@freakybts - Tumblr Blog

the notebook;

pairing: richboy!taehyung x fem!reader

synopsis: she spent years judging kim taehyung from a distance. to her, he was everything she hated: rich, arrogant, privileged, and completely unaware of the people who worked for families like his. when her mother falls ill, y/n is forced to take her place cleaning the kim family’s mansion for a day. what should have been a simple job quickly turns into something far more complicated when she finds herself face-to-face with the one person she’d spent years trying to avoid. because sometimes the people you think you know are the ones hiding the most.

word count: 6.2k

warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, clit rubbing, fingering, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, penetrative sex, some dirty talk

a/n: this is my first work in this account but i used to write smut on another account a few years ago. it’s been a while so please be nice haha i’m trying to get the hang of it again and hopefully it’ll get better <3 ps: i’m also open for requests!

the first thing everyone noticed about kim taehyung was his smile. not because it was kind or genuine. because it was the kind of smile that came from never having to worry about a day in his life.

at least, that’s what you thought.

at haneul academy, where designer uniforms somehow existed and students arrived in cars worth more than the average person’s yearly salary, taehyung fit in perfectly. he belonged there. his friends belonged there. they moved through the hallways like they owned them, laughing too loudly, acting as if the world had been built specifically for their convenience.

and maybe it had.

you watched from your seat near the window as taehyung walked across the courtyard, surrounded by the usual crowd. girls smiled at him. teachers excused him. students followed him.

you rolled your eyes and returned to your notebook.

“you’re staring again.”

“i’m not staring,” you muttered.

your friend snorted. “right. you only look at him like you’d happily shove him down a flight of stairs.”

that wasn’t entirely wrong.

the truth was, you didn’t know kim taehyung personally, but you knew enough. you knew his family owned half the city, you knew he lived in a mansion so large it had more bathrooms than your apartment building had tenants, and you knew your mother spent six days a week cleaning that mansion.

that last part was the reason you disliked him and the kim’s the most.

every evening your mother came home exhausted. her hands were rough from cleaning products, her feet swollen from standing all day. yet whenever you asked about her employers, she’d simply smile and say everything was fine.

you never believed her.

there were too many moments that didn’t add up. too many stories she stopped halfway through. too many times you’d caught the tired look in her eyes before she forced another smile.

something about that house never sat right with you. and if there was one thing you were certain of, it was that people as rich as the kims rarely noticed the people cleaning up after them.

you had no idea that in less than twenty-four hours, you’d be standing inside their mansion yourself.

—

every weekday, without fail, your mom was out the door before you even finished getting ready for school. that’s why you knew something was wrong the moment she didn’t leave for work that morning.

that morning, the apartment was quiet. too quiet.

“mom?”

you found her curled up on the couch beneath a blanket, her face noticeably paler than usual. she looked up when she heard you.

“you’re still here?”

you frowned.

“you’re one to talk.”

even from where you were standing, you could tell she wasn’t well. there was a sheen of sweat on her forehead despite the cool air coming through the open window. her eyes looked heavy and exhausted. the kind of exhausted that sleep couldn’t fix.

“mom…”

“i’m fine.”

the lie came automatically. it always did.

you walked over and pressed the back of your hand against her forehead. your eyes widened instantly.

“you’re burning up.”

she sighed. “it’s just a fever.”

“just a fever?” you repeated. “you can barely keep your eyes open.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke. then her expression shifted. hesitation, something you rarely saw from her.

“i already called the kim residence.”

your stomach sank. of course she had.

“mom—”

“they’re expecting someone to come in today.”

you stared at her. your mother was sick enough to barely sit upright, and they were worried about who was going to dust their shelves and polish their marble floors?

surely she wasn’t suggesting—

“absolutely not.”

“y/n.”

“no.”

“y/n.”

you groaned and dropped your head into your hands. she laughed weakly before immediately regretting it, wincing as another wave of exhaustion hit her. that alone was enough to make your guilt flare. because if your mother was asking for help, she had to be feeling terrible.

“please,” she said softly. “just for today.”

you looked at her for a long moment and then sighed.

“fine.”

her shoulders visibly relaxed while yours did the exact opposite.

—

two hours later, you found yourself standing in front of the largest house you’d ever seen. technically, you’d seen it before. everyone in seoul knew the kim residence. it was the kind of place people pointed at from behind car windows or appeared in magazine articles about wealth and success. the kind of place where people like you didn’t belong. you tightened your grip on the strap of your bag and stared up at the iron gates.

this was ridiculous. you should have been at home. instead, you were standing outside kim taehyung’s mansion. the gates opened after a brief exchange through the intercom and by the time you reached the front door, your stomach was already in knots.

a woman answered almost immediately, elegant, perfectly dressed, perfectly composed. she looked exactly how you’d imagined kim taehyung’s mother would.

her eyes swept over you just enough to make you feel like you were being assessed and judged.

“you’re her daughter.” it wasn’t a question.

you nodded. “yes, ma’am.”

“i expected your mother.”

heat crept up your neck. “she’s sick,” you said, trying not to sound defensive. “she has a high fever.”

for a moment, mrs. kim simply looked at you and then she sighed, not dramatically, just enough for you to notice.

“i see.”

silence stretched between both of you and you waited for instructions but none came, instead, she stepped aside.

“well. come in.”

you followed her into the house. the entrance alone was larger than your apartment. marble floors, crystal chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling windows, everything gleamed and looked expensive, but also everything felt cold.

mrs. kim continued walking without checking whether you were following.

you hurried after her. “what exactly would you like me to do?” you asked.

she glanced at you. “the usual.”

you blinked. the usual? that was incredibly helpful.

“my mother normally handles different areas of the house.”

“then i’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

you bit the inside of my cheek, hard, because you had a feeling that if you opened your mouth, you wouldn’t like what might come out.

you stopped outside a room near the back of the house.

“there are spare uniforms in the laundry room.”

of course there were uniforms.

“change into one before you start.”

before you could respond, she was already walking away.

“wait—”

she paused, barely.

“yes?”

you swallowed your frustration.

“where should i begin?”

mrs. kim looked at you as if the answer should have been obvious.

“wherever needs cleaning.”

and with that, she disappeared around the corner.

you stared after her for several seconds, then let out a long breath. unbelievable.

a rack of neatly pressed uniforms stood against one wall and you immediately regretted looking at them.

“you’ve got to be kidding me.”

the dress was black with a white apron sewn into the front, long sleeves, a high collar, hemline just below the knees. it looked less like a cleaning uniform and more like something from a low-budget period drama, or worse, some rich person’s idea of what a housekeeper was supposed to look like. suddenly, your mother’s complaints about uncomfortable work clothes made a lot more sense.

you held the dress up in front of you. it was ridiculous and humiliating, but somehow exactly what you’d expect, because apparently cleaning an already spotless mansion wasn’t enough, you also had to look the part.

—

by the time you made it to the second floor, you were exhausted. the house was enormous, unnecessarily enormous. you spent the last few hours moving from room to room, dusting surfaces that were already spotless, wiping counters that barely had a fingerprint on them, and vacuuming carpets that looked as though nobody had ever stepped foot on them. at some point, you had stopped wondering why a family of three needed this much space.

you had also stopped expecting any further instructions. mrs. kim hadn’t reappeared once. not that you were complaining, the less you saw of her, the better.

you pushed open another door. immediately, you knew whose room it was. the expensive sneakers, the designer jackets tossed carelessly over a chair, the framed photos. the unmistakable sense that whoever lived here had never once worried about the price of anything.

kim taehyung’s bedroom. of course.

you rolled your eyes, then got to work. the sooner you finished, the sooner you could leave. most of the room was easy enough. dust, vacuum, wipe down surfaces, repeat.

you were cleaning the desk when you noticed one of the drawers hadn’t closed properly. you pulled it open, mostly out of habit and inside were a few notebooks, loose papers, and various things that looked unimportant. the moment you touched the pile, something slipped loose. a small black notebook fell from the back of the drawer and landed at your feet. you stared at it for a second. the cover was plain and unmarked. for a moment, you considered putting it straight back, but instead, curiosity got the better of you.

just for a second, you opened it and froze. the pages were filled with sketches, dozens of them. some rough, some unfinished. others so detailed they looked almost alive. your eyebrows slowly lifted.

well… that was unexpected.

you turned another page, then another, and another. you weren’t even sure why i kept looking, but maybe because none of this matched the image you’d built of kim taehyung, the arrogant rich boy, the spoiled heir, the guy who walked through school like the world belonged to him. this felt… different. human. another page, then another, and suddenly your breath caught. you knew that face. you stared, blinked and looked again. there was no mistaking it. the sketch wasn’t finished, just pencil lines and soft shading, but you could see it, sitting by the classroom window, one elbow resting against the desk, looking at something beyond the frame. your stomach twisted.

is that… me?

before you could make sense of it, laughter echoed from somewhere down the hallway. your head snapped up. voices. male voices. getting closer. much closer. your heart sank.

oh no.

you immediately shut the notebook as the voices were right outside now.

“i’m telling you, you cheated.”

“i literally didn’t.”

“you did.”

“why would i do that?”

“because you always cheat.”

the bedroom door swung open, and there he was.

kim taehyung.

followed by jeon jungkook and park jimin, the unofficial kings of haneul academy. or at least that’s what half the student body seemed to think. the argument died instantly and all three of them froze, because standing in the middle of taehyung’s bedroom was the last person any of them expected to see.

you.

and unfortunately, you were still holding the notebook. for a moment, nobody spoke.

jungkook frowned. “don’t we know her from somewhere?”

jimin snapped his fingers. “she goes to our school! i think…”

“does she?”

“pretty sure.”

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. same school, same hallways, same classes sometimes, and somehow you were still invisible.

your gaze shifted to taehyung. unlike his friends, he wasn’t squinting at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle. he recognized you, you could tell, the brief flicker of recognition in his eyes gave him away. but that wasn’t the only thing you saw. for the first time since he’d walked in, his attention dropped to the notebook in your hands.

his notebook.

the notebook you definitely weren’t supposed to see. something flashed across his face—surprise, then something dangerously close to panic, gone so quickly you almost missed it. a second later, his expression smoothed over, carefully blank and controlled, as if he’d never seen you before in his life. and for some reason, that annoyed you more than if he’d forgotten you entirely.

for a few seconds, nobody moved, nobody spoke. you became painfully aware of the notebook still clutched in your hands.

right… that.

before anyone could say anything, you crossed the room and held it out.

“this fell out of your desk.”

smooth. very smooth.

taehyung’s eyes dropped to the notebook. “thanks.”

his fingers brushed yours as he took it. you immediately let go.

jungkook’s eyes moved between you.

“what is it?”

“nothing.” the answer came a little too quickly.

jimin noticed too, his eyebrows lifted slightly. taehyung casually tossed the notebook onto his desk.

“just a notebook.”

the look jimin gave him suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced, and neither was i. but before either of them could push further, their attention shifted elsewhere.

you.

and the humiliating uniform you were wearing.

jungkook looked you up and down, once, then twice, then smirked.

uh oh.

“wait.”

you already hated where this was going.

“are you actually cleaning?”

silence.

jimin blinked, then looked around the room, then back at you and burst out laughing.

“no way!”

heat rushed to your face.

“seriously?” he asked. “you?”

you gripped the cleaning cloth a little tighter. “what’s so funny?”

jimin exchanged a look with jungkook.

“nothing.” which, of course, meant the exact opposite.

“it’s just…” jungkook said, trying—and failing—to hide his amusement. “i didn’t know people our age actually did this.”

your jaw clenched, hard. there it was, that effortless superiority, the kind that came from never having to worry about money a day in their lives.

“well, now you know.”

“damn,” jimin said. “haneul’s expensive, huh?”

jungkook laughed. “apparently.”

every muscle in your body tensed. you were already embarrassed, already standing in the middle of taehyung’s bedroom dressed like some ridiculous caricature of a housekeeper. the last thing you needed was to become the punchline of their conversation. before you could say something you might regret, another voice cut through the room.

“that’s enough.”

the laughter stopped instantly, because the voice hadn’t come from you, it had come from taehyung. for a moment, nobody spoke.

jimin frowned. “what?”

taehyung didn’t look at him. his gaze remained fixed on you, or rather the cloth you were holding tightly in your hands.

“i said that’s enough.” his tone was calm.

jungkook exchanged a glance with jimin. confusion flickered across both their faces. clearly, this wasn’t the reaction they’d expected. honestly? it wasn’t the reaction you’d expected either.

jimin let out a short laugh. “we’re joking.”

“then find a better joke.” the room went quiet.

everyone was trying to figure out the same thing — why was kim taehyung suddenly acting like this?

finally, he looked at you, actually looked at you for the first time since he’d walked through the door.

“where’s your mom?”

the question caught you off guard.

“what?”

“your mom.” his brow furrowed slightly. “she’s usually the one who comes.”

for some reason, hearing him say that made your stomach twist. he knew, not just that she worked here, but who she was. he’d noticed.

“she’s sick,” you said. “high fever.”

something shifted in his expression. small, almost impossible to spot, but it was there.

“then why are you here?”

the question came out sharper than i’d expected, almost annoyed, as if he didn’t understand why anyone would let that happen.

you laughed, a short, humourless sound. “because someone still had to do the job.”

the moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. they sounded more bitter than intended, but judging by the brief look on taehyung’s face, he’d heard exactly what you meant, and so had jungkook and jimin. suddenly, you wanted out, desperately.

“anyway,” you said quickly, stepping toward the door, “i should go.”

nobody stopped you, but as you walked past taehyung, you could feel his eyes following you.

a shiver ran down your spine, and suddenly, getting out of that room felt like the most important thing in the world.

—

the laundry room was quieter than the rest of the house, cooler too. you pulled the door shut behind you and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. finally, alone.

your hands were still slightly shaking as you changed out of the ridiculous uniform, folding it with more force than necessary. this was supposed to be simple. clean the house, leave, forget the day ever happened. except nothing about today had been simple.

you exhaled sharply and reached for your bag.

“you don’t need to run away.”

your entire body froze. slowly, you turned around.

he was leaning against the doorway, like he belonged there, like he had every right to just walk in without knocking. which, apparently, he did.

taehyung’s eyes flicked over you once, quick, measured, then back to your face.

“i noticed you weren’t at haneul today.”

you blinked. “…what?”

his brow furrowed slightly, like the question was obvious. “you weren’t in class.”

you scoffed. “you notice that?”

that made something shift in his expression. not irritation but something more restrained.

“i notice things.”

“clearly,” you muttered, turning back to your bag.

silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and tight.

“you went through my things.”

your head snapped up. there it was, the tone had changed, colder and sharper now.

“excuse me?”

taehyung pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside. the door clicked shut behind him. your stomach tightened immediately.

“the notebook,” he said simply.

oh… that.

you straightened slowly. “it fell out.”

“you opened it.”

not a question, a fact.

“i didn’t—”

he raised an eyebrow and you stopped talking, because lying was pointless.

“…it was on the floor.”

“and that means you open it?”

his voice wasn’t loud and it didn’t need to be. it filled the space anyway. you crossed your arms. bad idea. because suddenly you were way too aware of how small the room was and how close he was standing now.

“it was in your drawer,” you said. “half-open. what was i supposed to do? ignore it?”

“yes.”

“seriously?”

taehyung tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were the problem he couldn’t quite solve.

“you should’ve left it.”

“right,” you let out a short laugh. “because that’s what people do when something literally falls in front of them.”

his gaze dropped for half a second, to your hands, then back to your face.

“you saw it.” the way he said it made your chest tighten.

not a question this time either. you didn’t answer, which was answer enough. something flickered in his eyes, annoyance, maybe even frustration.

“you weren’t supposed to see that.”

“so it is something.”

silence again, thicker now.

taehyung took another step forward, you didn’t move back. you should have, you definitely should have.

“you don’t understand what you saw,” he said quietly.

“then explain it.”

that made him pause, just for a second.

“why would i explain anything to you?”

you scoffed. “because i’m the one you’re hiding it from?” that landed, you could tell.

his jaw tightened slightly. for the first time since he’d walked in, his composure slipped, just a little.

“you don’t get to act like you know me.”

“i don’t want to know you,” you shot back immediately.

it was a lie and you both knew it. the air between you changed again. taehyung’s eyes held yours, longer this time, closer.

“no?” he said softly. “then why are you still thinking about it?”

your breath caught, because you hated that he was right.

“you drew me,” you said, voice sharper now. “don’t pretend i’m the one invading your privacy.”

something passed across his face, something darker.

“you shouldn’t have seen that.”

“you keep saying that,” you snapped. “but you’re not explaining why you did it.”

his eyes stayed on yours, like he was deciding how much truth was too much.

“you want an explanation?” he said finally.

your jaw tightened. “yes.”

then he exhaled through his nose, almost like he was annoyed at himself more than you.

“your mother showed me a photo of you.”

that made you freeze. “…what?”

his gaze didn’t waver.

“months ago, she was at the house and she had a picture on her phone.”

your stomach dropped slightly.

“she mentioned her daughter and showed me your picture like it was nothing.” he paused, just briefly. “i didn’t think much of it at first.”

his eyes flicked over your face again, slower this time. “but then i kept seeing you around campus”

your breath caught, even though you didn’t want it to. “and you decided to draw me?” you said, sharper than intended.

taehyung’s jaw tightened. “it wasn’t a decision.” he took a step closer. “it just… stuck.”

silence. the air in the room felt heavier now.

“that’s your excuse?” you asked quietly. “that you’re a stalker?”

“it’s not an excuse.” his voice dropped slightly. “it’s the reason. and i’m not a stalker.”

his gaze lowered for a second — to your face, then to your mouth, then back up again, like he was catching himself.

“you get stuck in my head,” he said, more bluntly now. your throat went dry. “and i draw things when i can’t stop thinking about them.”

this time, neither of you moved. the distance between you felt smaller than it should have. you should’ve stepped back but you didn’t.

“so that’s it?” you whispered. “you just… what? watched me and decided to draw me?”

taehyung let out a short breath. not quite a laugh, not quite anything light. “you say it like it’s simple.” his eyes held yours again. “it isn’t.” he paused. “i didn’t plan it.”

you forced your voice back into something steady. “and you thought that was normal?”

his gaze flickered, just for a second. “no.” honest, simple, no defence. just truth.

you tightened your grip on your bag and headed for the door.

enough.

whatever this was, you needed distance from it. from him.

your fingers wrapped around the handle. “goodbye, taehyung.”

you pulled the door open and barely made it a step. a hand closed around your wrist and your breath caught. before you could react, you were spun around.

the bag slipped from your shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

“what are you—” the words never left your mouth.

suddenly taehyung was right there, so close you could feel his breath against your face.

his hand was still wrapped around your wrist, the other came up to your face, his warm fingers brushing your cheek.

everything happened so quickly, you had no time to move, no time to react, no time to step away.

and then he kissed you. forceful, hard, teeth clashing against each other eagerly. your pulse hammered against your ribs and for a second, you forgot how to breathe, forgot where you were, forgot why you’d been trying so hard to leave.

all you could focus on was him.

the hand holding your wrist loosened slightly. not enough to let go, just enough to give you the choice to step back or to walk away.

you didn’t.

in an impulse, your hands reached for the back of his head, fingers running through his hair.

“fuck…” he muttered. “i’ve been waiting months for this.”

you felt that pulse again, but not on your ribs, lower this time.

“what about—“

“jimin? kook?” he chuckled against my lips. “my ps5 will keep them entertained for a while.”

his hands were now wandering through your body. greedy, hungry, grabbing at every little bit of flesh they could grasp, and still, it wasn’t enough.

you realised you still hadn’t stopped kissing. a couple minutes passed, maybe more, you couldn’t tell. you were lost in each other.

one of his hands slipped under your top, up your back.

god, his fingers were so soft.

you weren’t surprised. he hadn’t worked a day in his life.

for a moment you cursed yourself for not being able to stop. for having kissed this person you despised so much.

he replaced your lips for your neck.

“do you want this?” he was breathless. so we’re you.

you nodded.

“speak.” he left your neck. his eyes stared straight into yours.

“i— yes.”

“yes what?”

“taehyung, stop…”

he stepped back.

no!

his hands reached behind him and he leaned back into the counter next to him.

“i’m not gonna keep going unless you speak.”

your jaw was tight with a mix of frustration and something dangerously close to desperation. he was enjoying this, the power, the control. and you hated that a part of you was giving it to him.

you glared at him, your chest heaving. “you think this is a game? you think you can just—”

“i think,” he cut in, his voice dropping to a low murmur that vibrated through the small space, “that i’ve been thinking about this since the first day i saw that damn picture of you.” he pushed off the counter. “and i want to hear you say it. i want you to say it.”

he closed the distance again, but slower this time. deliberate. he didn’t touch you, he just stopped, a breath away, forcing you to be the one to close the gap or to turn and walk away for good.

“i hate you,” you whispered, the words tasting like a lie even as you said them.

you hated his privilege, his effortless life, the way he moved through the world like it was a playground built just for him.

a cocky, slightly mocking smile touched his lips. “i know. but that’s not what i asked.”

you took a ragged breath. “yes,” you said, the word barely audible. “yes, i want this. i want you.”

the smile on his face vanished, replaced by something raw and hungry. that was all the permission he needed.

his hands were on you again, pulling you flush against him. the kiss was different this time, no less forceful, but deeper. it wasn’t a question or a demand; it was an answer. a confirmation.

this was happening.

he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he sat you on the cool edge of the countertop. the laundry room suddenly felt less like a utilitarian space and more like the center of the universe.

your hands fisted in the soft fabric of his expensive shirt, pulling him closer, needing more. he broke the kiss, his lips trailing a fiery path down your neck once more.

“you have no idea,” he breathed against your skin, his hands sliding up your thighs, under your skirt. “no idea how many times i’ve imagined this.”

you wanted to snap back with a sarcastic remark, something to regain the upper hand, but all that came out was a shaky gasp as his fingers brushed against the edge of your underwear. his touch was sure, practiced… infuriatingly so. he wasn't clumsy or hesitant. he knew exactly what he was doing.

your head fell back against the cupboard behind you, a dull thud that you barely felt. the world narrowed to the space between his hands and the heat pooling low in your stomach.

“look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough.

you forced your eyes open, meeting his in the dim light of the laundry room. they were dark, filled with a possessive glint that both terrified and thrilled you.

“i want you to look at me when i make you cum.”

the words were crude, vulgar, they should have made you sick. instead, they sent a jolt straight through you.

his fingers moved with a devastating rhythm over your clothed clit, teasing, circling, never quite giving you what you craved.

it was torture… exquisite, torturous pleasure.

“taehyung…” you moaned, your hips bucking against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure. anything.

“yes?” he murmured, his thumb pressing down on your clit, making your vision white out for a second. “tell me what you want.”

“you,” you gasped. “i want you, please.”

he finally pushed the fabric aside and a single finger slid inside you. your body arched off the counter, a choked cry escaping your lips. he watched your face, his expression a mixture of triumph and something else. something almost like awe.

“so tight,” he groaned, adding a second finger, scissoring them, stretching you. “you’re going to feel so good around me.”

the thought sent a fresh wave of heat through you. he worked you with his fingers, his other hand gripping your hip, holding you in place as you writhed against him.

the coil in your stomach tightened, a familiar pressure building rapidly. it was too fast, embarrassingly fast. you were losing control.

“that’s it,” he encouraged, sensing your impending release. “be a good girl and cum for me.”

his thumb returned to your clit, rubbing tight, firm circles. it was the final push. the world splintered, a cry tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense, overwhelming pleasure.

you clenched around his fingers, your body shaking uncontrollably.

through the haze, you felt him withdraw his fingers and heard the metallic sound of a belt buckle unbuckling and the zip of jeans.

your mind was still reeling, your limbs heavy and boneless.

he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down your legs and tossing them aside.

then he positioned himself between your thighs. the hard, hot tip of his cock, leaking with pre-cum and slicking your folds, pressed against your still-sensitive entrance. he didn’t enter you right away, he just stood there, looking down at you, his chest heaving.

“last chance,” he said, his voice strained. “tell me to stop.”

your answer was to wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. he didn’t need any more encouragement. he pushed into you in one slow, deep stroke, stretching you, filling you completely.

a pained groan escaped your lips at the sudden, overwhelming fullness. he stilled, giving you a moment to adjust, then he dropped his forehead to your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.

“fuck… you feel… so fucking good baby” the name caught you off guard. you clenched around him.

he started to move, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. each thrust was deep, powerful, hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars. it wasn’t gentle or romantic, it was desperate, hungry.

his hands were everywhere, tangling in your hair, gripping your ass and sliding under your shirt to palm your breasts. he was touching you like he couldn’t get enough, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

you met him thrust for thrust, your nails digging into the hard muscles of his back through his shirt, pulling him deeper.

“please” you gasped. “harder.”

he growled, a low, guttural sound, and obliged. the pace quickened, the sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room, mingling with your ragged breaths and choked moans.

he shifted slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly you were seeing colours again.

“right there,” you cried out. “don’t stop. please, don’t stop.”

he didn’t. he drove into you relentlessly, his thumb finding your clit again, rubbing in frantic circles.

the second orgasm built fast, a tidal wave gathering force, ready to pull you under.

“taehyung…” you sobbed, your body tightening, on the verge of breaking.

“look at me.” he commanded, his voice rough with exertion. “fucking look at me when i make you cum.” his fist closed around your hair pulling just enough to make you gasp.

the way his eyes stared into yours, dark with lust, was your undoing. you shattered. your vision went white, your body convulsing as the most intense orgasm of your life ripped through you.

he only had time to cover your mouth with his hand before you let out the most lewd moan.

his rhythm faltered. with a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, a long, guttural groan tearing from his chest as he found his own release.

you collapsed against each other, a tangle of sweaty limbs and heaving chests.

for a long moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing, the hum of the washing machine, a strange, domestic counterpoint to the raw, primal act you’d just committed.

his forehead rested against your shoulder, your bodies still joined. you could feel the frantic hammer of his heart against your chest, a rhythm that somehow matched your own.

reality was a cold bucket of ice water, flooding your system.

what had you done?

kim taehyung.

you’d had sex with kim taehyung, in the laundry room of his ridiculously ostentatious mansion.

“tae?” jungkook’s voice, faint but distinct, drifted from somewhere down the hall. “dude, your ps is bugging, we can’t fix it.”

your blood ran cold.

taehyung’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with a panic you’d never seen on him before. it was a jarring sight, the cool, untouchable heir suddenly looking like a teenager caught making out behind the bleachers.

he pulled out of you so fast you winced, the sudden emptiness jarring, forced to clench around nothing to prevent his seed to drop out of you.

“shit,” he breathed, scrambling to pull up his jeans. “shit. get dressed.”

your hands shook so badly you could barely button your shirt. your underwear was gone, presumably kicked under a cabinet in the heat of the moment. you were going to have to walk out of there commando.

fantastic.

“tae? you down there?” jungkook’s voice was closer now, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the marble floor.

“in here!” taehyung called out, his voice strained. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the mess you’d made of it. he yanked his shirt down, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. “give me a sec!”

he turned to you, his eyes darting around the small room, looking for a solution, a lie, anything.

“go,” he whispered, gesturing wildly at the door. “just… go. i’ll say i was helping you find something for your mom.”

“what could i possibly be looking for in the laundry room?” you shot back, your voice a panicked hiss. “a spare uniform? that’ll be real convincing.”

“i don’t know, bleach!” he snapped, frustrated. “just say you needed bleach! you’re the cleaning lady’s daughter, you’re allowed to need cleaning supplies!”

the irony was so thick you could taste it.

you snatched your bag from the floor, your face burning with a mixture of shame and fury. you looked like you’d just been thoroughly ravished, your hair was a mess, your lips were swollen, and your cheeks were flushed. there was no coming back from this.

“wait,” he said, his gaze dropping to my neck. your stomach plummeted. you knew what he was looking for. “your neck.”

he reached out, but you flinched away. “don’t touch me.”

his jaw tightened, a flash of hurt crossing his face before being replaced by that familiar, blank mask. he grabbed a towel from a nearby shelf.

“hold still.” he gently tried to wipe away the evidence of his mouth on your skin, but it was pointless. the marks were already blooming, dark and angry.

jungkook’s footsteps were right outside the door now.

“tae?”

taehyung swore under his breath. he gave up on your neck, shoving the towel at your chest.

“hold this. against your neck.”

you took it, pressing the fabric to your skin. it was a pathetic attempt at a cover-up.

“just… try not to look like you’ve been fucked over a washing machine,” he muttered, opening the door a crack.

“ha-ha,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

he slipped out, pulling the door almost shut behind him, leaving just enough space for you to hear.

“yo, what took so long?” jungkook asked. “we’ve been waiting.”

“nothing, just… had to help the new cleaning lady find something,” taehyung said, his voice impressively casual.

“the new cleaning lady?” jungkook repeated. you could hear the frown in his voice. “the girl from school? why was she in there with you?”

“because i’m a nice person, jungkook,” taehyung said, a hint of annoyance and sarcasm in his tone. “she was looking for bleach. i helped her find it. it’s not a big deal.”

“right,” jungkook said, clearly not buying it. “well, jimin’s about to give up and just start smashing buttons. you coming?”

“yeah, yeah, i’m coming.”

you waited until you heard their footsteps retreat down the hall before you dared to move. you took a deep, shaky breath, your legs still feeling like jelly.

you gave yourself one last glance in the reflective surface of the washing machine door. you looked wrecked.

with a final despairing sigh, you pushed the door open and slipped out, the towel still clutched to your neck.

you didn't look back, you didn't dare. you just walked, your footsteps echoing in the cavernous silence of the mansion.

the journey home was a blur.

the world outside the window of the bus was a watercolor painting, smudged and indistinct. your mind was stuck, replaying every moment, every touch, every word.

the feeling of his hands on your skin, the taste of his lips, the way he’d looked at you, the way he’d called you baby, and then, the cold, hard reality of it all. the interruption, the panicked dressing, the flimsy lie. this wasn’t some romance novel or a fairytale. you felt used, disgusted at yourself for betraying your own morals and beliefs.

and somehow your mind was already wondering when it would be the next time you’d see him.

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