10 muses; kth
➳ pairing: photographer!taehyung x artist!reader
➳ genre: college AU, smut, fluff
➳ wc: 9k
➳ synopsis: harboring an innocent crush on taehyung isn’t easy when you’re jealous of his natural talent for photography while you’re struggling with artist’s block.
➳ warnings: explicit language, lots of flirty sexual tension, hand job, thumb sucking, oral (m receiving), spitting, dirty talk, unprotected sex, riding, spanking, creampie, wet hair taehyung. this is filthy, and I’m not sorry whatsoever. taehyung’s an ass guy (questionable?) and a member of the big dick line (wbk).
Transitory light permeates through the autumn foliage, conveniently casting a spotlight on the profile of your sleeping figure. The wavering of the shadows flicker over the thin film of your eyelids. Waking up to the irritable glow of dawn, you flip your pillow over to conceal yourself from reality. Birds obnoxiously trill, signaling the early start of the day.
There isn’t a single soul on this planet who deserves to be awake at seven in the morning on a Saturday. On the other hand, karma loves to play tricks on you. While you lie in bed, waiting for a reasonable time to start functioning, mother nature has a different plan set for you. Your internal body clock will not shut down. After an hour, you finally accept the fact that you won’t be catching any beauty sleep until later that night.
Pulling your sheets back with an overdramatic wail, you will yourself to get out of bed. As you prepare for the day, you stare back at your reflection in the mirror, unable to recognize yourself. Not only are your eyes half-lidded, but you’re also half awake and near sighted. Squeezing your eyes shut and pressing a finger against your lids, you hope that it’ll be sufficient enough to pull you out of dreamland.
Your vision blurs, but your disheveled appearance comes into focus after a few blinks. With the palm of your hands, you try to smooth down the tousled hair that has moved out of place in your sleep. After many attempts, even with the effects of water, your efforts render futile. Perhaps you should have washed your hair last night instead of relying on dry shampoo for the third night in a row. Hopefully tying your hair up will make you presentable enough to the outside world.
The plan for today isn’t to scare men away with the head of Medusa, but rather to stop by the Museum of Arts and Design. Your studio art class requires that you visit a museum and reinvent an art piece using your own style and coming up with your own interpretation with whatever medium of your choice. To say that you’re dreading this assignment would be an understatement. Painting in public isn’t the aspect of the assignment that you dread. In fact, changing your environment would be more of an inspiration, or at least you hope so.
Lately, you’ve fallen into the routine of locking yourself in the studio and staring at a blank canvas which has made you unproductive. You’re more afraid of sitting inside a museum with artist’s block. It’s utterly frustrating to have your sketchbook lay in front of you when you’re ready to paint, but there’s nothing in your head that clicks. Nothing is worth committing to paper.
When you happen to get started on a piece, you’re half way done and you realize that you hate it with the entirety of your being. With one look at your portfolio, you’re ready to toss all your works into the trash.
Lately, there’s been a shift with who you want to present yourself as an artist. You’re not even sure if the paintings you were once so proud of are an accurate representation of who you are. Perhaps you’re being hypercritical of yourself, yet you can’t help but to nitpick the flaws in your work. Looking at accomplished artists on display might pull you out of your rut.
You slip on a pair of blue jeans and a plain t-shirt before grabbing your tote bag for the day. You finally perch your glasses on the bridge of your nose so you’re able to see beyond two feet of you. You grab the paint set sits on the edge of the desk, unused to its fullest potential for the better part of this month.
Some of your old projects align the walls of your room, adhered by strips of patterned washi tape. Your latest piece hangs above your nightstand. You stare at the 10.5 x 8.5 inch sheet of paper. The edges look sloppy with colors bleeding past the outlines. The background is unblended, and the foreground isn’t as detailed as you would have liked. There’s a lot of negative space, but if you were to fill it up, it would look overcrowded.
Are these even artistic choices, or are you just a shitty artist?
Unable to look at it anymore, and out of spite for yourself, you tug the painting off the wall and insert it between the last few pages of your sketchpad. Out of sight, out of mind. Sighing, you tuck your watercolors and the same sketchpad into your bag.
Storming out of your room in frustration, you try your best to keep a positive mindset for today’s activities. The door slams behind you, and you almost feel bad when you realize that everyone on your dorm floor is sleeping. Meanwhile, you’re a mad artist, tortured by the self-deprecating mind, walking out the door at eight in the morning. Mind you, on a Saturday.
You make your way over to the campus’ local coffee shop to lift up your spirits. Maybe you’re grumpy because you haven’t woken up before noon since grade school. Beyond that, you’re aggravated by your lack of artistry.
Falling into a pit of despair, a hot cup of tea has the power to make everything better. There’s magic within its bitterness, and solace that exists among a spoonful of sugar. There’s nothing that brings more comfort to you than the first sip of freshly brewed tea, warming the depths of your tummy. Of course, your favorite breakfast sandwich will also keep you content for the rest of the day. You have to treat yourself sometimes, right?
Pulling out your sketchbook, you intend to people-watch and work on some free-hand drawings before the museum opens up at noon. You’re convinced that you just have to keep trying until a light bulb flashes above your head. Inspiration strikes at the oddest times. It lives among strangers, and it’s sparked by experience. You can’t expect to create new pieces if you’re trapped in solitude within the four white walls of the art department.
The cafe is quaint. There are a couple students working by themselves in their designated corners. Some are reading, others are typing away on their laptops. A couple people scroll away on their phone while enjoying their breakfast. Everyone else on campus is probably nursing their hangovers from their Friday night festivities. One of the workers looks like he’s staring off into space.
All of these activities are rather mundane and unable to catch your interests. You massage your temples, returning back to the blank page sitting atop your table. Regardless, you sketch out the scene with your fine tipped pen. Finally satisfied with the shapes you’ve made, you lift up your felt brush, full to the brim with water, and hover over your sketchpad. You hesitate, unsure of what you even want to depict. Unmoved for seconds too long, the liquid drips from the oversaturated brush and onto the crisp white sheet. “Shit,” you mumble under your breath. Deciding that it’s too late, you just put forth your skill and lower your hand to make contact with the paper.
There’s an assortment of soft colors that spread across the page. The gray and green pigments stand out the most above the off-white walls, highlighting the mid-century modern aesthetic of the cafe. The graduated wet on wet blend of hazelnut brown wood breaks up the copious amount of furniture. The people in the shop remain faceless, although you will admit to having spent more time on the barista’s figure, having stood still long enough for you to sketch him out without coming off as creepy.
You’ve probably gone through the cafe’s entire supply of paper towels, given that your table is buried in its damped sheets, saturated with color.
Extending your arms outward to take a look at your piece. You squint one eye, hoping that the image looks better from a distance. Still barely satisfied with your work, you sigh. Taking a glance at the watch that sits on your wrist, your eyes widen at how long you’ve spent on a measly drawing ー11:38 am. You pick up all your brushes and head over to the bathroom to empty out the barrels and throw out the paper towels that have faded into a sea of colors.
Watching the ink drip down the faucet has always been cathartic. It typically means that you’ve been working on a piece for hours on end like the workaholic you are. Only with completion are you able to put down your artistic tools. But here you are, feeling empty because you haven’t produced a piece you’ve been proud of in months.
Capping off your brushes and drying them down with another paper towel, you return back to your seat. To your surprise, there’s a purple post-it note with an incoherent scribble sitting beside your fresh painting. Reading over the characters a couple times, you’re finally able to comprehend the nonsense. It reads, “You’re really talented!!” Blushing at the compliment, your eyes scan back to your painting. It’s not that bad, you suppose. You bring your head up to see if your secret admirer is still around. Everybody seems to be minding their own business, unaware of your presence for the last two hours. They must have already left in a rush to avoid confrontation. Shrugging, you stick the post-it onto the back of your painting and pack up your belongings to head over to the museum.
Colossal stone pillars line the perimeter of the Museum of Arts and Design with steps of marble slate at the foot of the entrance. The inside is just as grand with high ceilings and a sky roof that illuminates the slick white interior. Walls are lined with an extensive collection of artwork. A single piece is probably worth more than your entire life’s salary. There are so many beautiful arrangements of art in this building, you just have to admire what the museum offers before you can begin the assignment.
Tucked away in the back of the museum, there is a space dedicated solely to Greco-Roman art. There’s one particular piece that catches your eyes. Here lies a marble statue of Dionysus, standing nearly 12 feet tall, elevated by a matching platform. Immediately, you’re drawn to the wreath of ivy that sits on top of his tress fallen hair. His iconic panther symbol sits on his hip in the shape of a belt, lethal but beautiful all at once.
Although some of the statue’s features are deteriorated from aging, the wear and tear of it provides a great amount of character. The light from the sky roof enlivens the details of his countenance, truly bringing the deity to life. You’ve always admired sculptural art, something that you have not had the chance to dabble into. It’s a complex art, and only those with particular skill can really perfect such a medium.
Sitting criss crossed on the tiled floor, you pull out the materials to begin your project. How can one tackle on a recreation of some of the greatest art pieces in world history? You crane your neck to fixate on the sculpture, hoping that by some divine intervention, inspiration will hit you.
Minutes go by, and the room is silent. Everything is still, beside the specks of dust that float through the beams of sunlight. A groan of frustration leaves your lips as you tilt your head back. Closing your eyes, you hope that maybe a few minutes of meditation will clear your mind and bring some new insight. Moments pass, and footsteps infiltrate the once silent room. With a deep sigh, you turn your head to the culprit.
Your breath hitches in your throat upon recognition of the offender. His eyes meet yours and his hand comes up automatically in a shy wave. You offer a closed lip smile and return to your meditation in hopes that he won’t approach you. Meditation is meant to calm you down, but there’s nothing but tension that flows through your body.
There’s something incredibly intimidating about Kim Taehyung’s demeanor that makes you cower away at every glance. It’s the way he carries himself that makes you tremble in his presence. As you’ve observed, his talent is above and beyond everyone else in your class. His work with film photography is something classic, but simultaneously unique. The composition of his photographs are so well thought out, but almost always taken in candid. If anything, you’re a little jealous of his natural talent. It’s as if he’s constantly producing work, and they’re exceptional every single time.
“You know you’re supposed to put paint on the paper to do the assignment?” A deep baritone voice pulls you out of your thoughts. His voice is brimming with sarcasm as he practically breathes down your neck. Startled, you open your eyes and turn around, surprised by his proximity. He’s crouching down behind you, offering a boxy smile that reveals both the top and bottom rows of his teeth. He laughs at your reaction as you clench your hand over your heart.
He puts his hand on your shoulder as an apology and sits cross legged in front of you, mirroring your posture. Although you’ve shared multiple conversations with Taehyung in class, they were short lived. They were always questions about the assignments and complaints about your hard headed professor. Sometimes you would compliment one another’s work as you walked by each other to grab extra supplies. Your heart probably wouldn’t have been able to handle him this close and personal if you carried longer conversations with him. Regardless, you try to keep your cool to avoid embarrassment.
As Taehyung comes into your depth of field, your eyes autofocus on him involuntarily. He’s certainly a sight for sore eyes. A tan beret rests atop his head, and it hides his raven hair. There’s a beauty mark on the tip of his nose, slightly off centered, in which you’ve never paid attention to before. It’s cute. His large rimmed glasses sit right above his cheekbones, drawing attention to the roundness of his eyes and the long length of his lashes. You notice his tall stature with how much you have to angle your head to meet his gaze. The undone button up shirt does nothing but accentuate the broadness of his shoulders. The v-neck of his bottom layer expose his collarbones, and it makes you utterly weak for him. A gold chain with a ruby red pendant sits right between his pecs. His entire being must have been sculpted by Dionysus, the God himself.
“Thanks for the advice. Maybe I should give you some photography tips,” you joke.
”I could use the help.” His shoulder nudges forward. A smile returns to his lips. “Here’s a secret between you and me,” he continues, lowering his head. His eyes wander around the room to make sure nobody is eavesdropping on his so-called secret. You’re both well aware that there isn’t a single soul in the museum besides you two and the workers, but you still play along with his antics. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek and his voice lowers to a near whisper, “I don’t actually know what I’m doing.” A laugh erupts through his entire body, breaking the silence from earlier.
“What’re you talking about? I love your pictures. They always come out so beautiful,” you admit, crinkling your eyebrows and cocking your head to the side in confusion.
“My art isn’t a big ordeal, I promise you,” he shakes his head, “I just play around with my camera and the end product is usually a happy accident,” he explains. The glimmer in his eye makes you believe he’s telling the truth. Maybe you aren’t actually intimidated by Taehyung. It’s definitely more of a feeling of jealousy. He’s able to produce so many works with so much ease (because it is easy for him). Meanwhile, you’re struggling to complete your projects, let alone be happy with the end product.
The lack of response sparks his attention. “You don’t believe me?” He asks, noticing your crestfallen look.
“I know better than anyone that art is about trial and error.” You focus your eyes on your hands that rest on your lap, playing with your fingers, “for me, it’s all about error though,” you confess with a pout on your lips. Taehyung reaches for your sketchpad that sits in front of you, but you press your hands down on top of the book to prevent him from seeing the so-called art you call a disgrace. You look over at him, embarrassed that he even wants to take a look at your private pieces.
“Do you wanna hear some solid advice I heard once?” He asks, retracting his hand from your book. You nod, accepting any kind of help at this point due to your desperation.
“If you hear a voice within you say 'you cannot paint,' then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.’”
“Did you just quote Van Gogh at me?” You scrunch your face, asking him incredulously.
“Only genius can recognize genius.” You both fall into a fit of laughter.
Speaking to Taehyung is a lot easier than you imagine. He’s not one of those stuck up art majors you have the pleasure of sharing studios with. He’s encouraging and very laid back. Unlike all the other students in your program, he doesn’t want to compare his work, but rather have it shine on its own. Taehyung isn’t critical of the photos he isn’t proud of, seeing that with every new piece, there’s an opportunity to grow and hone in on his skills. His attitude towards the creative process is admirable.
Bringing your knees up and gripping onto your calves, you lay your art book onto your lap so it’s clutched to your chest. In a way, it acts as your security blanket. Although painting can be frustrating, it’s the only activity that can give you comfort. This wave of embarrassment is all new to you. Skepticism of your abilities has led to you fending off Taehyung’s judgment. Breaking off the outburst of laughter, you admit, “I love Van Gogh as much as the next person, but I don’t think I can call myself a genius. If we’re exchanging secrets here...” You beckon him closer with a come hither motion of your hand so you can whisper in his ear. He leans in so that your lips brush up against his ear. “I have artist’s block,” you whisper shamefully.
He pulls back and clicks his tongue, “Of course you do, you’re too busy doubting yourself. I don’t even think you realize how many people are scared of your potential.” He says that like it’s a matter of fact ー the most obvious reason behind your problems. You’re taken aback by his stern expression, definitely unsure of what he’s talking about. Taehyung has never creased his forehead like that, his expression full of worry. Averting your eyes away from him momentarily and scoffing in disbelief, “You lost me there. I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He brings his hand upwards towards your face, swiping his fingertips on the underside of your chin. Blush rushes to your cheeks and your eyes widen at the physical affection. His voice is sweet like honey, and his compliments drip with saccharine.
“You’re really too modest for your own good,” he replies with a slight shake of his head.
Rolling your eyes, you reach over and playfully push Taehyung’s shoulder back. Your knees drop, no longer supported by the force of your arms. He takes this opportunity to grab your sketchbook, scrambling to his feet. This must have been his hidden agenda all along. Being much taller than you, he stretches his arms up straight above his head. Even with a jump, you still wouldn’t be able to snatch it from him. You wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest in hopes that he’ll give into you. Although he’s taken a liking towards you, he’s still relentless.
A loose page slips out from the book, unbinded to the spine. You really ought to be more organized with your work. The sheet slides against the smooth tile of the museum floor, and you run over to grab it before Taehyung could catch a glimpse. It’s already too late. “If you don’t even think you did a good job on that, I can’t wait to see work you’re actually proud of,” his voice echoes through the room in awe.
You finally let up, deciding to show him. Sighing, you grumble, “I was proud of this. I even hung it up in my room, but I saw it this morning, and I thought that I could just do so much better.” You suck your lips in and offer a shrug, still in doubt of your talent.
“So leave it up in your room. Keep it as a reminder of where you began,” he takes the painting from your hand and slips it back into the front of the book, “You can’t become a better artist if your first draft is already perfect.” He hands back your sketchpad, and you ponder over his words, murmuring a thanks that is only to be heard by the two of you.
His eyes soften as he looks down at you. A smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. There’s no way you would have taken this type of advice from anyone if it wasn’t Taehyung. You know everything will be okay because he flashes you his award winning smile. He believes in you, and so do you.
“So let me get this straight,” you think aloud trying to gather your thoughts. You and Taehyung sit in the same positions as you have for the past 4 hours, both unmoved from your spots. A couple people have finally entered the Greco-Roman exhibit since you’ve been there, unlike at the start of the day when it was radio silent, but they left uninterested in the sculptures. Regardless, you carry on your conversations as if you’re in a world of your own. Taehyung looks at you with bright eyes, urging you to continue.
You tuck your stray hairs behind your ear, resting the pads of your fingers on your temple and shaking your head from side to side. This habit of yours has become customary for you whenever you’re in thinking mode.
“You’re a photographer, and a damn good one at that,” the index finger of your right hand meets the palm of your left. “You can play the tenor sax and the violin,” your middle finger comes down to count, further listing the many talents of the boy sat coyly in front of you. “You’re like the nicest person I met in the art department.” He shies away from you, avoiding eye contact as he looks down at his lap. “You’re good with kids and you have a soft spot for dogs.” At this point, you’ve given up on counting his qualities. There are just too many to fit onto one hand. “Do you have any flaws? Because you seem too good to be true,” you finish in question.
His hand comes up to cover the bottom half of his face, muffling his giggle, and his eyes squeeze shut, resembling crescent moons.
You’re also the cutest person I’ve ever met, you think.
“Sometimes I chew with my mouth open,” he answers in embarrassment, his eyes meeting yours. Your lips part, gaping open, you look at him in mock offence. Your hand comes up to clench at your heart as if you’re in pain.
“I knew the perfect man doesn’t exist,” you laugh at the pout that forms on his lips.
Suddenly, an announcement over the loudspeaker catches your attention: “Attention, all guests, the Museum of Arts and Design will be closing in 10 minutes. Thank you so much for your visit. Please kindly make your way out to exit the premises, and we hope to see you soon.” Taehyung is already up on his knees, extending his hand for you to hold. You look at his outstretched palm and place your smaller hand in his.
“A gentleman too. Maybe I can overlook the open mouth chewing,” your eyes crinkle at your own joke, and it’s his turn to feign offence. The look of betrayal washes away as he helps you up, and you both make your way out of the museum.
Nearing the exit, your eye contact breaks apart when you both reach for the door handle. His fingertips brush over the top of your hand, but you quickly pull away when you realize there’s a soft patter of rain against the glass door. Sighing at the slight inconvenience, “Oh, I left my umbrella in my dorm. Didn’t know it was going to rain today.” You crane your neck to look out towards the end of the street.
Maybe you could make it to the bus stop if you run and hope that the overhead covering would keep you dry. With the lackluster transportation network in this town, you’re sure that the bus would arrive in about an hour. You pull your phone out of your back pocket to check on the bus schedule, but Taehyung places his hand back over your wrist.
“I have one. It’s kind of small, but maybe we can head back to my room? It’s faster if we walk. We can wait for the rain to die down?” He offers.
“It’s okay, I was just going to make a run for the bus,” you point out the window with your thumb, not wanting to inconvenience him.
“It’s starting to pour, let’s go,” he hooks his right arm with your left, and he’s already opening up his umbrella, pushing the door open. Taehyung has never heard no in his entire life.
“This umbrella is too small for the both of us!” A laughter escapes from you as the rain splashes onto your exposed arm. Shivering, you squeeze your shoulders inwards to conserve some body heat. Taehyung unhooks his arm from yours. He drapes it over your shoulder instead, “come closer!” Being in such close proximity, you notice the musky scent that emanates from him. It’s a mix of pine and wood, yet there’s a hint of floral sweetness.
“How much further?” You inquire.
Because of the wind, water drips down your arm and soaks the back of your t-shirt. “I live in Roosevelt. It’s up there at the front of the quad” he responds, pointing at the brick building. Nearing the dorm, you’re relieved that you no longer have to trudge through the rain. The precipitation picks up speed and a rush of wind blows.
It seems that you have the worst luck because the umbrella flips inside out. The ceaseless rain drenches you both in an instant. Taehyung moves his hand down to the small of your back, shouting “Run!” He abandons the umbrella onto the gravel, and he’s lunging forward. Despite the situation being unpleasant, you find it to be completely amusing. You laugh like a madwoman and shriek at the cold force of the droplets. While you’re wildly out of shape and Taehyung is taking large strides, he stays by your side, never leaving you behind. Pulling out the keycard from his pocket, he presses it up against the magnetized lock. You rush to pull the door open, taking cover in the shelter.
Your hair is a disheveled mess, drenched in water. Running your hands through the wreckage, you shiver at the texture of it. The scrunchie that you tied up in there is long forgotten among the tangles. There’s no doubt that you won’t be sick with a cold tomorrow morning. Your glasses are fogged up from the humidity outside, so you attempt to wipe it clean with the hem of your t-shirt. Unable to absorb the beads of water, the glass is left smudged.
Still euphoric from the adrenaline rush, you crack yet another joke, “Do you think your grandma can send us a care package? We’re probably gonna be bed-ridden by the end of the week.” The lack of response makes you look up at Taehyung. You put your glasses back onto the bridge of your nose to make out his facial features. His appearance matches yours, sopping from head to toe. He, however, is still gorgeous despite the mess that the weather has made of him.
“Taehyung?” You try to catch his attention by waving your hand in front of his face. He stands frozen with his eyes glued to yours. He pulls himself out of his daze with a blink and suddenly, his hand clasps around your wrist.
He licks his lips and boldly asks, “Can I kiss you?” His eyes shift south to the curve of your mouth, slightly pursed. You gulp, taken aback by this wave of courage. Your heart races faster, and it’s as if someone raised the thermostat another ten degrees higher.
“Uhm…” You stammer. Of course you want him, you want him so bad. The situation just seems inconceivable in this moment. You don’t even know how to respond, voice weak. He inches closer to you, taking his other hand to brush the wet hair out of your face, resting his palm onto your cheek. Your mouth goes dry, and you soothe them over with a sweep of your tongue.
“Say yes, please,” he pleads. You nod your head, and that’s enough for him to press his lips to yours in a desperate kiss that knocks the breath out of you. His left hand lets go of your wrist to take hold of your waist. He moves hurriedly, pushing his hips against yours. With your back pressed against the wall, you reach for Taehyung’s broad shoulders to support yourself. Your lips part open at the intensity of his actions. He takes this moment to slip his tongue inside, rolling it over yours to deepen his movements. He kisses with a sense of urgency. It overpowers your senses, feeling nothing but wet and steamy.
A surging tide of pleasure washes over you as his hands roam up and down your sides, untucking your shirt from your jeans. You run your hands over his broad shoulders as his roam across the swell of your breast. Your nipples are already hard underneath the material that clings to your skin. Taehyung unlatches himself from your lips in place of kissing the column of your neck. He finds purchase on the curve of your ass, and you fall victim to his touch. Taehyung’s pillow-like lips are hot in its wake of kisses, but your skin is cold from the rain water. Closing your eyes, there’s a tremor that racks throughout your body.
“Taehyung,” You whisper breathlessly, overwhelmed by the ravishing sensation, “Where’s your room?” Maybe he didn’t hear you because he’s too busy sucking bruises onto your neck, but the truth is, Taehyung can’t bear to pull apart from you when you’re this close to him, weak in his arms. In fear of someone walking in on your unholy actions, you cup your hands on Taehyung’s cheek, bringing his attention to you. He looks up at you with hooded eyes, clouded by pure lust.
“Room?” You ask him once again with a soft voice.
This time, he grabs your hand and leads you down the hallway. You fall behind him as he takes long strides, bringing you to a halt in front of a large wooden door with two name tags taped to the front: Taehyung and Jeongguk.
He digs through his pocket, looking for his lanyard once again so he could pull out the key attached to it. Unlocking the door, he swiftly opens it up and pulls you inside. The lights are turned off, and the dorm is empty. His roommate must have gone out tonight. The translucent material of the curtains are drawn to a close, but the reflection upon the rainy clouds illuminates the room.
Once again, Taehyung pushes your back up against the wall, needy for your kisses. Your tote bag slips off the ball of your shoulder, and you throw it aside onto the floor, unsure of which side of the room belongs to Taehyung. You push off the thin material of his button down, and he discards it behind him. Removing his beret, you card your fingers through his jet black hair. Resting your hands on his hips, you urge him backwards to move towards the bed.
The back of his knees hit the edge of his mattress, and he falls back onto the firm surface. Sometimes, you curse your college for having such small and narrow beds, but in this moment, you’re thanking the heavens for allowing you to be this close to Kim Taehyung.
You squeeze yourself between his legs, and finally you’re able to rip off the wet, clingy material of your t-shirt from your body. He props himself up with his forearms so he’s able to watch you undress. Today, you also happen to forego your bra, and he’s left in awe at your bare breasts. Climbing up on top of him, your legs rest on either side of his hips. He rubs circles on the upper part of your thigh, hands sitting idly on the top of your legs. Laughing at how apprehensive he has become, his brave demeanor seems to have disappeared, you decide to take action for yourself.
“You can touch me,” guiding his hands to the swell of your chest. His sight hasn’t left your boobs, mesmerized by the peaks of your hardened nipples. Such a boy. His thumb and index finger roll at your buds, and you moan at his ministrations, squeezing your eyes shut. You grind your hips in tune with his hands, slow but steady at first.
Taehyung looks at you as if he’s taking a long exposure shot with his camera — like absolute art. While you’re sitting there in low light, he senses the world rotate around you like you’re its axis. Your eyebrows knit together, and he swallows, never seeing anything as beautiful as your expressions in complete bliss.
The thought of him being inside you enters his mind, and his member grows hard at the image. He wishes he could take out his film camera and capture the moment, but maybe that could wait for another time if he’s lucky enough. He kisses your cheek, placing his head in the nook of your neck. A drop of water drips from his hair and onto your collarbones. You gasp at the contact, but his arm wraps round your lower back, and the other molds around your ass, encouraging you to move faster.
He groans at the weight of your body moving back and forth over his crotch. He weaves his arms to the front of your body, wanting to unzip your pants. Sitting up on your knees to help ease his efforts, he undoes the button that clasps the material together. Unable to handle the pace at which this is moving at, you stand up so you can remove the denim from your legs. The fabric is tight around your thighs, so you stumble as you attempt to pull it past the swell of your ass. He holds back his laughter. His palm splays over his stomach as you hop on one leg and try to stretch the rough material past your ankles.
“Don’t laugh at me!” Your face heats up after seeing his reaction, but you giggle playfully as well.
Getting down to your knees, you make your way back between Taehyung’s legs. He stretches them open to make room for you. Your fingers fly up to his waistband so that you could remove his pants for him. The material is softer and much looser than yours, so you can pull it down his long legs without any difficulty. Wasting no time, you reach for his boxers which are snug around his muscular legs. He lifts his hips upward so the cotton can slide down.
You lean in closer, wrapping your fingers around Taehyung’s shaft. You run your thumb over the slit, spreading his precum over the tip. This time, you’re in awe of the man in front of you. His build beneath all those layers has been a mystery to you for the longest time. You never would have imagined that he was this big, this girthy. You gather up a glob of spit in your mouth before releasing it over his length to make your movements more languid. The dribble that falls out of your mouth drips down his shaft and onto his balls. You swipe your wrist in an up and down motion, coating him entirely with your saliva. Your hand meets his sensitive head, slick with his arousal.
You can’t help but stare at his cock in amazement, never seeing one as pretty as his. Taehyung is stuck in a dilemma, not sure whether to watch your hand at the source of the action, or your face, seeing how pretty you look on your knees, ready to give him everything at your disposal. Your mouth spreads open, and Taehyung is magnetized by the pucker of your lips. His hand is drawn to your cheeks, moving his thumb so that it sits at the entrance of your mouth. Instinctively, you open up wider and suck on his thumb. He’s taken by surprise, but he lets you continue, never losing eye contact with one another. Your tongue swirls around his digit, taking it deeper when he offers another finger. He so desperately wants to see his cock shoved in your desperate mouth.
“Fuck,” he releases a gutteral moan, ripping from the depths of his throat. “Can you suck me off? Please, please,” he begs of you. Without any hesitation, you remove his hand from your face and lurch forward to connect your lips to the tip, giving soft kitten licks. He hisses at the contact, wanting more, needing more. His hands thread through your hair, brushing it back before holding it into a makeshift ponytail at the base of your neck.
Catching onto the hint, you hollow your cheeks and move down his throbbing length inch by inch. His throbbing cock weighs heavy against your tongue. He tugs off the black t-shirt, leaving him completely bare in front of you. There’s no way you could deepthroat him, but you would certainly die trying. You go down as far as you can, about halfway down, before he touches the back of your throat. You gag at how deep he enters you, pulling back in a sputter. A line of drool slips out of your mouth, still connected to the vein on his underside. You wipe it away with the back of your hand before diving right back in. While one hand strokes the part of him you can’t fit into your mouth, the other is wrapped around his balls, making sure that it doesn’t go without attention.
“Can you go deeper, babe?” He swallows, hips jerking up into your mouth. “Fuck, sorry,” he apologizes when your throat clenches around his length.
Growing aroused by the pet name, you look up at him with adoration. His wet hair is matted against his forehead, water dripping down the side of his face. His lean torso is still damp from the clothes that had previously clung onto his skin. It’s unfair how good he looks right here in front of you. More drool falls out of your mouth, and it’s messy ー so, so filthy, dirty, and disgusting. You choke around his dick, pulling back to catch your breath. Taehyung pets your hair in comfort, making sure that you’re okay before you start again. You nod, licking your lips and reminding yourself to breathe through your nose.
“Look at you, drooling all over my cock. So needy,” he rasps out above you.
“Can’t help it, you’re so big,” you tell him, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. You gulp and take a deep breath through your diaphragm, wanting to please him, you move your head all the way down his cock. Although you make it down in one swift motion, there are tears that brim your eyes. You squeeze them shut, and the tears run down your face.
“Yeah, just like that, babe, you take me so well,” he whispers above you. One of his hands swipes at the side of your face, wiping away the freshly fallen tears. There’s a pleasurable sting that surges through your jaw, but you’re enamored by how well he stretches you open. Bobbing your head up and down, your hands squeeze at his thighs. Your fingernails dig into his skin, forming faint crescent indentations. Taehyung doesn’t notice the pain, too enthralled by the burning pleasure that runs through him. The throbbing sensation increases, and he’s convinced he’s about to hit his release soon.
“Oh my god, s-stop, I don’t want to come yet,” he stutters out earnestly with a huff. His hands tug at your hair, wanting you to release him.
Wet strands of hair fall in front of your face, matted to your cheeks. To others, you may look like a mess, but to Taehyung, you’re otherworldly. With your swollen, red lips, he swears that you are the reincarnate of Aphrodite. The pressure of your mouth sends him to heaven, but he’s ready to risk it all and sin for you, if that’s what it takes.
You shift your weight onto your heels and stand up to remove the last piece of fabric that stands in the way. Taehyung moves from the edge of the bed and lies down so that his head can rest comfortably on the pillows. Climbing onto the bed, you make your way up his body to straddle him. A smile forms on your face so effortlessly. Taehyung makes you so happy and so at ease. Lying down on top of him, his hands find his way to the small of your back, tracing his name into your skin. His cock presses up against your stomach, reaching above your navel. You know that you’re going to be absolutely ruined with his size by the end of the night.
He looks at you with dilated pupils, hidden behind beads of water that sit on top of his glasses. “One sec,” you mumble against his lips, still connected in a kiss.
You gently remove the frames that sit atop his nose bridge and lean over to place it on top of his nightstand without leaving his embrace. “Better?” You ask him, making sure that he’s comfortable. He nods, and his hands reach back up to the side of your face, also sliding off the frames you were wearing, forgetting that they were there. He places them right beside his on the nightstand, and you smile at the comfort you offer one another.
You kiss him softly, unlike the frantic touches from earlier. He grips onto your waist, and you lift your hips up in response while your chin rests on his sternum, gazing into his eyes. Moving your hand southwards between your bodies, you line his member up to your entrance, rubbing it against your slit. Taehyung takes a hold of your ass, finding it more comfortable there. Ready to take him, you glide his length into you, whimpering at the stretch of your velvety walls. A gasp escapes from you your lips you slowly make your way down.
Within moments, the back of your thighs meet his, and he’s sheathed completely within you. You take a breather to adjust to his size, and he leaves a peck onto the crown of your head. Smiling at the gesture of affection, you relax in his hold. You feel him pulse within you, and you clench at the intimate feeling. Your knees spread on either side of him, allowing you to move up and down onto his shaft.
You settle on a moderate pace, and the sting is bittersweet. Your core is coated in arousal, making it so easy to slide in and out. His fingers dig into the swell of your ass, marring your skin with his touch.
Your hands find the nape of his neck, tugging onto his hair to keep you grounded. Your tongues tangle together in a heated kiss as you fuck yourself onto his shaft. You shudder when your clit glides against his abdomen. A sudden slap to your ass fills the room, and you jolt, yelping at the impact. Taehyung hums beneath you, enjoying the power he holds over you. Your forehead rests on top of his as you breathe into one another’s mouths, exchanging rushed pecks.
“Does it feel good? You’re so wet, baby, you’re soaking.” His grip tightens before spreading your cheeks apart. The squelch of your arousal is apparent. It fills the room each time you push yourself onto his cock, taking his length inch by inch. Nodding at his words, your eyelids fall shut. He lands another harsh smack to your ass, half-bruised, and pleasure shoots down your spine.
“Use your words, babe. I want you to look at me when I fuck you,” he rasps, voice hoarse.
You look at him through the slit of your eyelids, unable to open them completely. “Yes- yes, I love it, f-feels so good.” You had no idea that Taehyung would be such a dirty talker. He’s gentle as he’s always attentive to your responses, but at the same time, he’s demanding and his actions are just the right amount of rough and dirty. Somehow, he has managed to find the perfect balance that turns you on like no other. Your pussy pulses at his filthy words, and you can’t help but to ask for more.
“Spank me again,” you request.
Without any hesitation, he complies with not one, not two, but three consecutive slaps to your ass. You tremor at the sting, loving the way in which he manhandles you.
“You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you? Didn’t realize you’d like it this rough,” he says with another smack, whispering into the shell of your ear. Your mouth falls open at the grit in his voice, wishing that he could whisper dirty words to you all day — that he could bend you over the desk in your studio, cover your body with paint, and fuck you until you’re filled with cum.
Your skin must be etched with marks in the shape of his handprint. The thought of that really riles you up, and your movement falters. Taking notice of this, he insists, “ride me like you want it, babe.”
“Help,” you ask him with pleading eyes.
Understanding that you’re getting tired from doing all the work, he replies softly, “stay still for me, yeah?” He bends his knees upwards, laying his feet flat onto the bed. His hips lift upwards, fucking his cock into your heat. With this new angle and Taehyung’s sheer force, he pounds repeatedly onto the spot that makes you see stars. He reaches deep within you, bottoming out with blinding pleasure.
Your head falls onto his neck, and you bite his shoulder to keep quiet. You hook your arms underneath his biceps, gripping onto his shoulders. Your screams are muffled against his skin, and that’s precisely what drives Taehyung to go faster.
Your orgasm creeps up on you as you pulse around his length, growing tighter and tighter. His hand squeezes between your thighs, rubbing your clit with the the pad of his thumb. Your mind is numb, thoughts drawing to a blank. Your high is so close, you can feel a fire burning in the pit of your stomach, ready to be extinguished.
“Are you close? I can feel you squeezing me so tight,” he grunts. He’s right, your walls constrict his member as it pumps inside of you. There’s a ring of cream that wrap around his length as you coat him with your arousal.
“Yeah, yeah I’m so close,” you confirm with a lick of your lips and a furrow in your eyebrow. He’s pulsating inside of you, and you can’t help but to clench harder, approaching your high. His hand comes down to spank you for the final time, hitting you in all the right places inside and out.
“Fuck, I’m coming,” you moan out weakly with a shaky breath.
You’re pushed over the edge, convulsing on top of him, letting out a series of whimpers. Your vision blurs, and you seek comfort by squeezing Taehyung’s shoulders as he chases his high. His thrusts are messy, desperate for some release. Within moments, his thrusts begin to slow down.
Your insides are painted white with his hot and sticky cum, feeling it spurt out intermittently. His raw member twitches within you, and you tremble on top of him. He remains inside you, making sure that you don’t waste a single drop of his cum. But soon enough, it begins to seep from your walls, dripping down his length and between your thighs. You collapse on top of him, unable to hold your weight anymore. Taehyung reaches up to caress your damp hair.
“Didn’t think we’d ever get to do that,” he lets out with disbelief, still trying to catch his breath.
Looking up at him, you scoff at the idea that passes through your mind. Voicing it out loud, “You know I have a crush on you, right?” Your head drops back into his chest, embarrassed by what he might have to say.
“You’re kidding. I’ve been trying to catch your attention since I saw your presentation at the opening showcase,” he confesses in disbelief. His chest rumbles beneath you in laughter. You leave a kiss on his chest, bringing him back into your line of sight.
“I didn’t know that,” you mumble as if it’s a secret between you two, thinking about how long ago that was in the semester. It must have been the first week or so; the showcase being a festival of students’ works over the summer.
Breaking away from your thoughts, Taehyung’s voice fills your head instead. “Yeah, you’re always so busy working, I thought you didn’t notice me at first.”
Your eyes widen, receiving the news, “I thought you were so out of my league,” you whisper.
“Absolutely not,” his heartbeat slows down, now aware of your feelings for one another. He looks at you fondly with a twinkle in his eyes, “Do you wanna get some coffee with me or something?” He asks shyly.
You smile at his soft voice, “Sure, but I’m more of a hot cup of tea girl myself.”
“Really? I don’t like coffee either,” he shakes his head.
You giggle at his remarks, “Yeah, sure we can get some tea some time,” dropping a sweet kiss on his lips.
After a blissful weekend, you’re forced to finish your assignment for your studio art class. Inspiration came easy after your encounter with Taehyung.
On Tuesday afternoon, your class meets up to reveal their final projects. You prop up your new piece on an easel to display it for everyone. For once, you’re actually proud of your painting, turning it into a mixed media of the sort. It’s based on the sculpture of Dionysus like you originally planned, but you were heavily inspired by a certain man with honey skin and plush lips. A vibrant shade of cerulean blue sits on top of his head, a color that Taehyung said he wishes he could dye his hair one day. His signature beauty mark rests on the tip of his nose, faint, but very apparent to your eyes. You couldn’t forget the ivy wreath that rests atop his head. Beside the figure, the infamous black panther is replaced by an equally intimidating black and brown teacup pomeranian, just like Taehyung’s pet back at home.
Everyone presents their art piece in the same manner, propping it up on an easel so the students can roam around in a gallery walk. You bring your post-its with you so that you could anonymously leave your critiques on each person’s desk. Finally excited to get back into the momentum of art, you admire the beautiful work that the students came up with. Looking at each piece with a fresh set of eyes, you’re amazed by how the imagination works in regards to art. Each individual interpretation is so unique, and there’s never a single way to look at something. Taehyung’s optimism has really rubbed off on you.
Finally approaching Taehyung’s easel, you are left in complete shock by the photograph he decided to show the entire class. It’s a blown up picture that’s taken in the confines of his dorm room. His white bed sheets compose the negative space, taking up a third of the image. His sheer curtains flow inwards, and the windows are opened completely. The clouds are prominent in the background, but a couple of trees full of brown and orange leaves obstruct its view. The subject of the photograph, however, is what surprises you the most. It’s a sleeping figure, back turned against the camera, so only her damp locks of hair are on display. The title of his work is called “The Reincarnation of Aphrodite.”
Cheesy.
You jot down a comment onto your post-it note: “I’m still offering you those photography tips :)”
Making your way back to your workspace, you read through the comments that you received. Most of them were very kind, and others were constructive. Sticking out among the pile, however, is a familiar purple post-it note: “You’re really talented!! -Taehyung”
Gulping at the realization, you look up from your desk, eyes roaming the room to find the raven haired boy. He’s standing back at his desk with his eyes locked on yours already. He brings his hand up in a shy wave, and you give him a toothy, ear-to-ear smile, waving right back at him.
