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loquaciouslo · 2 years

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5 / ? | Aftermath.

pairings. yoongi x reader. jimin x reader. eventual OT7

genre. dark, dirty smut ♡ ♡ ♡

word count. 6.6k

chapter one ➸ next chapter (coming soon)

WARNINGS! this fic is sacrilegious. overall it has heavy themes of dub con, non con content. there is coercion and manipulation. sex sandwiched between degradation and humiliation and guilt. u know, the spicy stuff. this ch is pretty tame tho.

author’s note. hiiii everyone i love u! sorry for the wait. i got obsessed with some new books, needed some r&r, and overall kept getting distracted the past couple of weeks. but bc i got good news today i’m dropping this update tonight while i work on progressing the most recent ch and new ideas ♡

Next time.

You look at Jimin like he’s grown two heads. He returns an amused smile, his pretty round eyes twinkling with self-assuredness. You decide right then and there that’d you love nothing more than for this couch to swallow you whole. Yes, that’d be awfully convenient. Perfect even. You need to be alone, without anyone else around. Take the time to process what you’ve just been through. And clothes. You need your clothes. Your near-nakedness in contrast to their fully clothed bodies makes you feel uncomfortably vulnerable and open.

You could say a million things in response to that definitive statement, but you can’t get your jaw to unlock. Nothing comes out.

So, you do what you’re best at: you dodge it. You find the will and energy to move, persevering past your emotional immobility, and scramble to fix the bra Jimin hastily shoved up your chest so he could take advantage of what hid underneath. Your blouse is next. You look around frantically in search of it, finding it by one of the coffee table legs on the floor. You suffocate in their silence.

“I—I have to go,” Out of nowhere do you find a shred of your voice. You don’t want it to sound as shaky as it is, but all you can do is pray that you can keep it together long enough until you get home. Although you don’t know how you’re going to manage that when you can barely stand yet. “I have to get home.”

“And how do you plan on getting there?” Yoongi finally asks.

“I’ll use—” my phone, you nearly say. You had checked your bag after Jimin had left you in the kitchen and it wasn’t there. All because you left your brain at home, and with it, your phone on the kitchen counter. Idiot.

That’s not the only reason that got you into this situation, it's one of many.

“I’ll walk home.” Or the bus. It doesn’t matter. You swallow, fingers trembling as you shove the middle button of your blouse shut. It’s getting harder to hold, let alone fight this conversation.

“Not looking like that.” Yoongi scoffs. You take offense at that, considering he’s the one who caused it. A spark of defiance rising to the surface.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you look like a pretty party favor, sweetheart,” his smile is nothing less than innocent and not the teeniest bit regretful, “so, we’ll save you the walk of shame and drive you home.”

“It’s fine.” You bite back tears. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Or do for you? “I can walk.”

“I wasn’t really offering. I’m telling you.”

“I—” and then you’re shushed, again.

“We’re driving you home.” Yoongi doesn’t make much room for argument and you hate that. He’s got a simple look on his face that says less is more as well as: save it. You’ve never seen this facet of Yoongi before, not and it absolutely floors you. You never thought the pastor, who’s so reverent and kind, could foster such a bossy and manipulative son...

And as much as you hate to admit it, you don’t really want to walk home. Not looking like this. His assessment is probably right, and from his perspective, he can clearly see the number Jimin and him did on you. Everything you own is wrinkled to the high heavens, and you’re missing your tights, heels, and most importantly your panties. Your hair, which had been so neatly brushed and simple in style, now looks ruffled and askew from all their hair grabbing and kind redirecting.

Yoongi’s pleased when you utter a mumbled ‘okay’ under your breath, knowing that you’re giving in.

You hate losing, and you’ve been doing an awful lot of that lately.

“Where…” you shift in your seat, “where are my…?”

“You mean these?” Jimin supplies. You anxiously run your hand through your hair.

You feel something soft put into your open palm. When you look down, you’re surprised to see it’s your underwear that Jimin’s given you. How sweet, you think sarcastically, until you remember how Yoongi ripped them off. He could have torn them, and he wouldn’t have cared. You snatch the panties from Jimin’s hand, putting them on as fast as they appeared on shaky legs and smoothing your skirt down.

None of you speak after that. They let you go about your ministrations quietly as if they know you'll crack otherwise, though you feel their eyes as you move to pick up your heels and slip them onto your trembling feet. You’re not even sure you can walk a straight line.

“You look ready enough to me,” Yoongi cuts through the thick of it, taking his time as he looks you up and down. Secretly, you do the same, though with much less confidence.

Unlike you, Yoongi looks just as perfectly intact now as he did before this started, and so does Jimin. They’re nearly identical. Save for the gentle after-sex glow that radiates out.

You won’t look at them as they rise off the couch, lost in your spiraling thoughts. It’s Jimin who startles you out of them by the grace of his hand on your lower back. Nothing deters him from picking you up; not even the way you flinch at the first sign of contact.

You just don’t understand.

Why is Jimin being so nice to you?

When several minutes ago he wouldn’t heed a single plea of yours or give it the time of day?

You could just ask them. The question is on the tip of your tongue. Just say it.

Maybe they’d give it to you bluntly. Why did you do this? That’s all you want out of this now, to understand.

It's all you can think of as you’re being led to the parking lot. You don’t remember leaving the building or even crossing the courtyard to make it this far, nor do you have any idea what time in the afternoon it is. But they were right—no one’s around. It’s as empty as a graveyard. Everyone really did go home.

You chance a glance at Jimin when he opens the handle to a car and tilts his head to the side as an indicator for you to scoot in. You’re reluctant to do so, but then you remember what your alternatives are. You brace yourself and slip inside the nicely furnished vehicle. The leather seats are cold against your bare legs.

So, here you are, in the back seat of a vehicle with the two gentlemen you’ve been going to church with for the past several months, with their cum seeping out of your pussy and the sides of your panties. What if you get it all over the leather seats? Is Yoongi going to be mad? You assume this is his car because he’s the one driving it, and the last thing you need right now is to have one more humiliating thing to happen to you today.

“Where do you live?” Yoongi asks from the driver’s seat. You’re approaching a stoplight.

Your heart skips a beat. Are you really going to tell them where you live? Do you want that?

Is that a good idea?

“Y/n?”

There's no time to think.

“I live in one of the O&M apartments,” you answer, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. Yoongi looks at you through the rearview mirror, so you avert your gaze and pretend to look out the car window. You won't let him observe you so easily.

“I know where that is,” Jimin speaks up from the passenger’s seat, turning around to beam a smile at you in the backseat. It makes your stomach flip. Fuck.

“That’s near where I live. If you take a left after this turn and go down seven or so blocks down,” he points to Yoongi’s side of the car, “it’ll be on the right.”

All you ever knew was that Jimin kind of lived in the area, through word shared on the grapevine, and you kind of left it at that. It was none of your business to know anything more detailed.

Your only saving grace from this suffocating space is that you live no more than a five to ten-minute drive away from your church, depending on traffic, and the rest of it passes in terse silence. Terse from your end. Jimin and Yoongi seem almost impassive towards you now, as if you really had just gotten out of an innocent study session, and you’re beginning to crumble from it. How can they act so normal? You clutch the leather seat until your knuckles are white. They only release as you pick out the familiar view of your apartment complex.

“Well,” Yoongi drawls, pulling up to the front and putting the car in park, “we’re here.”

You’re reaching for the door handle as soon as Yoongi puts on the breaks, all too eager to get the hell out of here and into the comfort of your own space. Jimin senses that urgency and is faster at holding you back by your wrist than you are at opening the door first.

“Wait. Do you have your phone on you?”

It’s the first time you dare look him in the eyes for, and when you do, all you feel inside is weak. How could someone so sweet-looking call you a slut in the same breath he calls you honey?

“I don’t,” you admit, hoping to dodge deeper conversation. You don’t know where this is going or why he’s stalling you. Or what the point of parking is for. “It’s at home—which I really should be at,” you croak, gently tugging on your wrist.

“Give me a second then,” Jimin tells you, and seeing as you don’t have much of a choice, you sit there, watching him oddly as he pulls a pen out of his pocket and pops the cap off. He sticks it between his lips as he writes what looks like a set of numbers on your wrist.

“This is my number,” he finishes, popping the cap back on, and taps each line he’s written, “and this one is Yoongi’s. Remember them.”

Soon as he lets go of your wrist, you find yourself just sitting there, eyes big and wide in confusion. What?

“I don’t understand,” your eyes flit between the two of them, a lump in your throat, “what am I supposed to do with these?”

Your statement carries the weight of two meanings, and yet only one is answered.

“Text us,” Yoongi turns around to face you, and this time there’s no looking away. There’s a lilt in his tone; a promise. “Don’t make us miss you.”

The second you lock the door behind you, you don’t even register the surroundings of your own home. You crumble to the floor and just when everything’s about to spill out and your myriad cocktail of emotions gets the better of you, you don’t. You manage to hold yourself back. At least until you make it somewhere other than the front door.

You throw your head back, toes curling as you straighten your weak legs out. You grimace suddenly when you feel more of the cum they left inside you slipping out of your aching hole. You shift uncomfortably as it collects between your cheeks and so you place your hand between them, feeling the wetness on your fingertips. Flashbacks of what just transpired run through your overwhelmed but vivid memory.

You thought about Jimin first. How large his hands were as they cupped your breasts and abused your nipples. You felt his fingers in places you never thought you’d have them; his mouth unbelievably eager between the valley of your thighs, spreading them open and devouring you whole. Why did he have to do that to you? You didn’t want to cum, but he made you do it twice. Was it meant to add to your humiliation? Just to twist your stomach in knots and confuse you about what you’re so certain you didn’t want.

And then there’s Yoongi. You’re never going to forget how his mouth felt. All he did was lick you for less than a minute and he had you flooding your panties. You thought he was going to make you cum on Jimin’s lap, just to add to it, but all he wanted was a taste before he threw you to the other wolf; more than pleased to watch you with ardent lust as you fell apart underneath Jimin’s lapping tongue.

They played your body better than Yoongi’s fingers did gliding across the white and black keys of the church’s piano; better than the fluid way Jimin gesticulates with his hands when he talks about something passionate in the pews.

You knew, without a reasonable doubt, that there was something seriously fucked up about you. You couldn’t phrase it any other way.

Even if you didn’t want it, even though you begged and pleaded with them to stop in some hopeless endeavor, they broke you down, little by little, and put a crack in you. You came for Jimin, on his fingers and his tongue. You almost came on Yoongi’s cock for fucks sake. They took every single no from you and twisted it into a fucked up yes.

You squeeze your eyes shut. How could you find forgiveness for yourself after this? For Jimin and Yoongi? Thinking about the way their cocks stretched you out so good; how they filled every inch of you up. The burn is still there. The sting from their hips slamming into your ass cheeks is still present. Their words ring in your ears, causing you to press your hands into your eyes.

“Shower,” you whisper, standing up. Your legs are no longer as unreliable. Instead, there’s soreness that’s starting to set into certain sets of muscles. The parts that got the most out of a workout. “I need is a shower.”

Your descent to the bathroom is slow but steady.

You’re never looking them in the eyes again.

After seeing what they did in your bathroom mirror, your breath stops short. They left nothing untouched, no patch of skin ignored.

Your skin was mottled with splotches of slight irritation, brought out more harshly by the bright lights overhead. You graze what looks to be the beginning of bruise marks on your hip bones and wince knowingly. When you run the length of your stomach and see the hickey one of them left on your left breast, you suck in a breath, eyes following your now naked form in the mirror, wet from the shower you took. You examine each part of your anatomy with great detail until your eyes fall on the hickey between your neck and jaw.

“He didn’t,” you hiss, running your fingers over the tender spot. You twist your neck, pulling your hair to the side to get a better look. It’s a deep red, sure to turn purple as it gets worse the first several days. It’s not something easy you’d have hiding with the kind of make-up you have, but you could give it one valiant try before you resorted to begging Ellie to borrow hers.

Which you may or may not do, you haven’t decided yet. The last thing you wanted from her was to see the big red sign on your neck that yells ‘Interrogate me with questions, please! I love being made to talk!’

Pulling your eyes away from the clear glass, you wring out the wet ends of your hair with your body towel and pat dry your face as the last step. You exit the bathroom with a bathrobe tied loosely around your waist and lounge towards your bedroom with two goals: getting dressed and getting distracted.

You switch into a pair of pajama bottoms and a baggy shirt, testing out your sore limbs with a few mild stretches before slipping into some socks. What you need right now is comfort and peace of mind. You need normalcy and time. Otherwise, you have the keenest feeling you’re going to break down and possibly cry since that’s what people do when they don’t know how to process shit.

Yes, that’s what you needed. Just don’t panic. Don’t think about it. Breathe.

Breathing induces hunger. Your stomach growls at the action, the aftertaste of crackers and skittles on your tongue.

You shake your head and book it to the kitchen, this time in slippers. Don’t think about it.

There’s only one way to take your mind off of it and ease the current weight on your shoulders, and that was calling a friend. Even if you didn’t give Ellie the whole story, you had no doubt that she could make you feel better with the flick of her manicured fingers. In tough times, she always knew you could turn to her.

As if on cue, the familiar sound of her customized ring tone plays throughout the room, her smiling face popping up as the caller ID. You scramble to find it, discovering it’s exactly where you knew you left it: the kitchen counter. You were occupied with making sure you wouldn’t forget your house keys for the second time in the last month and have to spend god knows how long outside your landlord's door just so they could let you back into your own home.

But would it have mattered now? No, you think not. Again, don’t think about it. It can’t be that hard. Not for me.

You answer it after the second ring, taking a deep breath in.

“Hey,” You croak out, sounding lame and then hopeful. “I missed you. And I’m really sorry. I forgot my phone at home and haven’t had a chance to check my messages yet.”

As soon as you say that, she launches into a whole tirade about why you should be sorry and proceeds to call you a beautiful basket case in the same harmless string of sentences. You try to stifle a laugh at the cause of her rambling, but you can’t stop the giggle that rises. She really knows how to turn herself inside out—in the most comical way. And it might be what you need: her. Or so you think until her focus flips onto you.

“What have I been up to?” You repeat, knowing full well that she’s already asked you twice, but felt it necessary to emphasize the obvious. You switch your balance onto a different foot, choosing your next words carefully. You can’t tell the truth, so you have to come up with some sort of believable but small lie. Something her sensitive senses won’t pick up on. “I was just out, getting lunch. And then I met up with a classmate…”

It’s only been a handful of hours and several minutes that have passed since Jimin’s last seen you.

And since then, you’re all he can think about.

In the beginning, he had this whole idea of how he was going to play with you—like a cat pawing a mouse around—but he couldn’t stand the sight of you laid out before him; your hands balled into fists as Yoongi squeezed your wrists tight. They barely touched you and yet your panties were wet through the sheer material.

He fingers his notebook in thought, folding and unfolding one corner edge as he relives a few of his favorite moments. He can’t concentrate on any of his work when you were so, so soft and wild in his hands. He wanted to know what you felt like so badly, wanted to find out if you’d be as good of a fuck as he thought you’d be.

“I should’ve taken them,” He huffs, biting his lip. It’s his only regret. Just the thought of you having to leave without your panties on, with his cumming running down your thighs made his cock twitch in arousal.

He had all the power in the world. And it was delicious. Like eating the apple offered to Adam, so sweet and so wrong. Sinful. It’s the best way he can describe it. The power he had to do whatever he wanted with you and without consequence was unlike anything he’d felt before. It was a long dream come true. He wishes it was your hand wrapped around his cock again, only this time you’d suck him until he decided where he wanted to cum first.

It’s all he can think about.

That and why he nor Yoongi haven’t gotten that telltale ring of a text message from you yet.

Out the corner of his eye, he sees his phone, face down on his desk, alerts him of an incoming message. He swipes it, figuring it’s going to be anyone but you, and would you look at that—

He’s right. It’s not from you.

Frowning, he has to think about what it was that you were doing that has you so damn busy?

His assumptions are getting the best of him; growing more certain every hour that passes that you’re avoiding him with deliberate intention.

And sure, he understands. He may be many things—a gentleman, a wolf in sheep’s clothing—but he wasn’t lacking in reading people. Half of him wonders if he pushed you too far and that’s quite the possibility, he mulls over, and the other half—well, it wants to show you the error of your ways.

What about “next time” and “text us” didn’t you understand?

“Hey, don’t hurt your pretty face from overthinking.”

Jimin’s so startled he almost tips back in his chair. He saves himself at the last second, swiveling around to glare at the bane of his existence.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Taehyung, to stop entering my home whenever you please—”

“—your door was unlocked.”

“Does that mean it’s an invitation?”

“Uh, yeah.” Taehyung also has no problem just waltzing into his room, plopping down on his bed with what looks to be a bag of chips. He pops one into his mouth, eyeing the blond. “Everyone else is outside, unloading the car.”

“What?” Jimin asks, perplexed. He didn’t know about this?

“Listen, you’ve been too busy for us all week,” Taehyung chews, swallows. Another chip bites the dust. “So, if you can’t attend and enjoy any of our glorious game nights, we’ll just bring them to you.”

Taehyung smiles, pleased with himself. “You want one?” He asks, offering the bag to Jimin.

“No thanks.”

“Then tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’m your friend, duh,” and this time, Taehyung rolls his eyes.

“It’s nothing,” Jimin deflects, a hint of teasing, but his friend sees right through him, “at least not yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you remember y/n?”

“No shit,” Taehyung gestures, chip in the air, “but go on.”

“That’s the kicker, Taehyung.” The blond pouts, a smile in his eyes. Taehyung knows that look. When Jimin looks like that it means he’s got something juicy to spill. “You won’t get to find out more until I feel like saying it.”

Jimin sticks his tongue out. Taehyung squints and slaps Jimin on the knee.

“What if we get a six-pack in you, will you spill? Let's try.”

“Are you aware of how rude you are? It’s going to take more than that to get me off my ass! What do you take me for?”

“A little bit of a pu—”

“Why is it whenever I find the two of you together, you’re always like this?”

Both men look to the doorway. It’s Hoseok, carrying a very noticeable case of beer and Soju, a smile lighting his sunny features as he bats his eyes between the two of them.

“Is that whole thing for us?” Jimin asks, eyeing the case.

“Yep! And there’s more to come! Come downstairs, 'cause we’re not waiting on your asses a minute longer!” After that, Hobi disappears down the stairs, clearly expecting them to follow.

“Let’s go,” Taehyung stands up. Jimin follows suit. They both know the other man isn’t kidding. The other five men could easily wipe out two cases of each beverage within an hour if they get too carried away arguing. “The faster we get those drinks in you, the faster you tell us everything, including the last three digits to your credit card!”

“Shut up. If you want another sugar daddy, go to Jin.” Jimin shoves Taehyung in the back of the shoulder, causing him to halfway stumble and turn around to curse the blond out. He’s got everything he needs right now: good company, booze, and some highly competitive gaming about to happen. Asses will be kicked, and he will rise victorious. He can take out some of his frustration over you out on Jungkook, or anyone he sets his eyes on. His friends are perfect.

As they descend, he can hear voices shouting over each other.

“Give me back the controller or I swear to God I’ll end you! Now!”

The night is still young.

It took two wonderful hours to completely distract you, but it was worth it. Ellie enchanted you with silly stories that made your belly ache and jokes that made your heart clench for a whole new reason. You bonded over workplace gossip and academic pains until eventually, your conversation had lulled a little into background noise. Once you heard her scolding one of her cats for using the couch instead of her scratch post to sharpen her nails, you took that as your opportunity to remind her, again, that you had to go.

“I love you, Ellie,” and you meant it when you said it, “but if I don’t go now, I won’t get anything done. You know me.”

She only relents after calling you a little old lady who needs her beauty sleep, and you let the genuine laugh that follows roll off your shoulders. This time, your goodbye is final, and you’re the one to hang up first. You let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding in.

You know you’re not really going to study your notes for tomorrow or pick up a book to read. It’s the last thing on your mind now that you no longer have Ellie to distract you. As much as you love her, you know it couldn’t last forever. Sooner or later you were going to wind up exactly where you knew you’d end up: in bed, watching the sky turn from high and bright to twilight through your open window, restless and sore.

You made good choices in how to take care of yourself, but now you’ve exhausted all of them. The only thing you can do now is lie in bed, freshly washed and fed, and switch between your two favorite channels: your ceiling and the window.

When you look at your ceiling for too long, you can see patterns in the paint. Your imagination can make out faces within the swirls, and all of them feel as if they’re morphing into judgmental stares with their crooked eyes and mouths. They know what no one else knows.

You lied to your best friend. Actually, you told more lies in a single conversation with her than you had throughout your entire friendship, and why?

Jimin and Yoongi linger in the back of your head, rising to the surface now that you have nothing else to think about, to do, or to be. It’s just you, alone with all your memories and feelings, and here you are, faced with the task of defining them.

Without thinking, you touch the side of your neck, close to where your jaw is. When you touch the tender spot, it reacts to your touch and elicits a natural sting. You saw it in the bathroom, how bad it looked. You estimated it would take at least a week to go away because of how enthusiastic Jimin was when he gave it to you. He trapped you between his arms, mouth evasive, as he made you squirm into the couch. He felt so hot against you, warm like a furnace.

You smash your face into the pillow as the memory makes your face hot, your body tingle. You drag your fingers away, clutching the bedsheets instead as a sudden wave of passion overcomes you. It’s so intense, so indecipherable, that it brings you to sudden, hot tears. They form fast, rolling down your face, staining the pillow as you hold it close.

What happened back there, with Jimin and Yoongi, it changed something in you. Something you couldn’t define yet, but inherently sensed. And now you were mourning that piece of yourself.

Was it some kind of kiss? A piece of you died in their arms.

“Why?” You blink through the tears, speaking aloud in the emptiness of your bedroom. “Why am I like this? Why am I feeling like this? I liked Jimin and Yoongi, I should—I should hate them—shouldn’t I? Because…”

Nothing answers you besides the voice in your own head. Shouldn’t you?

In the bigger picture, you thought they were just going to be passing crushes your attention would eventually move on from, as you usually do. But they stuck. You started to savor the small moments when you crossed paths in the pews and at other functions, and then you’d go home and scream into your pillow because it didn’t matter how you felt, it was all a fantasy in the end. You’d be dreaming—hoping—for something that was nothing.

Your heart tightens. You really liked them. It didn’t matter who came first. It didn’t matter if it was right for you to harbor feelings for two different people. So long as you invited only love into your heart, it should be fine, isn’t it? And slowly but surely, you fell for Jimin’s beautifully round, yet almond eyes, and the twinkle that harbored in them. You fell for the way Yoongi laughed with such ease; how intelligent he came across when he spoke. He was pensive, quiet… beautiful.

They were both beautiful, unbelievably so. You couldn’t deny that. Even as they opened their mouth wide, teeth sharp, and debased you for all that you were worth just hours ago. One moment you’re honey, and the next you’re a slut. The paradox was stifling.

“It’d be so much easier if I did hate them.” You blink back your tears, squeezing them shut, and speak to your empty room. "Wouldn't it?"

You stare into your closet mirror. The girl looking back at you had a bit of a blotchy face by rubbing your eyes into your pillow. You’re squeezing the second one tight.

What was the truth?

The truth is that it lies between your legs. Not the evidence they left behind. The evidence that you had carefully washed away, but the throb you’d get every time you’d have flashbacks about those fervent moments. You couldn’t count how many minutes passed in that room that you spent under them. You easily lost track of time when Jimin has his tongue on your clit and Yoongi’s cock stuffing your mouth.

“God,” you whisper, harsh and dry, “it’s not fair!”

None of it is. And none of it makes any sense to you. The way they came onto you was uncharacteristic, unpredictable, and overwhelming. They were a pair of polite and sweet men that you would mostly watch from afar, so that’s how you saw them. But you experienced them so… differently. And yet…

You swallow, biting your lip. They made you like it. You let your guard down.

I know how soft Yoongi’s lips are. How gentle he can be when he kisses at first. And it was entirely unlike how he fucked you. You remember the way he held onto your hips as he dragged you down his dick, fast and dirty like he was trying to take something out on you.

You remember how Jimin made you come on his tongue without mercy. Without shame. He only had a fire in his eyes when he buried his face between your legs, peeking up at you between your pert breasts. You remember nearly coming on Yoongi’s cock and if you had, you knew you would have died on the spot. All because in a matter of minutes they reduced you to some kind of loose-lipped slut.

You uncross your ankles, thighs aching. Is that what you were, deep, deep down? To them? For them? You bring your heart to your chest, heart beating rapidly at the thought. What was worse? That they made you enjoy it, or that they could have chosen not to?

You clutch at your shirt, only to let it go. Your arm hangs off the bed, glowing under the twilight shine that comes through your window. And illuminated, clear as day, are the numbers that stubbornly stayed put on your wrist. You bring it to your face, examining every digit.

Should you have washed it away?

Maybe I should. You think it, but you’ve yet to get up and move. You’re rooted to your bed, staring at the rather delicate handwriting. It tickled. When he wrote it. You deflate. It took everything in you to stay as still as a statue while he took what felt like forever writing it.

‘Text us. Don’t make us miss you.’

That’s what he said. The look Yoongi gave you through the rearview mirror was rather effective in letting you know that while it sounded like a choice, it might have been another ‘polite’ order. Were there consequences if you did or didn’t?

Half of you didn’t want to find out, but the other half couldn’t do anything to pick up the phone on your nightstand. It just rests there, with no messages or alerts at the moment. Your life is as quiet as your room now. Your soul is unsound. Everything tends to change once the sun goes down.

It’ll fade if I leave it too long. You press your thumb pad against the first area code, but the ink doesn’t pick up, not yet. Maybe after a few more washes if you deliberately decide you won’t. You’re biting the inside of your cheek, unable to make up your mind. Either choice puts you between a rock and a hard place, trapping you in a decision you’re forced to make.

“Damned if I do,” you shift onto your side, grabbing your phone, hesitating. It’s cold to the touch and the screen blinks at you as it wakes up. You’re not ready for this, or what the future holds for you. “Damned if I don’t.”

Decisions, decisions.

“Hey, where is Yoongi-Hyung? It’s his turn.”

“He said he had to take a phone call real quick.”

“Oh,” Jungkook answers, fiddling with the game controller, “that’s fine. Once he comes back I can show him what losing feels like.”

“Jesus, you’re something else,” Hobi laughs, leaning back.

But after about ten minutes of waiting, the boys decidedly chose to take on each other until their missing friend returned. After going through two turns Jimin chooses to be the guy who gets up and check on him.

Opening the sliding door to the kitchen and stepping inside, Jimin realizes Yoongi is still on the phone, and it’s obvious it’s from his mom. He remains silent, but when Yoongi turns around he mouths ‘are you coming back or what?’

He shakes his head, furrowing his brows as his mother continues to talk and talk. One thing he doesn’t quite appreciate is that she’s the type to keep someone on the phone as long as possible. You can say something, anything, and she’ll chime in with, ‘oh, let me tell you about this new technique I found on the internet…’ or some other slightly relatable thing and so on and so forth.

“That’s really great, Mom. I’m happy you’ve been picking up a few hobbies,” Yoongi juggles his phone between his shoulder and ear, keeping his phone steady while he takes a beer out of the fridge, cracking it open and taking a swig. "Before I forget, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

He’s been trying to get it out of her three times, but she just gets distracted by other topics. It takes a minute for her to tell him everything, and as she does, a smile overtakes his features and grows ever wider, his eyes glinting with mischief. He takes a glance at Jimin, mouthing that he’ll be off soon, he just needs everyone to be patient.

“That’s good news. I’d love to help out.” He tells her. “Don’t worry. You can always count on me to be there. We'll talk more later, okay? I promise. Tell dad I said hi.” With that, he says his goodbyes and hangs up.

“What was that about? You’re missing the whole game. Jungkook's beating everyone.”

“I didn’t know it was going to take that long,” Yoongi takes another swig of his drink and shrugs, “but I have good news.”

“And you’re going to tell me...?”

“Mom wants to do a bible study on Wednesday at Sun Hee's place.” Yoongi reveals, walking up to his friend. “Something different, maybe with a few more people. She’d like it if we both came along.”

“Okay…” Jimin murmurs, waiting for him to shell out the rest of the details.

"Y/n's mom will be there. That means her daughter might come too, either out of choice or obligation. You know how mothers are."

It takes a second for Jimin to comprehend what Yoongi is saying, and when it dawns on him his eyes glint with the same appeal.

Nothing could be better than this. Well… that’s not completely true. Cumming in your tight little pussy came first on his top ten best experiences.

“I think that gives her plenty of time to come to a decision," Jimin nods, more to himself than anything, "since I suspect she’s going to try and avoid us.”

“Of course."

Yoongi believes that he knows you better than you know yourself already. His intuition is rarely wrong and making risky assumptions are his forte.

“She’s stubborn. Some learn the first time around, others take a little more convincing."

This is why Jimin adores his older friend. He's rarely ever wrong.

“So, do you plan guys plan on coming back or what?”

Eyes are drawn to the door, the two of them whip around to see Taehyung leaning against the door frame.

“We could really use two more players.”

“Yoongi was on the phone with his mom, you know how it is," Jimin explains as smoothly as he slips one of the bottles out of Yoongi's hands. The man doesn't even care to fight, since he got it for Jimin in the first place.

“Talking your ear off again, huh?”

“You know it,” Yoongi walks past Taehyung, and the youngest turns sideways to let him out respectfully.

“Just how much of that conversation did you catch?” Jimin eyes the other blonde. He doesn't want to blow the cover he's crafted when he was hoping to reveal it a little at a time. Tell it like a juicy piece of fruit someone can't wait to sink their teeth in because if there’s anything the boys love talking about it, it’s the arts, gaming, and everyone's favorite: sexual conquests.

“About what?” Taehyung’s eyes are innocent and wide, and although Jimin can’t quite tell if he’s deceiving him or not, he won't dwell on it.

One blond follows the other out of the kitchen, and within moments they’re invested in a competitive match of wits and reflexes.

But with Jimin's back turned, Taehyung can’t stop his little secretive smile.

Of course, he didn't hear anything.

141 notes · View notes

loquaciouslo · 2 years

Text

4 / ? | Lesson Learned.

chapter synopsis. just what have you gotten yourself into, little lamb?

pairings. yoongi x reader. jimin x reader. eventual 0t7

genre. a little psychological, smut ✨

word count. 6.9k

next chapter ➸

WARNINGS! dub con / non con ahead, rough sex, sub!reader, a lot of dirty talk, coercion, heavy degradation, slut shaming, manipulation, manhandling, oral (m & f receiving), forced orgasm, spit-roasting, choking, hair pulling, creampie, religious imagery & guilt

author’s note. sorry, everyone, there was technical delays with getting ch 4 posted because tumblr posts = trash glitches but it’s all good now bc i had the time to deal with it, it’s fine!

I think we’re gonna stay.

The tone of Jimin’s voice is playful, though final. It takes you one, two, three seconds to register what that means for you, flinching when you feel the possessive hand sliding up your spine again. It means to keep you in place. His mouth ghosts over your jaw, nuzzling it, and you feel something faint—oh my god, you realize—is his tongue, soft and moist, against it. You shudder. Despite your proclamations, your body can’t deny that something so simple feels kind of good.

“This is very unorthodox,” You whine both their names, nervous and hyper-aware of your surroundings now. You jump as a presence—Yoongi’s presence—gets closer.

“Turn her around,” Yoongi says, and if either of them heard you, they make no impression to indicate it. Two sets of strong hands are twisting your body around to where they want you, which is to display you like some sort of five-course meal on Jimin’s lap, your back pressed to his lithe chest. This way, you’re spread out for their gazes to drink in. You feel small, smaller than you’ve ever felt, in the here and now.

You have a clear name for the look that swirls in Yoongi’s eyes, and it’s the budding signs of lust. If only you could see yourself through his eyes; your skirt completely scrunched up to your waist, a permanent fixture that serves to accentuate your luscious thighs. Then there’s your blouse, a crinkled mess that barely contains what they conceal, hugging you in perfection.

“Take this off.” He directs, and just like that, Jimin’s hands are going to undo the first button he feels out, making quick work of the garment. That jump-starts your limps into action, something they were momentarily failing to do before, and in order to preserve your modesty, you pry at the hands that tug and pull at it, scrambling to grip your blouse shut.

“Get off me,” You protest, a fight brewing in you, while you attempt to twist around and dislodge the hands that don’t seem to be hindered by your rebuttals. In fact, it’s like they predict it in advance. Jimin's well ahead of you.

“Just relax.” Yoongi has the audacity to shush you, leaning over your bowed, struggling form to wind a hand in your locks of hair and grip your head to the side. Hard enough to make you still and stop, your eyes wide and rapt in attention. You gaze into endless brown eyes. Your world closes in on you, having Yoongi’s face so close to yours, his mouth just inches away from kissing you…

And then you remember, you’re just a helpless lamb, trapped in a lion’s den, made to be their next meal. You can't forget that.

You know there’s something deeply wrong with you when despite having these realizations as they fall upon you, one by one, your fear-addled brain still has the time to admire your assaulter’s face. You can’t help but look from his eyes to his lips next as he talks to you. They look so soft. Or so you’ve imagined, you think hotly, and with ill-timing.

“Look at me.”

You do, lids snapping up. He has your attention now.

“You’re gonna calm down, and you’re gonna stop this—” he gestures to your labored breathing from struggling, “—crap.”

You shiver when his voice drops to a dangerously low level, voice deep. Where is this coming from? Where is this all coming from? You shiver again. From his voice and from the feeling of cool air caressing your shoulders, your chest, your stomach. Jimin’s talented fingers have managed to get off every last button, leaving the blouse to hang idly off each shoulder, sheer bra, and ample swelling of your breasts exposed. You shake underneath him as the blond runs his hands down your arms.

“She’s shaking, Hyung,” Jimin points out, much to your distress, “she must be nervous.”

Yoongi makes a noise halfway between a sound of recognition and amusement, a twinkle in his eyes.

“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about,” Jimin coos, kissing your shoulder. It doesn’t distract you from the hand that slips underneath the wire of your bra, though. “We just want to get to know you better.”

“All of you,” Yoongi adds, for good and clear measure. He doesn’t bother hiding his smile behind his teeth anymore.

“You don’t—you don’t have to do this,” You protest, heart beating like a rabbit when Jimin’s wandering hand brushes the edge of your panties. Your legs practically draw shut at the intrusion. “Stop—help me—”

“What did I say.” Yoongi interrupts you with a tight squeeze to your throat, causing you to choke out your next syllables and fall quiet altogether. Your heart is furious in your chest, blood pounding in your ears. Your only blessing is that he doesn’t choke you to hurt you. It’s a warning, a small demonstration of what he could do to you if he really wanted to. You understand the message. “Don’t scream.”

A part of you wants to say fuck the consequences and do it anyways. Do it because he’s telling you not to. But Jimin’s way well ahead of you and speaks before you even have the idea to think it.

“Don’t be silly,” Jimin warns, his hands hot on your sides. Yoongi’s hands, with a gentleness that beguiles him, parts your thighs.

“You know everyone’s left and gone home. Everyone except you. And you also know that the next group of people won’t be here for the next several hours when evening service rolls around. So, until then, you’re alone and all ours.”

"Frankly, there's nothing you can do about it.” Yoongi nods in agreement, smacking your thigh when you fail him. “So, behave.”

Your thoughts have gone from anxious, to wild and dangerous. You face one fact: you’re one and they’re two. The chances of you escaping are slim. You’re truly beginning to understand that. One of the pressing questions that overwhelm your mind is why you? Out of everyone, why single you out? You wish you could understand it, you’re trying, but your mind crops up with a blank. This doesn’t make sense. You want it to make sense, but it's so out of your vision.

As your confusion continues to sink in, Yoongi is there to watch it take over. Once he’s sure the truth of the matter has settled in that pretty head of yours, he rewards you with a caress of your cheek and bends down to close what distance between you and him there is. Your thought from earlier comes back full force, hitting you with a dose of butterflies despite your resistance. His mouth against yours feels unbearably soft, like the petals of any fragrant flower. You can smell—even taste something sweet from it, and for half a second you nearly find yourself relaxing. It's like kissing the man you thought he'd be.

You freeze. That’s a dangerous thought. And this is a dangerous time. Were you really that desperate? Willing to submit with barely a kiss? You’re reminded of the hand around your throat. These aren’t acts of love, of someone who likes me. You can’t let your body get this twisted when you know in your heart that this—all of this—is undeniably wrong. It’s wrong. Just like it’d be wrong for you to even entertain the hunger in their hearts, with you as their possession.

But Yoongi doesn’t think so. He believes differently, thinks otherwise. He takes your confusion as silent affirmation, so what starts off as exploitative pecks against your mouth turns into an insistent nibble at your bottom lip. He wants a taste of you, and he’ll be damned if he lets you deny him that.

“Mm, that’s better.” He hums, happy when you obey. You swallow, on edge. He applies no pressure, so there’s no active threat taking place, but it leaves you breathless from the warning alone it poses. “So pretty when you listen.”

Your ears turn hot at that, your heart squeezing around another stilted breath.

“God, she is,” Jimin leans into your back, his voice hot in your ear. He punctuates that statement with a roll of his hips, just so you can feel the hard length of his cock digging into your bare ass, pressing hot and insistent against you through your thin layers. “Just look at these perky tits, Hyung. Been wanting to feel these for ages."

Jimin hooks his fingers into your bra faster than a kid can blow his birthday candles out. The sheer bra is yanked up over your chest, snapping against your neck. Now bare, both sets of men let out a collective groan; Yoongi’s pupils blowing out at the sight of you. Greedy hands from behind you come to cup them, roll the nipples between their fingers just so you’ll keep squirming in his lap, teasing him with the friction it provides.

You let out a cry, inching up his surprisingly lithe body, yours overheating at the two sets of hands that grab and pull at you. Yoongi’s eyes bore into yours, watching for every fleck and change in your expression as Jimin pinches one nipple particularly hard. It makes you hiss, much to Yoongi’s delight.

While you’re helpless against their actions, forced to react shamelessly, they’re soaking every inch up, using it and you as fuel for their own arousal.

“See? Doesn’t that feel nice?” Jimin slows down, soothing the nub he just brutalized. “It does, doesn’t it. I wonder what else you’ll let me see.”

It’s Jimin’s hand that rubs you over your underwear, making you choke on your plea. You give it one last go at snapping your legs shut out of instinct, but Yoongi prevents you from doing that, keeping them pinned apart. His face says it all: he dares you to keep it up and see what happens. And then, it’s gone, morphing into something else entirely.

“Jimin’s barely touched you over this slutty pair of underwear, baby, and you’re so responsive.” Yoongi sounds so sweet and yet his words cut. Something hits you in the gut at his words, and you shake your head ‘no’ as if you can shake the notion off.

“They’re—they’re not slutty,” you defend. That’s not true.

“They are,” Jimin affirms. Yoongi nods sagely.

“Look at this lacy shit. Why else would you wear them out if you didn’t want someone to see them?” The blond tells you, as you if you should feel bad for your poor choices. But then he has an epiphany, one that turns his tone into one of entertainment. “I bet you wanted us to see, huh? That’s why you went through the trouble to match.”

“I…I don’t always…” You fail to defend, face hot when he rubs his hand brazenly through your tights. The sensation it elicits causes you to choke on your syllables, shame coursing through you at how easily your body reacts to just a touch and a tease. Your mind knows better, but your body doesn't.

“You don’t what, baby?” Yoongi hums, voice dripping with intent. He has to readjust his dick in his slacks at the sight of Jimin rubbing you between your legs, causing you to squirm and shudder over him, your face knit into expressions he’s never seen on you before. Not until today. “You don’t always wear lace and blouses this tight? Or skirts this short? Flaunting your perky tits around without any shame, just so Jiminie and I will take pity and notice them?”

That’s not true. You do feel shame. You feel an unspeakable amount of it. Your head drops back against the softness of Jimin’s shoulder, cradled by it. Your eyes begin to swell with the beginning of tears, starting to believe what you thought were once just ill-found accusations, but now you’re not so sure. The reasons you had to defend yourself fade into the background. Haven’t you at least once thought about it? Wearing something just a little flirtatious so they’d think of you the next day? Just fantasies you tried not to indulge in. Maybe you were just as bad as you feared.

Perhaps it’s cruel of them to find even an ounce of pleasure in those opal tears threatening to bubble around the corner of your lashes, but in their defense, you make too provocative of an image to ignore; too pretty of a mess to make out of. In their perspective, you might as well have brought this upon yourself.

“You’re a bad girl,” Yoongi says, a matter of fact, with a glimpse of white teeth. He rids himself of the buttons on his sleeves, rolling them up to his arms. Arms you’ve admired before on the rare occasion he’s wear something with short sleeves. They flex as he crouches down. “A tease. But we’re gonna fix that.”

Yoongi’s hands go for the hemline of your tights, snatching them down your hips like a man with practiced ease. Jimin helps by lifting your ass just enough for the eldest to get them down your thighs, past your knees, until he’s tugging them off along with your heels. You lose the tiniest bit of warmth with your legs now bare and nothing to obstruct Yoongi’s eyes, admiring and hungry, from your core.

“Please,” You tuck your head to the side, arms held still by Jimin’s surprisingly strong hands, just in case you have second thoughts about listening. Truth be told, you don’t know what you’re asking for, but you shiver in nervousness when Yoongi’s close enough to feel his breath against your pelvis. “You don’t have to—ah!”

You’re ashamed of the moan that spills out when he pulls your panties aside and licks a broad stripe along your center. You make no eye contact, eyes falling on the door. The door that Yoongi locked, trapping you here. So long as you don’t look at the man between your legs, violating you with a flick of his soft pink tongue, you can survive the embarrassment of this. Your resolve goes out the window when he pulls your panties down and tosses them somewhere in the room, then back to where he was.

“Hyung,” Jimin murmurs in appreciation, happy to see your panties go wayside. You don’t know what it’s for, but Yoongi does. He takes a minute to answer his companion, too focused on swirling his tongue in search of your clit before diving between your folds to taste the middle. When he finally moves away from your trembling form, it’s with a wicked lick of his lips, shiny with your arousal. Shame practically drowns you. He got you wet, and for what?

“You’ve got such a sweet little pussy,” He states, unashamed, running two of his fingers through your center. It takes everything in you not to arch into his touch. “I can’t wait to stuff it full of my cock. But first, I think Jiminie deserves some too.”

Your eyes widen at Yoongi’s vulgarity, speechless. A dark part of you doesn’t mind the idea, more fearful of the unknown than anything. More than you are disgusted. Your pelvic muscles clench as the turmoil for yourself builds. Yoongi can see it written all over your face as he picks apart your myriad of emotions.

“I sure fucking do,” Jimin growls, thrusting up into your ass while his fingers come down to meet Yoongi’s. He dips his finger between your folds too, collecting your wetness between his fingers. You gasp at the invasion as he pulls them away to give his fingers a look. His eyes practically darken at the results. “You’re wet from just this? Hyung, get her ass on the couch. I want her on her back.”

Yoongi follows his request, grabbing both your arms and maneuvering you around like a little old rag doll, pushing you onto your back. You hit the cushions with a soft bounce, watching as Jimin switches places with Yoongi so fast you can hardly blink first. He looks at you like you’re not even y/n anymore, you’re something to objectify, and you can see the desire that takes over the dark depths of his pretty rounded eyes.

You can’t believe someone so sweet and innocent looking could be so full of raw sin and bad intentions.

“Finally,” The blond exhales, eyes glued to your glistening lips. He thinks you look positively juicy like this, despite your efforts to hide it with your hands, blocking his line of vision.

“Stop looking,” You raise your voice as you command it, far more demanding in their opinion than you have any right to be.

“Impossible, Jagi.” He shifts back on the couch to hover his face over your core, pillow lips grazing your inner thigh. "Remember, you’re mine right now. I’m gonna look all I want.”

His mouth descends on you, and your pelvis does jerk away when he wastes nothing to find your clit, rolling his tongue around it in tight little circles when it's found. Doesn’t he care that Yoongi’s mouth was just on you? Doesn’t he mind sharing? You’ve never known two men who were so gung-ho about going after the same girl. Usually, there’s jealousy involved, but usually, it's just not done like this. What you do see is teamwork in keeping you at their mercy. You're so screwed.

You try to avoid that fact by covering your face since your arms have some freedom to do as they want. You squeeze your eyes shut, blocking out the sensations Jimin’s energetic tongue rises out of you. Yoongi won’t have that; he wants you to suffer from the pleasure you experience. He wants you to cave; he wants you begging.

Yoongi pins your wrists down as your hips thrust off the couch, straight against the pressure of Jimin’s flickering tongue, and just as quickly drop, a bashful cry leaves you, eyes consumed with confusion and leaking tears. Jimin pulls you down the couch some more to get better control of you. You wish you weren’t so sensitive, making it so easy for them to manipulate your body to how they see fit.

It’s mortifying how easy and fast he brings you closer and closer to your peak, sucking you with just the right alternating moves and soothing licks. He regards you closely, noting every twitch spasm of your thighs, listening for every gasp of air you haul in. He won’t relent until you’re shivering underneath him, tightening his grip on your thighs to keep you down. He doesn’t want you running away from his mouth when you’re so close to tipping over and he's going to bring you there. He can feel it, taste it on his tongue.

“Please—Please don’t, please stop, I d-don’t want to cum,” You babble, shaking your head as you look up at Yoongi, pleading with half-lidded eyes. “I don't want to do this, please guys, I can’t—”

“Too bad, baby,” Yoongi denies you, thumbing your wrist. You don’t call the shots here, he does.

You never get a chance to say anything back, rendered a babbling mess as Jimin’s tongue takes you to your peak in just a matter of minutes, stars blinding the corners of your eyes. You chant something you can’t quite hear from yourself, but it has both men smiling as wide as two sharks as you come down, panting and huffing. Jimin’s tongue continuous to lap at you, drinking you in, and when it’s time for him to pull away you’re confused when he doesn’t.

He just squeezes your thighs, refusing to let them go. To let you go. He keeps at it, running his tongue over you to collect your wetness, slurping it away until there’s nothing left. Not until you make more. Jimin eats you out like he’s enjoying his last meal and he wants to savor every swallow. Mercilessly he goes back to lapping at your clit, ignoring your pleas for him to give up.

“I can’t—It’s too much, it’s too much—” But Jimin pointedly ignores you and your cries to stop. You won't make it, not with how badly your legs are shaking, your hips twisting in vain in his grip. The fact that you can’t move very far or effectively increases your sense of helplessness, forcing you to realize that you have to take everything that Jimin gives you. There isn't a no. Not one that matters to him. You quake under Yoongi’s tight hold around your wrists, attempting to jerk them free. Anything to push away Jimin’s wicked, punishing mouth.

“You can and you will,” Jimin purrs against you, kitten licks against your quivering clit.

Jimin looks positively feral, one thick finger pressed gently against your hole, teasing it by circling it. He pushes in, brows furrowed, up till the first knuckle and mutters a curse for everyone to hear. “When’s the last time anyone’s fucked you, Jagi? You’re so tight.”

“Answer him,” Yoongi says when you don’t.

“I—I don’t know,” You sputter between labored breaths, words frantic and unwilling to give such a personal part of yourself away. You bite your lip, hard. “At least a few… a few years.”

“Isn’t that a shame and a blessing,” Jimin hums like he's happy to hear that, and pushes his finger in the rest of the way, nudging you deeper than even you’ve ventured in a long time. Jimin lets out another curse as you throw your head back, ashamed at how good it feels to feel Jimin’s tongue back where it was while he slowly pumps a finger in. You’re not so sure you can handle another orgasm so soon.

You don’t get to make the decisions, however, when Jimin goes back to hyper-fixating on what's between your legs, making noises you’ve never heard a man make before. Not like this. Then again, you’ve never been eaten out as enthusiastically as now and you’ve never had two orgasms in a row from someone. Jimin’s not inexperienced, you can tell by the way he's learning to read your resisting body. He watches you reach your peak again; another grand crescendo is about to befall you. With the added stimulation of a second finger pushing in past the first, it’s too much sensation at once.

I can’t handle this, I can’t, you shudder, feeling as if your body is going to go crazy. Warmth spreads throughout every inch of you. It washes over you in waves, reminiscent of the blinding sun behind your eyes. There’s a moment of extreme tiredness that washes over you too, all from cumming for the second time within a matter of minutes. You’re a trembling mess once he’s done with you, eyes downcast and hazy.

Briefly, you catch out of the corner of your eye the three bibles that lay haphazard on the table, reminding you of your place in this. You feel shame hit every deep, sensitive, guilty nerve, snapping your head in the other direction. Was this all a plan? A ruse? To get you alone, and vulnerable...

“So good, and so fucking wet for me,” Jimin smacks his perfect pillow lips, his words ringing in your ears. It takes a while for your senses to come back to you, and then you’re disorientated all over again when Jimin drops your thighs and Yoongi gets up. You notice the warmth of his lap is immediately gone, leaving you to be hot and flushed all by yourself. You lay there, not ready to move or be moved.

Jimin bends down and crawls over your body, shielding you from the room’s light and casting you in his shadow. He looks down at you, a predator’s stare, and when your shifty eyes drift down you can see how hard he is, slacks tented and strained. For a moment you think he’s about to kiss you, but he ducks his head, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You can feel his lips on the skin there, licking, biting, sucking until blood rushes to the surface and leaves a deep red hickey in its wake. You squirm the whole time, mouth open and incapable of holding back your voice as he leaves something of himself on you.

“You’re really vocal. I love that.” He says when he’s done, satisfied with his work. “And guess what? It’s time for you to get down.”

He grins, lifting you up by the head with him. He pulls you into his chest as he stands, and you’re almost thankful for it because of your wobbling legs. Cumming twice wiped you out, leaving you a mess of unstable nerves.

You let out a totally undignified yelp when Yoongi spins you around and aids you into a kneeling position. This way you’re face to face with his hand as goes to undo his zipper, pulling out what you can only describe as a cock you don’t think is going to fit in you. You swallow thickly, eyes shifting from side to side, your hands twitching in your lap. Uncertainty has never felt so deep.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Yoongi smiles something absolutely sinful, expectation and excitement written all over him. You peek at the revealed skin you’ve never once thought you were going to bear actual witness to. “You’re gonna get up on your knees and you’re gonna put my cock in your mouth.”

Yoongi licks his lips, waiting for you to comply. Jimin really likes you like this based on how hard he's chewing on his lip. To them, you’re like a well-wrapped present on Christmas morning they can’t wait to tear it open and get their fingers in. There’s just something undeniably pleasing about making a mess out of someone that once looked so perfectly put together. When you make no move, stunned by his bluntness, he decides to make it happen by gripping your hair and helping you there.

“Suck,” The eldest instructs, and red in the cheeks you slowly do, much to his satisfaction. You don’t get a say in the matter when Yoongi takes a hold of your jaw, angling you just right so your mouth is aligned with the head of his cock. You open your mouth without prompting, and he swirls the velvety head against your plump lips, wetting them with the bit of pre-cum that’s gathered there, before feeding you the first couple of inches. You handle it perfectly well, but you forgot about what the burn of a stretching jaw felt like, having something so hot and heavy in your mouth. “That’s a good girl. Look at me while you do it.”

“I guess she can follow directions.” Jimin snickers, distracting you. Yoongi gives your cheek a light tap, redirecting you. “Who knew all she needed was a good cock in her.”

Your ears prickle at hearing Jimin talk like that, a spider-like sensation skittering down your spine as you work Yoongi with your tongue, lapping at the underside of his cock. All for the sake of self-preservation, you convince yourself, you’ll be earnest in your efforts to please him. When you pull back to take in some air, he grips your hair tighter, holding you there while he thrusts his hips. You can see the twitch in his thigh muscles strain as he does, groaning when he hits the back of your throat, your eyes watering. You look up at him like he told you to. You don’t want to be smacked any harder, just in case he has that in mind.

“Where’d you learn how to suck cock so good, baby?” You’re too busy trying not to gag to answer, artlessly attempting to swallow around him. And that’s okay, he doesn’t mind. It’s better this way. “You suck like a little slut.”

“Fuck, that’s really hot,” Jimin huffs and you can hear him shuffling next to you, “just don’t hog her, Hyung.”

Yoongi forces you to take another inch, but you resist, putting your hands on his thighs to push him away. You helplessly try to prevent it from going down your throat, but Yoongi holds you there until he’s happy, letting the saliva build up in your mouth and get him nice and wet. Your throat just feels so good butterflying around the head of his cock, making him shudder in pure pleasure.

When he’s done with you, he pulls out, a string of saliva trailing. You use this opportunity to gasp for air, clutching at your throat. Your throat burns from the unexpected intrusion, a slight ache in your jaw from being used.

Your reprieve doesn’t last long. Jimin hauls you back up on your knees, so you sit up properly. You want to ask for some mercy, but your pride gets the best of you. It’s one of the few things that have remained intact. Not unlike your sensitive and bruised nipples. Not your pussy, wet from their mouths and your own arousal wetting your thighs, much to your mortification.

The head of another dripping cock is pressed to your lips, urging you to open wide for him. Jimin’s used what’s gathered there to lubricate his shaft, making it easier to stroke himself. He’s still heady with the faint taste of you and now he can’t wait to feel your warm, wet mouth wrapped around him, just like your pussy is gonna be. He swears it’s a dream come true when you finally take him into your mouth, muttering under his breath. It was difficult enough having Yoongi in your mouth, but Jimin's a little thicker and that makes it tougher for you, causing you to let out a mild whimper.

Jimin takes to holding the back of your head too, tilting it just right so he can feel the bulge of his cock inside your cheek. His mouth parts, tongue peeking out to lick one luscious lip. It’s too much. His shaft twitches when you suck him in, pumping your head back and forth of your own volition. You should hate the way he sounds when he moans—it’s so pretty to your ears when it shouldn’t be. The way his eyelashes flutter shut, unable to prevent the jerk of his hips, fucking into your mouth in slow, steady strokes.

“Good girl,” Jimin praises, those half-lidded eyes on you. Another urge rolls around in your tummy, wanting to hide your face from the intimate and depraved acts you’re performing for them. “Get it nice and wet for me so I can fuck that sweet pussy. God, I can’t wait. And you’re gonna fucking take it.”

With that, Jimin lets out a snarl, pulling you off with another wet plop. His cock stands proud, thick, and glistening, so close to nudging your cheek.

“Get on that fucking couch,” He tells you. You turn around to look at Yoongi, who’s been enjoying the free show with a languid stroke of his cock. It looks like you’re never fast enough for them, so Jimin manhandles you there, knocking you onto your knees so your face hovers over Yoongi’s occupied lap. Jimin’s ready even if you’re not.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you unless it’s moaning like the little slut you are,” His words cut through your carefully held together façade. He says it so matter of fact, just like Yoongi did. You're a slut.

“I’m—I’m not,” You hang your head, waiting for that tell-tale sign of Jimin pressing his weeping cock to your entrance. He doesn’t just shove it in, thank god, because you definitely wouldn’t be able to stay quiet if he did that. But he could, your mind supplies, with how fucking wet you are. Maybe you are a slut. Maybe they are right, and they’re just seeing the real you; the dirty, guilty you.

The more they say it, and the more you think it, the more truth you start to see in it.

“What did I say,” Jimin smacks your ass, making you flinch away. He smacks you again for that too.

You open your mouth to respond, but your words get stuck in your throat. For half a second you find yourself about to apologize for not listening, for moving when you shouldn’t have. He’s just trying to fill you up as you deserve, but there is a part of you that understands the severity of the situation you’re in. It’s not right for you to apologize, even if you do listen to what he says in the end.

You stay still, your trembling in trepidation when he pushes the head in. Your pussy doesn’t resist him, too slick not to. Jimin can tell by the way you squeeze around him that it’s going to be a tight fit. It makes his hips buck, gentleness and slowness all but abandoned as he abruptly thrusts in the rest of the way, filling you to the brim. It takes everything in you not to wail, grasping the nearest thing in front of you: Yoongi’s lean thigh, fingernails digging into the flesh.

He tolerates the pinch of pain, petting your hair. It throws you off how gentle he is, so at odds with his currently severe persona and the way Jimin pistons his hips into your ass, cheeks clapping, your pussy wrapped around him like you were made to be fucked. And from behind, Jimin thinks the perfect shape of your ass and the curve of your waist is the hottest sight he’s ever seen. It’s second to the way your hair sways when he grabs you by the hips and throws you back onto his cock, huffing from the exertion.

Yoongi’s tired of not having at least half your attention, so he’s guiding your mouth to his straining cock as he watches you being taken from behind. Jimin makes sure to leave no inch of you unfilled, hitting the deepest spots inside of you; deeper than any of your fingers could ever go, deeper than they’ve ever gone. It has you seeing stars, biting your bottom lip to hold back your frustrations, only to fail miserably. You can barely keep Yoongi’s cock in your mouth from all the jostling. Your vision spins when he buries himself to the hilt, your back bowing naturally in response.

“She’s so fucking tight, Hyung,” He hisses, barely out of stamina. He pumps into you nice and deep, pulling one of your legs back on the couch when you start to slip. Bending over, he reaches under you to briefly cup one of your breasts, squeezing, cupping, pinching your already hard nubs. His dick twitches inside you, hardening even more, and you can tell he’s about to come. He’s about to cum inside you.

“J-Jimin—” You whine, whipping your head back to look at him, eyes pleading not to. You’re all but ignored. The blond’s too far gone to stop let alone process what you’re asking of him, and before you know it, he’s rocking his well-defined hips into you, cock twitching as he paints your insides.

“Ah—” He pants, rocking to a stop. He doesn’t pull out right away, leaning over to kiss your ear, smiling with the most sated and relaxed expression on his face. “Your pussy feels too fucking good, Jagi. I want to do it again.”

And then he does pull away, reluctantly so, and leaves you on your trembling knees, admiring the way your pussy looks when the first ooze of his cum comes dripping out. He’s fast to stuff it back in with a few of his fingers, brandishing another kiss to one of your ass cheeks.

“It’s Hyung’s turn,” He smiles, patting it.

“That’s right,” Yoongi murmurs, voice thick and sweet as molasses, patting his lap. There’s not a second to spare. “Come here.”

You look at him apprehensively, doing as you’re told, nonetheless. You know what this means, and you swing your leg over Yoongi’s lap with your hands crossed over your chest. You don’t want to flaunt them in his face, but that’s exactly what he wants.

“Move your arms out of the way unless you want me to make you.” He orders. “Put them behind your back.”

You follow his directions, uncertain where this is going. What Yoongi’s going to do to you. He’s so demanding that you never would have expected this side of a quiet, polite Yoongi. With your arms crossed, his cock rests just a few inches away from your aching entrance. The look on his face as he looks between the two of your bodies, so close to connecting, says he wants to be inside you more than anything. He’s wanted it the second he locked the door behind you; the second he got to watch Jimin fuck you like your body was just something to get himself off.

Yoongi growls at the thought, incensed, and once he gets you in the right position, he’s settling his hands on your hips and shoving you down in one fell swoop. You sob, the burn still evident. Not as bad as Jimin, but close enough to remember for the next several days. It’s overstimulating, tears resurfacing as he wastes no time bouncing you up and down on his cock without care.

You let out a string of noises as Yoongi fucks up into you relentlessly, slamming you down his length with the perfect timing of his thrusts. He’s waited too long to be patient any longer. You’re afraid of losing your balance at this rate, and when you start to lean forward a little too much, he snags one of your breasts in his mouth and yanks you back by your soft hair. He can smell the shampoo you use, caressing his sense of smell as it tickles his face.

“That’s it,” He moans, growling as he keeps your back bowed, finding a particularly vicious rhythm. Your face is scrunched in pure ecstasy, and he swears your pussy clenches around him so tight it’s like it’s trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “Make me cum.”

You don’t protest this time, knowing it’s too late and too pointless to try and prevent what’s to happen. You hiccup another pathetic moan, shaking your head despite the undeniable.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” Yoongi jeers, the smacking of your bodies joining ringing loud in the quiet room. His lap is wet with your juices. He swears he can feel your next orgasm building up against your will, based on how your pussy flutters around him, and it excites him ten-fold. He doubles his efforts, fingernails digging into your hips, goaded on by his own lust. There are going to be bruises tomorrow, definitely, based on how it burns. “Your pussy is making the most obscene sounds, too. And yet you want to act like you don’t want every inch of our cocks, you lying slut.”

You’ve come twice, so getting to your third doesn’t take long, not when Yoongi fucks you like a toy on his lap. Your arms are starting to ache behind your back, but it just adds to the boiling heat in your gut. Jimin helps you out by holding both your wrists easily with his hand to keep you angled just right. You can feel it coming, you’re so, so close, if Yoongi just kept going, kept hitting that spot inside you, you’d be pushed over the edge in a matter of seconds.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot—” And then Yoongi is cursing, hips slamming into you once, twice, and then he’s filling you up nice and thick with spurts of his cum. You can feel it leak out, heart heavy, and core throbbing with the lack of release. You sob, denied. It’s possibly one of the worst feelings ever, nearly reaching your high only to have it stop like a lover leaving in the night.

Yoongi keeps you seated in your lap, letting his dick slowly soften in you while he takes a moment to catch his breath, his long neck exposed when he tilts it over the couch headrest. Black hair falls off his forehead. You’re breathing just as hard, afraid you were going to break in the end. Your thighs burn with the intensity of such a workout, even though Yoongi did most of the work getting you to get him off.

It seems by the knowing look in Yoongi’s eyes and the flick of his tongue that he knew you were close to your peak. Close to cumming all over his cock. But the look on your face when you were denied in the end? Couldn't put a price tag on it. He’s imprinted everything he’s just borne witness to in his memory.

You swear you’re not bitter about it.

You should be thankful you didn’t cum. You’re not supposed to have wanted any of this. Now that it’s over, all you want to do is curl in on yourself, keenly aware of your nudity and their lack of it.

“Next time, if you’re a really good girl...” Jimin coos, coming to your side. A smile plays at his lips. He’s already tucked himself back into his pants, already making himself more presentable than your state of being. “... we might make you cum again.”

Just as you catch your breath, your heart stops, your whole body racked with tension.

“... Next time?” You choke out, feeling like your world just came down around you.

next chapter: aftermath ➸

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