneeling on the floor by the table. His table, where he sits alone each day, with paper and paints, or pencils, or chalk, sometimes he just folds it and hands it to you saying he made his paper into a flower. He already has one of his drawings on the go but scribbled over it thoughtlessly before starting out on a series of words. ‘To miss Y/n’.  Your eyes well further, but his words stop you.

“I think sometimes that drawings can make you better. Can make better the sadness.”

---

“Tae are you still going at it?”

You peer around the corner of the door, leaning half in half out of his man cave to study your boyfriend at work. 5 hours he’d been couped up in there.

“Hmm.” 

He didn’t let you see his art until the product was finished, completely finished, because sometimes he’d say he was done and then go back when he’d found the smallest error only to get pissed off that you had witnessed anything other than the completed masterpiece.

“Tae, you’ve been in here for hours, just come out to help me cook.” You plead with him over the canvas, not daring to peak any further.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He hasn’t looked at you since you came in, his brow well and truely glued into a furrow and the tea you’d brought him earlier cold and untouched beside him. You lower your tone into a more serious one.

“You okay?”

Silence.

“Done.” He doesn’t sound relieved or happy at the finalising of a five-hour art project like most would, like he normally does. He’s merely, ‘done’.

With an apprehensive tone, you ask, “Can I come see?” A gentle nod and you round the canvas, his arm dropping the brush in favour of tugging at the skin of your waist until you’re gently seated in his lap.

It’s beautiful and it’s simplistic and there’s so much life and emotion in it that you know the five hours weren’t all spent with brush to canvas but with him mulling over the memories and thoughts it conjured up.

“Your grandmother’s house?” Your voice is soft, not a pitying soft, but a soft that lets him know he can talk freely.

“Hmm,” he presses a kiss to the shoulder exposed by the shirt that hangs off you loosely. “Wanted to do something for her.”

You let the silence and the painting speak for itself for a while as his hands brush at your sides and you lean into his head that rest against you, chin to shoulder as his warm breath lulls you into calmness.

“You miss her?” 

“So much.”

“Painting makes it better?”

… another kiss and a sigh, warm.

“Mmm. Sometimes painting and drawing just makes the sadness a little easier, just makes it better.”

---

You see Tae in this tiny boy, this boy who draws to ease the sadness, who coups himself away on his table to be alone, too afraid to cry in front of the other boys and girls. Is he doing it too? Is he alone and painting? 

Then Jojo slides you his paper, wordlessly and your eyes with dried tears, prick once again, heartache replaced with something completely different, regret. And now hope. It’s those small boys words on paper, insignificant to him, and probably tiny in the grand scheme of things, but it’s his words that make you seek out for the one thing you know you can’t live without, the one thing that will heal your sadness.

‘To miss Y/N, i hope your crying gets better soon. Its okay to cry but its also good to make you happy. I hope you find your happy. From Jojo.”

You’d already found your happy, you just had to get him back.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Y/N!?” 

And it merely takes your name for you to lose every word on your tongue. Any word you could’ve conjured at that moment couldn’t have described how you felt. He looks dishevelled, and beautiful, hair unwashed and falling into his eyes, white top littered with stains and his pyjamas bottoms you bought him for Christmas hanging off his hips. 

His eyes lull from their immediate shock before he turns to look at his apartment, running a frantic hand through his hair and stumbling on his words. 

“Shit. I- I mean. I wasn’t really thinking- I didn’t expect you.”

You probably shouldn’t have come. Some people would’ve turned and gone the other way. Maybe that was the right thing to do, was that the brave thing? Were you being a coward by rooting to the spot and not being able to speak a word?

He looks at you, then behind you somewhere, then back into your eyes and his gaze sinks so far into yours, you think you might just cry there and then.

“Dooo you want to come in?” He sounds apprehensive, he probably thinks you are too, but all you want to do is be back in his apartment just like three weeks ago, touching him, talking to him unhinged, perhaps feeling the skin beneath his shirt where his heart lies, feeling if his heart has ached as yours has.

With blinking eyes that try not to glaze over, you nod, short and curt, and you miss the puff of air his mouth rings out with relief. 

He dashes away once you’re past the threshold, scampering around as if to distract you from the surrounding environment - it’s dusty, too cold and dark with the way the curtains shut out summer light and you barely recognise his floor as wood with the way food scatters and clothes are strewn.  Small shards of light reflect from out of the study and your eyes naturally draw there only to find a mess, door open just enough for the hoard of half-finished painting and wasted canvas’ to come into view. The door is closed by Taehyung like he knew where your gaze would lead you.

“I-I’m fucking sorry about this, it’s gross and it’s messy and i-”

“It’s just like mine.” The corners of your mouth turn up sympathetically but also because you’re relieved he’s not okay. It’s awful to say but heartache has clearly done a job on him too and for that you’re relieved. “Don’t worry, it’s just fine.”

“Just fine,” he mutters under his breath with a half-laugh. 

You’re still stood stuck to the doormat, jacket hanging tightly to you like a defence mechanism and your hands remain tight to your sides. When his eyes find yours, you seize up further like it’s the first time he’d ever seen you.

---

You’d told Janice one too many times for this situation to be coincidence. You may or may not have told her you were a sucker for exhibitionism. She’d found it all shits and giggles until the art class she headed entered into ‘naked form’ week and it was too good of an opportunity to pass by. 

So the robe drops and you’re way too aware of the last time you shaved - you think you’d be prepared, but pair a hangover with a 7:30 start and bodily care wasn’t the first thought to come to mind.

Janice gives off a flow of instructions, pointing to your body like you were a cow on show, and telling the artists to ‘admire her form, the way her body dips and flows and let you brush or pencil do the responding as though her body was talking to you’ - you almost scoff aloud at her waffle because art is so full of shit.

Exhibitionism kink or not, you’re thirty minutes in and the way your hip cramps and you eyelids lower, there is nothing alluring or desirable about this. 

But then the door on the far wall swings open all too harshly for your eyes to feign jolting away. And they blow out further when they’re met with the masculine figure uttering apologies and skidding halfway from door to seat with his urgency.

‘Just women’ she said. ‘Nothing to be worried about,’ she said. It ruined the whole ‘i like being stared at by fit men’ at first but then put you a little at ease that some 70 year old man, trying to spice up his last years of life with a too expensive art course, wouldn’t be staring your tits down. 

Yet here you were, with a man with eyes too beautiful to be tarnished by the view in front of him, gazing in shock at your naked body.

“Mr. Kim, it’s nude form week. Guessing you didn’t get the email?”

You only have your imagination for what his voice must sound like because he only shakes his head, throat too dried and scorched from you laid out, baring it all in front of him for him to say anything.

But your imagination didn’t do justice in those two hours of torture. Because his voice telling you he’s ‘sorry for interrupting the session’ and even ‘sorrier for being so unworthy of staring at something so beautiful’. 

You’d always hated cringe. But cringe never sounded so good when it was spun off Taehyung’s silk tongue.

---

“Can I get you anything?” 

It’s him who breaks the silence, and it’s a godsend because you were two seconds away from spinning on your heel and cowering out of the entire thing.

“N-no. Thank you, Tae.” 

He groans at the timidity of how you say his name and nickname at that.

And silence soaks the atmosphere again, tenser this time because greetings have been uttered, drinks offered and there’s nothing more to say that unspoken words of the past.

That’s what you thought you were here to do at least. To tell him you’re sorry, first and foremost, because you’d never intend to break a soul as tender-hearted as his. Then you were supposed to tell him that you loved him, and you would always love him, and that sacrifice must be made for the greater good.

Jungkook had told you that once. But he’d said Taehyung must be the one sacrificed and you should be the one salvaged - until you realised there was no greater good in that situation, no salvation to be had.

“I’ll sacrifice myself,” words come out loud and unexpected as your train of thought is voiced. They’re too loud also, and they break the atmosphere to his shock, so his brow furrows like he doesn’t understand. “I- I will sacrifice myself for you.”

His face falls and you can’t bear the way his words stutter and his throat fills with a choked cry, as though he’d held it in as soon as your presence had hit him. It must have done the same to you because your body befalls you and tears and on the floor as you work your feet towards where he is rooted.

“I can’t ask that of you. You know I can’t do that,” he closes his eyes when your  body meets his, hands firm on his cheeks because they’re wet with tears and his shoulders are hunched in pain, “please.”

“Please.” You reciprocate. 

This is it for you. You’ll do anything for this quivering shell in front of you. You’ll plead. You’ll beg. You’ll give up your livelihood and every mantra you have ever told yourself about self-preservation because fuck it, some things are too good that you have to lose yourself in them. 

“You- I-”

“I’m- I might not be ready for kids now. I will though. If that’s what it takes. Fuck it I’ll marry you tomorrow.”

He chokes on a sob when his eyes meet your pleading ones and a quick hand wipes the stains from his cheeks so he can see every expression you give to him - untainted and full of love.

“We can take our time over this or we can have it all at once, but it has to be we. I’ll really do it for you, I have to Tae,” another sob and a whimper, “isn’t that what we’re here for. Kids.” You’re babbling now in a frenzied expression of all you have to give, and you’re so lost in his eyes that you laugh out, “‘be fruitiful and multiply or some shit.’ I’ll do it, I swear to you.”

“You’re not even Christian.”

“I would be if you told me to.”

“Fuck.”

He kisses you quick and without care, wanting to feel everything you have to give him like it’s what keeps his heart beating - and it’s beating fast because you finally find fingertips under his shirt and against the pounding that intensifies underneath.

He grapples at your hair, then waist, then hair again because his hands can’t decide on what he wants most. So you grab at them yourself and intertwine fingers as though he’d never left you. Each knuckle deserves a kiss and that’s what you give when your lips part.

“I’m so sorry-” you keep kissing across his hand, “I ever left,” and bring his hands to your neck, “never again.”

The tears subside in his eyes as they do yours. There is still relief, hot and painful inside your stomach because you have come back to him and he has taken you back, as if there were never to be anything but the two of you as one, yet now he finds your lips in something that claims more than just love. Possession. He has to know you’re his.

You were correct when you thought his room would be as sorrowful as yours - heartache as painful as what you had felt. 

Food containers stripe the floor dirty. Towels strewn and clothes dirty and forgotten. Again the blinds are closed as though you’re not here at 5 in the afternoon when the sun begins to fall into the red and purple hues of evening. 

But the blinds leave enough of a gap that his face is haloed, angelic and all too beautiful for your eyes to feign staring when your mouth departs his. Eyes glow amber and skin glows golden and you never want to look away, not from him, not now.

“You really want this don’t you.” There’s no question to the way Tae speaks. Instead, it’s disbelieving, like he can’t quite fathom that it’s really your shirt he has under his fingertips and your smell that lingers under his nose. Heartbreak had slowed his heart enough that it’s beating too fast for him to keep up with, so he slows it down.

“I really want this- You. I really want you.”

“And everything that comes with me? You’re sure?”

It’s a loaded question but at this point it is so light on your shoulders you laugh, grabbing and pulling up his shirt so you can sink lips to his chest, trying to find the beat of a heart somewhere there. 

“You act like you’re a chore, Tae.” You’re eyes soften when he still looks like you like he’s young and vulnerable. “Baby, I am so sorry I ever did this to you. Left. And made you feel like that.” 

Your hands map his skin delicately and you preserve how it feels because you hope, but never know, if you’ll feel it again.

“Never again, yeh?”

“Yeah.”

Clothes are shed until he looks at your naked body like the art that he first saw it as. He wants to paint it, remember it and cherish it as though he’s never seen it before. Every scar and blemish, precious to his vision, but the painting would only be worth it to him because he’s all who gets to see you.

“You’re not gonna turn off the lights?” 

Something that you’d told him was a habit of yours. Maybe something, a subconscious body image thing that was another way of saying, ‘I can’t give my whole self to you, I’m sorry’. He’d ran with it as though it didn’t hurt his pride. But now, as you push him down on his bed and clamber over his thighs, he’s so grateful he never got to see you in this light, because he loves it all the more now.

Fingertips tremble over your thighs when your hips find his, naked crotch so close to where he throbs. 

“Tae,” his eyes don’t meet yours, pieced, instead, onto where your bodies are so close to meeting like his gaze can fuse them together. “Tae, it’s me. Relax.”

Purposefully, your hands find his hair and coax him into a state of submissiveness, because his body still quaked underneath you no matter the words you uttered. 

You can’t lie when you say sex was a factor in your relationship you had missed. There was a heartfelt bond that went deeper than sex.

Admittedly the flatmate before Tae, the friends before the boyfriend and your parents who knew you better than you admitted to yourself had all said you were sex before substance. Some hated you for it and some laughed. Some said, ‘I wish I could be as emotionally detached as you’ and some thought you were the local gal whoring about like bodies were meant to be used. Then, somehow, Tae flipped the whole thing on its head. Made you feel butterflies before orgasm and it had you spellbound. 

So, no. Sex wasn’t it for you when you were with him. 

Yet, here you were, over your man gleaming with the physical sweat of want and need as well as the even more apparent glow of how his body lit up for only you.

“How do you want me Tae, what can I give you?”

“Fuck.” His hands fall over his eyes, not comprehending that you’re his and you’re this plaint. No, he wants you to take over him. “Anything, baby. Fuck. Anything.”

Instantly nails brush over the hardness that had been laid out under your folds obediently since you’d found yourself on top of his crotch.

A man could only control himself so much and immediately Tae found his dick twitching and his hips leaving the mattress in favour of chasing your hand.

“Y/N, I really don’t know if I’ve got it in me for teasing, I’m so horny I could cum!”

Well then.

The outburst has you struggling to fight off a laugh because he seriously is that desperate. Not the laughing kind either. The all-bearing, stripped clean and pleading kind of desperate.

So, you sympathise and let your lips find his, hand still trailing lightly so he doesn’t cum early, but enough for the need to remain.

“You wanna be inside me Tae?” His tongue is on yours yet the words are clear. 

“Urgh, fuck, please.”

Your eyes peer between your bodies, mapping where his muscles, tight with restrictions, create a V-shape down to the very distinct outline of a red hard cock. You think it’s photograph worthy in the moment, something worth slipping the camera out for, and if you hadn’t kept his dick pics from months ago maybe you would. But:

“Please baby, -need it.”

You deny yourself the simple pleasure of slipping him in because Tae whining and pleading is something worthy for the spank bank. You drop lower down the bed so his hips meet your eyes and the skin glistens so beautifully in this light you have to leave his dick untouched just so you can kiss around the area. 

His stomach, thighs, crotch, they see it all, lips and tongue mapping bold strokes because he tastes just as you remember and you want to savour it.

“Y/N ple- oh fuck,” and the taste of his dick beats anything that preceded it, let alone the noise that came with it. 

His tip is taken care of first, small licks and stripes with your tongue, so he’s unsuspecting when you choke him whole.

“FUCK.” 

Hands grab your hair violently. He’s deep and hits the back of your throat so you choke, unashamed of the noise. You’re past that and you know he likes it anyways. 

You set a rhythm, and it soon becomes clear he’s going to cum from it and that you very much want him to. Your hand finds his balls to fuel the process and the other one snakes to your core because there’s nothing that beats Tae’s moans when he’s getting a good sucking. 

“I- Fuck Y/N, I can’t- Shit!”

He’s close. Stomach seizing and balls throbbing in your palm so you sink back down again and take the choke like you want it and you want his cum more. It’s fast from there.

“Love you. I’m cum- Fuckkkkk,” salt and warmth line your throat, but only for a short while because he came quick. His hips stutter a few times and your eyes water when you continue to take it. 

Then it’s cold and silent. Yet somehow you feel buzzed. Like someone cumming down your throat was enjoyable. Like you’d do it a thousand times over if it meant he’d say he loved you again.

The hands that had once set deep into your scalp and verged on making you horny now pulled at your cheeks to lift you to eye level. 

He’s sweaty and a mess. 

“You’re sweaty and a mess baby.” 

His laugh is unfiltered, wholesome and worthy of the way your heart stutters.

“Because someone’s got a mouth on them sent from the gods.”

Blush overtakes your cheeks, whilst your stomach tumbles over at the fact that your blowjob skills are up to scratch - you thought a month off might have done something to your ability but clearly, you’re still on point. The bitter taste in your mouth tells you enough. 

“What’ve I done to deserve you coming back.”

Sincerity returns into his eyes as well as his words, and somehow you feel his dick twitch again from underneath you. He’s so soft under your hands so you keep feeling at his skin to reassure you he’s real.

“Nothing. You’re enough. You’re it.”

You kiss and kiss again, keep going until the fire ignites in him once more where it still flamed for you.

“Please.”

His voice is low no matter how much he whines so a guiding hand slips him into where you’re filthily wet. And he’s huge despite seed already spilt. He’s loaded like it was meant for you and not your mouth, throbbing enough so your pussy can feel it.

And suddenly you realise it’s bare. Complete bare. As in, bare enough that you are willing to take on a child kind of bare.

His eyes tell the story when yours find his, wide and curious. They roll back into whites when you pull up fully and then sink back down, milking him for all he has so he knows this is your full intention. Naked in every sense.

“Shit, Tae.”

“Fuckkkkk,” he doesn’t swear often, but sex is a must and the quirk of your lips tells him just how much you like him losing himself in pleasure.

He hits deep from here, cock lodged far in and even further when he begins to take control. 

His feet plant and his hands pull you down so skin flushes to skin and he can pump up into you with unadulterated need. 

Your teeth have to clamp onto his shoulder with the way he hits your cervix, it’s uncomfortable yet you love it. That kind of sex where everything is so fulfilling that you just can’t mutter ‘stop’. How could you say such a thing anyway when he’s groaning that he loves you with every upbeat.

It hits good once. Twice.

“Tae, fuck. There.”

Three times. 

“Here?”

Again.

“Oh my fuc- Fuckkk,” and there’s nothing you can do when you’re so stimulated you tumble deep and hard onto him and continue to do over and over in waves. 

He’s finding his end in the way your pussy grips him. 

“Baby. Y/N, Cunt so good, jesus.”

You’re burning when he’s going so fast the headboard bangs louder than your moans. So your hand quickly finds his balls underneath you and that does him, unravels him to the point he quakes.

“Holy- Love you. Love you. Fuck. Love you.”

Your ears might ring but that’s all you hear for the next minute. His mantra that keeps his lust alive until his love is so set in stone the words are not needed. 

Your hand, winding into his hair and the thrum of your heart against his tells him enough.

It’s this. Silence and tranquillity yet with the constant buzz of electricity all around you.

You’re still there entangled, limbs on limbs and lights touches on bare skin as the slither of light through the blinds turns ruby red in the heat of sunset.

You know his eyes must glow golden from where the sun angles on his face so you can’t help but spare a glance. And you’re right when you imagined it as beautiful because the sun bathes him like it was meant to. 

He’s still awake because his eyes flutter when you trail the outside of your fingers down his cheek and then onto his lips. It’s even more apparent when he brings his hand up to yours so he can kiss each knuckle individually.

“You came inside.”

It weighed heavy on you, the obvious factor that had happened earlier. And before allowing the beauty of the moment to settle in you had to see his expression when you mentioned it.

Yet there’s nothing but closed eyes and the slight smile that had been painted on his lips since you’d told him how much you wanted him.

“Mmm.”

“And you’re okay with that?” It’s not harsh, just a question from you. A security query because you have to know what this was for him. Caught up in the moment or something deeper?

His eyes bolt open at the question though.

“Are you?”

You almost have to think. Almost.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“And so am I.”

Champagne, Chandeliers, and Thigh High Slits (M) - KTH

Based on my Drabbles Game!!!

Summary: Taehyung loves expensive things. Taehyung loves expensive things on you even more. But his undeniable favourite thing is corrupting you, filthily and wholly. Based on the anonymous drabble requests:

     #9 “here, lemme clean you up”

     #13 “there? you want it there?”

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Marriage and Babies

Warnings: Unprotected sex, Mentions of conception, Fingering, Anal Play (m. receiving), Alcohol consumption, Licking, Dry Humping, Taehyung worshipping his wife, Taehyung worshipping babies

Taehyung had voiced his concern about the slit in your dress. A concern over how many eyes other than his would ogle the sensitive part of your leg he wish he had left a mark on last night. A little more concern about the fact that among the tuxedos and floor length gowns, the chandeliers and the champagne, among his prestigious colleagues - all of whom thought highly of him, for that matter - that his own black slacks didn’t have the sufficient protection for how his dick was god-forbiddingly hard. And he had an impressive length to say the least. 

But maybe, in hindsight, he enjoyed it. Fuck, no, he knew he enjoyed it or he wouldn’t have gone commando tonight. He wouldn’t be standing on the covered side of you, because maybe, just maybe, he wanted these fuckers to ogle. You’re a temptress, but there’s only one person who’s taking the dress off you tonight and that constant reminder leaves him shuffling in his seat and rearranging. 

“Who’s that?” You had that alluring kind of silk in your voice. But it was natural, a natural soft spoken way to you that was like a siren call and no matter the situation, the place, the time, the appropriateness, he’d drop all there is in that moment to hear you out. A temptress indeed. 

“Who’s who, babe?” He follows the direction you nod, expensive table arrangements marring his view, but not enough that the red hair of the woman opposite the both of you isn’t visible. 

“The woman next to Kang, red hair, black dress.” He watches the way you eye her. But it’s easy to be distracted by you. The other woman’s red hair does nothing to rival how red looks on your lips. Your sinful lips. His eyes could trace all day the way they smile, his lips could feel all day the way they move, his dick could stay hard all day the way they work over him in the privacy of each other’s company. 

“She’s stunning.” And he’s lost. Stunningly lost in you as all the ricochets of golden light fall onto you and your form and your hair and your chest. 

“Mmm, yeah, stunning.” But he doesn’t mean it in the way of his bosses girlfriend with the red hair. He means it in the way of his own wife, the subject of all his compliments and all his adoration. You know that enough that when you look at him there is no zeal to your expression, no jealousy contorting your brow, just an equally unspoken trust. That and love. 

“I probably should’ve worn black. I feel spoilt by the way I’m being looked at.” 

His eyes flit to the gleam of your breasts.

“Gold suits you and they know it.”

“And you?” A hand unconsciously finds yours under the table, fingers dangling through one anothers, “Do you know it?”

He almost laughs under his breath at the notion you had no effect on him, but his eyes cast down fast to that slit once again, honey skin trailing just underneath the gold that hides your modesty. The higher his eyes go, the more they drink you in, the harder his grip becomes in your hand. His fingers don’t play anymore, because they have a destination, dragging your palm in and over the black of his trousers and onto his boner. He’d moan if you weren’t looking so damn pleased with yourself. 

“Of course I know it.”

“How much?” 

“Y/N-”

“This much?” You’re hands are no longer delicate. They’re firm, they’re bold and they wrap around his shape with ease because of the way he skipped his underwear tonight. He doesn’t know whether it was the best idea he’s ever had or whether he’s going to cum in three seconds and lose business with the regulars he rented tuxes from.

Taehyung finds himself devoid from the reality of where he is. There’s little hope of his catching up on pleasantries with those around the table anyways, not when they all knew he was here for you and you only. To show you off, to dress you up, to have you defile him in front of his coworkers. It’s what he wanted and it’s where is now, groaning and fluttering his eyelids. 

“Refill ma’am?” Your hand quickly slots away and finds purchase in his palm again. Innocent. Less explicit kind of territory. 

The waiter stands guarded behind you, bottle, half full and brandished in one hand whilst the other nestles behind his back. Taehyung never understood shit like this. Just slouch, pour her champagne and fuck off. He understands it even less when you’re nod ensues the man to place a bold hand on the back of your chair, to lean over you with little discrepancy and allow his eyes to drift further into your cleavage than even Taehyung himself has seen tonight. 

And then he fucks it.

“Shit- I me- ma’am I’m so sorry,” he’s frantic, retracting his hands and his eyes and dares to grab your napkin as if he’s going to pat down your thigh as an apology. 

“It’s ok-”

He knows you won’t fend the waiter off himself, so he speaks up.

“Mate, it’s good, we got this.”

Taehyung wasn’t a dick, in fact he prided himself on his patience and his ability to keep anger at bay. So, he won’t have a fit for the waiter with both eyes for his wife and hands incapable of pouring champagne correctly. Maybe he’ll even thank him, when he gets to lick it off you later.

“Sir, I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, we’re good.” It’s Taehyung’s way of saying fuck off, and he knows you’re thankful for not making any more of a scene, because you hate confrontation. You’re too kind to the world and he loves that. 

He might just love even more, though, the fact that from thigh to ankle, you’re wet with spilt liquid. Tanned skin gleaming from where the champagne fell. 

“I guess someone didn’t like the gold.” You pat yourself, napkin soaking up what isn’t in you glass, but smiling all the same. 

“Baby,” Taehyung deadpans, “I think he liked the gold a little too much.”

He watches you’re attempted salvage job, but the dress is silk, expesive and made of silk and the marks beginning to spread through the material don’t seem to be recovering. 

“Well shit, I’m gonna run to the bathroom, see if I can do something about this.”

But Taehyung is up before you, pulling the napkin out of your hands and taking one hand for himself. You’d expect him to excuse you from the table but the conversations are clearly more exciting than your spectacle with the way no one passes you a look of curiosity. It’s enough to garner you following him, a little urgent, but it makes you smile unabashed. 

Rich had never been your thing, but Taehyung said rich suited you. The attention it sought for, the way it brought hierarchy, you hated it. Except, your husband loves how it looks on you. Specifically, the way your curves adorn gold Dior, under the expensive lights of a bathroom and with the even more expensive glimmer of a diamond on your finger. 

He presses a kiss to it, the cold of the band next to the heat of your finger. 

“Tae.” 

His tongue purchases on it’s underside now, striping up it with his tongue, and fuck, you taste of champagne and his cologne. 

“Tae.”

“Here,” he sits you on the marble counter, trusting in the expensiveness of the venue to make this place clean. You’re dress is the next thing lifted, the slit allowing an opportunity for his coarse fingers to run trails between your thighs. “Lemme clean you up.”

You’re in a bathroom, with a perfectly good and working sink to your left, towels on a rail in the corner, but your husband never had a way of making things easy. His methods were a little more… adventurous.

So he’s careful, but strong with his tongue, and you’re soft but fucking delicious in his mouth. 

“Taee,” it makes him harder when you say it like that. So he continues his job, tasting your skin in all it’s wet glory and letting his hands draft into yours on the counter. He wants to take it slow and drain you of your ability to hold back your pleading, but he’s wanted you since the taxi journey here, and he fears he’s gonna be the one begging if he doesn’t get your pussy soon. 

“Where d’you want me baby?”

“There,” you’re quick to move you’re entwined hands to between you legs, moulding his fingers in a way he knows you want them deep and you want them there quick. So he pulls the thin fabric aside, silk also, gold also, and he really wants to moan to you about your golden pussy. But you moan for him instead. 

“There? You want it there?” He’s still on his haunches, under you as though he’s worshipping, and fuck, he might just be, with the way you’ve let you hair down from its up-do and the shoulder of your dress slip south. He plays with your entrance, whilst mapping your body with his eyes, gauging your reaction even though he knows exactly where and how you like it. 

“Mmm,” but he stands to kiss you when you bite your lip. 

Your knees meets his crotch and it’s enough to have him pull away his index from it’s circling and plunge two fingers inside you. And you’re warm and ready. But not ready enough to stop the moan. 

“Tell me you like it.” Faster and harder, but you bite your lip again. 

“Fuck.”

“You like it when I fuck you with my fingers?” 

He’s answered by a clunk when you’re head hits the mirror behind you, your hand now the only thing stopping you from your screams of guilt. Taehyung won’t have it, though. He won’t have you bite into your soft palm and he won’t have your moans muffled. Not when he feels like he could cum himself as he angles his hips to your outstretched leg. 

He now congratulates himself on the lack of boxers, because fuck he’s hard, and fuck is friction good. 

Taehyung, since meeting you has taught himself to be harsh with words, mumbling in his sexed state all the pure dirt he could, because he could never be harsh on your body. Sometimes you’d use it to your advantage and have you way with him, rough, unadultered, so he was yours entirely. But sometimes you just liked the way he was slow with you. Finding every place in your body that had your head thrown back like it was now, your body moving on it’s own because you want more, more and so much fucking more. And in these moments when he strings your body like a harp, all he wants is for you to tell him you love him. Call you both soft, but Taehyung has a way of turning filthy moan into a serenading song. 

So he pleads.

“Tell me, baby. I need it” 

Without much thought, your palm is released from it’s vice in your mouth and it finds the back of his neck, so confessions can be whispered or whimpered closer.

“Fuck, I love it Tae. So good, so fucking good.”

“Yeah?”

His thumb finds your clit and it’s not shy in the pressure it exerts. Neither are his fingers. Neither is his stare. Because he no longer seeks out the approval for his actions in your eyes, but watches, hungry, ravenous, at the way your pussy eats his fingers, attached and wet. So fucking wet.  

The sight is enough to make a man expire. And whilst the trousers he adorns are cheap, they still have to be handed back to the rental. So, no, he’s not cumming in his pants tonight. 

“Taee,” your whine is breathy but high and pleading enough he’s fast in undoing his zipper and faster at finding his length, especially without the barrier of another layer of clothing. He’ll pat himself on the back later for sure, but right now, his wife is still writhing, on the brink and pussy in full view along with the taste of champagne. 

“I’ve got you, Y/N, fuck,” hard and desperate, and it’s clear from him tone of voice. But he also can’t feign his love for your lips on his when you pull him in. It’s not rough, but it’s not gentle. It’s soft yet loaded. It’s memory muscle and tongue intertwined with tongue, because he loves your lips and knows how to savour them. 

“I’m so hard, baby, please.” 

You shuffle forwards as an invitation, heels wrapped to his thighs and he feels you wet against his tip now. But he doesn’t enter because your hand meets his abdomen, a soft demand that causes him to wait, despite the pulsing. 

“Tae.”

“Mmm,” your lips are touching, breathing together, so close from him being inside you that his tongue swipes your lip subconsciously.

“I did something yesterday.” 

It’s enough of a loaded statement to garner the tensing of his abs. 

“Okayy?”

“You’ve been speaking about something recently and it had me thinking.” You sound breathy and nervous, and he mirrors the sentiment of that, because he hates when you’re scared. “You just have to know before we do this... in case.”

“You’re being cryptic.”

Yet you smile, and maybe Taehyung should be at ease but he’s not.

“Tae?”

“Mmm,” he repeats.

“I had the doctor take out my IUD. I didn’t want it anymore when we spoke to your mum about it the other day.” He stays tense, shell shocked, and wants to speak up but the mouth runs dry at the most inappropriate times. “Baby, is this what you want?”

And he scoffs, maybe laughs, maybe he’s crying, he’s not sure but he’s so far in your embrace and in your words that he nods. 

“I’m not ovulating, and it might take some time, but I wanted to give it a go and-”

“Oh my god, I want this so bad.” He kisses you once, then again, and then keeps doing it until he pushes inside of you. It’s relieving to his biology but it’s 2 years of marriage, love, companionship, friendship, and waiting, mostly waiting, that has him moaning once he’s inside you. It’s a courtship, a proposal, a wedding, it’s the living together, talking about getting a dog, getting a dog, talking about babies, and now… fuck... trying for babies. 

It’s the only thing he’s ever wanted on parallel to you. 

So he kisses you again. 

“Holy shit do I love you.”

You laugh and moan and laugh and moan again. He’s lodged far in you, struggling to find a rhythm from the way you tighten at each gleeful exhale. 

“Baby, please relax, so I don’t cum straight away. Please.” 

It’s hard to, though. Relax, that is. The prospect of the future paints over the lustful feeling of sex, and brings a nervous excitement, something that makes you smile and then moan and then smile and then moan. 

“Y/N, fuck, hold up a little for me.” 

But you don’t let him pull out to slow his movements down, the angle allowing your hands to reach his buttocks, push him into you, your hips an angle that you can cant up into him and you lips around his so you can moan and he can moan together. 

“Tae.”

“Mmm. Fuck.”

You gasp. “There.”

“There?” 

He hits it again, so you repeat yourself over and over. And then one of your thumbs finds his rim, it’s raw and dry and painful, but nothing is going to detach him from your movements. He finds pleasure it instead, becoming the one calling out to you.

“Fuck Y/N, keep going. I have to cum. I need to cum.”

“There?” His own words spoken back to him, but he confirms with a moan, a cry, even, and a piston to his hips like he has never had before. 

“Tae, I’ll cum.”

You’re pulsing around him, and you’re also deep inside him behind, his own thrusts helping in the way of your finger sinking beneath the rimmed skin. And it’s all at once that it builds, hard enough for him to choke and have his neck fall limp on your shoulder. 

“Urghh- baby please- I- fuck.” 

“Cum hard for me.”

It’s the words, the implications of the words, and the feeling of you cumming around him that sets every fibre of his body on the hottest fire he’s ever experienced. 

“Don’t stop.” But it’s him telling you. Telling you not to stop cumming because he wants you in an equal and better euphoria to him. 

“Ahh,” he still fights through thrusts.

“I’m still cumming, fuckkk.” 

He’s quaking, knees tired and teeth close to drawing blood on your shoulder. It scares him he almost hurt you so once his balls are empty his teeth release and make way for his lips, soothing on the burn of your skin. 

The reality of earth falls quick and hard around both of you, and there’s no such thing as post orgasm when all Tae can think about is his cum. In you. Deep. And without a barrier. 

“Y/N, what the fuck.”

“I know, I’ve never cum so hard.”

“You’re serious that you could be pregnant. Right now. Like right now, right now.”

Your eyes gleam, a little embarrassed but mostly trying to find the sentiment behind his reaction. You know this is what he wants, wholeheartedly, and fully, but it’s still a scary thought that children in a marriage can spell rejection. 

“Yeh. The doctor said a low chance, but it’s still a chance.”

He’s still inside you, and still a little hard at that. But he squeals, unadulteredly squeals and embraces you. 

“Don’t care. I’ll fuck you now, later, tomorrow morning, tomorrow afternoon,” his eyes glint with salty water and you’re smiling too much that yours do too, “imma get you pregnant and we’ll come back next Christmas, with a better dress, that’s even shinier, so every can see you, and our baby, and oh my fuck! Do you know how happy you make me?”

You let him monologue, find his inner happiness in his scenario, because maybe it won’t be a scenario at all. Maybe he’s yours. But just, now, in the shared sense of the word.

Mon Amour (M) - KTH

Summary: The Parisian air has a way about it. To some it’s romantic, to others a source of peace and escape. To Taehyung it spells pent up frustration, heavy balls, and much needed assistance from his girlfriend. Unfortunate for him, you won’t let him touch you. Based on this from the Drabble Game:

#22 “i know i upset you, but you haven’t sucked my dick in 5 days now”

#40 “i’m so horny right now, i couldn’t stop if i tried”

Genre: Pureeeee Smut, Domestic

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Masturbation, Dry Humping, Sex, Spitting, Foot play, Fingering, Oral (m. receiving), Squirting, Fucking FRENCH TAE!

A/N: A spontaneous little thang because @softyoongiionly royally fucked me up with the whole French Tae thing in her fic ‘La Grande Maison: A Mystery in Three Acts’. So big up to you, and as always, enjoy x

It’s the nicest day since you arrived, you’re sure of it. The sun angled just high enough and without the veil of clouds like it had been previously, that your balcony is set alight with the heat of white rays, the plants beginning to wilt in the corner because you hadn’t tended to them and your skin, in all its nakedness, goldening.

Maybe it’s the Parisian air, not that cliche romantic kind of air, but that feeling of spontaneity and carefree that has your robe strewn in the bathroom and your breast decorated in the 2pm sun. It also helped that your balcony was set high enough above the level skyline, perched a little too far to the north of the city and up a slight hill, so that your nudity falls dead to the world.

The click of the front door dispels the peace, though.

A rustle and the thump of bags in the kitchen tell you Tae’s trip to the market was more successful than yours was, but then again, your boyfriends French was on par with the native speakers who line the stalls.

“Ma chérie?”

The book that you’d left flattened and faced down, when sunbathing became more interesting, suddenly finds its way into your hands. It was a novel recommended by him, and something you promised you’d finish by the end of the day, so suddenly your eyes scan the page as though you’re immersed in the plot line of traditional French romantics.

“Y/N?”

“Oui?” You prop yourself in a certain way on the chair, finding the angle that has the rays of light beating your skin in the most attractive way, and give a ruffle to the locks that litter your bare back.

It’s a small apartment, the kitchen meeting the bedroom and bedroom meeting the balcony all in one open plan space - it’s not like you had anything to hide with him - so it’s not long before his footsteps fall onto the concrete of the outdoor space. It’s the clunking of ice that has your lips turning upwards.

“They didn’t have the peach, but the woman recommended the citrus. Said it’s good when the weathers like thi-.”

You take it from where it’s hovered over your shoulder, and immediately the condensation hits your hand, ice cold droplets making their way from fingers to wrist to elbow. Your nipples harden at the sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Baby?”

“Mmm,” it’s both an answer to his call for you and an answer of satisfaction at the bitter liquid, cold and moreish, down your throat.

You know he’s eyeing you. You know his hands are lingering against his sides, fighting desperately against the desire to trail fingertips over the curve of your shoulders and down to your breasts. Your nakedness is another level of tempting he’s not sure his hormones can contend with.

And you know, even more, you’re petty. Teasing to prove a point. Letting his eyes wander and fingers jitter, but not letting him touch.

It wasn’t petty at first, not when your sister’s wedding - second wedding, but the more honest coupling of the two - was sidelined thanks to your boyfriends drunk hysteria. Your dance with one of the groomsmen, a high school friend, had caused jealousy to mix with alcohol and for Taehyung to reach levels of anger you hadn’t seen since his dad left. In short, it was bloody. So, no, your distance was justified, and the absence of his touch was as punishing to you as it was to him. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t play with it a little, string it on so that honest resentment did, in fact, become a little petty.

“Y/N, baby,” he doesn’t know what he’s asking, or maybe it’s just a plea with himself. But his cock stirs as icy droplets find their way between your breasts. It’s like they’re asking his eyes to follow them. Down, down, and further down, until there lies your bare cunt. He didn’t know you had it in you, but he’s suddenly cursing himself for ever realising you did.

“Fuckkkk.”

You know where his eyes are. They burn a little bit more than the sun that rakes over your body still, so it’s a calculated move when you uncross your legs, slowly, temptingly and you probably taste salty down there from the accumulation of sweat and arousal.

The strength in his neck goes all at once and his forehead drops to your shoulder, an uncomfortable curve in his back, but your scent makes up for it. It’s heady and wholesome and a mix of sweat and shampoo, and he can’t help his hands wander.

The tips of his fingers tingle, and when they meet the skin of your arm, your hairs stand on end. As much as you’d teased him in the last few days, you’d been teasing yourself, fighting inner battles every morning at how his morning wood pressed into you, or how you wanted to french kiss him when he spoke with the native Parisians. Mostly it was the way Paris suited him. It made you want to tangle with one another in your sheets with the balcony doors open and the sun exposing all of you. So his touch effects you and you don’t push it away, not this time.

“Ma beauté, please,” his lips are soft on your shoulder. His teeth not so much, but you know it’s a habit he has when he requires self restraint. “Please.”

His fingers are still light and apprehensive, but they know what they want, dragging southward so he intertwines them amongst yours. He first pulls them up to his mouth, so a kiss meets each knuckle - you know it’s a form of apology, for his mistake, and for what he’s about to do - and then your collective grasp makes a steady path behind you. His shirt is loose, and so are his shorts, and they’re thin enough you feel him heavy, hard and wet with his precum.

“Please.”

His grip fastens around yours, a tight mould that closes around his erection and he gasps, fully and unabashed as though he hasn’t been touched in days. Because, he hasn’t.

“Shit.”

So you take the initiative and work your hand on your own, the fabric harsh against his skin, but he likes the burning pain and vocalises that.

“Fuck yeh, please keep going, please.”

You’ve never heard him plead with you as much, voice still low and gravely as ever, but it’s a whine either way, and it keeps you hand tight to his dick, twisting a little so his balls get caught up in the material too. There’s a light thrust of his hips that calls for more, and he begins hissing and panting into the skin of yours shoulder, his hands occupied with their fierce grip on chair.

“Let me touch you baby.”

“Mmm,” you want that, his hands, his lips, everywhere, forever, but there’s something rooted within you that calls for more of his whines, and another part that wants to prologue his torture.

So the hand working his erection, finds his shorts seam, but much to his disappointment, you don’t venture under the barrier, instead you find yourself pulling him round the chair so his back is lit with the heat of the midday sun and his face, ridden with need and eyes that dart straight to your core, fills your gaze.

“Fuck you’re hot,” and naked, and all for his eyes. But eyes only.

“Kneel on the floor for me,” if you could say it in French, you would, it turns him on no end, but you hadn’t reached that level in your vocabulary book yet. Another day, you think, another day.

It’s almost comical the way he obeys so quickly, so devoted to your every word, it’s love but it’s mostly desire. Particularly now he’s level with your pussy.

“Such a perfect cunt,” he whispers, loud enough you hear, though

“Take your shirt off for me,” he begins at the top, “slowly.” His hands fumble between each button, but he won’t look to aid the cause, his eyes are drowning in the wetness between your thighs. The lust within them is enough to have you own hands wandering.

Your drink was forgotten a while ago, but the lingering ice cold wetness between your fingers is beautiful as they skip from hardened nipples to your stomach. It caves a little at the cold and Taehyung chokes a profanity when your pussy clenches at the same time.

“Mmm,” he’s bare now, with his top half rid of the shirt that marred your view of his body - torso beautifully golden thanks to the good weather and chest lifting too harshly with how his breathing stutters.

“Y/N please.”

“Mmmmm,” it’s so so good when you touch your clit, a gentle roll between your thumb and index finger, and you eye his hands, fists more like from the way they clench, imagining it’s his between your legs instead. Your sticky with sweat, but it’s good, and when a sinker sinks in shallow to your hole, it’s even better.

“Oh my fuckkk,” he’s subconsciously leaning forward, a primal instinct that has his tongue lapping at his lips and a tingling all over that calls out to fucking taste you, and now! He’s horny, too horny, yet there’s nothing that’s going to take his eyes away from where you finger yourself.

“It feels good Tae, so good.”

He literally whimpers. And there’s a sensible part of him, that’s thinking whether or not it’s worth cumming in his Gucci shorts.

But you moan, and he caves.

“Baby, please, let me touch you, please. I’m so hard, want it so bad. Want your hands on me, your mouth, anything, fuckk.”

One of your bare feet finds his bare abs, pushing gently because he didn’t realise he’d leaned it far enough to smell you.

“You want my mouth?”

“Mmm,” he licks his lips.

“Where?”

There’s a shaking to his hand, but it takes your foot firmly and drags it southward until it perches on where his cock sits high and hard. You smirk and he moans.

“There?” He twitches when you push harder.

“Fuckk.”

“You upset me though. Properly upset me Tae.” And it’s the first time his eyes meet yours in favour of your cunt.

He’d known he fucked up, bad and big. He’d known you cried the first two nights when he slept on the sofa at the other side of the room, you’d woken up with puffy eyes and had two cups of coffee that morning - you hate coffee. He’d known he’d wait until you were ready, emotionally and then physically, pushing back every instinct to drown you in his love, with his words, his mouth, his hands, because, like he said, he’d fucked up big.

And if that all meant keeping his hands to himself, his dick tucked away painfully, and resist the urge to taste you even when your fingers are sinking deeper with every twist, then, fuck, he’ll do it.

It doesn’t make it any easier though.

“Hmm?” You push harder again, foot to straining erection.

“Fuck, baby, I know I upset you, but you haven’t sucked my dick in 5 days. It’s painful, I’ll do anything.”

You scoff a little, then proceed to curl your toes around his head so he gasps out and flutters his eyes closed. They open to your pussy gushing dangerously around three fingers now.

It’s good, the friction, inside you, on your clit, hot and cold and so, so good. You’re moaning lightly, out of pleasure but also to string along his pain. Tae loves when you’re vocal.

“Just suck me a little, or let me have a taste. S'il vous plaît, mon cherie, s'il vous plaît.”

Fuck, you might know Tae but he knows you better, and the baritone of his voice, lustful and pleading, and in French, you release your foot and loose every internal battle.

“Come here.”

Giving in never tasted you good, his mouth meets your fingers first, salty, wet and so fucking delicious on his tongue, before you pull him by his hair so you kiss. And kiss hard. Starved and deprived means everything is on the line in a single few seconds of being joined at the mouth, and your moans is a trigger for him to dive deeper.

His hands feel bigger than they ever have when they wrap around your thighs, searching for a secure purchase before you’re lifted and swung around, roles switched, and him finding place on the chair. Neither of your tongues leave one another, and the way he’s open mouthed, breathing erratically, the kiss is sloppy, beautifully messy and his hips bucks when he thinks of something.

“Baby,” you’d sneaked a hand between you, and he’s not prepared when you squeeze him wholeheartedly, “f-fucking shit Y/N.” So you do it again, and again.

“Fuck, baby, please.”

“What Tae,” your tongue still laps at his.

“Spit in my mouth, I need it.”

You pull back, a little caught off guard by his desire. It’s not that deep and not that dark of a notion, but my god, if you don’t want to get on your knees and suck him dry at the thought. “Jesus.” So, with one hand firm on his dick, the other presses his cheeks harshly until they hollow. You suppress the desire to choke him, and instead collect your saliva, both his and your, aiming the spit deep into the back of his throat.

If it’s possible for a guy to cum without ejaculating, then that’s exactly what Tae just did. He tastes you, so far back in his gullet, and swallows, and moans.

“Good?”

“So good, please, more.”

So you do, again, finding his tongue with your spit and his hips begin to set a pace beneath you, into your hand through the layers of his shorts. They desperately stutter.

“You’re that horny huh? Won’t stop until you cum in your pants huh?”

“I’m so horny I couldn’t stop if I tried.”

“They’re Gucci, Tae, fuck that.”

He thinks it must be Christmas when you sink down beneath his thighs, spread and shaking from the torrent of blood rushing up to his dick. You’re fast on the zipper and faster at latching your mouth to his dick once they’re sufficiently down his legs.

“Holy fu- shittt.”

You take him straight down in one, the only teasing part being your fingers kneading at his balls, too gently for him to moan like he does when you twist them. But he growls, instead, when your throat constricts and quakes around his head and the vibrations travel everywhere through him when you moan at having him so deep.

“Baby, hold up a bit, pleaseee. I’ll cum.”

You twist his balls.

“Fuck, oh my god, oh my god, baby, I want- ohshit, I wanna be in you.”

Your pussy throbs enough that you take him up on his want, prepared to discard every last piece of restraint you’d kept up for the last 5 days, because you’d forgiven him before he’d even fucked up.

“Wowow, wait, just, I’ll cum too quick, just-”

You hover, panting a little from when you’d sucked him so your lungs dried up.

“Okay,” tenderly, one of your hands, shaking from the pent up hormones, finds his cheeks, his hair, his lips, easing him and lulling him, “calm, you’re good.”

He presses a fleeting kiss to your palm, and then licks a stripe up his own, salty from sweat but it reaches for something saltier. It cups you with little reservation, heading straight for your clit whilst two fingers nestle deep inside you. His eyes finally open to watch the way yours roll back.

“Oh fuck.”

“Yeh?”

Three fingers. And deeper.

“Shit, Tae. Yeh.”

He eyes where his hand sinks into you, and the image doesn’t help how his stomach is clenching his orgasm away. He starts bucking into the air instead, possessed by your moans, your wetness, the way your body begins to drip, golden in the sun.

“Fucking hell that’s good.”

He loves when you’re vocal.

“Tell me you love me, baby, please.”

It’s hard. He’s curling his fingers, eyeing you with a need that borders on crazed, yet your heart beats faster from his words, not just the way the need to cum is creeping up on you.

“Mmm, je t’aime, mon amour, je t’aime.”

“Oh fuck,” you almost gush when his dick replaces his hands, too fast for you to unclench and make way for his length, and he chokes, dropping his head in between your breasts and squeezing your back. His hold is enough that you’re lost, drowned amongst him, and his thrusts make you fall limp.

“I’ll cum, Y/N, I’ll cum quick, holy s-” his head throws back when you hand finds his neck and squeezes, it mirrors your cunt.

“It’s okay baby, cum, please, I want it.”

Tae’s on a mission, to find his end and yours, planting his feet and becoming delirious as he drives into, so fast you can’t actually moan, or scream, because he’s in your throat, big and hard. It hits you in that place you want, once, twice, again and again.

“Oh my god, Tae, oh-”

“So good, fuckkk.”

He thumbs your clit too hard for you to prevent your orgasm and the gush that cums with it. It’s so powerful that you shake, and force his dick out of you all at the same time.

“Fucking hellll.”

The sight sets him alight as well. His hands too occupied on holding you upright that he cums untouched, over your stomach, over your pussy that quivers with wetness, he doesn’t stop either, leaking endlessly, because 5 days worth of blue balls had really kept him on edge.

Breathing is all that ensues. A silence that has you both trying to ground yourself. The cum, everywhere, is a little distracting.

“Messy.” You pant, tired, spent, but not quite exhausted enough that you don’t play with his cum. No, it’d be a waste, so you drags two fingers to the head of his cock, he hisses, and through the pile collecting on your stomach before you drag it deep inside of you.

“Fuck that’s hot.”

It hurts but you thrust them in and out a few times, relishing in the notion he’s deep and set inside of you.

“Baby, stop or I’ll get hard again. And I’ve been hard for like four days straight, it’s not fair.”

So you peck his lips.

“Sorry.”

And kiss him again.

“Me too.”

You stay naked, together, the whole day. You remain embraced and bare into the night also. He cooks for you with his cock hard between his legs, and he doesn’t even have to ask when you get on your knees at the dinner table. He fucks you in the bath. You fuck him on the bed.

And three days later, when your bags are packed, the plants on the balcony are dead and Tae has fucked you enough to make up for the 5 days missed, the lovely old French lady on the front desk, in the most beautifully sweet accent tells Tae,

“s'il te plait, ne baise pas sur le balcon, certainement pas nu.”

You’re glad you’re not fluent.

7:41pm (M)

FuckBuddy Tae spitting in your mouth 

Warnings: FILTH - I won’t apologise. this kind of made me feral.

A/N: i saw this video of slowthai spitting in a girls mouth during his concert and im a changed woman. i implore you to do the same. enjoy x

Taehyung’s a hard fuck when your ass is on display. The visual ignites some primal instinct in him you really don’t have the willpower to say no to. 

He’d grabbed it first, slapped it with force a few times before he settled on the notion his boner needed a home in your pussy and now. 

“My dick got your eyes rolling back yeh? Such a good fuck you’re a goner?” It’s only rhetoric because he knows the fucking answer. 

The room’s small and dark and it makes the slap of his balls louder and the smell of sex more potent. You’re fiery around the edges with the way he has one hand pushing on your stomach, con-caving you so he can feel the thrust of his dick against your cervix, and the other, a tight vice to your neck. He’ll say it’s for traction, but it always has you mewling. He loves when you cry. 

Somehow you want more. 

“Fuck, T-Tae.” Your hand grasping at his, fastened around your throat, makes him think maybe the pressures left you dizzy. A non safe kind of dizzy.

“Good?”

“Mmm, please.” 

His dick throbs at the plea, and, scared that the pleasure comes rushing up on him too fast, he slows, grinding until he finds you clit in a damn good way. 

“What, what?”

“I want you, to- ugh,” it hits real good, “want you to spit in- my mouth.”

You need it at this point, but it’s been a want you’ve been meaning to claim for quite some time. A lingering thought once he ate you out real messy one time that had now festered into a full blown need. You throb when he leans back to take on the challenge. 

“Dirty fucking girl,” one hand grasp at your cheeks, claiming your entire jaw because his hands are a mad kind of big, and digs in enough that your mouth gapes, “my dirty fucking girl.”

When he leans forward to tower over you figure, still keeping at the slow grind that touches so far in you you’re drooling, you know you’ve got spank bank material for life. 

Sweat riddles his forehead, hair and brows a perfect black with darkened pupils to match, but it’s the way his jaw flexes first, then projects all that he has into your mouth with a filthy guttural sound, that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

It’s a shame because you miss his smirk. 

“Fucking filthy.” 

And then he’s back to propelling you into the heady heights of an orgasm, manhandling you now that his dicks about to give into the visual he had of you swallowing his spit. 

“Oh god, oh my god.”

“Cum all over me. Fall apart on my cock, cumslut.” 

You will. Like fucking hell you will. You writhe as his palm presses deep so your insides mould him just right for him to find his end. 

“Come on Y/N, fucking cum for me.” You gargle on your and his spit as he digs deep one time, two times, again and again once more so that you’re cumming with enough force to push his dick out and have you wet it. “Yesss baby, fuckkk.”

He’s soaked and it gives him the incentive to drive his fist fast and hard on his length until it erupts over your stomach, your pussy, down to your ass. There’s a lot of it and he begins to quake because he’s pushing at the borders of sensitivity. He can’t stop whilst he’s still got your mouth agape and limbs shaking beneath him. 

Everything becomes too damn hot for the both of you when he goes soft and you’re shivering because you did, in fact, shed tears. 

“You’re a mess.” In every sense. It’s mean. You want him to run his fingers up your back but instead the fiddle about in the cum that coats you. It’s even meaner when he leans down to lick from pussy to stomach and back down so his tongue glistens white. You groan. “My mess.”

7:41pm Pt.2 (M)

FuckBuddy Tae wanting a taste of you early in the morning

Warnings: SMUTTTTTT. Tae just wants to lick you all over. Like SPIT!

A/N: Follow on from the 7:41 FuckBuddy Tae with the spitting kink. Same Y/N but can be stand alone’s if you want. Again, zero excuses as to the dirt I’m spewing. Actually black swan Taehyung is my excuse, he needs to STOP. 

Taehyung’s adamant he drew the short straw last night. You called him over, all sultry and seductive with the pictures on snapchat to match, but followed through with a mere one round. Call him selfish, but his mum always taught him to be an overachiever and, fighting his way through the cold on a Tuesday evening for a one pump chump kind of booty call, left space for selfishness. 

It’s why he wakes up hornier than usual. Or maybe it’s your warmth next to him and the feeling of your dip in the side of the bed. Or maybe how the sheets are cast far away from your body because you can’t stand the summer heat, so you’re in all your naked glory. Either or, his boxers are tight and he doesn’t even need to feel himself up to get to full mast. 

Your smell is all over him from last night, as well. The pillow he nestles into whilst still in the thrones of sleep is too. He follows it until he meets the source. Your hair, graceful in its splay, and lit with morning sunlight from blinds left untouched. He’s no romantic, and neither of you are relationship material for one another, but you look like a home he can get lost in right now.

His idea of such intimacy, however, doesn’t come in the form of soft spoken pillowtalk or light trailing touches across your hip. He will admit his fingers do twitch at the thought, though. His lips seek you instead. An overwhelming desire to taste you and taste you again. That damn smell. And your damn nakedness.

It has him lapping at the junction of your neck which you normally crawl into because you’re ticklish like that. But you merely stir, still lulled in sleep by the ambient noises projected from the slit where you left your window open. So he takes his share. Tasting from neck to shoulder. From shoulder to ear. The occasional nip of his teeth at skin just so he can confirm to himself that you’re real, wholesome and so fucking soft.

Soft enough that he keeps his touch light when he decides his hands destination is your pussy. Maybe with a quick detour so he can pinch at your nipples. They’re hard. Been exposed to the light chill of having no covers or protection for quite some time. His mouth has to busy itself at your ear so he doesn’t succumb to the desire to suck one nipple harshly and play with the other harsher. 

“Taee.” It’s a whine. An impatient one though that tells him you’re not to be roused from your slumber. 

“Shhh, just let me.” But he’ll persist. 

He cups where you’re bare and warm, wet also, because maybe he insisted you went to sleep stuffed full like a chistmas turkey, but he’s all the more happy, now, that he did. He gets the lubrication he needs to tickle around your clit in perfect cirles - almost a game to see when he slips up. He’ll know because you’ll whine.

The sheets crumple under him as he shuffles into your back, skin to skin, and his boxers, under the strain of where he’s stiff, find a home between your cheeks. He’s sensitive. So damn sensitive from a pent up night that he moans a lick up the side of your neck. Wet. A path of saliva he’s happy about.

“Urgh, sleeping Tae, just get yourself off without waking me up.”

He doesn’t care that there’s no romance, no intimacy in your tone. Not when he’s got a handful of your pussy and a cockful of your bare ass. 

“Kiss me first.” Yet he’s selfish and in dire need of your lips. It’s the taste. 

“Kiss my fucking ass, you bitch, I’m sleeping, already told you.”

But the way you rock into him a little, lay a claim on his boner by moving back and forth, has him smirking. It’s hot when you’re all denial in your words, but your body. just. can’t. help. itself. 

“I’ll kiss your ass if you ask nicely. Promise.” He means it. He promises he’ll duck under covers just for a taste of your hole. His insides tighten at the thought. And he thrusts, just a little, but enough he’s biting your neck again. 

He hears you laugh, and then suck in a little too much air to still find the humour of it all. Not when he slips his thumb shallow into your pussy.

“Wet little cunt.” It’s deaf on your ears, he knows, but he’s not here to sweet talk you into submission because he knows you’ll give out anyway. No, he narrates for his own purpose. 

You groan out when he sinks his thumb further and he swallows his own moan down into your jaw. “Talk shit about being asleep but your cunts beggin’ to be filled.” 

He’s so damn dirty. Horny and filthy. It has you being chipped away bit by bit as the sleep on you fades and his boner digs in a bit deeper.

“If only you’d keep up on your promises.” You’ve lent into the way he laps at your throat, now, and Taehyung knows he’s stolen you from where you were hiding. You’re his for the taking if he plays his cards right. 

“I could, yeh. But where’s the fun in that, baby.” 

He’s played the perfect hand it turns out, luring you through words and the push and pull at all of your sensitive spots so that you’re fastening a grip on his hard on and steering it in line with where you gush. 

Taehyung’s very in tune to your incentive. Perhaps all too quick to jump on the train because his thumb leaves you gaping just as quick as he’s got a cockful of that same hole. 

“Urgh, I hate you.” 

Keep saying that, is all he thinks. It does wonders for his ego having a girl too much of a slut for him that her words can’t keep up with her body. And your body’s writhing all over him. 

“Yessss. Wet. Deep. Fuckk.” He’ll make home in your pussy because it’s that damn tight. Tight enough he becomes senile every time. “Could fuck you all day, jesus.” And spouts the most shit. 

“At this speed, yeh, christ Tae.” You’re having a dig, as per usual, and he’s not going to let it be one of those rare occasions where you’re allowed to run your mouth. Not when he’s this horny and wanting to have you just ‘shut the fuck up’ unless it’s his name on your breath.

So he resolves the matter. Finding pleasure in how you’re silenced when he gets a good grip on your throat, and buck back into one of his thrusts also. 

The sun is high enough in it’s morning glory that he gets a good sight of the pleasure written on your face, mouth agape and struggling for air and your breast spilling from left to right as he puts your cunt through its paces. 

“Fucking kiss me.” Is what he thinks out loud. And you have no choice but to oblige. But it’s no kiss, not the conventional kind anyway. It’s Taehyung with a filthy tongue that paints the outside of your mouth and occasionally catches between your lips. 

He picks up his pace when you moan at how he licks from one corner of your face to the other. He just wants to be all over you. Call him an animal, but he can’t help that he’s some kind of primitive when he’s this deep in you. 

“I want to cum in you.” He spells out. Desperate and wholesome. “Really deep in you, baby.” 

Shit. It’s a name for you that is only dragged out of the locker if he’s really struggling to keep tabs on his sanity. You’d claimed the first time he used it, it wasn’t degrading enough, so he opted for other routes. But there’s a few times where he’s too damn lost at the sight of you sucking him in whole, or tasting you deeply that he finds himself calling out for you with zeal.

“Yeah? Please.” 

Urgh, ‘please’. He’s a sucker for the silk you speak. 

“Tell me how much you need it, baby.” 

Your eyes are at their whites now that he’s heading home, fast and hard and without reserve. 

“Fucking neeedd it Tae. All of it.” 

“Shitting hell, yeah you do, slut.” And with his new found pace, a pile drive reaching up into your throat, you’re loud. 

“Pleaseee.” He lodges two fingers into your mouth for the sake of how fucked out he is. It’s probably a possession kind of thing. To have him in every part of you. He unconsciously makes you choke, too. 

“Fuck, tighten like that again and I’ll cum.”

You gargle. 

“Open your eyes baby. Look at me, fuck,” and you do it, but barely, with the need to shut your eyes tight and just take the orgasm in it’s load, fighting at you. But you obey. He watches your eyes glisten and mouth drool as you follow the darkening of his gaze. 

You scream from somewhere under his fingers as he tightens his hold so you’re flush against him. 

Quick, sharp hits, deep into you and your cervix. 

It has you so fucking undone, and he knows because you cry. Eyes pooling and drowning at the strain of watching him follow. 

“Fucking hell, Y/N, oh my god,” he’s shocked at the power that overtakes him, “oh m- holy fucking shittt.”

He can’t help when he sticks his tongue down your throat as he cums at the same time, juttering messily both with his hips and tongue. 

It’s so damn hard. A band snapping somewhere. A fire down to his toes. The fucking visual of you crying and quaking even though it’s the first thing in the morning. 

In the tresses of his orgasming state he kisses you wholly. 

“You’re amazing, fuck. All day. Want this all day.”

“Mmm,” he’s deaf and probably rightly so, because he doesn’t want to know whether you’ve reciprocated his drunken incentive. A lustful exploration of the boundaries of whatever the fuck you two are. But you seem unabashed, at least, still quivering, and lapping at his tongue as he does yours. 

Always so damn messy. 

“Cumslut.” 

His head spins.

“Says the guy who can’t get his fucking fill. It’s 7 in the damn morning, Tae.” True. 

“You provide your pussy, who am I to say ‘no’?” Also true.

You draw yourself away so his dick falls flaccid onto the mattress, a sad awakening to the day, especially when you look as though you’re headed straight back to sleep. 

But, instead, he’s left a little wordless when you’re turned, naked again, with the sheet kicked away, and grabbing at the skin of his back so he’s drawn closer. An intimate kind of closer. He thinks maybe he should out you.

But you beat him to it. 

“Hmmm, I’m amazing aren’t I? You could fuck this pussy all day yeh? All yours apparently.” 

It’s his words spouted back to him, carelessly. But now he knows you noticed him drunk on your sex, he might just be blushing.