she, by proxy | myg, kth
(or, the one where yoongi gets what yoongi wants, even when what he wants is taehyung. especially when it's taehyung.)
⤠pairing: yoongi x reader; taehyung x reader; yoongi x taehyung ⤠genre: est. relationship (yoongi x reader), pwp ⤠rating: explicit; minors dni ⤠warnings: a lot of swearing, drinking but no one's drunk, a friend group in which everyone is queer and has fucked at least once probably, taehyung is a messy hoe but yoongi's an entire disaster, pining, open relationships, polyamory that is discussed briefly, i have been told there are some feelings involved. the most important: there is gay stuff in here!!! i repeat, some of this is VERY GAY! please do not read if that isn't your thing! ⤠smut warnings: girls making out, a threesome, dudes kissing, oral sex (m. receiving), anal fingering, vaginal fingering, taegi get pegged, dirty talk, dudes touching themselves a lot, come as lube (but there's also real lube dw), come eating, voyeurism, a lil slapping (thighs/clit), the dom/sub dynamics shift throughout the fic but mainly dom!reader, very mild degradation, a lil begging, taehyung cries, fingers always seem to wind up in mouths, hair pulling, frottage, yoongi accidentally gets edged, praise, protected sex, dp (fingers & piv at the same time). i think that's it :') but let me know if i forgot anything. ⤠word count: 8.3k ⤠credits: thank you to @effortandmore / @the-boy-meets-evil / & @here2bbtstrash for beta'ing this for me. my personal porny fairy godparents. i appreciate you all a whole lot. ⤠author's note: can you believe my degenerate brain dreamed this up and then i wrote all of it in two days in a delirious haze, opened the doc this morning to make final edits, and added almost 2k more. idk who i am anymore. if i missed anything it's bc i finished & edited this during jk's live and i was distracted, to say the least. anyway this is embarrassing i feel like a prude so i'm gonna go hide. pls come scream in my inbox with me unless it's to yell tired shit at me abt writing mxm/pegging/whatever else i warned you this is gay.
You hadnât been surprised the first time, and youâre not surprised now, countless times later.
A girl slides into Taehyungâs lapâlong hair, bubblegum pink, almost certainly a wigâand his hands immediately go to the small of her back. Large, nearly swallow her up, and they move to rest possessively at her hips, his grip tight as he pulls her closer. Her top is cropped latex and leaves very little to the imagination, which isnât an issue for you or Yoongi because sheâs not what Yoongiâs looking at. His eyes are locked on Taehyungâs hands; locked on the way the tendons flex as he manhandles the faceless girl in his lap, hikes her over one thick thigh.
Ten more seconds of this and all of you will be looking for a new club.
The air is hazy and thick, the floor sticky with god knows what, and Yoongi reaches for you beneath the table. His own large hand finds your smaller one, those knobby knuckles almost uncomfortable when he twines your fingers together. Heâs still staring at Taehyung, and you want to do something, say something, itâll be someone else soon, stop watching, youâre only gonna hurt yourself, but you know him, and you know when he gets like this itâs best to just let him ride it out. Suffer a little.
(Right now, it doesnât seem like itâll be tortured as last time, at leastâwhen all of you had gone someplace else, some seedy spot in an Itaewon basement, and Taehyung had some girl pressed against the wall outside the bathrooms, fingers buried deep in her cunt as she shook and came. And Hobi, smarter and sharper than any of you but still so fucking stupid, had justâ
âFuck, man, theyâre gonna need a mop and bucket for that. I mean, shit, it was so much? The sound when it hit the floorââ
Jeongguk had pulled a face. Half doe-eyes, half mortified terror. âWhen what hit the floor, hyung?â
âHer fucking squirt, Jeonggukie, what the fuck do you thinkââ
And Namjoon, just as wide-eyed and terrified as Jeongguk but for an entirely different reason, had laughed awkwardly and said, âHaaa, maybe we should talk about something else?â as he looked between Hoseok and Yoongi.
That night had been shit-tier, nearly unsalvageable, so at least it doesnât seem like Taehyungâs in that kind of mood. At least the girl in his lap still has her clothes on. At least his hands are someplace you can see them. At least Yoongiâs still beside you.)
So you bide your time. Take stock of whoâs still here and where they are, because the girl in Taehyungâs lap has her lips on his neck and things might go south faster than youâd originally anticipated. Hoseok and Jimin are on the dance floor, hips doing something sinful and too much; Namjoonâs at the bar, jaw clenched as the bartender passes him over for the fourth time in a row; Soyeon and Hyungseo are in the other side of your booth, tongues sloppy as they kiss just because they feel like it; Jeongguk, shoved in the corner on Yoongiâs other side, is slack-jawed as he stares at them, and Jeongguk is a fucking pervert so you know heâs hard.
âPut your dick back in your pants, Jeonggukie,â you say, loud enough for him to hear you over the music. The bass is heavy as it drops, feels like itâs thrumming through your veins, and Jeongguk startles. Bangs his knee on the underside of the table in his panic, and Soyeon and Hyungseo donât bother breaking apart to look. âYou want another drink?â you ask Yoongi, squeezing his hand a little tighter.
He shakes his head, finally drags his attention away from Taehyung. Thereâs someone new in his lap: chin-length silver hair, thin legs that go on for miles, tan skin covered in boldly-colored tattoos, could be anyone. Yoongi isnât looking anymore, but you are, so you catch it when Taehyung looks up. Looks right at Yoongi, wants to see if heâs watching, but instead he just finds you. âGonna go smoke,â Yoongi answers, and you slide out of the booth to let him leave.
âIs hyung okay?â Jeongguk asks when the two of you are pressed back together. He sips leisurely at his drink, trying to make it last until Namjoon makes it back from the bar with another one. Something baby blue and shockingly green, a little umbrella on top. Two cherries. âHe seems sad. Hey, watch this.â Jeongguk pops one into his mouth and presents the knotted stem to you seconds later.
This is the part you never know how to explain: that Yoongi loves you but sometimes he wants someone else. Not instead, but too. That you love Yoongi and want him to have whatever he wants, and that jealousy is foreign to you. That you and Yoongi love each other but do things a little unorthodox, which is not out of the ordinary for a friend group as ran-through and commingled as yours, but still takes patience and care to explain.
So you just ruffle Jeonggukâs hair, laugh at his squawking protests, and wrangle him so you can press a kiss to the top of his head. âDonât worry this pretty little head about your hyungs, okay?â
Jeongguk surfaces with a glare, surface-level because youâve embarrassed him in front of two hot girls that are still making out, and hides his flushed cheeks behind his drink. âIs it about Taehyungie-hyung?â
âWhatâd I just tell you?â
He pouts, but youâre saved from another interrogation by Namjoonâs unceremonious return to the table. Heâs so flustered by his one-sided feud with the bartender that he slams the blue-green drink down a little too hard, spills half of it in Jeonggukâs lap. âMove over,â he says to you, and you cock an eyebrow in return. âPlease,â he amends, like thatâs what youâd been looking for, but when you still donât move he gets a little whiny and panicked. âTheyâre relentless,â he says, pointing his thumb at Soyeon and Hyungseo like you canât see them. âDonât make meââ
âWhat about me!â Jeongguk wails, pressing his hands pathetically to his groin like heâs trying to stem bleeding, at the same time you roll your eyes and fire a, âSays Mr. Eight-gigabyte Porn Folder,â at Namjoon.
You receive another glare, this time from Namjoon, and he doesnât hesitate to steal Jeonggukâs spot against the wall when he goes to the bathroom to deal with his soaked pants, only to start swearing when he realizes the seat is wet, too. âJesus fuckââ
âThatâs what you get.â
âFuck off,â Namjoon fires back. âWhereâs Yoongi-hyung?â
âOutside smoking.â
âSmokâwhy is he smoking?â At your silence, he jerks his head up, intent on getting an answer out of you. Instead, his question dies on his tongue as he follows your line of sight. Another new person in Taehyungâs lap, sucking Taehyungâs fingers into their mouth. âAh, yeah. That fucking guy.â
You canât help but laugh. âBe nice, Namjoonie. You know Taehyung would hook up with a microwave if it gave him attention.â
âWhat number is that, then? Hasnât he gotten enough attention?â
âThird Iâve seen. The first one was cute. I thought for sure he was gonna leave with her.â
Namjoon huffs, shakes his head. Takes a long pull of his beer. âHeâs not gonna leave with anyone. He just does this to piss off hyung.â Then, like heâs coming to a realization, he turns to look at you with a quizzical look. âWait, whereâd Seokjin-hyung go?â
You stare back in disbelief. âHow long were you at the fucking bar? He left hours ago.â
âDid he?â Then, quieter and to himself, âHow long was I at the fucking bar?â
Whatever game Taehyung is playing, Yoongi is woefully inept at playing along.
Doesnât know when itâs his move or when itâs time to sit and watch. Doesnât know the rules. Doesnât really listen when you try to explain it to him; probably doesn't want to hear it. Yoongi seems to think heâs at his best when heâs a little sad, a little miserable and yearning. At its core, thatâs what the game is, and as much as he keeps touching the thorns to see if heâll bleed, you know he still enjoys it.
(Know he gets off on it, too.)
Yoongi reaches for you. Steadies himself with his hand on your shoulder, pupils wide as saucersâdark dark dark in the corner of this grimy clubâeventually breaking into a smile when you grab his sweat-slick hands and guide them to your waist. Your bodies move together like waves, pushing apart only for Yoongi to continuously pull you in closer, dazed from the feeling of you pressed against him.
âFuck,â he breathes, words impossible to hear over the music, âlook at you. So fucking pretty.â
He threads a knee between your legs, the sound of his groan drowned out as you roll your hips against him. Maybe Yoongi doesnât know the rules to this game, but you do, and you make sure Taehyungâs watching when you drag your core against Yoongiâs thigh. He groans again, and his hands grip your hips tighter, moving you back and forth on him the way he does when you ride him.
You watch as he drags his eyes upward, see the exact moment he spots Taehyung across the club. His profile is lit up by the strobe lights, filling in the contours of his bone structure with greens and blues. Heâs with Jimin and Hoseok now, dancing with the girl from earlier with the pink hair, her back pressed to his chest. He leans down and whispers recycled filth into her ear that she seems to buy. You watch as Yoongi closes his eyes tight; watch him pretend itâs Taehyung dancing with him; itâs Taehyungâs hips heâs gripping onto; itâs Taehyung whoâs moaning and desperate for him in this moment.
You watch as his eyes snap open again.
You watch as he realizes heâs in this daydream alone.
And you wonder, briefly, if this should bother you. If this is fucked up, that Yoongiâs hard against you because heâs thinking about someone else, and you find that you donât care. What you and Yoongi have doesnât need to make sense to anyone except the two of you.
âWanna go home,â Yoongi slurs into your ear, fucked up from the feel of you, the thought of Taehyung.
You smirk, tangle your hands in his hair and tug a little just to fuck him up even more. âYeah? What dâyou wanna go home for? Itâs still pretty early.â
âWanna fuck you,â he whines. Tries to hold you in place to grind harder against you and whines again when you move just out of reach. âBaby.â
âYou know the rule.â Thereâs a drop of sweat that rolls down the side of Yoongiâs neck that you chase with your tongue. âTell me what you actually want and we can leave.â
The breath he sucks in is harsh, fractured, like your question is a special kind of torture. You know it is. Unlike with Taehyung, this is a game both you and Yoongi know the rules to. Unlike with Taehyung, this is the game Yoongi plays to win. The song changes again, this time to something filthy and slow, and Yoongi fits himself to your back, moves until both of you are facing Taehyung. âWant you both,â he says into your ear. Nips at the lobe. âWant to watch you fuck him the way you fuck me.â
âDonât wanna fuck him yourself?â
You feel him shake his head. âNot this time.â
âWhat are you doing, then? In this fantasy of yours?â
Yoongi presses closer, the outline of his hard cock pressing into the small of your back now. âWatching, at first. Wanna see you ruin him.â His hands skim along your skin, dip beneath the hemline of your shirt, dance across your stomach. âWanna watch you make him fucking cry.â
âAre you telling me how?â
Yoongiâs laugh is low, a little caustic. âI wonât need to. Heâs so fuckinâ easy.â
âAnd yet you want him this bad,â you taunt. âSomeone easy like thatâdoesnât seem to be your type.â
He bites along your neck. âWatch yourself.â
âIâm not the one all fucked up over Kim Taehyung.â You make eye contact with the man in question. Watch as the look on his face fades into a smirk, syrupy and slow. Sleezy, you think. He probably is as easy as Yoongi says. âI should tell him how fucking hard you are. Should tell him youâre gonna take me home and fuck me and come thinking about him. Thatâs pretty fuckinâ dirty, Yoongi.â
Itâs nothing you havenât said before. Sometimes you press even harder, humiliate him a little when he seems to be in the mood for it, but this time he goes stock-still. Silence stretches between the two of you, the only people standing still on this dancefloor, and youâre halfway turned around to see if Yoongi wants to fuck or cry when he says, âDo it, then.â
You laugh. All part of the game. But then Yoongi grabs your hand, moves it to his cock, straining against his skin-tight jeans, some kind of message thatâs gotten fucked up in translation. âYoongiââ
âTell him,â he says, expression shuttered and serious.
âYou wanna think about this for more than ten seconds? You havenât talked to him since the last time you guys hooked up and you want me to go tell him you⌠what? That you want to have some weird cuck threesome with him?â
Thatâs exactly what you told him.
(Because you know Yoongi, and you also know Taehyung. Your dig at him to Namjoon was very much based in truth, and with how fucked up the dynamics of your friend group are, it hadnât taken much more than sending Yoongi out into the cold to order a taxi, swaying your hips a little, re-glossing your lips, and disposing of the girl with the bubblegum pink hair. No one had batted an eye.
âIâm going home to fuck my boyfriend,â you said, leaning into Taehyungâs space. He was draped on the couch again, legs spread in a way that was frankly obscene. âWould you like to join us?â
âThat depends, angel. How do you fuck him?â he asked, spreading his legs wider.
You stepped closer. Cupped his cheek, dug your nails into his skin a little, and said, âBetter than you ever did,â all condescension.
Taehyung had just laughed. Pressed his tongue into the fat of his cheek. âI guess weâll see about that.â)
And now youâre here, Taehyung sprawled on the bed beneath you. You can see why a sight like this would have Yoongi fucked up as long as he has been: Taehyungâs golden skin contrasting against the crisp white of the sheets, dark hair fanning against the pillows, curls falling into his eyes, chest heaving. Each time he throws his head back youâre torn between sinking your teeth into the column of his throat and wrapping your hands around it. Itâs easy to ruin him when he looks like this; easy to give Yoongi what he wants.
âWhat should I do with you?â you think out loud, and Taehyungâs responding whimper draws a laugh out of you. âYoongi wants to watch me fuck you,â you continue, hands teasing toward the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. You pinch, slap away the sting. âWould you like that?â
Taehyungâs cockâlong and thick, still glistening with spit from when you sucked him offâtwitches at the thought. âY-yeah, fuck, want that,â he answers, hands moving to fist the sheets. Heâs been so good. Has done exactly as you said. âWanâ you to fuck me.â
âShould I fuck you the way you used to fuck your hyung?â Both Taehyung and Yoongi moan at the same time, and itâs so stupid, you think, this game theyâve been playing. Cat and mouse, as if the conclusion hasnât been inevitable this whole time. âUse your words, Taehyung.â
âYeah,â he says again, Adamâs apple bobbing heavily in his throat. âY-yeah, like that.â
You hum, reach behind you for the bottle of lube. Yoongi mutters a quiet shit from the other side of the room and you glance over. Mouth hung open, lips wet; jeans pushed halfway down his thighs, the outline of his cock visible through his briefs, hand squeezing at the base. Cheating a little, but still not touching himself the way you know he wants to. Heâll be the first to cry, at this rate.
Eyes back on Taehyung. You wonder if heâd normally preen, put on a show. You wonder if he did that with Yoongi, some whole thing. âHeâs told me about it, you know,â you say, clicking the lube open. Sounds more like a gunshot in the small space of your bedroom, where the only other sounds are labored breathing and the city outside. âTold me all about how you used to split him open with that big cock.â You tip the bottle sideways, let the lube dribble out and over Taehyungâs balls. He hisses at the cold, mutters a swear. âTold me heâd struggle to take it sometimes.â
âYou two areâfuck.â Whatever Taehyung was going to say is cut off as your finger follows the lube, trails down to his hole. You circle it there, make sure itâs wet, press a little just to watch his hips jerk. âYou two are fu-fucking weird.â
âMm, maybe,â you concede, âbut you should see how hard he comes when heâs thinking about you.â
You gather more lube on your finger, then, and press it inside. Just to the first knuckle, just enough to make Taehyung whine. âI guess you already know that, though,â you continue. Pour a little more lube on Taehyungâs skin. Pull your finger out enough to slicken it, push it back in a little further. âWas it good for you?â
His moan is broken and low, deep and heady. A sound that makes the world feel like itâs tilting; a sound that makes you want to chase it. âYeah,â Taehyung answers, and it could be a response or a declaration when itâs followed by, âso fucking good.â
âYoongi is good, isnât he? He listens so well.â With your free hand, you grab Taehyungâs face roughly, turn his head in the direction of where Yoongiâs sitting. âLook at him,â you instruct. He already looks fucked-out. Cheeks flushed, breathing hard, knuckles white where heâs gripping onto the arm of the chair. âLook at how good heâs being, not even touching himself.â
And Taehyung⌠Taehyung almost looks ashamed. Wonât meet Yoongiâs gaze, now that theyâre so close, now that itâs real, and this wonât do, will it, so you dig your nails in a little harder, drag them down his cheek, tell him again to look at his hyung. Thenâ
For the first time all night, their eyes meet at the same time.
Yoongiâs whimper is loud. The loudest youâve ever heard him outside of actual sex. You work in a second finger alongside the first, build up a steady rhythm, and Taehyung isnât faring much better. Little by little he opens up for you and youâre thankful for the way he sucks you in, adjusts. Itâs getting harder to ignore the heat between your own legs, watching two beautiful men fall apart in vastly different ways, even though you want to drag this out, want to make Taehyung cry and give Yoongi exactly what he wanted.
And, god, Taehyung is so fucking pretty.
You tell him as much, and his smile is greasy, looks even more lewd when you crook your fingers and his eyes roll back. Heâs still tight around you when he asks for a third so you shake your head, tell him no, tell him heâs greedy, and you think people must not make him beg much, the way heâs pouting. Taehyung has a face that gets him whatever he wants and a cock to match, and youâd understood it before, why Yoongi couldnât really let it go, but itâs different when itâs right in front of you, making a mess of your sheets.
âI must be going soft on you,â you tell him, working in another finger the next time he asks. âYoongi wanted me to make you cry and here I am, giving you whatever you want. Maybe I should let him decide what you get.â
Taehyung shoots a hand out, grabs at your forearm. âDonât,â he says, voice hoarse, bordering on pleading. âPlease. Heâs still mad at me, wonâ give me anything.â
A huff of breath escapes you. âHe doesnât look very mad to me. Looks like he could probably come on command if you told him to.â Itâs not an exaggeration, not really; Yoongi is gone, looks like a stiff wind could have him spilling all over himself. âBut maybe thatâs what you deserve.â
You nail Taehyungâs prostate the next time you crook your fingers and he sobs. You do it again, then a third time. Precome oozes out of his cock, deepens the pool on his belly. You keep it up until tears pool on his waterline, until heâs reaching for you again, begging you to stop, words cracking as he tells you desperately that heâs going to come. âAngel, fuck, please, Iâm gonnaââ
âNo, youâre not,â you tell him, all authority. âYouâre not going to come, are you, because I havenât told you to. Yoongi hasnât told you to.â
The first frustrated tear streaks down Taehyungâs cheek. âOh my fucking god,â he chokes out, forcing his hips flat to the bed, tries to force you to stop moving. But your rhythm is steady, confident, three fingers working with the space heâs left you, and it isnât until you watch his balls tighten that they slow. Taehyungâs sweat-slick, looks even more golden under the amber lamplight, and itâs dizzying, the way the color shifts as his chest heaves with his ragged breaths.
Thereâs only enough time for you to slip your fingers out, grab the lube, slick up the strap-on thatâs fastened around your hips, before youâre pressing the head against Taehyungâs hole, still dripping wet. âItâs so big,â you muse, grinning wickedly at the man beneath you, âI donât know if itâs going to fit. What do you think, Yoongi? Is this how you used to feel?â
When you look over this time, Yoongi has his cock out, briefs tucked beneath his balls, stroking fast. Clicking your tongue, he looks up through half-lidded eyes, hand stilling immediately. His nod is almost imperceptible, too disoriented to answer, and youâll give him this one. Wonât push it. What you will push, thoughâ
âShit.â
Youâre not sure if it comes from Yoongi or Taehyung. It mightâve even come from you, because youâre transfixed, canât tear your eyes away from the sight of your stupid flesh-colored dildo disappearing into Taehyungâs body. Fucking greedy, you think, mostly at yourself, because if this sight is good you can only imagine what youâd see if you were watching his face. Brows furrowed, mouth pinched. A look not far off from that night in the club, the determination on his face as he fucked that girl with his fingers, uncaring who heard or saw.
But this is your show. Yoongiâs fantasy. Whatever girlsâpeopleâTaehyung has fucked in seedy clubs across Seoul are of little importance here. All that matters is the steady push of your hips, the slow roll once youâre fully buried, the pleasure that jolts through you when youâre able to grind a little against the toy, the way Taehyung thrashes against the sheets, incoherent as he babbles, stuck between more and too much.
âOkay?â you ask, hands skimming along his warm skin. Goosebumps trail in their wake, and you settle them on his thighs. Press them up and to the side as he nods, giving yourself more space, and Taehyungâs moan is loud, unabashed. His cock lies neglected against his stomach, begging you to reach out and grab it, stroke him, make him come too fast so you have another bruise to press on, some way to embarrass him.
But this is your show, Yoongiâs fantasy, and you donât have to look because you can hear how close your boyfriend is to getting himself off. Can hear the way his breath hitches, can hear when his rhythm changes. Quicker, now. More insistent. If Taehyung looked over at him, itâd be all over, and you almost tell him to do that, too.
âStop touching yourself,â you say to Yoongi. A second time when he disregards the first, too far gone, too close. âYoongi.â He whines but he listens, shoves his fingers in his mouth to stem the urge, and Taehyung watches it all.
Youâre still thrusting, thighs burning, sticky where they meet Taehyungâs, and it wonât be your lengthiest performance, thatâs for sure. So you call Yoongiâs name again, beckon him over, and he hesitates, looks so unsure. But itâs so stupid, the way he and Taehyung dance around one anotherâand you know, you know Taehyung wouldnât be shaking like this if it were just you, if Yoongi wasnât in his head, wasnât watchingâso youâre insistent. âCome here,â you tell him, and you make sure your voice is spun sugar when you say it.
Yoongi listens. Stumbles over on unsteady legs, knees nearly buckling when he gets close enough to also watch the way the strap-on fucks into Taehyungâs hole, the way it stretches obscenely to accommodate it. âBaby.â He threads his hands into your hair and kisses you hard and messy. Taehyung moans beneath you so you know heâs watching, and you will your body to move faster, fuck him harder.
When Yoongi pulls back, itâs obvious. The longing in his eyes. âTell him,â you say, and he looks caught-out, would almost look angry if he were capable of it. âThis is your fantasy, isnât it? So tell him.â
âIââ He looks down at Taehyung again, meets his gaze again, and he must see something there you canât, because all the hesitation is gone when he says, âI want to kiss you.â
And you know what it means.
Because that had been the rule between the two of them. No staying the night, no kissing. You know what it means for Yoongi to ask for that, what itâd mean if Taehyung allowed it, and it nearly cracks your heart in half that itâs the only thing heâs willing to ask for when his wants are endless when it comes to Taehyung.
âOh my god,â Taehyung moans. âFuck, hyung, yeahâyeah, câmere, kiss me, please, fuck.â
Yoongi looks like heâs been punched in the gut. Looks overwhelmed, given this kind of permission, so he goes about it all wrong. Starts to kneel at the side of the bed before you tsk and grab him by his own hair. âDo it right,â you instruct.
He moans. Aborts whatever he was about to do and climbs over Taehyung on the bed, straddles him, fitting in between both of you perfectly, close enough for his cock to slot against Taehyungâs. They both moan, and their game had been so fucking stupid it sends a lick of anger through you. Yoongi ruts his hips once, twice, and then heâs leaning down and cupping Taehyungâs face and pressing his lipsâstill wet from you, still wearing your spitâto Taehyungâs.
And Taehyung comes immediately, nearly untouched. Spills all over himself with a loud, broken sob.
âHoly shit,â you say, hips slowing until theyâre still. âHoly shit, that was fucking hot, what the fuck.â
Taehyung trembles in the comedown and Yoongi presses in closer, kisses him through it. Canât seem to stop now that heâs allowed. Heâs still rutting, has Taehyung teetering on oversensitivity, so you grab Yoongiâs hips to slow him. âCareful, baby,â you say softly into his ear. Press a kiss to the nape of his neck. Give him a minute to back away from the ledge again and get himself under control, let Taehyung catch his breath. âAre you okay, Taehyung?â you ask, hands once again touching any of his skin you can find. You knead at the muscles in his calves.
Thereâs some garbled response. Something you think is supposed to sound like an affirmation. âWords, please.â
âY-yeah,â comes his response.
âOkay. Iâm gonna go grab something to clean you up, all right?â You press another kiss to Yoongiâs shoulder, turn your attention to him. âThen weâll finally give you what you want, yeah? Finally let you come.â A shiver runs up his spine and he nods weakly. âCan you prep yourself while Iâm gone?â Another shaky nod. âGood boy. Gonna pull out now, Tae.â
You do so slowly. Taehyung hisses, sucks in a breath through his teeth. Hisses again when you replace the toy with your thumb, try to ease the discomfort of being so suddenly empty. With another kiss pressed to Yoongiâs shoulder, you mumble an I love you into his hair, and then youâre gone.
Thereâs always been something about the way Yoongi touches himself.
Like the goal is more than simply getting off. Like thereâs reverence in it, something beyond purpose. Yoongi touches himself the way other people drop to their knees at church and pray.
Sometimes itâs long and drawn out. Sometimes his hands skirt over every inch of his own skin before he finally brings them to his cock. Sometimes he rests on his haunches in the middle of the bed and angles himself toward the mirror and watches, his cheeks aflame the entire time because heâs embarrassed to see himself like that, three of his own fingers fucking himself, but the embarrassment almost feels just as good. Sometimes he has you beneath him, raining down praise as his fist works the length of his cock.
Sometimes he does it entirely wrong, like now.
Two pale, lube-slick fingers work in and out of his hole. His own, then, and not Taehyungâs. Just like youâd asked. Youâre a little surprised, thought maybe Yoongi might panic and retreat with you gone, but theyâre both where youâd left them. Taehyungâs talking all the while, saying god knows what in that deep timbre, and itâs straight up pornographic the way his large hands rest on the cheeks of Yoongiâs ass, pull them apart.
The damp cloth in your hand feels useless. Is useless, you think, because Yoongi had told you something, once, deep in the throes of another cerebral fantasyâ
âI canât believe I have to keep telling you this,â you say, and everything immediately goes still at the sound of your voice, âbut do it right, Yoongi.â
Taehyung lifts his head, stares at you skeptically. Probably mirroring the look on Yoongiâs face that you arenât privy to with his back to you. âWeâve talked about this,â you continue, stalking closer. All eyes on you as you drop the cloth to the floor. âAre you clean?â you ask Taehyung, and he nods, expression still dubious.
And then youâre reaching between both of them, swiping your fingers through the mess of cum on Taehyungâs stomach, and he understands immediately. âAre you gonâfuuuck. Fucking christ.â The first swipe goes to Yoongiâs mouth, and thereâs no hesitation as he sucks your fingers clean. Your free hand finds Yoongiâs, the one heâs working himself open with, and pulls it away. Replaces it with your own, your two longest fingers covered in the second swipe of Taehyungâs cum, and you fuck them in and out faster than Yoongi had been.
âFilthy,â Taehyung chokes out, clearly overwhelmed; another groan when Yoongi starts sucking at his neck, biting, claiming.
Itâs primal, the way Taehyung reacts, the way Yoongi embeds himself under his skin, tries desperately to make a home there. Something permanent this time; or, at least, a home that wonât burn down like the last one. Wonât be reduced to a smoking heap of bitter ash. And you wonder, as you watch the way these two beautiful men fit together, if Taehyung will be holding the match or the key this time.
You press slow, open-mouthed kisses along the knots in Yoongiâs spine. Drizzle more lube on your fingers, work him open more. Whisper I know, baby, I know when he gets impatient and a little too demanding. Swap the condom on the strap-on and slick it up, just like last time, and then youâre pressing into Yoongi instead of Taehyung, the way youâve done so many times before.
Everything is familiar and different: the drag, the pull, the noises spilling out of Yoongiâs mouth. Those staccato whines varied in pitch, sometimes drawn out and sometimes punched and short. This is what you know. This is your home, and you think, as Taehyung looks at Yoongi, so fucking endeared, as he gently cups his face, as he saysâ
âHyung, you look so pretty. Youâre doing so well, hyung, fuck, I didnât think Iâd ever see you like this again.â
âyou think your house might look nice with an addition. An extra space carved out only for Taehyung. A room where Yoongi can exist in endless adoration.
âMake yourself useful, Kim Taehyung.â
Because Taehyung listens. Because Taehyung is good in all the ways that Yoongi is good, and he doesnât have to be told twice when the order deals in Yoongiâs pleasure. So all of you adjust until Yoongiâs on his hands and knees, gripping tightly onto the headboard, and Taehyung shuffles down the bed until he can get his mouth on Yoongiâs cock.
âFuck, yeah, just like that,â you say, and Taehyung moans at the praise, the vibrations making Yoongi gasp and jerk.
You know when you hit his prostate, too; know this is going to be over soon from the way he buries his face in the crook of his elbow and screams. You know it from the way he starts to shake. From the unintelligible filth that pours from his mouth as Taehyung swallows him all the way down. From the way he stutters out a, ba-baby, whaâbout you, gonna come like this, and you pet his hair, voice soft again when you say, this is for you, Yoongi, you can come, I know itâs so much.
Thereâs a final husky, drawn-out moan, and then thereâs quiet.
Lucidity returns slowly.
The heat kicks on. A police siren wails in the distance, seven floors below you. You re-wet your cloth and do your best to clean the dried cum from Taehyungâs skin, your smile fond as he whines at the cold, tries to squirm away. Yoongi doesnât move an inch, just collapses face-first onto the mattress and lets everyone fuss over him. Starts snoring a few minutes later, after youâve pulled the duvet up to his ears and heâs tucked in and warm.
You move to the dresser. Pull out two t-shirtsâoversized on you, tight in the shoulders on Taehyungâand clean underwear. And then you pause, because Taehyungâs already plucking his own clothes off the floor, already has his fucking socks and briefs on, and itâs⌠it doesnât feel right, is the thing. Doesnât feel like he should be leaving. Not tonight, maybe ever.
âWhere are you going?â you ask, and you do a good job of keeping the hurt out, at sounding normal.
Taehyung doesnât get it. Looks at you like youâre a little stupid and a lot crazy, because he looks at you, then at the world outside the window, and finally at Yoongi before answering. âIâleaving?â
âWhy?â
Taehyung looks at you like youâre a lot stupid this time. âI donâtâŚâ Pauses. Tries to sink into the floor to no avail. âLook, I think maybe this was a mistake? Hyung and IâI donât think this is what he wants.â
âAnd how do you know what he wants?â
âBecause weâre here,â he answers, anger seeping in. âBecause Iâm standing in your apartment. His girlfriend, andââ
You sigh. âIf you want to leave, Iâm not going to stop you, but I think itâd really hurt him if you left.â You leave off the again. Itâs not your trauma to dredge up. Yoongi wouldnât want you to, and thatâs reason enough. âI would like it if you stayed, if that means anything.â
âThe two of you are fucking weird,â he says again, but he looks less torn. Looks less like he would plow you over to get to the door, and itâs⌠progress. Itâs good. You can work with a halfway thing. âHyung would reallyâyou think he wants me here?â
Itâs spoken about in the way a broken thing always is: delicately, hesitantly, like Taehyungâs afraid of the answer, afraid to find out the results of this stupid game of his own design. âHe does. Itâs not my place to say much more than that, but I think the two of you are overdue for a conversation, if nothing else.â
Taehyung nods. Starts looking less and less like heâs out of place; starts looking like object permanence, takes a corporeal form within the four walls of your bedroom. âThereâs space here for you,â you say, with the amount of care words like these require, âif you want it.â
âWhat does that mean?â
âWhatever you want it to. Nothing has to be decided right now, but I know Yoongi. You know him, too. I just donât want to see him hurt again.â
Taehyung nods again. Peels his socks off. âYouâre sure?â he asks, and when you nod, he climbs back into bed, seems to somehow know which side of the bed is Yoongiâs, two magnets drawn together. Something inevitable.
You breathe out a sigh. Finally slip the t-shirt and underwear on. Flick the lamp off and let yourself have a minute to enjoy the calm, Yoongiâs body heat next to you, still snoring softly between you and Taehyung. And then, because you canât resistâ
âYou two are really fucking stupid, you know that?â
You hear Taehyung swallow. âIâm sorry,â he mumbles, sounding the part of a scolded child, and as much as you try not to, youâre smiling again, fond and endeared, into the dark. âI know.â
âOkay. Go to sleep, Tae. I expect a very nice thank you gift in the morning.â
It doesnât happen in the morning. Not really.
It happens sometime in the middle of the night. The light streaming in through the sheer curtains gives away nothing more than silver-amber light, the moon and the city. Could be minutes since you fell asleep, could be hours; all you know is Yoongiâs at your back, arm slung possessively over your middle, and his heat is stifling.
âYoongi,â you hiss, because itâs not just his heat. Heâs hard again, cock pressing against the swell of your ass just like it was in the club, and you feel him smile against your neck when he realizes youâre awake. Feel him rock his hips, just a little.
He nips at your lobe, your jaw. âHi, baby,â he says, like this is just another morning. Like heâs about to present your favorite mug to you, coffee fixed exactly how you like it. âWhy didnâ you wake me up?â
âFor what?â you breathe out, voice already wavering. All Yoongi has done is skim his warm hands under your oversized t-shirt, swirl a finger around your navel.
Yoongi tuts. Feels weird to be on this side of it, the illusion of condescension. âTo fuck you. Make you come. You didnât earlier.â
âI meant what I saidââ
âI know you did,â Yoongi interjects, âbut I donât find that to be a very acceptable excuse.â
You roll your eyes, no heat in it, but then Yoongiâs hand moves to the hem of your underwear and slips inside. Your hips jerk when he moves two fingers lightly over your clit, jerk again when he finds you already wet and groans deep and husky into your ear. And itâs not loud, but itâs loud for this room at whatever-the-fuck time it is. âGotta be quiet,â you whisper to him, and he laughs, thinks youâre joking. âIâm serious,â you say, and you want to sound authoritative but it comes out as a whine when he sinks those fingers into your cunt.
âWhy would I need to be quiet?â he asks. Crooks them as best he can from this weird angle, you on your side with your back pressed to him, Yoongi halfway on top of you. âShouldnât I be loud?â He hits a spot that whites your vision. âShouldnât everyone in this fucking place hear it?â
Usually you wouldnât care. Your apartment building has heard worse, including whatever debauchery the three of you had gotten up to mere hours ago, butââTaehyungâs asleep.â
Yoongi startles, goes still. âWhat?â
âWhat.â
âWhat dâyou mean Taehyungâs aslâŚâ You feel him turn. Feel him realize, for the first time, that there is a very-asleep Taehyung on his other side, and you want to ask how he hadnât noticed before, want to say didnât you realize how cramped this bed is, itâs not big enough for three people, weâll have to get a new one, but. Yoongi hadnât expected him to stay, hadnât expected it to even be an option, so of course it wouldâve been a blind spot.
Your heart cracks in half again.
âWhatâd you say to him?â he asks. Not accusing, almost awed, like you knew a code, the secret passcode to getting Taehyung to stay that Yoongi hadnât had before.
You reach back, find Yoongiâs hair. Scratch gently at his scalp. âJust that I thought youâd like it if he stayed. Thatâs it, nothing else. I wouldnât.â
âI know, I wasnâtâŚâ He sucks in a deep breath, holds it, lets it go. Heâs okay. âThis is okay with you?â
A laugh spills out of you. âYouâre asking me that now? I was nearly fist-deep in his ass a few hours ago but him sleeping in our bed is crossing some kind of line?â
âSex can be different,â Yoongi argues, âand itâs me, you know, like itâs my hangup, not yoursââ
âI want you to be happy,â you answer honestly. âWhatever that looks like. I told him thereâs room for him here if he wants it, but theyâre not my knots to untangle. If he wants to stick around, if you two can get your shit together⌠weâll figure it out. It only needs to make sense to us.â
Silence. ThenââI donât think Iâve ever been this hard in my fucking life,â Yoongi groans. âJesus Christ.â
âI shouldâve known hyung was the type to get a boner from open and honest communication.â
Yoongi startles again at the low rasp of Taehyungâs voice. âAnd thatâs exactly why I said I fuck him better than you,â you fire at him, deadpan. He laughs. You donât have to look at Yoongi to know how red heâs turned.
âYou said that to him?â he chokes out, all mortified disbelief, at the same time Taehyung says, âMaybe youâve got a point, angel.â
The mattress sinks under Taehyungâs weight as he shuffles closer to the two of you. Must touch Yoongi somehow, because thereâs a high-pitched whine from the back of his throat, so loud in your ear, has heat coursing through you. âFinish what you started, hyung,â Taehyung says, and Yoongiâs nod is jerky, his hands uncoordinated under Taehyungâs watchful stare.
Yoongi moves over you fully, wastes no time before heâs working his fingers in and out at a steady rhythm, sucking at your skin. Taehyung groans quietly, doesnât need to be told a goddamn thing; rids you of your shirt so Yoongi can mouth his way from your jaw to your neck, collarbones to chest, one nipple and then the next. Pleasure licks up your spine, outweighs how overwhelming it is to have Yoongi this geared-up, wound this tight; to have Taehyungâs hands roaming over every inch of skin his hyung doesnât have his mouth on.
âYoo-Yoongi,â you choke out, because this has really gone from zero to a hundred and heâs been pressing incessantly on your g-spot for too long to remain unaffected.
Itâs building, building, building, and youâve fully lost control of your hips, grinding against the heel of Yoongiâs palm like youâre desperate for it. (You are.) And Taehyung just laughs darkly, says, âThink sheâs gonna come, hyung,â just to get under your skin.
âMm, yeah. Might make a mess.â He slaps at your clit and thatâs it, thatâs what does it.
And Yoongi knows you, doesnât he, because he knows how you like to get fucked. Knows to click his tongue at you, give you that disappointed look; knows to wipe your release on your thighs. Knows to barely let you catch your breath before heâs slipping on a condom and pushing inside of you.
After his fingers, the stretch from his cock feels dizzying. Feels on the edge of too much, and Taehyungâs commentary is doing fuck-all to help you come back to earth. Keeps saying shit like goddamn, hyung, yeah, fuck her like that. Maneuvers you so your back is pressed to his chest, now, your head on his shoulder, so Yoongi can slip his tongue into Taehyungâs mouth while he ruins you. Itâs filthy, itâs so fucking filthy, and you think, selfishly, that a room wonât be big enough. Youâd build Taehyung an entire goddamn house to keep it like this, to keep the three of you safe in this bubble.
âImagine, hyung,â Taehyung starts, and you know what comes out of his mouth next is going to be nasty. Yoongi knows it, too, eyes starting to go glassy. A million constellations reflected as he looks at the two of you. âIf we fucked her at the same time. Both of us in that tight pussy. Our cocks togethââ
Youâre not sure if the deafening moan comes from you or Yoongi. Either way, his hips falter, cadence reduced to stuttered thrusts as he tries desperately not to come just from Taehyung spewing more filth out of his devilish mouth. But you want to see it. Want to see what happens when heâs pushed to the brink of horny delirium, so you sayâ
âDo it.â
âand Yoongi has to stop altogether. Grips your hips so hard you know theyâll bruise, and you think, for a second, that he actually did come. Everything is quiet for a second, just more labored breathing, and then Yoongi picks his head up. Looks more fucked-out than youâve ever seen him, even more than earlier, and looks straight at Taehyung.
âPut your fingers in her.â
Taehyung breathes harshly through his nose. Waits for you to nod, give him the okay, and then his hands leave your hair and skim down your body. Theyâre so warm, so large, cover so much skin that it truly feels like heâs everywhere, like itâs more than just him touching you. The closer he nears to your cunt, the more overpowering it is, the harder it is to breathe.
âIs this what you want, angel?â he asks, words warm on your skin as he presses them just below your ear. âYouâre a greedy girl, getting hyungâs cock and my fingers.â He rubs circles into your clit, sends you spiraling. Youâre dangerously close to a second orgasm (could be a third, could be a hundredth, considering Yoongi never let you come down from the first) and thereâs a split-second right before he dips his fingers into your cunt, works them in alongside Yoongiâs cock, that you feel engulfed.
Everything is on fire.
You, most of all.
Taehyung sucks his fingers into his mouth, gets âem wet, works in slowly. Just his middle finger at first, and Yoongi falters again, moans out an oh fuuuck that betrays exactly how far gone he is. And you arenât far behind, the stretch from both of them unlike anything youâve ever felt before. You canât imagine how itâd feel if it was more than just Taehyungâs fingers, except you can, and Taehyung notices when the thought has you clenching, has you a little wetter, because he laughs at you, tells Yoongi like he canât tell on his own. Like your boyfriend is a little dumb, like heâs never fucked you before, and that does something to both of you.
One finger turns into two. Yoongiâs a fucking mess, absolutely gone of the feel of them inside you, against his cock, canât stop moaning. The tight fit has Taehyungâs fingers pressed snug against your g-spot, exactly how Yoongiâs had been, and itâs too much. Too much.
âIâm, fuckâIâm gonnaââ
When you come it feels like the end of the world. It feels like rapture. It feels like every atom in your body has been rearranged, like the gods themselves are rewarding you specifically with the sound of Yoongi following right behind you, moaning low and ragged, spilling into the condom.
In the comedown, he kisses youâsoft, tender, with every iota of love and affection contained in him. âI love you,â he says. Presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth. âYou okay?â
âNot sure,â you answer honestly. âGive me three to five business days to decide.â
Yoongiâs smile is shy, almost embarrassed. More gums than anything else. Behind you, the rumble of Taehyungâs laughter against your back, rattling your ribs. Rattling your heart, maybe, lodged safely between them.
It expands, makes more roomâthe one for Taehyung, that houseâand Yoongiâs lips find Taehyungâs next and you know itâll be okay. These two stupid boys, theyâll figure it out, put a cease fire to their foolish game.
Yeah, something inevitable.
as always, thank you for reading! my inbox is always open if youâd like to leave feedback. iâd love to hear your thoughts! â¤


















