sh. | chapter eighteen | ot7

PAIRINGot7 x reader
RATINGExplicit. 18+.
GENREsmut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.
SUMMARYSix months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?
WC2.8k
WARNINGS AND TAGS no use of gendered pronouns to refer to reader. nudity. sex jokes. angst. makeout.

AN: Thank you so much to the most amazing readers, to these beautiful beta readers – @vyduan@miscelunaaa@illneverrecoverand@hesperantha – who have all helped me with these past couple of chapters. I feel so wildly grateful for you all. Thank you.

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©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: LIKE A GLACIER

You’re stuck. Absolutely and entirely stuck. 

Yoongi at your front, Namjoon cocooned around your back. It’s hot. It’s sweaty. It’s absolutely and entirely adorable. The way Namjoon’s little snores drone into the large room, the way Yoongi’s fingers flicker in his sleep, as if he’s playing an invisible piano. Despite the heat and the claustrophobia, you find yourself quite content in this position, your mind drifting between sleep and a quiet admiration for the two men surrounding you. 

You run a check in over your body. You’re a little sore, but nothing that a cup of coffee and some stretching won’t fix. In the act of checking in, you can’t help but feel the way your chest feels. Like there’s been a knot within you, loosened. Last night was unexpected in a lot of ways. In every moment of pleasure that the two men swaddled around you brought to you, but also in the things that it brought up. Your face warms a little, thinking about the way you had pleaded for Yoongi over and over again, the way you had begged Namjoon to sound out his pleasure for you. You had begged, because it felt like you needed it, but where was that need coming from? 

“Mmf, good mornin’,” Namjoon grumbles from behind you, his voice deep and sleep-graveled. You always noticed that he’d bring the register of his voice up when he was around other people, so as to make himself easier to understand, but this early in the morning he can’t be bothered to enunciate, let alone shift his register. 

His fingers drift down to your hip, to where your ass presses into his crotch. 

“I’m sorry, is it uncomfortable? I can move—” 

“Nope,” Namjoon says without hesitation. “Not uncomfortable at all. At least, not in the way you’re thinking.” You can hear the grin in his voice.

“Oh my god, you’re gross!” you whisper-yell.

“Is it gross if you secretly like it?” he smirks back. He nuzzles his face into your neck and breathes in deep, his out breath brushing against your skin. 

You hum and cuddle deeper into his embrace. You almost drift off again like that, his arms snaking tighter around you, his lips against your neck, Yoongi’s ass wiggling into your crotch. You could stay here all day, wrapped up in them. 

What are you doing? You ask yourself. You’re getting too comfortable. You’re asking for too much. 

The shame that courses through you wakes you up. You bury your face in Yoongi’s hair, and he shifts against you before rolling over, so he’s face to face with you.

“Morning, doll.” 

“Morning, Yoongi.”

“You were snoring last night. Could barely get a wink of sleep in with the monster truck in the bed with me.” 

“Was not!” 

He chuckles, before wiping a hand across his eyes and yawning. He stretches out, his arms reaching above his head, his back arching. He reminds you of a cat first thing in the morning. 

“Nah, I slept like the dead,” he says. 

“Me too,” Namjoon pokes his head up from behind you. The two share a smile. 

“Well?” Yoongi says, gaze flickering from between you two. “Round seventeen?” 

“Coffee first,” you say, slipping out of bed by scooching down the sheets to the foot of it. 

“That sounds like a promise for later,” Yoongi says. 

You send him a wink. 

“I have nothing to wear though,” you say. 

“That’s how we like it,” Yoongi drawls. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter and go grab me some clothes from my suitcase? Pretty please?” 

Yoongi rolls his eyes but begins to sit up. 

“Oh. I already did,” Namjoon says, sitting up and pulling the sheets up with him. He slips out of bed and that’s when you realize he’s wearing flannel pajamas. 

“You did? When?” 

“While you all were showering. I didn’t want you to have to trod through the house in nothing. I thought it would make your morning easier.” 

You grin at Namjoon as he hands you a stack of clothes with optionsfrom one of the dressers in the room. 

“Thank you Namjoon.” You get dressed quickly, and pause at the door. Namjoon and Yoongi are still lumbering slowly through the morning. “I’ll put the coffee on?” 

“You’re an angel,” Yoongi says, smiling. 

You waltz into the kitchen, ready for coffee, ready for food. However, a certain figure stops you in your tracks. Hoseok stands there, his back turned to you. There’s something about him, something about the way he stands, maybe a little too straight, that reminds you of a ghost, a haunting. The specter in your throat looms just as large as him. He’s already dressed for the day, and wears a puffy jacket, as if he’s readying to go outside shortly. He sips meditatively from a cup of coffee. 

Seeing Hoseok, the knot in your chest that Namjoon and Yoongi had seemed to ease last night immediately tightens. Your first instinct is to turn right around and crawl back into the comfort and safety of bed, but no, no you’re not doing that anymore, not turning, not running. So you march straight in. Stand a moment behind him before he turns with a little, “Oh, you scared me.” 

“Hoseok, can we do something today?” you ask, mustering up your best and brightest form of courage. “Just the two of us?” 

He stares at you blankly. “Just the two of us?” 

“Yeah. Is that okay? A hike maybe?” 

“Why just the two of us?” 

He’s never asked that question before. Why is he asking it now? 

“Because… I want to spend time with you?” Because you want to make things easier, because you want to make things right again. Because you want to forget that anything ever happened that might have screwed everything up. 

“Dude, cut it out,” Yoongi calls from behind you. 

Hoseok’s eyes refocus on him. “Cut what out? I’m not doing anything.” 

“That’s exactly the problem,” Yoongi bristles as he steps up to Hoseok. “You think you can just get a nice little early morning fuck in and then dip? That’s not what this is all about.”

“I’m not dipping, I’m not going anywhere. I’m still very much here,” Hoseok says, surprised. 

“I don’t think you are though, bro.” Jimin’s suddenly stepping into the kitchen, joining the conversation. He has the same hard look in his eyes that Yoongi has. You step forward, between them, holding up your hands. You don’t want this to turn into some kind of fight, but there’s still a touch of softness to the way each of them look at the other. 

Hoseok’s eyes dart from Yoongi to Jimin, confusion and worry written on his face. “And I didn’t—we didn’t—” he glances at you. “It wasn’t likethat. I think we both agreed that this is how things go. This is how everyone wantsthings to go, don’t they? Casual. Easy. Detached.” 

Jimin frowns. “You’re playing dumb, Hoseok.” Yoongi nods. “This might be a casual setup but that doesn’t mean you can just ignore us.” His eyes flicker to yours. You in particular, he seems to mean. 

“I’m not ignoring you guys, not on purpose,” Hoseok says, though the tightness in his voice gives something away. A tension within him. Maybe he means it genuinely, but there’s something else there too. A discomfort. “I’m overwhelmed with work. I’ve got a massive project that’s expected to be done by the end of the week. I have otherthings to do than just fuck all day.” 

“No one is asking you to fuck all day?” Yoongi says, a hint of incredulity in his voice. “Where the hell did you get that idea? Where the hell are you getting anyof these ideas?”

“Hoseok, Yoongi—” you butt in, but something hard has already settled in Hoesok’s eyes. 

 “I dunno what you want me to say.” Hoseok shrugs, turns, and leaves. Giving up.

You, Jimin, and Yoongi glance at each other. 

“You need to go after him,” Jimin says, head tilting in the direction of where Hoseok disappeared. “You need to talk this out,” he says. You nod, already turning to race out of the room after your friend. He’s quicker than you are and you take several wrong turns before finding him stepping outside through one of the many doors that lead to the backyard. You step outside in socked feet and immediately regret it, the chill of the ground sinking through your socks, the large and fluffy cardigan Namjoon had picked out for you doing very little against the cold of late fall. 

“Hobi?” You catch his hand in yours as you hurry to catch up with him. 

He turns to you, an expression of confusion on his face. 

“You’re being weird,” you whisper. 

He looks down at where you hold his hand. 

“I am notbeing weird,” he mumbles. 

“Yes you are!” 

“If anything, you’rethe one being weird,” Hoseok cuts back.

That’s not something you anticipated.  

“What?” 

Hoseok looks down at you, his eyes burning with something unspoken. “Nevermind.” He pulls his hand from yours. 

“Jesus, Hoseok, why is it always ‘never mind?’ Just goddamn tell me!” 

“You just…” For a moment it seems like he’s going to hold back his next words, that he’s going to swallow him down. But then something breaks and his gaze shifts back to you. “You just waltz in and ask me to go on a walk as if nothing has happened!” 

You blink at him. “You’re weirded out that I asked you on a walk? We always go on walks!” 

Hoseok frowns. Opens his mouth. Closes it again. “Well. It’s not just that. It’s other…things too. ” 

“Hobi, you’re being weird. Tell me why you’re being weird. I don’t want to keep guessing.” 

He pauses for a long moment. 

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” Hoseok finally asks. 

“What?” You haven’t kissed anyone all day. But it’s not like the dynamic in the house had everyone making out in broad daylight. 

“I saw you kiss Jimin, and Taehyung. Even Yoongi at one point. But not me.” That’s when you realize that he’s not talking about today. He’s talking about that night. About the orgy.You can’t help the flush that rushes over your features as the images of that night come flooding back. Hoseok, inside you, thrusting, filling you up. 

And, what were you supposed to say after all that? That you had kissed the others because you had a history with each of them, that you’d fucked each of them before, so it felt different? That felt harsh. Untrue, even. So you say what you can manage closest to the truth: 

“Well. I… it seemed like too much.” 

“I seemed like too much?” 

“That’s not what I said, Hoseok.” 

The two of you stare at one another. 

“What I felt… what I feel. It’s a lot. Too much.” You scratch your head, unsure how to put the garbled up mess of feeling in your chest into words. 

“What you feel… for me… is too much?” 

The both of you are speaking slowly as if in riddles and rhymes. So when silence settles between you with no outlook of ending, you say: “I should also point out you didn’t kiss me.”

He blinks back at you. “Well. Yeah.” 

“‘Well, yeah?’ What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s tricky.” 

“Try me.” You cross your arms. 

He pauses, looking you over as if to gauge you before speaking. “I just don’t want it to get messy.” 

“Hobi, surprise, we’re already there. You had your cock in me at six a.m., and now you won’t spend any time with me—how the hell is that not messy?” There’s a little bit of laughter in your voice. Incredulity. 

He flushes at your word choice, but assents. “I guess you’re right.” 

Hobi always had a way of making up impossible, arbitrary rules for himself. Practicing his dance from beginning to end and starting over when he came across a mistake. Brunch, always, the night after drinking. Never taking more than a day to respond to a text. And just as he had the rules, he also had a horrible tradition of beating himself up for not following them. Because they simply couldn’t be followed all the time, perfectly. 

“I thought… I thought we were keeping it casual. And it seemed like an easy line to draw in the sand, you know, to say that kissing was off the table.” He pauses. “Even with you.” Even with you. As if you could be some kind of exception. “And then, now that you mention it, I think I kept drawing the line. Kept keeping you away. Because I thought that’s what you wanted.” 

“Hobi… it’s notwhat I want. Why would I want to stay away from you?”

“I dunno,” he looks down, looks away. “I think I messed it all up.” 

“You didn’t mess it up, not in my eyes, not really. It seems like we’re both in the wrong,” you say softly. 

“It seems so.” 

“This is dumb, right?” 

“This is so dumb.” 

A smile slowly spreads across the both of your faces. The two of you grin at each other for a long moment, just staring, just smiling. And it feels normal again, like maybe you hadn’t fucked as the sun rose, like maybe you hadn’t both messed up, like maybe you hadkissed him after all. 

“What about now?” you ask. 

“What do you mean what about now?” he asks, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. 

“What if I kiss you now? Is it against the rules?” Your heart is beating straight out of your chest but you can’t stop this, can’t stop it moving forward. You take a step forward.

He gulps. Shakes his head. He can’t take his eyes from you. He steps in. Leans down.

Your lips meet. It is a tentative, fluttering thing. You are careful with each other, your hand coming to rest gently on his cheek, his fingers fluttering by your hair before he presses in and holds your head between his hands. 

“Kissing is okay,” you breathe against him. “Not against the rules. Friends, we—fuck—I don’t know. Friends with benefits?” You’re not sure if that’s the right word, if that’s the right way to put all of this. It feels wrong on your tongue. “They kiss. Totally.  And—I like it. Like kissing you.” 

“You’re rambling.” 

“I know.” 

You can feel the smile on his mouth hovering between you as he captures your lips again and presses in closer, taking another step towards you. One of your arms winds around his neck, while his hands skate across your back, pulling you in tighter, your bodies flush together. His lips brush across yours like a breath, teasing you, and you take the bait, chasing him. 

“Do you really want to kiss me?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you breathe. 

He smiles.

He kisses you like a glacier kisses the land: slow, steady, inevitably. The kiss is unyielding, ice sliding against rock, bound to change the landscape, smoothing over jagged edges. The pressure is inevitable, building within you like something undeniable. You let it build to a tension so high you think you could sing with it. He tangles his hands in your hair, his hips pressing against yours, a leg slipping between yours. You let out a gasp as his thigh presses against your core. And you’re spinning, until your back hits the hard plane of the door. He’s pressed you up against the glass. 

You pull away, catching your breath. 

“If I’m honest: I thought we were bad at kissing, after that first kiss,” you admit. 

“Honestly? Me too.” 

“But this is, um, this is much better.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head, his eyes flickering down to your lips. 

“Is it bad if I want to keep kissing you?” 

“No, this is totallynormal,” you whisper back as his lips lean in. “Friends totallykiss like this.”

“Totally.” 

There’s a lie in your words but you can’t pinpoint where it is, but you feel it swell beneath your tongue. You swallow it down, ignore it, move on as your lips meet once more, as his tongue slips within your mouth, exploring. As you bite down on his lip, giddy at the little gasp that leaves him. As he grinds his hips into you and you gasp back. You’re a mess of exploring limbs and tangled tongues. 

“Do you want to get out of here—?” you whisper. His eyes widen. He bites his lip. 

A redo. A chance to do this the right way. Where he doesn’t leave you at the end. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

You spin around, your hand grabbing at Hoseok’s as you do. Jimin is standing at the glass door, leaning against it. 

“I see you two did some working out of your problems,” you hear his voice muffled through the pane. “Though your measures of working out aren’t typical, they’ll do.”

“What do you want, Jimin?” Hoesok asks.

“Breakfast. Come inside. We need to talk.”

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sh. | chapter seventeen | ot7

PAIRINGot7 x reader
RATINGExplicit. 18+.
GENREsmut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.
SUMMARYSix months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?
WC7.3k
WARNINGS AND TAGS no gendered pronouns used to refer to reader. threesome. knife play. temperature and sensation play. jerking off. use of “yellow” safeword. multiple orgasms. blow job. come swallowing. creampie.

AN thank you so much to @vyduan@miscelunaaa@illneverrecoverand@hesperantha who all helped me piece together this chapter. writing group sex is always so mESSY logistically and i couldn’t have done it without them. i hope you all find something you enjoy in this chapter and i can’t wait to hear what you all think about it!

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©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: EYES WIDE CLOSED

Namjoon wraps his hand in yours and smiles down at you.

He still has a raging boner propped up in his pajamas, but you do your best not to look at that, and instead focus your attention on his hands, his eyes. You lead him to one of the rec rooms, because, as he has insisted, “The bedroom is only for night time sleeping.” 

While Namjoon flops on a large, fluffy couch, you pull out a handful of blankets from a chest and get to work carefully layering them over him. 

“Are you tucking me in?” 

“Of course I am, you gotta go night-night.” You both chuckle at that, but you notice the large circles beneath his eyes and a genuine wash of care flushes through you as you look at him. 

When you’re done, he grips your hand a little too tightly. “Thank you.”  

“You’re welcome, Joonie.” With a careful hand, you press his eyelids closed and watch as a peaceful smile flits across his lips. He looks so quiet like this. You tiptoe out of the room quietly, closing the door behind you without a sound. You find yourself wandering the halls aimlessly until they lead you to a familiar door. You press it open. 

“Hobi?” You peer into his room. Your room? He’s hunched over the table in the corner, ostensibly at work. 

“Hm?” Hoseok sits up and turns towards you. His eyes flash when they meet yours, as if to say Oh, it’s you.

You say the only thing you can think of. 

“Do you want to go walking with me today?”

He looks at you for a long minute. “I’m a little busy. I’ve been slacking off at work. Have a big project I need to catch up on.” 

“Oh.” So much for an opportunity to talk. Why is it so hard to pin this man down? 

“Yeah.” 

“Sorry for bothering you.” 

Before you can go, he stands quickly and walks towards you. He walks with such a purpose you swear he is going to sweep you into his arms, and smother you with kisses. But he stops short, a distant look flickering over his gaze and he says: “You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

And then he hugs you. Hugs you? You stand stiff in shock. 

“Oh, okay,” is all you manage to choke out. 

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he says, quickly turning back to his work. 

You don’t.

“Want to try something new?” Yoongi asks as you’re clearing the table. 

You nod eagerly. 

“Please. I get tired of boring old missionary.” Truthfully though, you like missionary like you like bread and butter: a classic. 

“You say that as if you haven’t been fucked upside down and sideways across this house.” 

“A little more never hurt? Plus, we’ve barely even started.” You offer him a sheepish smile. Conversations like this have been feeling most comfortable with Yoongi. Maybe it’s your shared history. Maybe it’s him. 

Yoongi grins at you. “How would you feel about mixing it up even more?” 

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“I mean, throw in a challenge.” 

“Tell me,” you say, leaning forward eagerly. 

“If I can make you come within the first ten minutes, I can do whatever else I want with you the rest of the night.” 

“Ha!” you scoff. “As if.” 

“Are you saying I can’t make you come in less than ten minutes?” 

You eye him. Yoongi was someone who had always took his sweet time when it came to sex. Sex with Yoongi was long, languorous. Sometimes even torturously so. It was all part of the delight of Yoongi. So no, he’d never made you come in ten minutes before, but that was because he never rushed your orgasms. He’d bring you to the edge a thousand times, just to finally throw you into free air and the thrill of flying at the most unexpected moment. 

That was Yoongi. 

Ten minutes though? This—this is not the Yoongi you know. 

“Why ten minutes?” 

“You said you’re getting tired. Let me tire you out in a different way.” 

Everything is bathed in black. You can feel your hair, shifting slightly against your ears when you move your jaw or try to blink your eyes. As for sight, you have none, simply the blossoming shadows of light as it flickers across the room and sinks into the blindfold that Yoongi has carefully wrapped around your head. 

The air kisses your bare body, like breath relishing against your skin, devouring anything exposed. In its place goosebumps rise. 

You strain against the ropes tying you down. You’re in a spread position, on a bed, you think as the surface beneath you is plush and soft. Your hands are tied above your head, your legs spread. Leaving you more than exposed. 

Yoongi had blindfolded you what feels like hours ago in the living room before spinning you around and leading you through the hallways to what you’re pretty sure is a bedroom. He had laid you down before gently wrapping cords around your arms and legs.

The room is now silent. It’s been silent for a long time. 

“Yoongi?” you call. No response. 

Yoongi disappeared a while ago, and you’re left waiting. You assume he’s gone to Namjoon’s room to do whatever he had promised earlier. The suspicion has your core warming. What will they do without you? 

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest as you think about what Yoongi has waiting for you on the other end of this long silence. Will he tease you endlessly, withholding touch from you, withholding himself from you? Will he take you, then and there, in whatever way he pleases? Your body tingles with excitement. But there, along the edge of it all, is the prickle of anxiety, the bitterness left on your tongue from your conversation with Hobi. Your mind spins around the incident, trying to puzzle apart his gaze, his words, his embrace.How can you hold all of it in one space? 

You’re not sure how long you lie there, sensation burning intensely, before the door creaks open slowly. 

“Look atthat,” a deep voice murmurs.You recognize it as Yoongi’s voice immediately. “All spread out, ready and willing.” 

You shudder at his implication. 

“What are you going to do?” you ask. 

“Whatever I feel like,” Yoongi answers quickly, his voice moving closer. “That’s the rule tonight, right? If I can make you come, I can do as I please with you. And, you sure look ready to take anything I’m willing to give you.” 

He’s right. After the building tension in the house, you’re desperate for release of any sort. You’re sure you won’t find it with the man at the center of your tension, and Yoongi’s bargain was so irresistibly tempting.

The weight of the bed beneath you dips and you find your body shifting slightly, adjusting to the new presence. Your hips buck up as the air moves around your nether regions, teasing you ever so slightly. 

“Look at that. So needy.” 

Yoongi’s voice sounds farther away than makes sense. 

The weight on the bed shifts again and two hands come down on your thighs. You imagine him sitting between your legs, gaze roving hungrily over your body. The thought of it sends a shiver up your spine. He takes his time, moving slowly, letting his hands drift up and down the meat of your thighs. 

It’s the simplest touch, but it has you yearning for more. 

“Yoongi,” you cry. “Please.” 

You wonder if this is how Jungkook felt. If this was what it was like to be tied up and held back from the thing you wanted most: 

Touch. 

“Let’s start with a nice little lick.” 

Weird, that Yoongi is talking to himself like that, you think, a thought that is quickly interrupted by the sensation of the broad press of a tongue gliding against your lower lips. 

“Good,” Yoongi says, and you can hear the cheeky grin in his words. 

Slowly, he lathes at your clit, building a gentle but steady pattern. And then he slips two fingers within you and slowly begins massaging at that spongy spot within you. You cry out. 

As your orgasm begins to bridge on the horizon, it’s clear to you what you’re going to do. It’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t thought for a moment about resisting the pleasure and holding yourself off from orgasming, just to spite Yoongi, just to win. But that was before he had entered the room. Before he had put his hands on you. Before your orgasm was so close you could almost taste it. And the reality is that you are desperate to be under Yoongi’s control, beneath his hands, beneath his intentional and mastered touch. 

So you give yourself up. 

This was never a game you had planned on losing, especially when you got to decide the rules for yourself. And the rules tonight look a lot like coming as many times as you can. 

A grunt echos from in front of you at the same time that Yoongi speaks and that’s when you realize: Yoongi isn’t the only person in this room. And to add fuel to the fire, the man who has his fingers within you, well, he’s not Yoongi.  

“Who—Who’s there?” 

“I said I’d be the one making you come, but who said it had to be myfingers?” 

And it’s the thought of not knowing whose tongue is on you, whose fingers are inside you that sends you over the edge the first time. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you curse, your hands fighting against the bonds that hold them down, desperate to grip onto something, anything. As the man continues to press his fingers into you at a steady but punishing pace, his tongue still roving over your clit, your back arches off of the mattress. You clench hard around his fingers, arousal dripping off of them. 

He’s so silent though. Like he’s holding back, like he’s not allowed to speak. 

A slight chuckle and then: “Eight minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Not bad.”

Your body is still humming from the orgasm, but Yoongi and the mystery man are already moving, already rearranging themselves in the room. And then there’s silence. Long silence. You gasp out Yoongi’s name but there’s no sound. You think they’ve left you alone. 

That is, until you hear, “Here, take this,” and feel the soft edge of something light and breathy trace across the skin of your leg. You buck beneath the touch. It traces higher, dusting over your cunt, before drifting to your belly. 

You guffaw. An unbecoming, snortish thing leaves your body in a rush. 

“Oh my god, I—” 

The feather, you think, travels higher and you can’t help it. You burst out laughing. 

“Ah! I! Please!—Oh, god! Stop! It–it tickles so bad!” 

“Well, maybe not that,” Yoongi grumbles and the touch vanishes. “Was supposed to be sexy. Not hilarious.” 

There’s silence again, shifting around the room. 

That is, until you feel the edge of something cold and hard run down the center of your chest. The laughter is still leaving you as your breath comes in cold shakes. 

“Don’t move,” Yoongi commands, and there’s a serious note in his voice. “You’ll hurt yourself.” 

You’ll hurt yourself? You twitch beneath the cold press, but then still. You realize. The sharpness. The edge. The smooth press against your skin. It’s a blade of some kind and someone is drawing down your body like it’s a pen and your skin the parchment, soaking up the ink. 

The thought stills you: Yoongi or this mystery man, maybe both, choseto press the blade up against your skin, wantedto watch you writhe against the touch. 

Beneath your belly button, the man who holds the knife presses in ever so slightly and you do your best to still the breath in your lungs. Fear prickles at the edge of your consciousness, but more than that is the sense of excitement. The threat of the blade tingled louder than your fear, and it sends sparks of energy shooting down your limbs. You feel more aware, more tuned in now than ever. 

Suddenly the knife is pulled away from your skin. There’s the sound of what sounds like ice cubes tingling against glass, silence, and then the feeling of breath against your ear. 

“You see, the trick to knife play isn’t actually the knife.” Yoongi whispers. “Some people, like you, it seems, get off on the fear of it all. The risk of having a blade to their skin. Some even like the pain when you press in—” he emphasizes his words by putting a hand on your abdomen, right beneath your ribs and pressing in, “—and watch the blood run.” You gasp. 

“Yoongi, I—” 

“Don’t you worry. I’m not interested in marking you up. Your skin is so pretty the way it is. But like I was saying, the trick to knife play has little to do with the knife. It’s all about the sensation.” 

The tip of the blade presses to your pulse point, right beneath your ear. 

“Thecold.” 

The sensation of ice slices right through you. A dribble of ice water glides down your skin, cooling the heated surface. Whoever holds the knife traces the tip of it down your neck, across your throat, across your collarbones. Drawing out your body from atop. 

Wherever the blade touches, you arch into the touch, even as you try to pull yourself back, pull yourself together. It’s like you’re magnetized, the blade leading your body forward. With the most painfully slow trail, the knife roves over your body, tracing in goosebumps across your skin. It freezes against the warmth of you, and you find yourself crying out. 

With a carefully trained touch, the knife grazes over the outside of your lower lips before doing the same on the other side. 

“Please—” 

“No,” Yoongi says. 

“Fuck you,” you gasp. 

The knife returns to your throat, pressing lightly. A warning. 

“You don’t want to hurt me,” you say, more for your sanity than anything. 

“Of course not, doll. I don’t wantto.”The teasing lilt in Yoongi’s voice raises the goosebumps on your skin. “But you remember what we agreed to, don’t you? I can do whatever I please with you tonight.” And then he leans closer and whispers, “Color?” 

“Green,” you say, “But please, please, give me more. I need more.” 

“Like this?” 

The blade is pressed, flat side to your clit and you cry out. The knife has warmed slightly to your body temperature, but not entirely. The coolness with which it graces your heated flesh sends a shock through your system.  

“Is that what you wanted?” 

“No, I want you to touch me.” 

A whisper exchanged. 

The knife withdrawn. 

The clattering of metal against wood. 

A body hovering over yours. 

“You want touch?” Yoongi says. “Then take it.” 

Then, lips at your collarbone, and a sudden coldness. Someone has ice in their mouth and is kissing down your torso. You have a distinct sense that it’s not Yoongi. Their kisses are quicker, rushed, as if there’s a sense the moment will end before it’s even begun. 

Yoongi seems to notice this too. “Slow down,” he calls. “I want you to have to work for it.” 

The kisses slow. Soon the motion becomes a slow suckling at your skin, a trading of tongue and ice cube, heat and frozenness. You gasp beneath his ministrations and a hand winds up to tangle in your own, fingers intertwining, a breath of shared intimacy. 

“Mm, so needy and he’s barely even touching you.” 

When was the last time someone held your hand like this?

The mystery man squeezes your palm, as if reassuring you. I’ll hold your hand. Don’t you worry. The reassurance of that moment feels familiar and you want to name that familiarity, maybe—

The only warning you have is the man breathing against your lower lips. The ice presses to your cunt and you cry out. 

“Fuck!” 

“Does it hurt?” Yoongi asks. 

“I-uh—” It’s hard to string words together when the man between your legs is trading tongue and ice as he laves at your clit, sending pulsing sensations through your legs. “It’s hard to put into words—” 

“I need you to try, baby. I wanna hear what you’re feeling.”

“It hurts,” you gasp, “In the best way possible. Like relief, and pain, mixed together—fuck—it tastes so much sweeter—goddamnit—mixed together.” 

“That’s it,” Yoongi says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. You can hear the moan that’s on the edge of his tongue too, and by that sense, you have an idea that he’s standing at the foot of the bed with a full, unblemished view of you spread out beneath another man. 

There’s the sound of slickness sliding over slickness and you gasp. The image of Yoongi standing at the foot of the bed, watching you beneath another, while he strokes his cock sends a shiver down your body and you visibly shudder, each sensation, each sound, heightened in the moment. What kind of pleasure does he get out of this, what kind of delight must he be feeling now? 

The unnamed man worships at your cunt like it’s Sunday morning—and maybe it is, for all you know, you’ve been here for hours, tangled up in these men, their tongues, their touches.

You come once beneath the man’s tongue, then twice. 

“Please, please,” you beg, after the waves of your third orgasm of the night subside enough for you to speak. “I can’t—it’s too much.” 

“Is it though?” Yoongi croons. “You seemed so eager for each petite mort, what’s holding you back now?”  

What’s holding you back now is that your body is ringing in pleasure in a way you can’t imagine. The man had continued to trade in fresh pieces of ice to press them against your clit before warming the sensitive bud up again with his heated tongue. And now your body is swimming in temperature confusion. 

“It’s too much,” you gasp. “Just, just give me a moment.” 

“But darling, we have such a full schedule,” Yoongi drawls, and you find a shiver running across your skin. He begins to say something else, but pauses, interrupting himself. “Buttercup, what’s your color?” 

“Green?” It’s not a statement, it comes out as a question. You’re sure you can take more of this, but do you want to? “Yellow.” 

Suddenly you feel a presence by your side and a body leaning closer. 

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you whisper. 

“Of course, anything you wish.” You can feelthe smile on his lips, warm and caring. 

Yoongi loosens your ties ever so slightly, and prompts you to sit up. A body slides in behind you, large and enveloping. You’re sat between his legs, back to his chest, ass to his hardening dick. You have guesses about who it is, but you’re just not sure. The mystery sends goosebumps down your skin. 

That’s when you feel a hand glide up your back. Thick fingers rake up the back of your neck and you find yourself reaching into the touch. Suddenly his fingers comb into your hair, tense, and clutch at the roots, yanking your head back. Your breath leaves your body with a gasp. 

 As your head rests on his shoulder, immobile, he doesn’t say anything, simply breathes against your neck, savoring the moment. You’re caught in his clutches and the thought heats you from the inside out. 

“You want a turn?” Yoongi asks, his voice as smooth as silk in the darkness of the room in spite of his coarse words, as if he wasn’t just offering up your body, your cunt, to the other man. You don’t hear a response, but from what Yoongi says next, you understand: the mystery man has said no. “More for me, then,” Yoongi quips. A sense of shame, resentment even, washes over you. He doesn’t want to fuck you? You wonder if you’ve done something wrong. 

Yoongi must see the pout on your face because he’s quick to cup your chin and lean in close. “Don’t you worry, doll. It’s nothing personal. Everyone has their preferences. Where. When. Who.” 

That’s when you wonder if it’s Jin. That would explain the broad shoulders at your back—but then again, everything feels larger, more intense, just overwhelmingly morewith the blindfold on. Unsure of Jin’s sexuality, his preferences, you’re not even convinced he’s interested in someone like you. Maybe he doesn’t want to fuck you, and that’s okay, you tell yourself, even as the rejection stings sour in your chest. 

But it’s almost as if the mystery man knows your thoughts, for he nuzzles his head into your neck, a low hum reverberating from his chest. It’s okay, he seems to be saying. 

“Jin?” 

No answer. As if to relieve your fears of undesirability, he shifts you in his arms and suddenly you feel the hard press of his cock against your ass, as if he’s reminding you just who he’s hard for. 

“He’s hard,” you murmur out loud.

“Of course he’s hard,” Yoongi replies. “Why wouldn’t he be hard? He’s been waiting for this.” 

Waiting for this. For whatever reason, you tuck that into your memory. Someone’s been waiting for you.

“It’s all a game, doll, don’t you see?” Yoongi whispers into your ear. You didn’t realize how close he was, pressed up against your body, so close but without touching. His proximity makes you jump. “And you’re at the center of it all.” 

A hand travels down your torso. 

“Who’s hand is this?” Yoongi asks. 

“I-I don’t know,” you gasp as it tickles and travels lower. 

“You couldn’t even tell that it wasn’t me sucking you off earlier, could you baby?” he chuckles darkly. “After all this time? You still don’t know my tongue?” 

“All this time?” A second voice chimes in in a whisper, flabbergasted. You knowit’s the second person and you grapple for clarity on who spoke it, but all you find is the brusk brush of his whisper playing over and over, not enough of a voice to grasp onto the person behind the voice. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Yoongi says quickly. “What did I tell you? About staying quiet? Do you really want to ruin this for you both?”

“I’m sorry, Yoongi!” You’re quick to say, eager to move on from this and into more, him touching you more, him fucking you more. No more of this teasing. “Just want—” 

“Just want what? My cock? You want me to fuck you?” 

You nod wearily, your head bobbing. “Please, please Yoongi.” 

“Do you really think you’ve earned it? Do you think forgetting my tongue really means you deserve me? My cock? Hm?”

“Yoongi—” you say, and there’s a weariness to your voice. “I need you.”

The energy in the room shifts and Yoongi quiets. You feel like he’s taking you in, really considering you. And for a long moment, you’re sure he’s going to say no, that he’s going to turn you away. That familiar feeling of rejection begins to wash over you and suddenly you’re standing before Hoseok again, him saying again, You should sleep with someone else tonight, that far-off distance dancing in his eyes. 

You take a shuddering breath. 

But then Yoongi is moving, crawling over you, taking your face in his hands. 

“How could I say no to you, baby?” Yoongi says, and though you can’t see his face you know him well enough to know his brows are pressing in concern. Then there’s a pause.  “Are you okay?” 

“I was worried you were going to say no, and mean it,” you say softly. The man holding you tightens his grasp around you, a readable I’m sorry, you shouldn’t feel that way. 

“Gosh, babe, you know I only say no for your sake and for mine. To tease you. To play the game.” 

“I know, I know, but…” You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “I’m in my head, ignore me.” 

“I’m not going to ignore you,” Yoongi says firmly. “Not now, not ever.” 

You want to melt at his words. 

“Kiss me?” you ask, and you know he’s going to give you exactly what you want. It warms the part of you that aches still, it almost erases it. 

“As you wish, buttercup.” 

His lips press against yours and he sighs. 

The yearning within you calls for him as if you hadn’t just kissed him the other morning, as if you aren’t actively kissing him now. Your hands, loosened from their ties, come to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. His tongue swipes against your lips and asks for entrance to your mouth. You let yourself open a little and his tongue slips inside, tracing against the roof of your mouth before retreating again. 

That’s when you feel lips tracing against your neck, the man behind you joining in on Yoongi’s fun. Your eyes flutter as teeth graze against the sensitive skin of your neck, just enough sharpness to raise goosebumps on your skin and make you shudder. 

Yoongi takes the opportunity of your distraction to bite down on your lower lip. 

“I’d say eyes on me, baby, but you seem to be a little… otherwise tied up.” He laughs at his own joke. 

The other man’s chest rumbles with laughter. You giggle. 

“Bad joke, Yoongi.” 

He slips two fingers inside your cunt and you gasp. 

“Bad jokes don’t matter so much when you’re coming on my fingers, do they?” 

“N-no, I guess not,” you say, your voice shaking as he begins a slow and steady pace. But there’s an intentionality to his movements as if he’s holding back from pounding into you in the way he wants. 

This is all so new. 

Yoongi never felt like he was hanging back. Yoongi never felt like he had anything tohold back. But now he’s gasping against your mouth, his cock hard against your thigh, his pace beginning to quicken. The contrast between his slow intentionality and this forced deliberation is clear. Whereas you’re used to his roving fingers, his easy going caresses, this is new, this is different. This is desire, clenched. This is something waiting to rip out of him. 

“Let me make you feel,” he says, a note of brazen desperation in his voice. “Let me.” 

And you realize that all this time, reliable, dependable Yoongi is here. Here, not only for his pleasure, getting off, whatever you want to call it. But here for you. For the streams of delight that pour through your body beneath his finger tips. For the sense of safety that he instills in your chest. And you know in that moment, that he knows he can do that for you, and that he tries. 

“You,” Yoongi says, speaking to the man behind you. “Bring your fingers here.” He directs him to your clit. “Now, small, slow circles. Keep it steady.” And then to you: “I need you, I can’t wait any more, are you good, baby?” 

“Yes,” you say. “God yes, please—” 

And the head of his cock is at your entrance and he’s beginning to push inside you. Yoongi can’t help but let loose a groan and a shudder as he sinks into you. You’re tight around him, and so wet from the numerous orgasms and endless teasing. 

He feels like heaven within you, finally fulfilling that endless ache that he had been stoking to a high heat all day long now. The dull ache that radiates through you each time he bottoms out in you is now rearing a different kind of heat. You push your hips towards him, eager for more. 

It’s slow, sensual, the way he fucks you like this, like he’s taking his time. You’re used to that kind of fucking with him, but tonight there’s something different to it. An edge of sweetness. A throb of an ache. 

Yearning. 

As his hips grind into you, you can feel a kind of warmth building in your lower belly, rising to a high. But that same energy is building between you two, as Yoongi’s pace begins to pick up, begins to become more desperate. His hips begin to rut into you with more force, his head drops to the crook of your neck and he pants. 

Yoongi is gaining speed, forcing your hips to move in time with his own. Against your ass, the man’s cock stands hard and at attention, and you can feel it growing harder as your ass grinds against him. The man behind you simply continues to hold you, to run his fingers over your clit so gently it has your hips bucking up against him. More, more, more. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin intensifies as Yoongi pumps with even more energy. You can’t help yourself, between Yoongi’s pummeling hips and the man’s fingers against your clit your tightly wound ball of pleasure is quickly unraveling as your who-knows-what number orgasm washes over you. 

“Yoongi, Yoongi,” you cry out, wishing there was a second name to add. 

For a moment the world feels as if it’s underwater. Sounds deaden. Movements slow. The world darkens, as if it could really get any darker. You feel as if you’re moving through molasses. 

Your hands wind around his back, looking for something to hold onto and you gasp into his ear. 

“Yoongi, I—” 

“What is it, babe?” He gasps, his hips unrelenting as they pound into you.

“Need you—” 

“You have me.” 

And that’s all you needed to hear. 

Yoongi’s hips don’t still as he continues to pound into, and this time you let yourself sing in the hypersensitivity. 

“Saved my come for you, didn’t you notice?” 

“Hm?” You hum, holding on for dear life to your composure.

“Earlier. I could have fed it to Namjoon. Could have watched it spill onto his tongue and dribble down his chin. But I wanted to save it for you. Because while he was out there misbehaving, you were in here, being really really good. Isn’t that right?” 

“Mhmm, Yoongi. So good.” 

“So good for who?” 

“So good for you.”You insist. 

“Mmm, that’s right.” 

“Yes,” you gasp. “You. Please—” At this point you’re unsure what you’re even begging for. Anything. Everything. Yoongi chuckles at your desperation. 

“Begging for my come, huh, buttercup?” 

“Anything, you, whatever—” you gasp. 

“And what about our friend here? Do you want his come too?” 

You gasp, “Yes, yes, please.” 

“You have such nice manners when you’re desperate.” 

The men around you begin to shift, Yoongi pulling out of you, the man behind you letting you gently to the pillows below and shifting beside you. 

You reach out for the man next to you and draw your fingers over his face, trying to discern who he might be. When you find no luck in that, you let your fingers trail down his body, tangling in the hair above his cock—giving that a little tug—and then wrapping your hand around the base of his cock. 

You squeeze his cock. Maybe a little too hard.  

“Fuck,” the man growls. 

You still. You know that word. That tonality. It was the same sound of frustration that your roommate uttered while trying to build ikea furniture, it was the same sound from the other night: 

“Namjoon?”

Yoongi peels the mask off of you. Only the bedside light is on, but you find yourself blinking away the blinding brightness. Kneeling beside you is Namjoon, a sheepish grin on his features. 

“I was a little offended that you thought I was Jin. But maybe it says something about how broad my shoulders are getting.” He rolls his shoulders to prove the point and you can’t help the smile that slips over your features. 

It all makes sense now, his hesitancy to hold back. Or, you should say, it makes moresense. Picky, he had called himself, but you wondered if it were a little more complicated than that.   

Namjoon’s still got his hand around his cock, his palm gliding up and down slowly but surely. 

The desire that had been building for the mystery man seems to multiply tenfold now that you know who he is. You reach for him, cupping his face and pulling him down to you. He stumbles a little, falling over your body, but settling between your legs. 

“Keep touching yourself,” you whisper. “I wanna see what it’s like when you get off.” 

“You get blindfolded for a little bit and suddenly you’re so greedy.” 

“I didn’t know what I was missing.” 

You kiss him then, greedy lips meeting his quiet ones, greedy arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him to you, greedy legs spreading so he can settle between them properly. 

There is a hunger in your kiss, as if you have been craving him for some time now, as if the taste of him is the only thing that will satisfy you now. He meets you with a slowly rising but equal enthusiasm. He adjusts to your eagerness, hands fumbling for you while trying not to let his weight crush you. It’s an awkward kiss, and leaves you yearning for more. 

He doesn’t quite find his balance, so he pulls you up instead, the two of you kneeling before one another, breath coming hard. For a long moment, you stare at one another, taking in the other’s blown-out eyes, tousled hair, and little smirks. You feel as if you briefly mirror one another. 

And then you’re reaching for one another again, the eagerness of it all near bursting, kissing one another ferociously. He bites down on your lower lip and you cry out at the mix of pain and pleasure. You claw your hands down his back and he arches into the touch. Your mouths mashing, it’s so easy to get lost in him, that for a moment, you do.

That is, until you feel Yoongi press up against your back. A shiver glides down your spine as he lets his hands wander over your ribcage, wandering down towards your hips, before sliding across your belly. With that, he presses his still hard dick to your ass. You can’t help but grind back against him. 

“Bite his neck,” he whispers in your ear, his hands rubbing small circles over your body. “I think he’ll like it.” 

You do as you’re told, reluctantly removing your lips from Namjoon’s and replacing them at his neck. You’re gentle, letting your teeth graze against the column of his broad neck. 

“Leave a mark. Claimhim,” Yoongi commands, his grip on you tightening. The sensation of his language sends goosebumps across your body. 

You press your teeth into the skin, not enough to break it but enough to leave a mark. He hisses. As retribution, you softly suck the mark, lips flowering and pressed to his skin. It’ll leave a hickey. A signal that he’s yours. 

That he’s yours?

The thought surprises you. Do you want him to be yours? Do you want to have him like that? No, no, that goes against everything that this is meant to be. 

He is not yours. 

You are not his. 

Simple as that. 

Your thoughts are quickly redirected as you feel Namjoon’s cock bob against your stomach, brushing across Yoongi’s hands. 

“I thought I told you to touch yourself,” you say. 

He grins at you. 

“Are you gonna make me?” 

You frown at him and he’s quick to laugh. 

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” 

He takes your hand and slowly wraps it around his cock, his fingers weaving between your own. 

“You want me to show you how I like to come?” 

“Mhmm…” 

“While Yoongi fucks you again?” 

The two of them must have exchanged some kind of secretive and knowing look over your shoulder because Namjoon is two steps ahead of you as Yoongi pushes his cock between your dripping folds. He thrusts several times, collecting your essence on himself. 

“Yes,” you gasp as the tip of his cock brushes over the sensitive bud of nerves at your clit. “I wanna watch you while Yoongi fucks me again.” 

Namjoon wraps his hand around his cock with intentionality now, watching the way Yoongi glides his head down to suck at your neck, his cock twitching in his hand, a distant look in his eyes. 

“Joon,” you call out to him, and his gaze snaps back to yours. 

You wonder what he’s thinking. If he’s daydreaming about being the one at your back, the one with his cock up in you, the one fucking you and making you cry out. By the way his gaze roves over you, can’t imagine he doesn’t want you 

Your thoughts are quickly derailed as you feel Yoongi press into you. You savor the moan that slips from your lips, your hand reaching back to tangle in his hair, to tug at it the way you know he likes. 

As Namjoon begins to stroke himself, he bites his bottom lip as if to keep quiet. However, you reach over and untuck his lip. 

“I want to hear you.” 

“What?” 

“I want to—fuck—” you curse on a particularly delicious thrust of Yoongi’s cock. “Hear you.” 

The dark head of Namjoon’s cock pushes up through the rounded opening of his hand, the head bulging before it disappears back within his hand. He begins to match the pattern of his thrusts with the pattern that Yoongi fucks you at and for a moment, you imagine it’s Namjoon behind you instead. 

You want to touch him. You want your hands all over him. But instead he’s two feet away, just outside of your reach. 

You can hear the slick slide of his cock in his hand, the pre-come glazing the sensitive skin there. It’s obscene. It’s perfect. He groans out, just as Yoongi swivels his hips into you in a way that makes you go a little cross-eyed and the sounds of your mutual pleasure fill the room. 

“Wish I was the one making you feel that good,” you gasp. 

“Wish I were the one fucking you—” 

Your eyes lock. And in that moment you wonder why he’s not, why he’s holding back from you. His mouth hangs open just enough that you can see the wetness of his tongue. He tucks his lip in as he bites down on the bottom swell and you reach for him again, your hand grasping onto his bicep, a meager attempt to be closer to him. 

He shuffles forward, closer to you so that you can feel his hand gliding up and down his cock against your belly. He pushes into you, the tip of his cock pressing against your torso, the wetness staining your skin. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Namjoon groans. “I’m so fucking close.” 

You push lightly against his torso, motioning for him to scoot backwards. He does. Though you’re resentful that his cock leaves your belly, that his touch leaves your skin, you’re eager to have him in your mouth. Yoongi still on his knees and thrusting behind you, you lean forward, bracing your hands on the bed. You bend down so that you’re eye level with Namjoon’s dick, pausing to glance up at him for consent before you wrap your lips around him. He nods. You swallow down the head of his cock. 

It’s quick work, working him towards his climax, his hips rutting into your mouth, his hand tangling in your hair, bringing you closer to him until his cock is all the way down your throat and your nose is pressed into the hair at the base of his cock. You choke around him and he releases you, hissing as you do. 

“Fuck, I didn’t know you could do that.” 

“I guess there’s a lot I haven’t shown you I could do,” you say slyly, sending him a wink. 

He reddens at that and you know what he’s thinking about: you on his cock. Sex. You grin, and press your lips to his cock again, as Yoongi continues to move in and out of you at a lazy pace. Namjoon withdraws so only the tip remains within you, pursed between your lips. You’re the one now to press forward again, filling your own mouth with Namjoon’s cock. 

It’s not long before his hand in your hair is tightening and he’s groaning out your name in the most delicious way. You want to make him say it like that a thousand times more. 

He spills into your mouth with a muted fanfare. You can tell he’s still holding back, but you cling to the way his pleasure does break through. His hips trembling, his cock pulsing in your mouth, his jaw clenching. 

And then what he does next surprises you. 

“Open,” he says, tilting your head back as he pulls his cock out of your mouth. “Let me see.” 

You open your mouth, his seed filling your mouth. You do your best not to let it dribble, but some of it does spill out the side of your mouth. He presses his thumb to the spill and wipes it on your lower lip.

“Fuck that’s hot,” Yoongi hisses. 

“Now, swallow.” 

His eyes never leave yours. 

Who would’ve thought that come swallowing could be so intimate?  

You do as he’s said, the bitter, saltiness of him slipping down your throat. He grins. 

“You gonna make me come too now?” Yoongi says, wrapping his hand around your neck ever so lightly and bringing you up so your back is pressed to his chest. “You gonna let me come in that pretty cunt of yours?” 

 Now that he has your full attention back on him, Yoongi’s thrusts become demanding, asking for your attention, your time, your energy. You whine as his pace picks up, his cock pushing even deeper into you. Yoongi is fucking a spot within you that makes your jaw go slack, your mind go black. It’s clear: the man is nearing his orgasm, the little grunts he lets out and the way his breath shudders against your neck giving him away. 

He slams his hips into you as if he’s trying to make you cry out, as if he’s trying to make up for all of the months that he couldn’t hear your pretty voice crooning on his cock. 

When he comes, you imagine you can see him inside you, twitching as your friend fills you up in spurts and streams, your hand roving down to press on your belly where he lies within you. Something about the thought is enough to push you over the edge too, and you tip forward, Namjoon catching you, as you come too, your cunt pulsing around Yoongi. 

“Holy shit,” Yoongi curses, coming to wrap around you. You’re sandwiched between the two men, warmth radiating everywhere, the both of them more or less holding you up. 

Yoongi reluctantly pulls out of you. 

“Again?” you murmur. 

“I think that’s enough for one night.” 

“Hm,” you hum, your fingers reaching out to hold onto someone, anyone, as you’re let softly down into the bed. 

“I’ll hop into the shower with this come-filled mess,” Yoongi says affectionately. “If you’ll change the sheets?” 

Namjoon nods. “Yeah, of course.” 

“This is the third time,” you say as Yoongi turns on the steaming water. “I’d think you have a kink or something at this point.” 

“Maybe I do,” Yoongi grins. “Now turn around and let me wash you down.” 

He takes what feels like extra care with you tonight before wrapping you in the fluffiest of robes and leading you back to the bedroom where Namjoon is already snoring. 

“Where will I sleep?” You say, fear filling your throat. 

“Here. With us. Of course.” Yoongi takes your hand and pulls you to the bed. 

You settle in between their bodies, Yoongi tucked into your front, Namjoon spooning your back. For a moment, you let your gaze wander the room. 

On the bedside table lie a glass of melting ice, the blindfold, and one of Jungkook’s weeb swords.

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