#jungkook x male wiyllt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatifyoulivelikethat · 6 months

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dionysus xii, m | jjk x ♂wiyllt x myg

pairing(s): jungkook x male wiyllt x yoongi — important: contains m/m pairing— male OC is male whatifyoulivelikethat aka me, the author ;)

summary: The following events are extremely gay. Jeon Jungkook puts himself in a dick 69 (and likes it). Min Yoongi puts himself in a maid outfit (kinda). Also, they share a boyfriend. Not that any of them are gonna admit that straight up. That would just be embarrassing. (They will in their head though, heh.)

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; important! male OC and Yoongi are pansexual and Jungkook is bisexual; I'm warning you: everyone's dick is out; in love and none of them will admit it out loud, classic; JK is a lil insecure and gets his reassurance ofc; Yoongi is just a slut kidding but also not; domestic, tbh; D/s smut (hyung kink, praise kink, spit kink, mild restraints, 69, choking, m-masturbation, cumming on each other, cum eating, crossdressing - maid Yoongi + leather body harness + butt plug, pain kink, m-receiving oral, edging, handjob, hair pulling, unprotected anal sex, cowgirl (cowboy? eh, you get it), missionary anal, creampie); non-idol!BTS - sub!Jungkook x dom!male OC x sub!Yoongi; switches between Yoongi’s POV and JK's POV; for the few people who read this series, um, why? my male self has dirty, filthy sex, smh

“Fuck me. I’m so damn tired of humanity. Does no one have a backbone or ears these days? I don’t get paid enough. Ugh. Patience is a virtue and all that shit. Fuck virtue. I’ve used my last fuck and I just want a damn nap. What about you? You’ve been sitting here all day. I know, aren’t you much comfier since I put you back in the couch?”

Min Yoongi cocked his head.

Commotion? Checked the time. Oh, shit. Did that many hours fly by? He removed the headset from his ears and stood up. Fluttering RBG lighting tried to call him back to the white desktop, but instead he headed to cracked-open bedroom door, past dark gray sheets and a folded black blanket that weren’t his. Yoongi had, however, made the bed. Simply because he had seen the mess.

“I know, bro. You’ve been with me too long to be dumped on the floor like that.”

Yoongi pressed two fingers to the door and pushed it open a little more, craning his head and giving himself a clear view of the living room.

He saw a head of black hair, naked broad shoulders, and a deep scarlet dress shirt halfway off.

what if you

“I’d talk to Jungkook but that guy doesn’t listen to me.”

He could only see half of the back tattoo.

He called out.

“Why are you stripping for the giant plush bear?”

The black hair whipped in a sharp arc, exposing white gold earrings and angular jaw, followed by dark, dark eyes and plush mauve lips in a soft ‘o’ shape. The dress shirt slid down, caught by a flighty hand, but Yoongi didn’t need to see the rest of the tattoo. He knew exactly what it said. He had, after all, run his fingers over it and kissed each letter for many nights.

And that chest.

Fuck, he wanted to make out with it.

The man known to many as Dionysus, but to Yoongi by given name, gawked at him.

“How long you have you been here?” the other male sputtered.

Yoongi caught himself smiling. He usually hated that but, in this case, it added to the teasing. He wasn’t given many chances to tease when it came to his favorite person so Yoongi made sure to take every chance he got. “Couple hours. I wasn’t getting anywhere in the studio today so I figured I would take a break and play Diablo. You said I could use your setup.” He made sure to keep his voice very calm and even despite wanting to burst into laughter.

Those impossibly dark eyes shifted from side to side very rapidly. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Since you started talking to the bear.” It wasn’t true but Yoongi wasn’t above lying when it was for his own amusement. One more sin to add to his already hefty list.

The other man made a pained expression and threw his dress shirt onto the black leather couch. It wasn’t aimed to be sexual but Yoongi appreciated what he was seeing all the same. “Great.” Ah, he really did it enjoy the way irritation made that familiar husky voice even deeper. “Now you think I’m even crazier than I already am because I talk to my plushies. I’ll have you know Mr. Bear has seen some shit.”

“Is that his name?”

“Not really. He doesn’t have a name. I just use him as a backrest when I’m alone and watching television.”

Somehow Yoongi found himself a bit jealous of the two-meter-tall café-au-lait-colored plush bear sitting floppily on the couch. It looked back at him with a partway-open stitched smile. Don’t look at me like that. I won’t say anything when Jungkook inevitably dumps you on the ground again, Yoongi thought to the bear.

The bear, understandably, continued smiling.

Ominous.

The currently shirtless man was going through his black leather briefcase with an annoyed click of his tongue, muttering something along the lines of, “Don’t you fucking tell me that I lost my hair tie too, for fuck’s sake,” with dark waves of black falling past his cheeks. It was longer than how he usually had it, huh? The sides had been shaved as usual, but it seemed that he had left it longer this time, similarly to how Yoongi had his hair now.

Speaking of.

Yoongi carefully tugged the black hair tie out of his hair and put it in the pocket of the sweatpants.

For no reason at all.

The rest of his black hair fell around his neck, the curtain bangs wisping against his cheeks. A step closer to the coffee table, and the other male looked up, defeated, and was about to say something, mauve lips parting and all, giving Yoongi about two seconds to fully appreciate those decadent prominent collarbones and dark nipples and crisp black slacks clinging to delicious hips.

Then the front door burst open.

“Yo, hyung!”

Yoongi twitched in annoyance.

“Yoongi-hyung?”

Really? As if surprise was needed. Actually, that tone was probably more akin to seeing an unexpected visitor. Jeon Jungkook had a one-track mind. He also hardly used honorifics – except when he wanted to make it very clear that he was the youngest and seeking attention right now. Now Jungkook closed the door.

“Whoa! You’re naked! Wait. Why are you naked? And in front of Yoongi-hyung? That’s not fair!”

Yoongi stuck his tongue in his cheek and turned to see the doe-eyed, playfully pleading expression of Jeon Jungkook. His black hair was a little shorter now, but neatly parted for once. Surprisingly, he had yet another piercing on the right side of his lip. Half of his arm tattoos were exposed and there was the shadow of the full sleeve under the baggy black t-shirt. Those slate-blue jeans were so shredded that Yoongi was surprised that the denim was still holding on. There was so much leg showing that Jungkook might as well have worn shorts. Or nothing.

“I literally just got home. I was going to change.”

Instant complaint from the younger man. “Why? You look better like that.”

Yoongi felt the directness of those dark, dark eyes asking to provide some confirmational logic. He avoided them and said nothing, staring at the wall next to Jungkook’s head instead. Was that framed print of Jhin from League of Legends always there? Huh.

“I can’t stay naked.”

“You always say that, but you’re wrong,” Jungkook protested, kicking off his sneakers and pushing them against Yoongi’s as he crossed over.

“Don’t tell me you came here to get me to make you dinner again.”

“But, hyung–”

“I was going to make dinner,” Yoongi cut in. “I found black sea bass on sale.”

“I can’t make you cook in my own home,” that deep sigh replied, gazing at him under soft black tresses while one arm was outstretched and holding Jungkook’s chest back. True to his nature, Jungkook flailed about and played along. “I’ll change and help you.”

Oh, really now.

“Your home?”

Yoongi glanced at Jungkook and back to those dark, dark eyes, openly smirking.

“It’s our home now.”

“Is there any fantasy you’ve always wanted but never got to do?”

“Me?” The folding of laundry paused as those dark eyebrows knitted in confusion. “My horny ass? Yoongi, come on. You think I wouldn’t attempt the literal second I had a plausible impulse?”

Hmm. That wasn’t really the answer Min Yoongi wanted. He reached over to try and help but had the back of his hand promptly smacked away once again. He didn’t like feeling useless, but the man who called himself Dionysus at times might have a control problem. Or, rather, with one glance to those dark, dark eyes, he may be feeling a bit guilty still about Yoongi doing random housework as he saw fit.

But that was how Yoongi showed…

Anyway.

With how much time he was spending over here, Yoongi figured he might as well. He didn’t like a messy environment either. Three guys spending too much time in one small apartment were bound to get out of control if they didn’t all work together to keep the place clean.

Still, his host was not letting him get into his business (just his mouth and occasionally his asshole, heh). At least when he was home. Therefore, Yoongi had attempted to distract. And failed, but he knew he would. He still wanted to know though. Mostly because he wanted to be special.

He didn’t just think that.

Ahem.

“Do you mean you only attempt to do things that you know the other person will say yes to, or have you actually tried everything you want to do?”

The other male made a neat stack of folded boxer briefs and frowned. His dark hair curled over his forehead in the most delicious, rolled-out-of-bed way. Mmmm. “Well, no one can try everything. I can’t grow tits to try tit-fucking or switch to a vagina to try triple penetration. Sigh.”

Yoongi jerked his head back. “What?”

“I would have to try and find three guys who can stand to see each other naked and that’s a stretch considering you’re still weird around Jungkook,” he continued, opening dresser drawers to put articles of clothing in their respective places. “Which you never have to get used to, by the way. I am only giving an example.”

“I’m fine with seeing him naked.”

Side eye.

Yoongi shrugged, acknowledging he said that a bit too quickly. “He’s usually without a shirt in your apartment.”

“He’s not the most subtle,” the other man agreed.

A short silence. Yoongi found he enjoyed watching him doing such home tasks. When the taller male got dressed for work, he usually wore tailored pieces such as dress shirts and pants. But at home he wore a loose black t-shirt with a graphic of a grim reaper watching television and fitted track pants from the professional League of Legends team T1. Simple, but showed off his slightly eccentric personality. It was a step down from when he dressed to go out where he tended to be much sexier. This type of comfort meant that they were close.

Well, they were also fucking, but Yoongi knew this was different than the physicality of it all.

“What about crossdressing?”

“What?”

Yoongi looked up and found dark, dark eyes staring at him, hands frozen in mid-action.

“Me? I don’t own highly feminine clothing currently, but I guess I could find something…”

“No,” Yoongi corrected. “Me. Cross-dress for you. I know you don’t only like men.”

A sudden thrill coursed through him upon seeing the intrigued expression. He maintained his casual, calm demeanor. His boyfriend still hadn’t moved, not a centimeter, but was instead surveying him curiously, as if he was trying to figure out the seriousness of the suggestion.

“You don’t only like men,” the deep voice countered.

“That doesn’t answer the question of whether or not you would be turned on if I wore more feminine clothing.” Yoongi paused for effect. He, too, could be enticing when he wanted to. “If you want to fuck me in a skirt or dress.”

This was supposed to be a shocking kinky proposal but it was backfiring slightly. Yoongi lifted his thighs slightly and thanked his past self for wearing these baggier sweatpants. He shrugged as leisurely as he could.

“You know, bend me over and violate me.”

Those plush mauve lips parted.

“Could be fun.”

Ever quick and always witty response. “Is that why you grew your hair out?”

Yoongi almost snorted. At least his dick stopped perking up. “No. Come to think of it, helps though.”

An open-mouthed smirk.

“And here I thought you were only a musical genius, but you continue to amaze me.”

Past Jeon Jungkook would have never predicted that he would also be deep throating dick when partaking in a sixty-nine, but life had a strange way of making the impossible possible. He probably would have predicted being in handcuffs at the same time though. His porn history was quite telling even if he hadn’t yet had the guts to explore it back then.

If he had thought he couldn’t breathe that well with pussy in his face, well, now Jungkook was beginning to appreciate what other women had done for him in the past when he was the one on top.

This was a lot more difficult than he thought.

Not that he had much time to think about it. Currently, Jungkook was struggling to focus on sucking dick because there was too much going on between his legs. Large hands gripping his tense thighs and pinning them down. Wet. Tongue roughly sliding down the topside of his cock while the underside rubbed against the roof of that talented mouth, the back of that throat squeezing the head with every descent. Tight. He could even feel the measured, warm breath against his balls every time he was swallowed, adding winding sparks to the constant rollercoaster of pleasure. Hot. Jungkook was embarrassed to feel that he was only able to get three-fourths of that hard length into his own mouth but he blamed it on the angle.

His wrists were handcuffed together, but Jungkook could still reach up and run his fingertips over the other male’s lower torso, aching to touch skin on skin.

Well, he had a whole dick down his throat, but you know what he means.

The one above him shifted and the hips rose, giving him some breathing room. Then slowly descended, pressing deep into his throat and mildly suffocating him with his balls. Not that Jungkook minded at this point because the mouth was tightening, changing the expanse of sensation to all over his length, the tongue spreading out and curling around his girth. Little flicks of wet muscle building the ecstasy, heightening the impending apex, making his core tense and his eyes roll up into his head as his hyung thrust slowly into his mouth, using him like the hole he always wanted to be. He did feel bad, just laying there as the other man fucked his throat and sucked him off.

Strong fingers dug into his thighs, hopefully leaving bruises.

He did feel a little guilty.

Mostly, though, Jungkook was so far gone that he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Dionysus.

It really was a fitting alias for someone so excessive.

A deep chuckle resonated around his jerking, shivering cock, bleeding into the blinding haze of orgasm, sending another wave soaring through him. Slight shame, sure, but mostly pride at hearing the clear satisfaction. He could feel it too, the swallowing and the hands that gripped his shaking inner thighs, kneading his flesh. Those full lips floated around the base of the still-engorged head of his cock, rubbing back and forth. Fuck. Fuck, it was hard to explain. A suspension of sensation, not the fleeting high of release but a constant bliss that made him want to cry.

Fuuuuuuuck.

The hips rose. Hard, wet cock fell out of his mouth, slapping him in the face and smearing his own spit on his lips and cheek. He gasped, choking on his own saliva, moaning deeper when that mouth went down on him again, keeping him hard, coaxing his want. Jungkook didn’t care. He didn’t care what was right or wrong. Didn’t care what was happening, even as fingers laced around his slippery balls and locked them in a cage. Didn’t care, reaching up and grazing his fingertips over that dripping length, pressing it to his cheek and rubbing it against his jaw. His saliva stuck to his face. His neck. Whimpers bubbling in his chest as nails scratched down his inner thigh, forcing him to spread his legs open more.

The mouth retreated.

And then tongue cupped around his balls, teeth nicking, leaving him a gasping mess of whines as it travelled all over accompanied by a palm closing in around the throbbing head of his cock, gliding saliva over the sensitive skin.

His entire body tensed, succumbing to the wicked rush of sparks and arousal spreading all over.

“Heh, let me get off you,” the husky voice above him mused.

Jungkook had a fleeting thought of, no, crush me, but then it was flood of air and light invading his senses. Ack! He recoiled into the pillows even though it wasn’t even that bright. Just RGB lighting from the computer and the ghost-shaped lamp on the nightstand still aglow. Didn’t matter though, because now he had to face…

Dark, dark eyes looked down at him.

Paired with an amused smirk.

Jungkook wanted to hide behind his hands but they were handcuffed together. He couldn’t exactly be super subtle brushing back his sweaty hair or anything. The other male continued watching him, his black hair curling around his left cheek and ear. Jungkook found himself staring at those shoulder lines and collarbones, finding himself a bit jealous of the natural beauty of them.

The other male leaned down.

Expression dangerous.

“H… Hyung…?”

“Hm?”

Then Jungkook yelped as he felt his right leg was raised, pressed against the other man’s chest. He briefly hated himself for not working on flexibility more, but then Jungkook has no more room to think as his boyfriend’s left hand wrapped around his throat, that smirk turning wicked.

Wait.

His what?

Jungkook choked and it wasn’t because of the hand around his neck.

“Look at you,” that hazy, low voice continued. “How cute.”

He suddenly became vaguely aware that the deep breathing and sound of hand on flesh was not him, but the older male jacking himself off right above Jungkook’s aching, untouched length. Hey! But he couldn’t say it, whimpering, inhale shorting when the hold around his throat tightened, cutting off more blood. His brain felt fuzzy, his tongue thick and unmovable.

“H-Hyung, please…”

“Please what, my darling?”

He couldn’t feel the pre-cum wasn’t leaking all over his inner thigh right now but Jungkook was pretty damn sure it was happening, and his cheeks were heating up, burning, my darling, sputtering, unable to say anything to the rhythmic slapping sound and calm sighs of physical pleasure. He could feel the cool metal on his skin as he crawled his hands down, down.

Fingertips brushing against dried spit and cum.

“Can I… Can I touch myself, p... please, hyung?”

Jungkook could see that self-satisfied smile through his blurred vision and it made his heart race faster, made his core coil tighter, made his mind slip deeper, deeper into service.

“Of course. Such a good boy for asking.”

Maybe he should have been afraid on how easy it was, afraid of how willing he was to fall into this depravity and be this vulnerable, afraid of how that little praise made him lose his mind, but Jungkook couldn’t think about anything. He could only feel. Feel his thoughts bleed out with the lack of blood. Feel his arousal spiking when he touched himself, stroking his length below that moving hand. Feel the whine escaping him as he teased the swollen head of his cock, rubbing his thumb over the thin skin. Blood rushing, muscles twitching, his legs pinned open by another man’s body, and the man who called himself Dionysus when he wanted to be in the shadows grinned at him, like the devil, bringing him unbreakable heaven amidst all this sin.

“You want me to cum on you?” the other man teased, running his index finger over Jungkook’s jaw as he choked him. “Want me all over your pretty cock so you can get off using my cum as lube?”

Jungkook could only moan in affirmation, both because he was being choked and because he couldn’t think straight – as expected with this dick-on-dick action – at such an obscene, arousing suggestion, excitement and exhilaration burning his veins as he saw the tension ripple across his hyung’s chest, jaw tightening, dark eyes darker, biting his lower lip hard.

Messy black hair was hanging down.

The only foreshadowing was one of his eyebrows cocking deviously.

Then Jungkook gasped as the other male leaned forward and shot hot strings all over his hands, his cock, his burning skin, his eyes rolling back as he felt the thick head press down on his shaft and dribble cum down in a painted streak. The grip on his throat loosened, shooting him into a different rise, oxygen swarming into his lungs. His vision reeled, blurry. Controlled, calm exhales washing onto his shaking chest. No remorse. His gaze snapped back, feeling the twitching head burying into his balls, staining them with orgasm.

Those dark, dark eyes dared him.

“Go on. Your turn.”

Couldn’t look away.

Locked gazes, mouth open, gasping for air, gripping himself tightly. No, tighter. The whimpers growing in his throat, jacking himself off hard and fast, pushing for the climax, couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop himself, slippery, wet, drenched in the heavy scent of sex and the cologne of green tea and marshmallow, herbal and warm, drowning, so good, s-spit on me, hyung, and that little smirk before he did. The splat so visceral, all over his punishing grip and sliding over the pulsing head of his cock, glistening purple-red, and Jungkook threw his head back, unable to look anymore, the hot flush of his cheeks spreading all over, guilty, guilty of being in love.

He came all over his hands and stomach, gasping out that forbidden name.

“Mmmm…”

The hand on his neck left him cold.

His right leg fell, no longer suspended in the air.

Darkness.

Each breath rattling his lungs. His nerves still singing. Movement, but Jungkook didn’t dare open his eyes to know. Then he sucked in a breath, feeling a soft, warm tongue lick around his fingers. His palms. His cock. His crotch. Sucking up the mixture of their cum and spit, feathering kisses and hot breath over his tingling skin.

Oh…

The sweetness was killing him.

My darling.

Jungkook was pretty sure he was insane and making up everything in his head. He didn’t want to do anything but feel this moment. Hands slipped under his. Sticky, wet, and yet those fingertips traced his palms, laying them down against his abs as that mouth kissed up and down his cock, small licks curling around to flick his balls gently. He wasn’t even hard.

It felt so good.

So good.

He didn’t try to fight it. Couldn’t even if he wanted to. Jungkook let himself get lifted, the forearm against his lower back, kisses up his trembling chest, and then those dark, dark eyes observing him under shadowy lashes, amused. Those plush lips grazed Jungkook’s two lip piercings.

“You gonna get up, lazy bones?”

Jungkook made a noise of disagreement.

He had to be forced to clean up, but secretly (or not-so-secretly) Jungkook enjoyed that.

Hehe.

Apparently, he had tugged on the handcuffs a little too much because there was an indent left on the back of his wrists when they were removed. Oops. He hadn’t meant to do that. He didn’t want to get scolded, so he kept his wrists out of sight the best he could so his hyung wouldn’t notice. He received a silent side-eye, but no comment. Warning him to be careful but not wanting to make it a nagging. His hyung always warned him not to overdo it. Jungkook just… got lost in the moment.

Often.

Ahem.

Anyway.

“You okay?”

“Uh?”

It was hard to describe the feeling he got when Jungkook looked up to the other man. Maybe embarrassed, feeling disheveled compared to the confident spark in those dark, dark eyes surveying him with amusement. Maybe confused at the butterflies dancing in his chest, envious that the older male seemed so calm shirtless, messy hair, black boxer briefs, drying his hands on a towel before tossing it onto his shoulder like a goddamn movie main character. Maybe…

Those mauve lips curved into a smile.

Jungkook couldn’t define in words what love was, but love was definitely the feeling he felt in this moment, witnessing that smile.

“Did you enjoy that? Anything you didn’t?”

“O… Oh?” It finally clicked in his brain what was being asked. His cheeks seared with warmth. “Um…?!”

Instead of sitting beside him, the man who called himself Dionysus at times smiled wider, giving him the appearance of an endearing trickster. He remained standing in front of Jungkook sitting on the side of the bed. Too close to be mistaken as friends. “I thought I did a pretty good job. You came harder than usual, or what it because I was watching you this time? Guess I can’t tell if I’m too busy swallowing, hm?” Why was he talking about this so calmly? But there was nowhere to run either, caught between a piercing gaze and devious smirk, graceful fingers fanned over one hip like an underwear model.

“I… w-wha… hyung was amazing, I–”

And then Jungkook froze.

Words dead in his throat.

That was right.

Me.

The other man bent down and brushed hair out of his vision, but Jungkook was freezing up. Right. Now that the adrenaline was gone, the scent of green tea and marshmallow was as comforting as it was a remainder. Hyung is amazing. Every time, without fail, thinking about every touch and every kiss and Jungkook was only along for the ride.

“Was… Was I okay, hyung?”

“Hm?” Movement, and Jungkook shifted his gaze to see that familiar head tilt teasing him. “What do you mean, were you okay? Did I not show my appreciation well?” A fingertip traced across his cheek.

Chills shimmering all over his shoulders and yet.

“But you only came once.”

A light chuckle. “Uh huh.”

Jungkook felt his vision blur. Shit. Why was he getting teary? He blinked hard, biting his lower lip tensely, the swift pain fighting back the tears. The other man noticed immediately. Of course, he did. He knew everything about everyone. He could read body language like a children’s book, and Jungkook was simply not on that level.

“You didn’t cum in my mouth…” he mumbled, looking away, ashamed. “I’m not good enough.”

“Hah?”

Jungkook had been trying not to think about it too much. Everything was already complicated, from how they met to the not-so-straight sexual relationship to the pit-a-pat feeling in his chest at wanting to be called my darling over and over again, but certain rain-cloud thoughts had been persistent, overshadowing everything else. The feeling of not good enough. When it had only been their isolated interactions, Jungkook didn’t think about how the other male slept with other people. Honestly, Jungkook didn’t even care since it was so obvious his hyung made him a priority.

But then there was Min Yoongi.

Watching them together was just…

“Hey.”

He felt hands on his shoulders, but Jungkook shut his eyes, shaking his head quickly, the whirlwind thoughts pouring through him. He had no right to be upset. No place to make demands, no idea what were the right words to say, no, he needed to shut up and appreciate that he could even be in this position. “I’m sorry, I’ll try harder next time, I’m sor–”

“Stop saying silly things.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice choked up, cracking in his chest. “I can do better.”

Thwack.

“Ow!”

A sharp pain shot over his forehead. It took Jungkook a moment to realize he had been flicked. His eyes snapped open, snapping his head up to gawk, slack-jawed. The older man looked annoyed, looking down at him with a hand still on Jungkook’s right shoulder. He lowered his right hand, shaking his head with a sigh, wave of black hair drifting over his left eye.

“Jungkook, please, can you listen to me for once in your life?”

Rubbing his forehead with his left hand. Less ow but still ow. “What?” Didn’t he listen pretty well? Er, sometimes. But hyung liked the bratty thing!

“You really think I give a shit about quantity over quality?” Even being scolded in that husky voice wasn’t that bad. Those dark, dark eyes narrowed and Jungkook instinctively felt his spine stiffen. Ahem. Right. Listening. “Bro, I’m not keeping count. Every once in a while, I like to discuss about how the sex was and what you liked about it. Me, I don’t stop unless I’m satisfied. It isn’t the number of orgasms or what exactly happens that is the satisfying part for me. The satisfying part is you.”

“But if I was better… wait, what?”

You.

Jungkook pointed to himself, eyes widening. “Me?”

Eye roll. “Yeah, you, idiot.”

And then that face was close, suddenly dropping down. Green tea. Marshmallow. Herbal and warm. Soft black hair, even darker eyes, plush mauve lips in a small smirk. The shine in that gaze, the solidness of that hand on his shoulder, and that expression absolutely not having any of Jungkook’s bullshit.

“I chose you.”

Pause.

Half-smile.

“Is this about Yoongi?”

Jungkook found he couldn’t say anything but he didn’t have to.

Silence was telling.

His hyung nodded. “Whether it is or not. Whether you believe me or not… I’m not comparing. I don’t compare you to him or anyone else. I don’t like people near me. I don’t like doing things I don’t like doing. But I like being near you. I like learning the things you like and I like doing them for you. Are there things you do that aggravate me? Yeah, like this stubbornness you have about not telling me what’s bothering you sooner so I can set you straight. But I chose you. I’m stubborn too, and you’re not going to change my mind.”

Closing the distance.

His left hand slipped away and now they were forehead to forehead, staring into each other’s eyes.

“I… I can do better for you…” Jungkook whispered to the darkness.

“You’re already loads better than the first time. Couple more loads and we’ll reevaluate.”

“Hey!”

The darkness sparkled.

The pause that followed, not uncomfortable but substantial.

A fleeting kiss and lingering words.

“You’re mine. And don’t you forget it.”

“Do you need help in there?”

“No. Shut up.”

Did he have to pull up the listing on his phone to figure out the strap situation? Yeah, maybe. Perhaps he shouldn’t wear the harness? Well, he had already gotten it halfway on. Sigh. Okay, zip this up, straighten this out, lace up these hook-and-eyes, turn it around, put the damn frilly ass apron on, and…

Min Yoongi looked at himself in the mirror.

What the fuck am I doing?

He couldn’t walk out like this.

It had been a stupid idea and now the stupid had gone too far. Was all this really worth the bit? Fuck, he couldn’t even look himself in the eye. Yoongi spied the white ruffled headband by the sink and crammed it on. Ack. Pulled it off and readjusted the front of his black hair to frame his face and then rest the headband behind. Should he tie his hair back? He reached up and collected some of his hair back. It didn’t give a “pretty” look. He left it down, pulling more of it forward. Smoothed out the mid-thigh length black skirt. It was made of a thicker material that had more body and swish to it. He hadn’t liked any of the cheap costume options when he searched around, so instead Yoongi had selected clothing pieces that matched and made his own outfit.

Flowy white blouse with a high collar and large black velvet bow.

Fitted black corset over it.

Black skirt with the added touch of a white ruffled apron and sheer black thigh-highs.

And, under it all, a surprise.

He had thought about buying an easy costume. Trashy and slutty and fuckable. He had even looked into the latex options but reading up on the meticulous preparation and the sweaty aftermath (and the smell, ew), uh, nah. Besides, if he other male had done as he asked, with the silver rings and all, Yoongi would have felt silly in a costume. No, he wanted it to be obvious that some thought had been put into this. He had wanted it to be a conscious effort.

Okay, and also Yoongi wanted to look somewhat hot.

He wanted to be able to pick styles that looked good on him, not throw on some poorly-made get-up. Not that he knew if this was a sexy outfit or not. He didn’t mind seeing himself in a more feminine silhouette. Dare he say his slender frame worked in his favor here? Well, anyway, it was more the implications of why he was wearing it. And what he was going to do in it.

Um.

Should he have brought makeup? Shit.

You’re stalling.

“Shut up,” Yoongi mumbled under his breath, snatching his cologne from the counter and dousing his neck. Who cared about makeup? He was still a man. He was only wearing different clothes that he usually did. Yoongi was just trying a different look. His boyfriend didn’t want a different person.

His.

What?

Yoongi abruptly spun around and yanked open the bathroom door. His face felt like it was on fire.

“Oh, good, I was beginning to think you fell in the toilet–”

Dead silence.

Damn, the man who sometimes called himself Dionysus looked good. Sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread open. Dressier than usual, just as Yoongi had asked. Black slacks. Black brocade dress shirt with embroidered white flowers. Pressed, fitted black vest. Long fingers spread out on the bed, each one adorned with sterling silver rings. Black hair swept to the left, longer than usual, brushing against his jaw, exposing his right ear and the thin silver chain connecting one of the helix piercings to the lobe.

Yoongi managed to push his hand away from the doorframe, breathing out slowly.

“Hello… Master.”

The other man was malfunctioning.

“H… Hah?”

Staring at him with a stunned look. Wide eyes and slack jaw included. It actually helped Yoongi stand a little straighter and relax a little bit. At least he wasn’t being laughed at. He frowned and held onto his left elbow with this right hand, unsure what to do now. The pressure of his right forearm over his corseted waist helped ease the nervousness a bit.

He didn’t plan a whole maid roleplay or anything.

The other male sat up attentively. “You didn’t say it was a maid outfit.”

“Well.” Yoongi looked away, feeling his cheeks flush hotter. “It is the most classic S-and-M costume, right?”

“Hmmmm, I’ve never seen this set before. Did you pick the pieces individually and plan the outfit?”

Weird that he noticed so fast. But nice. “Y… Yeah…”

“Oh? How thoughtful.”

Ack, what was this? Yoongi was suddenly hyperaware of the air between his legs and the effect of words. And tone. And… shit. He was doing that thing. He let go of his arm and stuck his hands by his thighs, hiding his balled-up fists in the swish of the skirt. He didn’t notice that the other man was standing right in front of him until it was too late, freezing up as the shadow appeared. Snapping his head up to a familiar smirk on mauve lips, sparkling dark orbs watching his every move with amusement.

“How do you feel?”

Like my ribcage is gonna explode! Just fuck me so I don’t have to say anything!

“F-Fine.”

Racing sparks shot up his spine as an exploring fingertip traced his chin. Yoongi realized he had gotten used to the stripped-down version of his lover. He had gotten used to the t-shirts, the comfy pants, the lack of rings, the messy hair, and the natural sexiness of every move. The other man was mindful of how he held himself, but at home there wasn’t an air of showmanship nor a sharp outfit to hide behind. He didn’t believe in giving it all away at once. After all, this was a man who chose an alias for most of the general public to address him.

But.

Yoongi could tell right away when people were perfectly comfortable in their appearance reflecting who they were inside. He was witnessing it right now. Those fingertips slid down his neck, caressing the velvet bow. Their eyes locked. Darkness to anticipation. Their colognes mixed together at their close proximity. His, citrus, sharp, dark. Melding with green tea, marshmallow, and intoxication.

They called him Dionysus.

But Yoongi called him…

“What did you call me again?”

Love.

“Master.”

A half-smile. “You’re taking this pretty seriously, hm?”

Instead of his usual witty response, Yoongi remained calm, aiming to shift the mood into their respective headspaces.

“I always take serving you seriously, Master.”

The playful expression remained, but the air was different now. Hotter. The taller male raised his hands, backing off slightly, looking up and down unashamedly. It was less objectifying than it was a detailed overview.

“You look good in a skirt.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Raised eyebrow.

Yoongi shrugged. “My legs are as nice as any girl group member. Nicer, even.”

A mirthful laugh. Movement. He was unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt and rolling them back, exposing his wrists and forearms. A heavy silver chain bracelet on his left wrist. “I do like your legs wrapped around me, so maybe you’re onto something.” There was a peek of silver chain around his neck too. That’s right. He had shown Yoongi a necklace he had purchased recently, a heavy sterling silver pendant that could hold a guitar pick, so, naturally.

He had asked for one of Yoongi’s.

“W-What are you doing?”

Small smirk. “Preparing.”

“For what?” he snapped back. Yoongi hadn’t meant his voice to bristle but what how the hell was he supposed to react? He was in a skirt, for fuck’s sake! And an apron! And a damn frilly headband and they were going to–

He froze as a heavily ringed hand gripped his chin.

Insatiable dark, dark eyes.

“For you.”

He couldn’t move as that head tilted, smirk turning into the grin of a devil, and then those lips were on his. Dangerously soft and to the pattern of a pulse, keeping an infuriating distance between them. Yoongi felt himself reach up, but another hand stopped him, tight grip around his wrist, silver rings cutting into his skin and making him gasp. The hand on his chin slipped away, stalking around his shoulder and around his neck, pressing his trapped hand against his chest.

His body tensed.

The leather harness cut into his torso. A breath too tight.

He whimpered into the kiss.

A pause.

Yoongi could feel the taller male staring at him but he didn’t dare open his eyes.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” he muttered immediately.

“No as in yes or no as in I’m not supposed to know yet?” the gentle, stern voice pressed.

Yoongi opened his eyes slowly, not making eye contact but appreciating the shape of those perfect lips instead.

“No as in shut the fuck up and let me do my job.”

He glanced up with a glare.

Playful amusement and deliciously intrigued.

“You know, you’re a really bossy maid.”

Yeah, well, Yoongi couldn’t bring himself do the whole helpless schtick they did in porn movies because that shit would be way too embarrassing, not to mention not his personality at all. Besides, Yoongi knew him well enough. There was no fun in dominating a helpless creature. No satisfaction unless there was resistance.

Also, his boyfriend was obsessed with Jungkook, so he must love fucking a freaking annoying brat.

“And you’re not going anywhere dressed like that,” Yoongi snapped, lifting his hands towards the vest.

Only to get slapped away.

“Oh? Why not?”

Bro, do you wanna fuck or what? He tried not to let his frustration show. “Then where would you be going?” Okay, fine, he would play along. For now.

Casual shrug. “A date.”

Are you serious? His annoyance must have shown, because that relaxed expression became subtly arrogant. “Why would you need to go on a date–” When I’m literally right here! The fuck I put all this on for?!

“Are you implying that I don’t need someone else to touch me?”

Hook, line, sinker.

Yoongi gawked at him, dumbstruck.

The other male raised a finger and toyed with the edge of the velvet bow along his neck. “I can’t say I like the idea either, but masters and maids are supposed to be professional. Lines can’t be crossed. It is better if I leave right now.”

Wait, what the fuck was going on? Where they actually being themselves or roleplaying? How deep were they getting into this? This was a joke, right? There was no way he was just going to up and leave Yoongi in his cute maid outfit with blue balls and go off sucking somebody else’s face. The fuck was that? The anger flared up hot. I’m not your actual maid, you fuckin’ idi–

But before jealousy cloud his vision, a ringed hand covered his mouth.

Swift and with one yank, the velvet ribbon was undone.

“Lines can’t be crossed.”

Why did it feel as if the other man towered over him? He wasn’t so much taller, but there was such an obvious difference between the calm and the fury. A curtain of black hair trapped Yoongi in shadow.

“But there are no rules in this unbreakable heaven, right?” that husky voice whispered, low and dark.

Yoongi couldn’t say anything.

He just nodded, his blood racing in his veins.

Those dark, dark eyes seemed satisfied.

“Hold out your hands, my darling.”

His legs turned to jelly. What? The world was an electric haze. The fuck he just say? His hands raised automatically, gasp tittering in his throat as he felt the velvet wind around his wrists, then pivot perpendicular to tie around itself in the center, knowing exactly that it was the other male doing it with a smile, acting as if he didn’t just create a whole rollercoaster of emotions in less than five minutes.

But Yoongi could do nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing but listen.

“Kneel down for me.”

Obediently, tucking his calves under him, being careful and proper about it. The skirt flared out, covering his legs and feet entirely. Yoongi straightened his back, not wanting to look sloppy. It was impossible to slouch in the corset anyway. He didn’t feel like a different person but there was a strange exhilaration at the wrongness of it all. He settled his bound hands in his lap and looked up.

The other man stood above him, smiling, thumbs in the edge of his slacks.

“I like it.”

His cheeks warmed but Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to say anything because, fuck, he found himself enjoying it too. His fingers curled in the thick fabric of the skirt. Tightness in his core. Desire swirling, radiating. He didn’t break eye contact.

“You don’t like the idea of someone else touching me?” the other male asked again.

Yoongi frowned. “Why would you want that anyway?” he countered sharply. “They wouldn’t be able to satisfy you.”

That piercing gaze narrowed. A heavy hand on his head, tilting it back.

It made his entire body shiver with delight.

“They could learn.”

“He doesn’t count.”

Pause.

Raised eyebrow.

Now who the fuck are you referring to, Min Yoongi? But he told his brain to shut up, shut up.

“Jungkook wouldn’t do this for you,” he breathed out, shuddering with need.

A penetrating gaze. “It’s not a competition, Yoongi.”

Yeah, it wasn’t.

“Different people are capable of different things.”

Oh, he knew. He could see it. He did see it. And he definitely didn’t mean for it to come out that way, because he didn’t hate watching their entangled bodies. The roughness. His breathing grew rapid and shallow. There was something wrong with him, surely. It wasn’t a competition but Yoongi did love the intense competitive surge he felt whenever he witnessed them together. It made him want to do more.

Be more.

Be his.

“Look at me.”

He didn’t want to look anywhere else.

“L... Let me serve you, Master.”

So calm it was beautiful. The hand on his head left, sending a tingle trickling down his spine as he adjusted the headband to complete the image. Appreciating it. He nodded. Reached down, silver rings flashing in the light, unbuttoning his slacks. It was only then that Yoongi noticed the subtle tent.

Two fingers beckoning him forward.

“Unzip me.”

Under the skirt, Yoongi squeezed his thighs together. Bit his lip and raised his tied hands. He had done this action enough times but this time felt different. Like he had to be better. More subservient. Maybe it was all in his head. He gripped the thin zipper pull, tugging it away from the body to avoid catching onto anything. The prickling of his skin intensified as he realized the other man wasn’t wearing underwear.

He darted his gaze up.

The devil’s smirk shrugged nonchalantly. “Why bother when we were clearly going to get naked anyway?”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. Besides, there was an important task in front of him. He ran his fingers over the swelling length, the familiar velvety skin under his fingertips. Fuck, he had such a pretty cock. Due to his hands being bound together, he ended up bracing his palms along the underside and wrapping his fingers around the girth, inhaling sharply as he felt it twitch in his hands.

His own cock was mirroring, but Yoongi couldn’t touch it.

Yoongi looked up again.

His Master was disturbingly collected at being caressed like this. He kept his hands behind his back, not interfering. A regal stance. Must have also collected the hem of his dress shirt as well to hold it up and out of the way.

“Ah uh, no hands. That’s cheating. Back on your knees they go.”

He lingered a moment before obeying. Dancing along the fine line of punishment. Breathe in. Breathe out. The base of his palms touched his knees. It wasn’t that different from their normal sex, but the tension… It was impossible to explain. As if the possibilities that had suddenly expanded became a feeling, a thrill unmatched due to the lack of fear.

Yoongi opened his mouth.

Tongue sliding out.

Heat.

The strong taste made him moan, closing his lips around the hard length.

This? This he was good at. This was familiar hardness against his tongue, pushing it up to the roof of his mouth, sliding down deep to take it all. Slow, especially against the head, curling lips around it and rubbing slickness to velvet before choking himself again on the thick tip. Fuck, he could die like this. It was wrong on so many levels, the whole scene, and yet it was so right, opening his eyes to see himself being admired from above, the top few buttons of the brocade shirt undone to reveal those prominent collarbones and sterling silver guitar pick necklace. Heavy, weighted.

Always keeping a piece of me with him.

Those mauve lips curved upwards.

“Your mouth is the fucking best, Yoongi.”

One of those ringed hands lowered and skimmed across, following the top of those thighs that the slacks were still trapped around. There was something additionally arousing about still being in their clothes. Their roles still maintained. Yoongi felt something press against his lower lip.

Ah.

He tipped his head back and flicked his tongue over the other man’s balls, stimulating them each time he went down, heart beating fast as he saw the tension ripple out. It was a real effort to loosen enough to sweep his tongue out and then back to tightness around the head, but a challenge was a turn-on and Yoongi was no quitter, rising a bit on his knees to take in that cock deeper. Paid close attention to his throat muscles and his lip movement, keeping the pressure consistent and forceful, not giving up.

How could he?

Ugh, he was addicted to those low, soft moans. Addicted to the subtle twitch against his tongue, addicted to the hardness and the way that girth stretched out his throat, shivering, feeling pre-cum drip down his own thighs, but he couldn’t touch himself, no, not unless instructed. No hands. He slowed down a bit, wanting to make it last longer, tucking his tongue around each of those balls pressed against his lower lip and chin, strings of saliva dripping down his chin. Didn’t care. Yoongi knew the other man liked it. The cock in his mouth was so damn hard that his jaw ached. He kind of wanted it in his ass right now, but Yoongi was confident that he could get his Master hard again.

After all, his mouth was the best.

The man of excess would know.

He looked up again, intensifying the pace.

He watched those broad shoulders shudder, open-mouthed smirk watching him.

“Fuck, I love your eyes.”

Yoongi could say the same thing, but his mouth was currently full of dick.

He stopped teasing the balls and completely focused on the shaft. Molding it against tongue and lips, wet friction, slick and firm. No hands, so of course he had to be extra careful to use the force of his torso rather than his neck that needed to stay relaxed so he could swallow it all as deep as possible. Closing his eyes, basking in the attention, becoming the pleasure he wanted to give – tight, wet, deep – fast enough to not be ignored but steady enough to build up that inevitable orgasm, close, desperate for the taste, his fingers twisting into the hem of his skirt, whimpering in the back of his throat, craving it, the leather body harness under his clothes digging in to his rapidly rising and falling chest.

So close.

“Don’t choke, my darling,” that husky voice murmured above him.

Then he felt the sudden grasp of his head and the force of hips pushing down his throat. He sure as hell wasn’t going to choke at the rapidly expanding pocket of cum jammed down his throat but, um, hello, did Yoongi just hear that correctly? He was so startled that he griped the bottom of the pants, shivering as he swallowed, gripping tightly. Fire raced over his skin. His nerves singed, alight. Again with the ‘my darling’?! He was delusional. He was hearing shit he wanted to hear. Yeah, that was the only explanation. He kept his mouth closed, swallowing again, shuddering as he felt those hips roll, pushing in and out, remaining hard against his tongue.

Using him.

Yes, this was the safe space, being used.

“Stand up for me.”

Oh, shit.

He stumbled a little, wincing at the pins and needles, but strong hands helped him up. Pulled him closer. Yoongi looked away, busying himself with wiping his chin and straightening his outfit. His headband was somewhere on the floor. Welp. It was the cheapest part of the outfit. He let himself be dragged towards the bed, not saying anything. What was he supposed to say, anyway? Ah he was overthinking this, but how could he not? Was he supposed to act like a girl? A maid? Himself as a maid? Uh.

“H-Hey, what are you doing–?”

“Stand still.”

Yoongi suddenly found his legs sandwiched between two very strong thighs as his Master untied the velvet knot. Oh. He kept his silence as the knot was carefully deconstructed and undone, not making a sound at it was tossed aside. He liked watching those hands work. They were meticulous, treating him with care.

Then, those hands disappeared.

Yoongi raised his head.

Then froze as dark, dark eyes captured him along with ringed fingers closing in around his thighs.

“Uh.”

The sharp tone interrupted him.

“My title?”

Up his skirt. Fingertips traced the tops of the sheer, thigh-high stockings. Flicking the elastic, almost making him flinch as it snapped back into place. His hands had involuntarily found their way to those shoulders, gripping them for balance. He didn’t really want to say it so close. The other male waited patiently, squeezing the backs of his thighs but not going higher or more towards the center.

Yoongi swallowed.

The butterflies in his ribcage threatened to explode.

“Yes… Master?”

A devil’s smile.

“You know why I like skirts, Yoongi?”

“… No?”

They were sitting on the edge of the bed, until they weren’t. The other man scooted back a little and then Yoongi nearly yelped when he was grabbed by his bare ass and lifted. Thankfully, he was able to compose himself and not yell, even when the other male forced his knees in between Yoongi’s and made him straddle his lap. Yoongi’s knees now on the bed and he was fully clutching onto the taller male’s shoulders to avoid toppling over.

“Wait, I’m nak–”

“I can touch everything and you still look pretty,” his Master laughed, tickling warm breath against Yoongi’s neck. “Oh, looks like you had the same idea I did. Great minds think alike.”

This ass! “You can’t just violate–”

Yoongi stopped dead mid-sentence.

Those dark, dark eyes sparkled.

“I can’t what?”

But Yoongi couldn’t say anything because he already did.

He simply froze as those hands kneaded him, ring bands indenting his skin, gasping softly as he felt fingertips brush up against the straps along his legs. The bottom of the chest harness connected to straps around the tops of his thighs so it didn’t ride up. Well, it did, but only in the most delicious of ways. There was another strap around his waist and ones decorating around his chest and back, but for right now the leather below was all that was revealed. The issue was that Yoongi hadn’t really figured out if he was meant to wear underwear or not, because he didn’t want to have to take off the harness during sex and he didn’t want to wear boxer briefs over it. That would be fucking weird.

So, he just figured to go commando.

Of course, that also meant his cock had leaked pre-cum all over his inner thighs and the butt plug in his ass was now being played with since it was easily discovered.

“Ah… d-don’t…”

“Don’t?”

His Master clicked his tongue, disapproving and sensual all at once. He was tugging and pushing the flared base of the metal but plug in and out, creating a slow, maddening pace. Yoongi had picked a medium-sized one. Didn’t know how long he was going to have it in, but wanted to be prepared and all that.

“I do what I want with you, Yoongi. I am your Master, and you are my plaything.”

Fuck, he was so damn cocky but the pleasure was immense, breaking him down. Yoongi hadn’t even realized how the need to be touched had heightened and now the sudden devoted attention was making his jaw clench and his eyelids flutter, a gasping moan escaping him as warm fingers closed around his neglected cock, immediately becoming stiffer at the coaxing strokes.

“I… o-oh, fuck…”

Somehow his arms had slid around to the other man’s back and his head dipped down, forehead against shoulder, his hands splaying over the vest. The corset prevented him from bending over any further, but he couldn’t really see anything due to the skirt anyway. Probably for the best, because if Yoongi saw that hand covered in those rings, he would want to cover them with his cum immediately.

“Our clothes… f-fuck… You’re going to ruin our clothes,” he mumbled, biting back a moan as his cock was choked and the butt plug was fully shoved into his ass with deliberate force.

“You mean you’re going to ruin our clothes.”

Yoongi bit his lower lip and hissed behind his teeth, locking his arms around the other man and trying very hard not to orgasm as the persistent strokes started up again. There was no logic in holding himself back other than his own stubbornness and, of course, prompting his Master to edge him, which he did so happily. Too happily, first driving him so close that Yoongi buried his lips into the other man’s neck and almost screamed, only to be cut off with a firm squeeze to the head, causing his whole body to spasm with need, and then building the second orgasm by dropping his cock completely to toy with the butt plug instead. Holding his ass open with one hand, rings leaving indecent indents, and using his right hand to pull out the plug completely, circling the exposed, shivering hole with the tip, and then shoving it back in, creating a mortifying wet sucking sound that was a combination of lube and his tight ass.

Yoongi was determined not to embarrass himself with begging.

He deserved a reward for merely mewling for release, feeling his cock bob and smack his inner thighs, so close but not close enough.

“What’s that?”

Fuck, don’t make me say it.

Yoongi whimpered under his breath.

“P… Please…”

The response was sweet venom.

“Please what?”

He should have known. This sadist. Yoongi had half a mind to use his real name but he resisted and remained a good little maid.

“Please fuck me, Master.”

It was worth it.

He still had to be patient, of course. Honestly, Yoongi was beginning to enjoy being dragged along a little, held close by the waist as he was placed firmly on top of the other man on the bed. The apron was tossed aside. He held onto the other male’s shoulders as the hook-and-eyes were undone, not quite looking him in the face. Probably had something to do with how hot his cheeks felt right now. The corset was tugged out of the skirt. His blouse fell out with it, covering them in a curtain of white chiffon.

They undressed each other.

Usually, it was faster and with voracious greed. But this time, it was button by button. Dismantling his vest, chancing a moment to raise his gaze and see himself being observed. Not in a discerning way. No, more in a…

Dare he believe it?

Adored way.

I am so fucked.

“I enjoyed the packaging, but you look better naked, Yoongi.”

“… Shut up.”

He leaned down as the zipper of his skirt was undone, pressing his lips to exposed skin. He felt a racing heartbeat under his kiss, heard the soft sigh of contentment above him. There was only a single stray button holding the blouse together, but Yoongi didn’t let the other man access it, instead skimming his lips down that torso, inhaling the scent of cologne and warm skin. He took the skirt with him, untangling it from his legs and pushing it down the bottom edge of the bed. The stockings were loose too, so he got rid of them as well, tugging down the slacks in his descent. The other man got the hint and helped him out, shedding the rest of their lower clothes.

He closed his mouth around his Master’s cock.

“Yoongi… ah…”

He was soft but only for a moment. It was the perfect opportunity to loop his tongue around those balls as he worked that length to its hardest, running his tongue along the underside of the head, popping his lips softly at the ridge, kneading those thighs under his hands. Blowjobs on the bed were a different story. He had the most control here and the help of gravity, pushing all the way down into his throat until he couldn’t breathe and then, again, moaning as fingers tangled into his hair and locked his head in place, those hips rising into his mouth instead, fucking his throat slow and hard.

“That’s enough. Come up here and show me what’s hiding under your shirt.”

Heat rushed into his face. Shit. He tried to resist. Kept his lips locked around that hard cock, but a sharp pull of his hair sent a flare of pain that could not be ignored and he winced, gasping and clawing up the bed as he was decisively dragged up by his head. Saliva dripped down his chin, his mouth open, panting hard as he rose by force, his palms struggling to find footing in the sheets, meeting a cocked eyebrow and impassive expression.

Yoongi was above, but he felt below this dominant energy.

Fingertips touched his stomach.

The inhale caught in his throat.

Those dark, dark eyes did not look away.

No words exchanged. The touch traveled up. Up. Stopping at the leather straps, snapping each one against Yoongi’s skin. He whimpered, still held by his hair, shuddering. He could feel the onyx stones of some of those sterling silver rings. His blouse still held a single button, but it was rising with the forearm sliding up under it. And then.

The buttonhole was a little too big for the small mother-of-pearl button.

The shirt popped open.

For a moment, the darkness remained locked in gaze.

And then the man who called himself Dionysus at times looked down.

Yoongi shut his eyes, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep down his neck. It wasn’t so much the leather harness itself but rather the obviousness of how fucking down bad he was. Fuck, I need to get a grip– but any more thoughts were gone in a snap, his eyes shooting open at the sharp pain, his shoulders flexing to tighten the tension of the leather. Looking down, watching and feeling a thumb rub into his hard nipple, and then, snap! Gasping as the strap smacked back against his skin, excitement pooling down his stomach as another long finger pulled back on another strap, taking it as far as it would go, and moaning as it hit him in the recoil of being let go.

Holy.

Fuck.

His back was arched so the straps along the front were all taut. His damn ass in the air and all. Fuck. The white blouse had slipped down his shoulders, his torso jerking at the inflicted pain, his hair falling into his face, sweat breaking out along his forehead, his inner muscles clenching around the butt plug.

Fuck it.

Yoongi couldn’t wait any longer.

He reached past the other male and grabbed the towel on the nightstand. Didn’t bother to ask. Threw aside his shirt and reached back, jaw tightening as he gripped the base of the anal plug. It was a little slippery from the lube but, as he always prepared beforehand, it was clean. He was almost lightheaded with hunger as he pulled it out, whimpering at the loss, rolling it into the towel and placing the bundle back onto the nightstand.

Leaving the black leather body harness on.

Naturally, Yoongi wanted to be fucked in it.

“Aw, I wanted to bend you over and make you lift your skirt to show me.”

“Next time,” Yoongi growled back, twitching at the thought. “What position?”

The devil’s smile returned.

“How else? Ride me.”

Yoongi felt the color drain from his face. This sadist really wants to hammer it home, huh. “F… Fine.”

He was already in position. There wasn’t far to move. He just had to position his hips and lift his hard cock to look down and see the other man gripping his girth with his right hand, slowly stroking himself, white pre-cum beading against the dark purple head.

The silver rings gleamed under him.

“Want a condom?”

He shook his head. “I prepped. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not. Asking for your comfort.”

Yoongi glanced up.

Fuck, he was so damn hot. The guitar pick necklace was bunched up, the pendant stuck in between his collarbones. Shirt and vest still clinging around his upper arms. Didn’t seem bothered by it. Yoongi swallowed, lowering himself.

“Not too slow,” that throaty voice hummed. “You’re ready for me, aren’t you?”

Normally Yoongi would tell him to go fuck himself but presently he was too horny and too subservient to care, which was precisely why he held open his own ass, relaxed, and sank down. The other male held himself steady, exhaling deeply as he slid in. Still bigger than a plug, fuck, and Yoongi snapped his head back, gasping at the fullness, letting go of his own cock and gripping his thighs, trying to get used to the size. He figured he had enough experience with anal by now but, fuck, he was so damn hard and thick.

Fuck.

He was given a moment to adjust.

Then Yoongi felt a hand close around his leaking cock.

“W-What…?”

This sadist had the audacity to raise his free left hand and press his index finger to his full lips.

“Less talking. More moving.”

You…

Yoongi felt the stiff length twitch inside him and he groaned, rocking his hips into it. Their clothes on the floor. The skirt. The stockings. The apron. The blouse. The pleasure mounting with him, filling himself again and again, using gravity and lust to his advantage, tightening his core to make the pleasure radiate. Gripping the sheets next to his calves, feeling the leather straps cut into his chest, his nipples getting hard at the pain, watching himself get jacked off with that hand covered in silver rings, inescapable ecstasy radiating up his spine.

“I… I’m going to… cum all over your stomach…” Yoongi gasped, whining as he hit his favorite spot, fuck, so deep and so full, relishing in being used like a plaything for pleasure while being pushed to his own limit.

His boyfriend grinned like the devil.

“Mhm, that’s the goal.”

It was an obscene scene.

In retrospect, Yoongi couldn’t outline all the details of it. He was too far gone, too turned on and too many sensations deep to remember how long it lasted. Tipping his head back, thrusting that cock deep into his ass, moaning as he felt the strap at his waist being caught, pulled, digging the straps into his back instead of his chest, feeling the tightness around his upper thighs, violent pleasure building between his spread-open legs, his cock throbbing in a punishing grip, closer, gasping.

Closer.

“F-Fuck!”

He tucked his chin down in dismay, groaning while he watched his hips flinch and felt his cock pulse, dripping out a stream of white across the other man’s lower belly. The hand stopped but his climax didn’t, searing him with blinding pleasure as more cum shot out and smeared everywhere, staining the air with the scent of semen. Yoongi gasped, reeling, and then whined. Two hands clasped around his hips and the other male thrust up into him, hard, again, again, sending Yoongi’s eyes rolling back at the roughness, pitching forward and catching himself with his palms, losing himself to the fucking from below, trying to assist, but the orgasm was too fresh and his body was still limp, forcing him to merely hold on and take it, again, again, deep, hard, used like a plaything.

My darling.

Yoongi moaned as he felt the jerking cock spill into him, pumping him full of cum.

The forbidden name escaped his lips, pleading.

Yoongi could never explain how the other male had the strength. Maybe it was some kind of freakish adrenaline. One moment he was on top, still disoriented from the brutality, the next, he was on his back, his own cum sticking to his lower stomach and crotch, arms and hands around his back and ass to hold him in place when he was lifted. The fuck? And the cock was still inside his ass by some miracle.

Wait.

He…

His Master was still hard.

Yoongi gasped, feeling the cum inside him squish as the other male clenched his jaw and slid back in, slow and deliberate. Pleasuring himself. Instinctively, Yoongi pressed his thighs to the other male’s sides, surprised to feel the brocade shirt was somehow still on. In fact, there was sweat sliding down that chest, which almost never happened. He was usually never hot.

Well, also, Yoongi couldn’t remember the last time he had been creampied and continuously fucked.

He wasn’t complaining though.

He couldn’t say anything at all, desperately panting, the pleasure too much to worry about silly things like breathing, grabbing onto the shirt collar and thrusting up to meet those hips. Both of them moaned in unison, cum sticking between them, lost in lust, forgetting responsibilities and fucking instead, so close, so full, the squishing, slapping sound getting louder and louder.

A low growl.

“I’m gonna cum, Yoongi.”

His words jumbled together and barely made any sense.

“Fuck, yes, in me, fuck, cum in me.”

The hips smacked together.

The rising lust burst, pumping him full of cum again, his eyes cracking open to witness. Lashes lowered, mauve lips parted, the tip of pink tongue over white teeth, carnal satisfaction melting over his features. Weighted exhale drifting out. Warmth spreading over Yoongi’s arms.

Yoongi gripped onto the shirt collar, staring up at him.

There’s no one else for me.

Those dark, dark orbs shifted and looked down at him.

“Happy?” the husky voice panted, smirking slightly.

He had a witty response prepared but he promptly forgot it. “Yeah. That was some of the best sex I’ve ever had.”

The smirk widened, pleased. “You’ve said that before.”

“It’s true every time. You get better.”

A wink. “Helps when you’ve got a tight virgin ass.”

Yoongi felt his eyebrow twitch. He regretted being honest. “Shut up. Get off me.”

“Um, you seem to forget I pumped your ass full of cum.”

“Sounds like your problem.”

“This is our home, remember, which makes it our problem.”

Yes, it was, but Min Yoongi took a leaf out of Jeon Jungkook’s book and remained a brat. His boyfriend liked that shit, as evidenced by the bickering, and the later not-so-punishing punishment of being bent over in the shower to get his ass fucked again because he was being freaking annoying. Ah, love.

What?

Yoongi didn’t just think that. Nope.

masterpost

#bts smut #jungkook smut #yoongi smut #jungkook x male wiyllt #yoongi x male wiyllt #jungkook x male oc #yoongi x male oc

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 10 months

Text

dionysus | myg x ♂wiyllt x jjk

a series following the the mind of yourowndionysus: sex, men, and thoughts deeper than the void.

all contain male ver. whatifyoulivelikethat | m/f, m/m pairings with ♂wiyllt: Min Yoongi, Jeon Jungkook

dionysus — 4k (jk/reader, mmf) dionysus ii — 3.6k (yg/reader, mmf) dionysus iii — 5.1k (jk/reader, mmf) trust you — drabble (yg, m/m, no reader) dionysus iv — 9k (jk, m/m, no reader) dionysus v — 10k (jk, yg, reader) dionysus vi — 7.5k (jk/reader, mmf, yg, jk) dionysus vii —10.8k (reader, yg, jk) dionysus viii — 8.5k (reader) dionysus ix — 2.8k (yg, m/m, no reader) dionysus x — 7k (jk, yg, m/m, no reader) dionysus xi — 7.1k (reader, yg) dionysus xii — 11.7k (jk, yg, m/m, no reader)

♂wiyllt is exactly what it sounds like: me, as a man, dating yoonkook (and occasionally fucking reader, jk's in-story ex-gf). You can see it as an insight into my mind because male me is just me but with a dick (and I love using it, I mean, what?).

I made this series its own post because I hit the max number of links in one post on my masterpost (again, I write too much, sigh).

☆ click here for main masterpost ☆ click here for latest additions ☆ click here for drabbles masterpost

#whatifyoulivelikethat #wiyllt #jungkook x male wiyllt #yoongi x male wiyllt #reader x male wiyllt

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years

Text

dionysus x, m | jjk x ♂wiyllt x myg

pairing(s): jungkook x male wiyllt x yoongi — important: contains m/m pairing— male OC is male whatifyoulivelikethat aka me, the author ;)

summary: Not saying they are in love. It's possible. Jeon Jungkook is certainly feeling something. Somehow it's become strangely domestic between him and the man named Dionysus on social media. Min Yoongi wants to be sure about something. And the only way to be sure is to try and dom his lover, who so happens to be the same man Jungkook is into. Ah.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; important! male OC and Yoongi are pansexual and Jungkook is bisexual; this whole thing is extremely gay; discussions about ♂wiyllt's sexuality; D/s smut (hyung kink, handjob, praise kink, cumming on each other's dicks, unprotected anal sex using cum as lube, spanking, m-receiving oral, voyeurism); non-idol!BTS - dom!male OC x sub!Jungkook, dom!Yoongi x sub?male OC; Jungkook's POV to Yoongi’s POV; I hesitated posting this because I'm basically telling you how I would have sex if I had a dick and, well, this is wiyllt, yup

–

“I hate you, Jungkook.”

“I told you not to make it a competition, hyung.”

Those dark, dark eyes narrowed, sending a delighted shiver down his spine. Jeon Jungkook found himself smiling, half from amusement, half from knowing he shouldn’t be smiling so earnestly at someone who was so clearly annoyed with him.

But that’s what made it fun.

“Fuck you, man.”

Jungkook bit his lip, desire crawling all over his skin.

Please.

“I’m so fuckin’ sweaty, shit.”

The hand Jungkook knew well raised, long fingers gripping the back of the white t-shirt. A rare moment where he was wearing absolutely no jewelry. No sterling silver rings, no heavy chain bracelet, just flexed knuckles that were slightly red from use, yanking up and pulling the shirt over his head in one swift swoop. Heavy, hot exhale, turning slightly, shaking his lightly sweaty hair out. Long black strands now in thick waves, insistent fingers pushing the majority to the left side.

Broad back on display, displaying black ink along the left side of his spine.

what if you live like that

The words glistened, rivets of sweat along the contours of muscle, slightly interrupted as the man named Dionysus on social media slapped a towel over his shoulder, wiping his face out of Jungkook’s sight.

Not that it mattered because Jungkook was too busy staring at that tattoo and that back.

Those words were the lyrics of a song made by someone else, and Jungkook wanted to jack off onto that tattoo, wanted to shoot his white cum all over those words, turning them milky and hard to read, and then he wanted to lean down and lick it off, sweat and all, whispering against that skin, I want me on you too.

The thoughts made the insides of his mouth dry, craving the taste.

He turned away quickly, deliberately facing the locker, realizing he had been staring too long and thinking too much, struggling to catch his breath all of a sudden.

“I don’t think I can do this every day,” the deep husky voice muttered beside him, flexing his back to roll out his shoulders again. “I’ll leave the good-looking body to you.”

Right. As if you aren’t hot enough already.

Jungkook finally allowed himself to turn his head and sneak a peek at that profile. The line of collarbone, neck, jaw, recognizable mauve lips twisted into a grimace, the shadow of awkwardness trying to avoid his gaze.

“You did really well, though. I think you would be good at boxing if you kept up with it,” Jungkook encouraged him. After all, watching his hyung working out was different side of him he hadn’t seen before. A very attractive side, especially with his attentive fierceness. Almost as sexy as…

“Eh… I don’t really like doing things I know I’m not good at right away. It discourages me.” A husky chuckle, deep in his chest. “But I’ll try it again, maybe. Since you like it.”

“Don’t push yourself so hard next time.”

The other male frowned, wiping his neck. “I don’t want to feel like I’m holding you down.”

Jungkook dropped his voice, keeping a bright smile on his face.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Those sharp dark eyes swiveled to him, eyebrow raising.

Jungkook grinned.

“Uh huh,” the other man said slowly, smirking. “Then maybe try solving the puzzles instead of spearing everything in sight, my Bandana Waddle Dee.”

He was referring to the cute Kirby game he had picked up a few weeks ago and had invited Jungkook to play. Well. Invited was a strong word. His exact words were, uh, there’s a co-op mode if you want to stop staring over my shoulder like that, it’s a little awkward...

“But it’s fun killing the monsters, they look so cute–”

Jungkook froze.

My.

The other male resumed wiping off his torso, reaching into the locker to grab a long-sleeved black shirt.

“I’m just going to shower at home, because right after I’m probably going to lay in bed and contemplate why I thought I could ever keep up with you when it comes to a real workout.”

“H… Hyung.”

Now the other man stilled, slowly pulling down his shirt, turning his head to look at Jungkook.

Those dark, dark eyes said, don’t.

Jungkook pressed his tongue to his lip ring, toying with it nervously.

Dropped his voice low so only he could hear, shaking his head lightly. “Don’t. Not here. You wanna get banned from your favorite gym?” he chided gently, tucking his hands into his black sweatpants even though Jungkook knew he wanted to stoke his cheek to console him. “You wanna come with me? I can make you breakfast since you helped me out today, teaching a newbie like me.”

Those mauve lips curved into an open-mouthed smirk and it was endearing.

Jungkook wanted to melt.

“I’ll teach you anything you want to know, hyung. Anything. If I don’t know, I’ll learn so I can teach you.”

He chuckled and pulled one hand out.

Rested it on Jungkook’s head, ruffling his hair fondly.

A nearly inaudible sigh, something in the darkness that was those eyes, and Jungkook realized the raised right hand shadowed his face a little, shielding them from any outside curious gazes even though the public locker room was mostly empty in the early morning.

“Part of it is the world,” those mauve lips breathed, so quiet, words only for Jungkook. “But most of it is my own faults, and I am sorry.”

Jungkook tried to shake his head but those fingers planted onto his scalp, not letting him turn his head. His breath caught in his throat, feeling those long fingers tangling in his hair, damp from sweat.

The man named Dionysus to everyone else gave him a sly smile.

“Maybe I’ll let you do what you want today.”

He dropped his hand, shrugging.

“Probably not, though.”

To Jungkook, he was by name, and Jungkook breathed it now, barely moving his lips, soft and breathless and needy, savoring the shadow that ghosted the other man’s features, a little bit of surprise, irritation at his own desire, peeved that he didn’t have the last word.

“You’re the worst,” he muttered, reaching into the locker to zip up his duffel bag, yanking it out along with a black metal water bottle. “I’ll see you in the car. Don’t take too long.”

The dark eyebrow raised, and it was clear what that calm, neutral expression meant.

I’ll punish you.

“I’ll leave without you.”

“Okay…”

Jungkook stared into those dark, dark eyes, letting the next word fall from his lips innocently. Honorifics for someone he honored. Of course.

“Hyung.”

The other man half-rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue and turning away from him.

“Punk…”

“Hyung?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm.”

Jungkook sat in the passenger’s seat, nervously chewing on the straw of his banana smoothie that had been gifted to him when he got into the car. It was from the drinks bar of the gym, so it had protein in it. An after-workout snack from his hyung with dark, dark eyes and plush mauve lips.

He was driving with one hand, the other resting on his thigh, fingers curled against the inside of loose black sweats.

“How did you know you… you know…” Jungkook mumbled, unsure how to phrase it. “That you were how you are?”

“What?” came the confused reply.

Yeah, obviously what. “Ah… who you like… and stuff like that.”

“Eh…? Oh. Oh, I see,” and then a husky laugh, glancing at the intersection before turning, nodding. “I think I always knew. But knowing is a little different than doing.” He winced, as if he was recalling something unpleasant. “The original meaning behind it… hah, you will just think I’m an asshole for thinking it.”

He took another sip, furrowing his brows. “Thinking what?”

A heavy silence and suddenly the world felt very real and very sad, as if a great weight had tumbled down and was crushing them. Those dark, dark eyes shifted and they stayed on the road, thumb resting on the curve of the wheel. four fingers tight, knuckles white. No silver rings to hide behind.

“I just hated everybody, so I didn’t care who it was.”

Jungkook could feel it too. The residual resentment, understood but not forgotten, let go but not untraceable, and he saw the older male was not proud of what he was about to say.

“I touched them just to do it. The societal concept of wrong meant nothing to me. It was only encouragement. I know now that for a lot of people, those moments with me meant something important but, for me, they were nothing. Something like… little flecks of dust I brushed away. Even if I could go back now… well, he wouldn’t have listened to me, that idiot teenager back then.” He smirked but it was a fraction of his usual cheerfulness, rueful. “At least I still had the sense to not say anything. You see enough scared faces, hear enough please don’t tell anyone, tell yourself enough times that you don’t care about them, and you lose the will to be malicious about revealing secrets.”

“Why…” Jungkook spoke quietly, indicating that he was listening. “Why did you hate everyone, hyung?”

He sighed and there was a small apologetic smile.

“Because they were happy knowing I existed, but I couldn’t be happy knowing I existed.”

There was something very deliberately vague about it, as if he was asking not to delve into it anymore, so Jungkook nodded, sensing this was not the time for that. He wondered what it would have been like, if he met those dark, dark eyes back then, but Jungkook realized his teenage self would have been too close-minded to consider it, unless.

“There weren’t any rumors?”

A slow hum. “People said things, but I was lucky. I was always surrounded by women, so even in the unlikely event that someone tried to start a rumor about me, it quickly got quashed. Nobody believed it because I look and act like what society conventionally considers a man. Also, I like fucking women. And I did. A lot. It was very easy in high school.”

He grimaced.

“Ack… I was going to say it isn’t what it sounds like, but it was exactly what it sounds like. I don’t have a defense for past me.”

His hyung cleared his throat, tapping his thumb against the wheel as he waited for a red light.

“I’m not like that anymore.”

It sounded more like he was talking to himself rather than anyone else.

“I know, hyung.”

He didn’t look at him, but Jungkook could see the faint smile. “What made you want to ask me this, anyway?”

Now Jungkook felt his own ears burn.

“Um…”

He saw the car was turning into the apartment complex now, hunting for his residential parking spot.

“I was thinking the other night… I still don’t really know, but I know I’m attracted to you.”

“I think I deduced that from the boners you try to shove into my mouth or hands, yeah.”

Jungkook squinted, feeling a flare of annoyance that quietly dissipated the second the other man turned and smirked at him, agile tongue between teeth. Okay. He wouldn’t be angry. For now.

“I was wondering if I was ever gonna know,” he sighed as the car was parked.

“Do you need to know right now?”

Jungkook scratched his head, taking another long sip of banana protein smoothie. “Hm, I guess not...”

The car turned off and Jungkook turned his head, finding his safe darkness and mauve lips in a gentle smile, long black hair curling over the left cheekbone.

“This kind of thing can change at any time, you know, depending on who you meet,” that voice purred, deep and husky, ticking his head. “Or who you ask to teach sucking dick to your girlfriend at the time.”

The memory Jungkook so often reminisced about rose to the surface of his thoughts. The first time, watching, the arousal fluttering within, thinking it was only the surrealness of the moment, only the action itself, only how pretty his now ex-girlfriend looked sucking dick, only the dominant nature of how the commands were being given, the Jungkook of the time refusing to believe that the reason for his lust was those dark, dark eyes and hands full of silver rings.

Past him was a dumbass.

“I won’t be offended if you change your mind, Jungkook.”

Those dark, dark orbs, his safe darkness, looked at him now and told him it was okay, told him that he shouldn’t worry about hurting the feelings of someone with such dark eyes, for that blackness held an ocean of monsters deep down.

Currently, his hyung was being a dumbass.

“What do you think your tits would look like if you were a girl, hyung?”

The other man rolled his eyes and started getting out of the car.

“Wait, you didn’t answer the ques–”

“Jungkook, get off me.”

He closed the distance, leaving his breath against familiar skin. Copying what he liked, nuzzling his nose against the cheek that held those secretive dimples he had seen earlier.

“Don’t wanna,” he murmured, pushing the other man against the bathroom wall.

“It’ll take me less than ten minutes to rinse off.”

“We can get in together.”

Long fingers worked into his hair, grasping at the roots, and Jungkook let a low gasp escape his lips, savoring the swift tug that sent sparks of pain down his scalp and all over his body, pain that morphed into pleasure as he opened his eyes and found the other male glaring at him.

It was unfair, Jungkook knew. He shouldn’t prey on the other man’s preferences to get what he wanted.

“H-Hyung…”

He let his tongue peek out, licking his lip ring.

Those dark, dark eyes narrowed.

“You…”

He pushed those pesky sweatpants down, tugging insistently at the boxer briefs, the hand in his hair keeping his head in place witnessing the change right before his eyes, exasperation to amusement to slyness, stop feeding my bad habits, whispers between their bodies, don’t wanna, the naked body before him, their shirts already off before he came into the bathroom, whining as his hair was pulled again, the base of the other man’s palm pushing his head forward, towards those mauve lips.

Those dark, dark eyes gazing down at him.

“Tell me what you want then,” that deep, husky voice murmured. “Want to hear it when that pretty mouth of yours, Jungkook.”

This was the feeling, the command that penetrated all of his thoughts, safe in long fingers tangled into his hair, the kiss he craved centimeters away, denying him now, but Jungkook stared into those eyes and he saw it was his, all of it was his, he just had to be patient and wait.

“Want to touch you, hyung.”

Dragged his fingertips down the line of his hip, wrapping his fingers around that hard length, trying to remember all the little things the other man did to him because he still wasn’t good at it yet, and it was so hard to remember, he was just so busy watching the calm expression crack a little, plush mauve lips parting, quiet murmur of pleasure at his touch. His.

No one else’s.

“Want to make you feel good.”

He could feel the cock in his hand twitch, weighted in his palm, and slowly he began to move his hand, keeping a firm but not too tight hold, shuddering at the strange sensation of soft velvet skin and solid stiffness, letting the other male tilt his head back by tugging at his hair, his lips parting, the name falling from his lips.

The name he whispered to himself when he was alone, running his fingers over his cock, imagining it was a hand full of silver rings.

The name he murmured when he was alone, tracing the space beside him in his bed, wondering where the other man was.

The name Jungkook gasped when he was with him, closing his eyes as the kiss met him, lush lips against his, insistent desire and undeniable dominance, nimble tongue coaxing his into a frenzy, trapping the embarrassing whimpers in his chest as he moved his inexperienced hand back and forth, trying to be good, trying to do what he remembered, but it was so hard, he couldn’t focus, the kiss alone was so intense and that tongue thrust into his mouth over and over, making him cry out, his pleas smothered by the palm pressing into the back of his head, deepening the kiss, so hard to think.

“Faster. Tighter.” The purr drifting into his panting mouth. “That’s it.”

He could feel it, the slickness of pre-cum dripping onto his wrist, and Jungkook backed up for a half-second, releasing his hold and slathering his fingers and palm with his saliva, reaching back down and resuming the pace.

A sharp inhale, right against his lip ring. “Mmm, fuck, so dirty.”

Jungkook looked up.

Dark orbs shadowed by lashes, glittering with amusement as he was caught searching for approval.

“A little higher. Closer to the head.”

Jungkook adjusted his grip, keeping the fast and hard pace.

The shadows appeared between them, faces close together once more, lips pressing to the underside of his lower lip, right at the center.

“Good boy.”

If only Jungkook could describe the absolute high he got from such simple praise, fuck, it was insane, it was otherworldly, it was just so, so fucking perfect, feeling the other man’s hand slide down out of his hair and cradle his jaw, airy moan floating directly into his mouth, slick grip and hot pulse right in his hands, knowing he was doing it right because his lips were captured once more, teeth nipping at his lower lip and tongue toying with his lip ring, it’s you, those eyes and those lips and this touch, all him, unbreakable heaven, the one who called himself Dionysus to everyone else but to Jungkook he was by name.

His lips formed it, gasping and needy.

He could feel the smile, devious and fond.

Jungkook looked down, at his own right hand wrapped around another cock that wasn’t his, something he thought would never happen, something he thought he would never want, but he needed it, needed him, and he needed the other man to know that he was serious, that this was not an experimental phase, that this was him who wanted–

With a start, he realized that somehow his own pants were pushed down and falling to his knees, his embarrassingly erect cock poking out and swaying in the air from his furious movement.

“H-Hyung–”

“Shh.”

He gasped as he felt nails digging into his hips, strong fingers kneading his muscle.

“I want to cum on your dick.”

The image immediately planted into his head.

Jungkook choked, so turned on that he couldn’t breathe.

“I want to cum all over your cock so you know who you belong to,” the heavy, husky whisper purred against his shaking lips, tongue flicking against his lip ring. Teeth sinking into his lower lip, sucking on it and his eyes shifted, shaking, staring into dark, dark ones.

Jungkook could feel him grinning with his lip in between those teeth.

“You’re mine.”

He couldn’t help it.

Jungkook whimpered, a little pathetic, but mostly in desperate agreement because he couldn’t talk.

Those teeth let him go and he could see the devilish smirk now, deep dimple and all.

Then that head snapped down, long black hair falling down his left cheek, casting shadows over his clenched jaw and hiss of release.

The cock in his hand jerked and Jungkook moaned, looking down too, shuddering as he felt a hand grip his cock and another wrap around his pumping hand, stilling it as sharp jerks sprayed streams of white up his throbbing length, warm and thick, dripping all over him, sliding down to his balls, sticking to the insides of his thighs. A picture of absolute obscenity. Milky cum onto taut skin, even onto the dark red head of his cock.

“O-oh, fuuuck…!”

His eyes widened as his hand was directed, the slick contact of both tips sliding against each other, white-hot fire burning through his body, so turned on he thought he was going to pass out.

The hand holding his cock began to move.

Using the cum of the other male as lube.

“W-What…!”

But Jungkook had no desire to stop it, using all of his energy to stand as the head of the other cock pressed into his balls, his own length being jacked off firmly and fiercely, so turned on that he wanted the roughness and somehow the other male could tell – perhaps it was the pleading, mortifyingly loud moans that he was making – rubbing the head of his cock against Jungkook’s balls as he got him off.

Unlike him, the man who named himself Dionysus was an expert at getting men off.

It didn’t matter though, because Jungkook was so far gone that he could barely blurt out his release.

“I’m cu–”

He gasped and pitched forward, groaning as he stared, shooting white all over the base of the cock that his hand was still wrapped around, feeling the viscous thick liquid seep in between his fingers, the scent of sex twice as strong now, salty and heavy, trickling down their legs.

Oh my God.

The other male hummed, grabbing Jungkook’s hand and casually smearing the younger male’s release all over his balls, satisfied sighing above Jungkook’s head.

Holy fuck.

He just didn’t care.

Those long fingers mixed their orgasms together, spreading it over his cock and sighing in triumph.

Jungkook lifted his head.

The smirk greeted him, plush mauve lips and deep dimple.

“Fuck me,” Jungkook breathed.

Dark eyebrows raised.

“Fuck me… with your cum-covered cock, hyung.”

He saw the faint hesitation, and then panic overcame him, what if he doesn’t want me, then Jungkook heard the under-breath murmur, eh, whatever, we’re going to shower right after anyway, a wash of relief in realizing it wasn’t him, jumping as the other male kicked his discarded clothes aside, pushing down on Jungkook’s back.

“Bend over.”

Jungkook found himself colliding into the sink counter, gasping as he stared at his face in the mirror. Messy black hair, swollen lips from kisses, ass in the air as he was shifted into place, glancing up and seeing a curtain of black over that face, a single dark orb gazing at him, small smile on those lips.

“I’ll go slow.”

Jungkook shook his head.

“Just fuck me.”

He heard the sound of wet hand on cock.

“You are crazy, Jungkook.”

And he cried out as the sudden feeling of fullness sank into him, a little painful at first, and yet he was getting used to it. Fuck, he even liked it, the feeling of being taken like this, the combination of erotic high, slick cum, and the knowledge that it was his orgasm and his hyung’s mixed together, the perfect cocktail to throw all caution into the wind and ride on pure endorphins alone, moaning as the hips smacked into his ass, hitting him deep. A pause, simply to throb inside him, oh fuck, he could feel it all, again, just as steady and just as hard, yes, hyung, yes, heavy pants above him, looking up and seeing that disheveled state, pleasure all over that face, sweat glistening on his chest, fuck, Jungkook, stop using the honorific like that, damn you, and he grinned, seeing those dark, dark eyes flicker down and the scowl upon seeing his expression in the mirror.

“Bad boy.”

Smack!

Jungkook moaned as he felt the sting of pain flare over his ass, hard cock pumping into him, his own cock swinging in the air, harder and harder.

“Hyung.”

Smack!

“Hyung…”

Another slap, switching sides of his ass, making his hips bounce on that stiff length and his eyes roll back in his head.

“I told you, stop it.”

“N-No, hyung…”

He whined as he felt their tense thighs collide, his muscles burning at the overexertion, the previous morning workout on top of this making his knees weak, but that would have happened anyway because Jungkook was high on the pain, acting childish to persuade those long fingers to dig into his hips and fuck his ass with vicious strength, pushing back against it to get it deeper, craving that full, electric feeling that he got from being directed and used.

Jungkook looked up, seeing sweat clinging to collarbones and defined arms.

God, I hope I look even half that sexy when I fuck.

“F… Fuck!”

The hips rammed into his ass and Jungkook yelped, smacking his palms into the counter and throwing his head back as he felt the cock inside him twitch and pump into him, hearing the low moan of his name, their sounds mixing together with another roll of their hips, feeling another throb. It didn’t feel as much as the first orgasm but Jungkook could still feel it, the head squishing against his inner walls.

“Hah… hah…”

He felt hands slide up his sides, spreading over his chest. Nails running over his nipples and making him whine as he was dragged up.

“Come on, Jungkook… I need to shower… Come.”

Together.

“You’re going to have to make your own breakfast, I’m going to be late at this rate,” the gruff voice grunted behind him as he yanked on the handle and showered ice-cold water down on them.

“Ah!”

“Hold on, it’ll get warm. I’m so fucking sweaty and my legs hurt. Fuck you.”

They finally detached, and Jungkook turned around, water causing his black hair to plaster to his head, grinning at that raised eyebrow, trying to muster an expression of annoyance but failing, the hint of a dimple appearing as a smile appeared.

“You did, hyung,” Jungkook chirped, water clogging his ears.

A playful grimace.

“You’re the worst.”

“You look so different.”

A frown. “Thanks?”

It really was different. Crisp button-down shirt, ink black, adjusting the sleeve to button it over his bracelets. It had an intricate open collar than framed his clavicle and necklaces, the black guitar pick standing out. Black slacks that seemed to be tailored to his legs with how well they fit. His black hair pushed back and tied, a spare lock over his forehead. He smelled like his cologne now, green tea and toasted marshmallow. He must had added a little something to his eyebrows because they looked more defined and sharper than usual.

“I clean up well, I know,” the deep husky voice chuckled, slipping his wallet and phone in his pockets.

“You always look handsome, hyung.”

The man who named himself Dionysus turned his head and gave him a strange look.

Jungkook grinned back, holding a large set of chopsticks and a tub of kimchi.

“Can you not do that?”

“Do what?”

Those dark, dark eyes narrowed. He sighed, picking up the leather jacket on the chair and the bag next to it. A plain black leather briefcase with simple clean lines and silver hardware.

“Oh, hyung, I’m almost done, I can pack you some–”

“Jungkook, if I stay in my own home for one more second, I will have to explain to my boss that I’m late because my dick was down your throat and I’m trying to stay employed so my dick can be down your throat in the future, so please.”

He shrugged on the jacket and cocked an eyebrow.

“Stop being perfect and I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Jungkook nearly dropped the glass jar of kimchi.

“I… I’m perfect?” he squeaked.

Those mauve lips quirked into a smirk, dimple on display.

“Don’t break anything.”

His eggs were surely burning but Jungkook watched the other man go as if he was in a trance, waving with the chopsticks, he said, suddenly warm all over even though the door was closing, he really did say, remembering all those other mornings when his hyung had poked him on the head, wake up, eat breakfast, and Jungkook had been eager to repay the favor but even in this refusal, he didn’t feel slighted at all.

“Ow!”

Oil spat out and hit his bare back, not having bothered to put a shirt on – or even pants – after the shower, and Jungkook panicked as his egg, pork, and kimchi mixture turned black-brown in the pan that was not his, so he spent the next ten minutes trying to salvage his meal and remove all traces of the burn in the sink, wincing as the hot pan burned him a little, but inside he was warm and fluttery from the praise.

It was different this time.

He could tell.

Jungkook furrowed his brows. Come it think of it, it reminded him of someone.

Don’t be that guy.

Min Yoongi rubbed his face and sighed, his phone face down on his desk.

Just don’t.

He began to pick at his cuticles and then stopped, not wanting to mess with them. A shiver slid through him. He remembered long fingers around his, massaging his hands, don’t be like that, and he remembered trying to pull his hands away but these fingers remained, closing around his, index fingertip tracing his inner wrist, involuntary gasp slipping from his lips.

“Yoongi.”

He looked up now but no dark, dark eyes greeted him.

He swallowed, trying to swallow the memory too, tasting the kiss that had followed, treat your hands better, they’re your tools for music and, the second word swallowed between their lips, holding that hand that held his tightly, his thumb running over silver rings, and Yoongi believed in them, those hands and that word swallowed between their lips, believed so strongly that it was hard for him to accept it, so he was sitting here trying to convince himself that he didn’t want it.

It was not working.

Who would have guessed?

Yoongi found that he could be brave in front of those dark, dark eyes but, without them, reality sucked – society being one thing and himself being the other – and while he knew he shouldn’t compare, he did, glancing at that photo of his friends. To the smile of the bright white teeth accented by an underlip mole and a lip piercing, their complicated thing getting more complicated.

Yoongi closed his eyes.

He needed him.

Silver rings, plush mauve lips, the familiar darkness.

He thought of the question.

Then Yoongi opened his eyes, turned his phone over, and sent a text.

“I want to try this time.”

A curve of mauve lips, amused and sly.

“Try what?”

It was pretty obvious what, but then again that was part of the game. A kind of chess, the pieces being more than just words. Facial expressions. Bodies. The strict grip of Min Yoongi’s hands on those shoulders, forcing him down to his knees. And those dark, dark eyes would look up at him, amused, looking so deliciously sexy in his notched, open-collared, crisp black dress shirt, not even flinching as Yoongi removed the hair tie. A cascade of black down the left side of his face. Messy, unprofessional, framing the dimple that appeared with that smirk.

Yoongi knew the other male could turn the tables at any time, but he wasn’t doing it.

He was simply watching, curious of Yoongi’s actions. Never not himself, so assured and unbreakable, but Yoongi found that this was better, that he liked it like this.

Because there was no point in fucking someone that wasn’t him.

There were some things that Yoongi was afraid of, yes. Some he suspected the other was afraid of too, but their lips were sealed when it came to things like that. But there was action that could speak louder than words, and they relied on that, perhaps a little too much.

Yoongi wondered, does he not trust me?

He decided to test it.

He was fine being the one controlled. Liked it. But most importantly it was the other man’s safe space, his ruling realm and Yoongi wasn’t one to object to the ruler of that sexually charged realm. He liked it, for he felt free in the loss of control, free to succumb to his emotions and thrive in them, free to want without a hint of repercussion. That was not easy to achieve for most and even harder to find someone that you actually wanted to fuck.

And yet.

That was their respective safe spaces.

So, Yoongi wondered.

Do you trust me?

Those mauve lips opened, glistening tongue sliding out.

Yoongi bit his lip and slid his hard cock down that throat.

Reached down and gripped a thick fistful of that black hair and rolled his hips into that face, the face of the man who called himself Dionysus on social media, but to Yoongi he was by name, by voice, by moan, those dark, dark orbs looking up at him through lashes, so dark they were almost black, a little quirk of his eyebrows and then…

The darkness clouded, painting naughty submissiveness in them.

Not real, no, but effective.

Oh, so very effective.

Yoongi clenched his jaw but it was too late, it could feel the power of that shift in gaze, feel the rush from seeing someone who was usually in control suddenly giving it up to him, and it was euphoric, raw, real, no matter how fake the moment was because even as that expert tongue coiled around his cock and rubbed against the underside of his length, manipulating the pressure, adding to the sensation, driving him insane, even so, Yoongi could feel the power of being the one who was doing the face-fucking.

It was being handed to him and that irked him a little but Yoongi couldn’t deny the pleasure.

Even below, you’re still on top.

Those plush lips closed in around his girth, cheeks sucking in a little. Dark, dark eyes gleaming with comprehension. Yoongi slowed, driving his hips in a little more roughly instead, and felt that head tip back, sliding him deeper into the back of the throat.

“Fuck…”

It was infuriating how hard this was making him.

He heard a zipper sliding down.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” he growled under his breath, pulling at that black hair and those eyes glittered, tongue sliding to the underside of the head, to that thin skin under the slit, rubbing, teasing, melting him, and Yoongi grimaced, his hold loosening. He meant to cause pain but it was being turned on him, the soft lips circling around the underside of the head, igniting his nerves, and he was losing this battle.

He felt a finger tap his thigh.

Yoongi looked down, past the open chest with the black guitar pick necklace surrounded by purple bite marks, down to the unzipped slacks and pushed down boxer briefs, down to the hand wrapping around that hard cock with the dripping dark red tip and, fuck, a small part of him wanted to be fucked with it, right now, forget this being-in-control-bullshit, but that insistent mouth swallowed his entire length again and the right hand underneath gripped that cock, the fingers of the left hand circling around the balls and squeezing them as he jacked himself off under Yoongi.

Holy… fuck…!

In his nice work clothes, on his knees, gripping his cock and brutally stroking it, massaging his balls with those long powerful fingers, the other man shoved Yoongi’s cock into his throat and indicated Yoongi to fuck his face.

Dark, dark eyes challenging him.

Yoongi knew he had the power and he also knew he was being pushed to use it against his will, but who cared about that when the image was so undeniably, overpoweringly, obscenely arousing?

No, Yoongi did not give a fuck.

He grabbed the other man’s head and fucked those plush mauve lips with fierce controlled force, down that tight throat, oh, fuck, the sound so lewd and wet, the moan vibrating his cock, the despairingly fast sound of hand on flesh, and he could glance down and watch it, no expense spared for him, punishing pace and glassy dark, dark eyes that knew what they were doing, knew this was insane and excessive and so, so fucking hot that Yoongi could not resist, could not look away, that body, that mind, the utter depravity, and he found himself growling, low and dangerous.

“Cum on those nice pants.”

He let his open-mouthed smirk show, knowing the other couldn’t smirk back.

Actually.

Yoongi felt a hot, tingling shiver slide up his spine as he spied the flash of dimple on one cheek despite stuffing that mouth with cock.

Fucking shit.

But, once again, actions speak louder than words, and so they did, in the closing of those eyes, in the furrow of those dark eyebrows, in the sharp shallow breath and the sudden tightness around his throbbing cock, tongue rubbing harder and faster, and Yoongi felt himself fall apart a little bit, not the plan but nothing he could do now, mustering up all his strength to drive his hips forward while avoiding causing any pain, on a tightrope and the line getting thinner, so warm, so wet, so loud, looking down, so close, Yoongi could see it in how fast that hand was moving, that thick head purple-red and shiny, so close, his jaw loosening, the name slipping from Yoongi’s lips in a wanton moan, clutching fistfuls of long black hair, his own hanging down and covering the sides of his face, blinders to everything except the man under him.

Pleasure.

So much pleasure.

How could it be wrong?

He felt the groan radiate from the other man’s chest and Yoongi stuffed it back down with his cock, savoring the sound, image, and scent, all of it, the distressed noise and squish of saliva, the tension rippling down that torso to jerking hips, stream of white dripping down between long fingers and onto black fabric, dark stains that Yoongi vainly hoped stayed there, perhaps simply for his own fantasies. He could smell the orgasm, so strong, so heady, right under him, and that was it.

Yoongi jammed his cock all the way down that tight throat and moaned as he came into that tight wet warmth, his fingers curling down, dragging black hair over those dark brows, shudder after shudder, his hips flinching, letting the pleasure consume and invigorate him.

No one else.

He could fuck other people but no one mattered like this one.

He felt the other man swallow and he shivered, sparks of sensitivity swarming through him. Running his fingers through that thick hair, messing it up, pushing it back, looking down, his picture, his, lidded darkness surveying him as that agile tongue circled his length, licking him off, devouring his cum hungrily, erratic breath wisping over Yoongi’s trembling crotch.

The other male smiled at him, the corners of those mauve lips around his still-hard cock.

Yoongi heard a whimper behind him.

He turned his head, slowly, from dark, dark eyes to over his shoulder, past his curtain of black hair.

Turning.

Large, inquisitive, dark brown orbs watching them, taking in every detail, his tongue toying with his silver lip ring and sitting on a chair with his thighs pressed together, his hands obediently behind his back. Yoongi saw the sides of the baggy gray shirt were bunched up, trapped between tattooed fingers and un-inked ones, gripping the sides of his shirt so he was not tempted to touch himself.

Jeon Jungkook whimpered again, giving Yoongi his best pleading eyes.

Yoongi shrugged.

“You said you wanted to watch.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, gazing up and down. All over. Pleading with those deep, dark eyes that shimmered with lust and longing. There was an innocence about it despite the very clearly dirty nature of the want, a pureness in the absolute need, pulling tighter at the sides of his shirt, the tent in his pants rising as Jungkook licked his lips, looking down and keeping his gaze there, small sounds in his throat begging for a taste.

He was a good boy, always doing as he was told.

Yoongi understood how the man named Dionysus couldn’t resist Jungkook.

“Come here then,” he purred to the younger man.

The power, so real and raw, his pulse thundering as he watched Jungkook fall from the chair, tentative on his hands and knees, not looking at Yoongi but at his destination, and there was no disappointment there, only a strange kind of satisfaction as Jungkook dipped his hand down and licked those long fingers covered in cum, moaning as he placed his moan over that spent cock.

The man who named himself Dionysus sucked in a breath, head shivering in Yoongi’s hands, and he turned back to those dark, dark eyes. A quick glance. A slow, open-mouthed smirk, Yoongi’s own, seeing the weakness in those eyes for those desperate, gentle licks below them, needy whines from the youngest, and Yoongi pressed his cock into that mouth a little deeper, hard again, savoring the wet warmth, trapping the other man between his cock and Jungkook’s serving mouth.

There was a time that Yoongi worried that he would be replaced by Jungkook.

It ashamed him that he had thought that way, back then and recalling it now.

A moan vibrated from his cock to his core, to his spine, to his chest, all the way to his head, buzzing him with pleasure and satisfaction.

Yoongi looked down.

Dark, dark eyes gazed back up at him.

He trusted that darkness and Yoongi could see that the darkness trusted him too.

dionysus xi

masterpost

#bts smut #jungkook smut #yoongi smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x male wiyllt #jungkook x male oc #yoongi x oc #yoongi x male oc #yoongi x male wiyllt

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 8 months

Text

not allowed xvi | myg, jjk

pairing(s): est. poly relationship – yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The date of Min Yoongi's mandatory service is drawing close. It is not a solemn time, but rather a time to reflect back on how your relationship is different now. Um... other than Jeon Jungkook passed out on the couch. Ignore the snoring.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; discussion about Yoongi's mandatory civil service; relationship talk; holy shit, they love-love each other, all the feels; no smut; idol!BTS - Yoongi x reader x Jungkook; reader is JK’s noona; based on real time

part of ‘not allowed’ series, but can be read alone. basic summary: your bf asked JK to fuck you, twice, and then on the regular. blue haired JK. 2021 YG birthday, ‘Butter’, wiyllt remix. new skill acquired, JK’s sheer pj punishment, 2021 JK birthday, during PTD in LA, 2022 HNY, 2022 YG birthday, PTD in LV, 2022 JK birthday; 2022 Christmas

“I’m going to be living like you for a while.”

“It is not as exciting as you think it is,” you had replied with a small laugh.

This.

The addition of Jeon Jungkook to the relationship between you and Min Yoongi had a comfortable rhythm. At first, there had been hesitancy. Uncertainty in defying convention, but it had felt so natural that it seemed weirder to defy the connection. A male idol having a girlfriend was already not allowed, so what was one (or) more rule(s) broken? And so, the relationship between you three was a secret from the public for reasons and a secret from most for other reasons.

All obvious, logical, unspoken.

Of course, the ones who knew the most were the other five members of BTS. For the sake of happiness, they preserved this bubble and did not interfere. Understandably, in the beginning, there had been a light discussion between all about if this was helping or hurting. They had wanted to know if anyone was overstepping bounds or if there were any ill feelings. At the end of the day, Yoongi and Jungkook did work together. But, more importantly, they were friends. The group could only work as a unit if everyone trusted each other. This was unmarked territory. Love could be messy. No one could predict the future of forever. You could only promise to be honest. Yoongi had said that he would do his best to communicate and take care of the relationships. And Jungkook, well, he was the kind of man that always had to come back to who he was, otherwise he felt lost.

Meaning…

He was alarmingly bad at hiding his attraction to you.

As proven on Run BTS!, Jeon Jungkook was a very shitty liar.

Surprising to all, the dynamic ended up having a good flow. You knew what you were getting yourself into and you knew you had to adapt to unusual circumstances, as you had been when you chose to pursue this love. As the older one, Yoongi understood Jungkook well. As the younger one, Jungkook was considerate and pure-hearted. There were no major difficulties because everyone went to great lengths to communicate and to be understanding. There was a shared belief in the power of a promise. No need for specific rules on how much time you spent with one or the other, nor any rules for how the time would be spent. With the introduction of solo activities, it became a little easier.

It was easy to love and, now, even easier to spend that precious time together.

Jungkook always told you how important you were to him. Probably because he too wanted to hear that you reciprocated the feeling, which you did and told him so. He was, as he often said, a (large and excitable and very cute) handful. He had odd hours. He was eccentric. Unpredictable. It very much depended on the day if Jeon Jungkook wanted to think very deeply about something specific… or nothing at all. Unbeknownst to ARMY, he had incorporated parts of your personality into his own. It worried you a bit, but it didn’t (did?) bother the fans when he started being a bit more devil-may-care (shirtless).

A good problem to have, one might say.

He often asked for your opinion on this or that. He had worried about being dishonest, about shying away from fans because he felt like he had to keep secrets. You told him to just act on his feelings when he missed them. Friends contact friends when they think of them. Why should ARMY be any different? You didn’t want him to and didn’t think he should stop interacting simply because he was in love. You had told him there was more to him than his relationship with you, and now he was terrorizing ARMY at midnight instead of his girlfriend (his habit of having no sleep schedule was slightly affecting your work life so you were very grateful when he made this decision). That was how Jungkook was. He wanted to know what you thought and how you thought about life. You would always answer honestly, even during times when you knew he wouldn’t like it. Sometimes he would go against your advice. He would usually come back and mumble, you were right, noona, so you never felt the need to scold or say anything more.

Stubborn ox.

Fucked like a rabbit though.

There was some truth to those chosen animal emojis, huh.

Anyway.

You realized that, because of your now relationship with Jeon Jungkook, your relationship with Min Yoongi was different now. Different in all the obvious ways, yes.

But also different in ways you nor him had predicted.

This.

After you lightly joked about him mentioning his soon-to-be-change in work life, it is not as exciting as you think it is, you had looked into Yoongi’s eyes and you knew. He, too, understood. It was a split second. The tension went over Jungkook’s head (he was also a bit too focused at laughing at Kim Taehyung’s appearance on Running Man, understandable), however, in that millisecond of shared gaze, you saw that something about your response had bothered Yoongi, something that he didn’t want to talk about in front of the maknae. Neither of you had ever agreed not to argue in front of Jungkook. Bicker, yes. The youngest found that hilarious. But a more serious discussion? It had never come up.

Until now.

And now you realized – and, by reading his expression and sudden turn of his head, Yoongi as well – that unconsciously both of you had always relied heavily on how well you knew the other, always relied on the many years before Jeon Jungkook to be the centerpiece of this relationship, always relied on an unexplainable telepathy that had developed from knowing the heart, relied so much so that neither of you wanted to show Jungkook anything but that indisputable harmony.

Was that… wrong?

It was hard to tell. There was probably no good answer. But there was that shared silence, the unspoken rule, and Jungkook fell asleep unexpectedly (expectedly?) sometime later, with a smile on his face and his arms around you. He was too heavy for you or Yoongi to carry. Well, probably too heavy for both of you combined too, but you didn’t try. Instead, Yoongi brought a blanket and you nestled Jungkook’s head on a pillow, taking care to give him good neck support and keep his now short black hair out of his closed eyes.

“He’s going to wake up sweating,” Yoongi commented with a smile, not pulling up the blanket too high.

“He should have thought about that before passing out. For someone who doesn’t wear a shirt in public, he keeps it on too often in private.”

“You know he only kept it on while we were laying on the sofa because you complained that one time about your hair sticking to his sweaty chest. Now he’s self-conscious.”

You stuck your hands on your hips. “Well, he should stop being so sweaty around me.”

“Sorry. You turn him on. He’s a hot-blooded animal.”

You rolled your eyes in mock distaste and turned to start clearing the coffee table of the wineglasses and empty snack wrappers. The television was on low, nothing but mumbling and light. Your hand reached out and long, gentle fingers rested on your knuckles.

You paused.

It was cooler now. Nearly fall. Still somewhat hot at times, but the nights were cold. The change in temperature reflected in the skin-to-skin contact. Your head turned, seeing his bare fair-skinned arm, then the sleeve of his large white Valentino t-shirt. Black pajama pants that matched the ones you were wearing, but you were in a dark grey sweatshirt with the bottom half cut off. Up to his face, framed now by his shorter black hair, a sign of what was to come, and then.

Yoongi looked back, dark brown eyes glimmering in the dark.

Lost.

When you were younger, it had been easy to fight.

You had been young, he had been young, and it was only you two. Inexperienced and experiencing everything for the first time, at least when it came to the realness of the emotions. Not yet knowing what either of you wanted from that word called love. Not yet mature but responsible enough to learn what was worth fighting over and what wasn’t. There were things worth worrying about and things not worrying about, the latter of which you and Yoongi chose to let go. It became easy once you both came to the conclusion that it was a conscious choice to address issues promptly rather than wasting time playing cat-and-mouse. When it came to Jungkook, then, you already knew how to read body language and demeanor, not to mention Yoongi had spent enough years being dragged around (literally) by the youngest to know everything about him.

It did help that Jungkook could be read like a children’s book. Again, he was not good at lying.

Now.

You looked back at Yoongi, also lost.

He lifted his hand away from yours.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you didn’t know the right words to say or the correct way to read him. You could tell Yoongi didn’t know what to say either. It had become a habit to not speak too much about the things he or you had to do. You had static work responsibilities and Yoongi understood that. He had no set schedule, only bursts of time that were in unpredictable cycles despite trying to schedule things. You understood that. His life was a little chaotic and difficult. On some level, you enjoyed it, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. He knew that.

Or.

Did he?

His dark brown eyes shifted downwards. Then, back up, quickly, accompanied by a defeated sigh. You could see that he was telling himself to just say it because the silence was going to become unbearable.

“Are you disappointed?” Yoongi asked you softly.

“What?” Your voice was also quiet. “Why would I be disappointed? About what?”

When he had mentioned earlier that he would be living like you for a while, he had been referring to his mandatory civil service. You knew that. You also knew it was not something you got to decide, nor something he got to decide either. It was assigned. This was a known part of life for Koreans. It was something you could not change, something every able-bodied Korean man had to do, and something you did not look down on.

He was silent for a moment.

“I didn’t want to press on it,” you said, taking a step towards him so you didn’t have to raise your voice above a whisper. “I know you did your best in physical therapy and that you wanted to try and see if you could do military service since it is shorter time period.”

Those dark eyes came back to you. It was apparent that it was much easier for you and Yoongi to comfort Jungkook rather than each other. Being two people that were shown reality rather than having accessible comfort, it was always awkward at times like this. It was too late in the relationship and there was too much consideration to be angry over a misunderstanding, but now you could see why couples resorted to it rather than the discomfort of stumbling towards comprehension.

“Everything has a silver lining.” He smiled again, sheepish and not wanting to frown. “You taught me that.”

The words your ordinary and my special came to mind.

The corner of your lips ticked upward. “Yeah, you’ll be the most handsome civil service worker in all of the nation. It’s going to be so troublesome for them,” you sighed, shaking your head and waving your hand.

His fingertips touched your wrist.

You ceased all movement, gazing up at him.

Underneath wisps of black, those dark eyes searched yours.

“I thought you would be happy,” Yoongi admitted, his touch lingering. “I finally get a small taste of how you live. What hardships you have.”

A pained pause.

“At least some idea of ordinary.”

You took a moment to truly listen to what he was telling you.

Then, your fingers curled, caressing his thumb.

“Min Yoongi,” you breathed out, savoring his name with love and admiration. “I have chosen extraordinary since the day I chose to stay with your heart. I have never regretted a single day, a single hour, a single minute. Not even a second.” You shook your head again, lightly and in seriousness this time, turning your hand in his, not just holding it but believing in the precious power of a promise. “For the record, I don’t need you to experience ordinary life for me to feel like you understand my occasional work complaints. Hell, sometimes I complain just to complain,” you chuckled, squeezing his hand. “I only want you to trust my word. I don’t have the same hardships as you, yes, but I don’t need you to experience mine to for you to be empathetic towards me.”

He sighed and you looked up at him. There wasn’t exasperation. Only a wish that he said something sooner. “At times I feel so out of touch with most of the world.”

“You know that’s okay, right?” you quipped.

Dark brown orbs darted back to you, cocked eyebrow and slight frown.

Himself again.

You shrugged. “You are now a once-in-a-lifetime mega world superstar. Your talent literally cannot be contained in Korea. Didn’t your sold-out solo tour teach your that, hm?”

Gaze sharpening.

You smiled.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes. He was annoyed, but in a good way.

“You will be doing something many normal people do, but you have always done normal people things, you know,” you reminded him.

His expression softened, pensive to your words.

“You have famous friends in the industry, but you don’t make connections you don’t believe in. You help other music artists that many people know the names of, but you don’t do it with only profit and benefit in mind. While the situations are extraordinary, your actions are heartfelt, genuine, and what any ordinary person would do if they cared about them.”

There was something Yoongi always did when he was embarrassed at someone complimenting him and that was cringe and try to smile away the words like he couldn’t hear them. He wasn’t stopping you though. You tugged at his wrist and made him look at you, albeit with some shifty eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You held your joined hands between your beating hearts. “I have learned to expect the unexpected. I didn’t want to get any hopes up of maybe having aligned schedules in case they aren’t. I am not worried about the next couple years, but now I see that bothered you.”

A beat of recognition.

Soft sigh.

A half-smirk.

“It always kind of does.” Yoongi leaned down, forehead to forehead, closing his eyes. Your felt his hair against your skin, his warm breath feathering over your nose. “You are so capable and self-sufficient that I sometimes wonder if I am a selfish one.”

“Hah, how?” You tapped his own knuckles against his sternum sternly. “Are you fucking two dudes from the same group too?”

“Shut up,” he snickered, pressing his lips to your brow. Firm pressure. He clutched your hand tightly. “I know that I can’t give you normal, but it feels too strange that you don’t demand much. I know it is because you don’t want to pile on any stress, but…”

“Are you saying you want me to be a brat?”

A measured silence.

You pressed on. “Don’t you get enough of that from Jungkook?” you whispered low.

A defeated exhale. ��I’m only saying I would understand if you were a little bratty.”

“Are you just saying that to get an excuse to spank me?”

“I don’t need an excuse. You’ll beg for it anyway.”

“Excuse me, I do not beg. I order youto spank me.”

“Uh huh.”

“Why are we whispering?” came the croaky, groggy voice of Jeon Jungkook.

You nearly got whiplash.

“Gah!”

“Woah!”

You and Yoongi both pulled away instantly, not really in fear of being seen but more in shock and mild embarrassment. Maybe you both had somehow forgotten Jungkook was there. He had been snoring a little after all. A pink twinge danced across Yoongi’s cheeks. You looked away quickly, and so did he, feeling the tips of your ears burn, not really sure why, and you felt your intertwined fingers begin to loosen.

Both of you froze as a large, tattooed hand slapped onto your joined hands and stopped them from untangling from each other.

Your head jerked, staring at Yoongi wide-eyed. He had a similar, confused expression, soft pink lips parted, blinking quickly. In unison, both of you turned your heads to the fluffy bedhead standing beside you. It was a narrow space between the sofa and coffee tables, so there wasn’t far to look.

Jeon Jungkook was much too sleepy to open his eyes fully.

“Hyung? Noona? What’s wrong…?”

You started a little at his naked pecs. “What the… Why are you shirtless?”

His left hand came up to scratch his head as he yawned. “I got hot, so I took it off… What were you guys talking about?”

“Never mind that, you should sleep on a bed now that you’re up,” Yoongi sighed, shaking his head. He began to pull his hand away and you followed suit, thinking it was safe, glancing at Yoongi who offered a wry smile with his eyes, this guy, and you smiled back, also amused.

Strong fingers tightened.

Three hands bound together.

“Hey.”

You paused, sensing something in Jungkook’s soft tone. Yoongi did too. No one looked at each other. Three introverts between a sofa and a coffee table, between snacks and cushions, between complicated feelings and the belief of a precious promise.

“Hyung’s right, noona.”

You felt your heartbeat slow.

He stumbled a little bit on his words but you barely noticed.

“I’ve never really said this before but… You are the best thing that happened to me besides BTS. I am so lucky to have met six really good guys who took care of me and taught me so much. I am so lucky to have fans that support our journey and music. I have people who have such great love for me that I would have never received if I was all by myself. But... I am also lucky to have someone like you who understands that love. Someone who never tries to come between it, someone who cares about that love as much as I do, someone who encourages me and stands by me even though I am a lot to handle and don’t listen sometimes.”

You couldn’t look at him. You wanted to say, ah, Jungkook, stop, don’t say this, but you felt Yoongi’s sharp gaze and his eyes told you, shut up and listen to this half-asleep man ramble. You shut your mouth but it was still way too embarrassing (not to mention staring at nakey JK was not appropriate for the serious atmosphere, time and place, time and place). His deep voice was a soft murmur, as if it saying these words suddenly like this was not planned. Probably wasn’t.

“I am so lucky to love you.”

A small sniffle.

“I am so lucky to have you too, Yoongi.”

You half-expected the older male to start sprouting you’ve grown up so much once again, but the words couldn’t come out and those cat-like, dark brown eyes were misty, listening.

Really listening.

“I was talking to Taehyungie and I… I realized…”

Jungkook’s fingers caressed your hands.

“Because of you and Yoongi, I have it easy… Everything… Everything is easy. I never feel like I don’t have your attention when I speak to you. You can always tell when I’m stressed and can get me to talk about things even though they might be silly or it’s a situation you’ve never really been in.”

“Feeling frustrated or sad about your everyday life is normal,” you quietly interjected.

You heard the gentle appreciation in his voice. “And you never made me feel like my everyday life is not normal, even though it clearly is.”

You looked up.

Jungkook was staring at all three hands. His eyes were heavy with drowsiness and perhaps something else. A heaviness of words unsaid, maybe, or maybe he was just honest and the thought popped into his head right now.

“Well, I do kind of, sort of, possibly, know someone already who has the exact same lifestyle as you,” you lightly joked.

But.

There was a softness under those lashes and kindness that galaxy of stars in those dark brown orbs.

“I know. And I know I don’t have to explain anything. I don’t have to go through any troubles. I know I can trust you. I don’t have to worry. And that makes me lucky.”

This.

It was true that you didn’t need to hear all this to believe it was fact. You didn’t need, no. But hearing it, and then it hit you harder than ever before, the inexplicable feeling, the naturalness, and Jungkook looked up when he sensed your silence, meeting your eyes, you looking back, into big brown eyes that could be cool, could be sexy, could be endearing, could be anything, but all they said right now was, I love you.

The thought popped into your head.

Wow, he really has matured a lot.

“I’m not doing anything special, Jungkook,” you chuckled softly, about to shake your head but he caught your eye, stopping you in your action.

“You are, noona. Hyung knows, I know, and, like you say to me all the time, it is okay to be a little selfish sometimes.”

“I…”

But you couldn’t look at him anymore, feeling your cheeks flush and your hold tighten, placing your left hand over theirs and pulling your body closer to them. You didn’t have any particular selfishness, really. Truly, what more did you need than Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook trying their best? You didn’t need any grand actions. You only needed to know their hearts were in it. They always were, no matter what, always meaning well, and this small bubble was enough, this contentment was enough, but also you realized that maybe, maybe once in a while.

Maybe it was nice to hear that acknowledgement.

“I only want you both to be yourselves. I don’t want your happiness to be taken away because of numbers, because of what people say, because of unnecessary expectations. That is all I ask for,” you murmured, blinking quickly and taking a slow breath. “I am a simple person deep down. I don’t want to be a burden. There are still so many amazing things you two can do and I don’t want to be the one to hold you back–”

You felt Jungkook’s hand leave yours and Yoongi’s.

Suddenly, strong fingers plonked onto the crown of your head and yanked your head back to face two rather vexed expressions.

“Noona, not trying to be rude, but are you actually listening to anything I’m saying?” Jungkook grumped.

You fixated on his two lip rings and the bouncing mole underneath that frown.

“What?”

Yoongi’s hand also left yours and landed on your shoulder. “We appreciate you. We love you. You are not a burden. No one is questioning your intentions. Please, if you want something that we can give, say it and let us do it for you. A little lost sleep, a little inconvenience is nothing.” He sighed with slight exasperation. “There are things we can do, or can try to brainstorm alternatives, even if you think it’s a little unreasonable.”

“Also, why aren’t you looking at me?” snapped the younger male impatiently.

“Uh.”

“It is not like you haven’t seen Jungkook naked. In fact, I think the whole world has seen him naked.”

“Hey!”

You cleared your throat. “I have absolutely zero problem with a missing shirt,” you corrected firmly, still avoiding anyone’s eyes and (more importantly) chest. “I… I have simply realized this conversation is quite serious and I am trying not to get distracted by anyone’s nip–face.”

A light pat on your shoulder.

“Is communication turning you on?”

“Min Yoongi, I will bite you.”

“I like it when you’re feisty. It’s hot.”

You jerked your head around and poked him in the chest roughly, which did nothing to stop that signature smirking face.

“Noona, it’s been a while since you bit m–”

“Don’t say anything,” you cut him off, snapping your wrist to also (sternly?) prod Jungkook in the (naked) chest. “You are the most trouble–”

The younger male grinned, playful and devilish.

You completely forgot Korean all of a sudden.

Jungkook patted you on the head.

Infuriating.

“You’re so cute, noona.”

You swiped at him, gripping his forearm and growling. “I’ll show you cute–!”

Smooth like butter (like a criminal undercover), Jungkook bent his elbow, devious smirk widening, yanking your hold and your stubborn ass forward before you could realize your mistake, gasping as you felt the hard muscle and graceful simplicity of the movement. Suddenly you were right in front of his face, chest-to-chest, to a brilliant smile and a large nose poking the top of your cheek, playful laughter and his other arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

This idiot was flexing his tattooed bicep right next to your dropped jaw too.

“Whatchu think? I’ve been trying to work out still but I’ve been eating a little too well lately.”

You grasped his forearm tighter.

Not helpful (but also helpful).

“Be quiet,” you managed to squeak out, jumping as you felt hands on your shoulders and a low, husky voice chuckle next to your ear.

“Discipline him.”

Not your boyfriends ganging up on you and preying on your kinks to…

Oh.

You relaxed.

Ah.

Raised your head.

Jungkook gazed back at you, smiling wide, expressive big peepers telling you all you needed to know.

You’re equal, noona. You always have been.

It still wasn’t the easy to say, but it got easier every time because every time you were more and more sure of how much you meant it.

“I love you.”

He said it back, your eyes sparkling in his. You turned your head and said it again. Hundreds of times, thousands of times, millions, didn’t matter, Yoongi said it back, a small kiss to your hair, murmuring, comfortable against you, and you faced Jungkook again, sharpening your tone to seducing sternness, hm, Jeon Jungkook, you really think you know who you’re dealing with, a promise of precious love expressed in (right) body and (right) mind because it was important to say but also to do. Important to feel but also express. Important to be selfless but too much selflessness was also selfish in a way when someone only wanted to feel a little needed now and then, even in a small way, in held hands and lips-to-lips and skin-to-skin.

Yes, the next few years would be different.

They would also be interesting.

You looked forward to them because you trusted them and you trusted yourself. There was always a silver lining. Every day was a new adventure. There was no need to be afraid. After all, one stopped living life once they became afraid.

You wanted to be present.

Every hour, every minute, every second.

The last moments came and they ended with a laugh.

"Don't get sick."

His small, teasing smile said, who are you, my mom?

"Do your best."

The playful eye shift said, eh, I'll think about it.

You smiled back. A slow breath. Your fingertips lingering, sensations of adoration, a million words exchanged between your gazes. Min Yoongi reached up and closed his hand around yours, holding it lightly. There was a lot being said. A lot of memories made and to be made. A lot of future to look forward to. Conversations in the quiet breathing and in the rhythmic pulse of your joined touch. Hands that told stories.

"I can't tell you how much I love you," you chuckled softly. "That would be really embarrassing."

A good-natured smile that hid a laugh. "Yeah? I couldn’t tell you how much I love you either. And, anyway, there's plenty of time. Years and years to elaborate."

A precious promise.

"Yeah. There's plenty of time," you quietly echoed.

A stillness.

This entire exchange didn't last that long to the outside world, but there was forever in his eyes.

Yoongi smirked. Time to get a move on. "Don't get into too much trouble."

You grinned. Leaned in and gave him a delicate, soft kiss.

Whispered against his smile.

"I would never do anything that is not allowed."

This time Yoongi didn’t hold back and laughed.

part xvii ... relationships were not allowed.

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts idol au #jungkook x reader #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #suga x reader #jk x reader

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year

Text

dionysus xi, m | ♂wiyllt

pairing(s): male wiyllt x reader, male wiyllt x yoongi — important: contains m/m pairing— male OC is male whatifyoulivelikethat aka me, the author ;)

summary: You want it to hurt. There's one man you know who can make it hurt - your ex-boyfriend's, Jeon Jungkook, now boyfriend(?). Ah, lowlife princess, what have you done? His alias is Dionysus, but you don't have a chance to moan his real name with those silver-ringed fingers down your throat. Days afterwards, Min Yoongi gets the result of your masochism. It ends with a dick in his ass. Oh.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; important! male OC and Yoongi are pansexual (JK is mentioned but doesn't appear in this one); intense D/s smut (fem reader, ♂wiyllt fucks and spanks reader with his rings on, pussy slapping, finger-fucking reader's mouth, spit everywhere, standing (vaginal) sex from behind, pain kink, degradation, overstimulation, squirting, basically ♂wiyllt using you like the sloppy tight wet hole you are); minor angst; feels; m/m smut (studio sex, choking, m-receiving oral, face-fucking, m-masturbation, bed sex, handjob, cum eating / rimming, unprotected + unlubed anal, mirror kink); non-idol!BTS - dom!male OC x sub!reader; dom!male OC x demanding sub!Yoongi; reader's POV to Yoongi’s POV; first half is hetero D/s sex, second half is ♂wiyllt being extremely gay for Yoongi

“Harder.”

It already hurt so bad, but it wasn’t enough.

“Rougher.”

“Can you just shut the fuck up.”

Words lacerated. Body incapacitated, and still you didn’t feel low enough, even when you were thrown headfirst into the wall, a strong hand around your chin to prevent you from seeing stars. Your palms flat and legs spread, wider. It stung so fucking bad when that large hand connected with your already dripping, used pussy, smack, hard and fast, no time to breathe, slap after slap, shooting pain clawing down the insides of your thighs, but now, now was it enough?

He thrust into you and you clenched your core so he had to force it in.

Which he did, because that was what you asked for.

“P-Please, m-more…”

Behind you, the reply a husky growl potent with ferocity.

“Do I have to stuff this hole too?”

And then he shoved three fingers into your mouth. All the way up to his rings. It was his right hand, so there were no sharp edges, but you could still taste the sterling silver. Choking, your spit running down his palm as he thrust his fingers into you at the same time, irregular and erratic compared to the rhythm of his hard cock, which was slick, hard, and deliberate. Stretching you out with the angle, sliding your body up the wall. He leaned down, solid chest closer to your bare back, and you could feel the edges of his dress shirt, still wearing it even though you were fully naked under him.

“Don’t make me angry at you.”

You wanted him angry at you though.

He had one free hand and, instead of using it to steady you, he smacked your ass.

Open-handed, rings and all.

You yelped in pain and his fingers stuffed it back down into your lungs.

“Stand still, lowlife princess,” the man snarled sharply.

Okay, now it was rough enough.

In, out. All silver rings and harsh slaps of hips to hips, radiating pain all over your inner thighs and ass, you had no choice but press your hands into the wall and lock your knees to hold yourself up in attempt to withstand the storm of sensation. Each thrust pushed his fingers into your throat, the rough pads rubbing the base of your tongue, forcing your jaw open, all pathetic sounds gargled and filthy. When you almost got used to it to feel good, he ripped his fingers from your mouth, causing saliva to fly everywhere, splattering down your neck and onto the wall.

His left hand suddenly in your periphery.

Strong grip around your mouth, fingertips digging into your cheeks.

He shoved your head back to bend your neck far enough to fully expose your throat.

“Take it.”

His wet fingers slid between your legs, finding the swollen bundle of oversensitive nerves, rubbing in fast circles, thrusting your body upwards at the same time.

You screamed behind his hand.

Pain, pleasure, tangled together and burning through your veins. Measured pants to your muffled moans. Not the deepest angle but definitely the best force. Your eyes rolled back, feeling almost numb from the aching bliss, vicious prickling racing over your hot skin, so vicious and so intoxicating, lust and pain intertwined. So fucking good living in this wet nightmare, even if only for these minutes, even if your limbs were screaming at the abuse, forearms and calves straining, barely holding yourself up.

You had said, hurt me, and he had raised an eyebrow.

Dark, dark eyes watching you carefully.

“How?”

“As much as you can. Like I’m nothing to you.”

“Why?”

Why? You couldn’t say why. “I just… I just need it.”

The man who named himself Dionysus to the world scrutinized you until it was almost unbearable. Then he said, “You will tell me after.”

Were you going to? You didn’t know, but it sounded like an already-made promise. He kept his word. He always did. He made sure you felt like your body was being pushed to the brink, like you were a puppet and he was pulling all the strings, like it was so easy for him and so difficult for you, and that was how you wanted it, overwhelming with the intensity, barely able to breathe, unable to think.

There were some people who hurt others because they fed on that twisted external validation.

He hurt you just to show you that he could.

Punishing, rapidly rubbing your clit in time with brutal thrusts and you came so hard that liquid spewed out between his closed fingers and soaked your shaking legs, the abrupt embarrassment amplifying the high, completely breathless at the violent rush, airless moment, ribcage tight, shuddering throbs ricocheting from your core, so shockingly visceral that you slammed your palm into the wall, entirely forgetting you had apartment neighbors.

The hand over your mouth stifled your explosive wail of culminated masochistic desire.

Your spine was curved as far as it could go. Your eyes stinging with tears, helplessly staring at the ceiling, feeling him remove his hand from your swollen clit and grip your hip. Measured. Deep. Forceful, that rock-hard cock using your orgasming pussy like a toy, letting himself cum slow and relaxed into your convulsing, clenching walls, uncontrollable pulses rippling throughout your badly shaken body.

Borderline cruel.

Well.

You were fucking your ex-boyfriend’s current boyfriend, so there was that.

You had to face him.

The man who named himself Dionysus. He gave you the dignity to clean yourself up and not mention anything about what just transpired. Didn’t even acknowledge your spit slowly dying on your bedroom wall. Peeled off the condom and even picked up the torn wrapper from the floor, calmly discarding both as you fumbled with a towel. He collected himself neatly compared to your haphazard throwing on of pajamas. You suddenly realized it was hard to walk. Ow. You would feel a lot more in the morning, after the endorphins and dopamine wore off.

You looked up at him, about to say an awkward thanks, good night but, as soon as your eyes connected, those dark, dark eyes pierced right through you, causing the words to die in your throat.

They dared you to run from the conversation.

“Kinks are meant to be something you partake in. Once you get to them becoming a core part of your personality and the only things you care about, I’m out,” he said calmly for someone who had nearly choked you by thrusting his fingers into your throat less than thirty minutes ago. “Give me your reason to why you wanted me to fuck you up that hard.”

Speechless, not because you had lacked a reason, but because you had one.

A shudder when he looked back at you. Demanding an answer.

Fear and arousal.

“P… Promise not to get mad at me,” you gulped.

Casually sexy despite the sternness. Black dress shirt, half open. Black jeans with a rip on the left thigh. Sterling silver ring-clad fingers hooked into his belt loops, cocking his head, sending the wave of long black hair on the left side of his face over part of those intense dark, dark orbs.

“I can’t promise anything, but I can tell you that very few things make me actually angry,” he replied in that husky voice of his. He rolled his neck, glancing down, exposing the small white gold hoop earrings, two on his left and five on his right. Seven piercings. The lobe earrings were slightly larger and thicker than the forward helix and two helixes on his right ear. “You’re not throwing me off guard since I’m the one asking. I don’t think you’ll shock me.”

Okay. Here goes nothing.

“I… I’ve just been thinking…”

“That’s dangerous.”

You glared.

The man with the silver rings smirked. Far too smugly. He ticked his chin.

“Go on.”

You might have been angry under different circumstances, but you were too aware of what you were about to say. Still, his quip had taken the edge off. “I… I’m alone, you know? I’m alone and that’s okay, except when it’s not. I’m still friends with Jungkook, and, even if I’m not interested in getting back together with him, it…” Your mouth went dry. It was hard to look forward. You swallowed hard, feeling a sudden lump there that had no connection to a physical ailment. You remembered Jeon Jungkook’s face a couple nights ago. Bright, cheery, couldn’t stop laughing. “Jungkook is so happy lately. It hurts. It shouldn’t hurt, but it hurts. I know it’s because of you. And I know it’s me. It’s my fault I feel this way. I…”

It felt wrong.

Saying this kind of thing out loud.

“It was so easy for him.”

And even through you tried to tell yourself over and over, don’t cry, don’t be pathetic, it’s not his fault, it’s nobody’s fault, there was clear and honest communication on what was fucking and what was emotional, and yet.

“I’m not upset that we broke up. We weren’t going to work. I know we weren’t going to work. I’m not mad that he found someone else right away, but I am upset that he got something so real and so complete so quickly, it’s just… It’s just not fuckin’ fair.”

Your volume hiked and you gasped, startled at your own outburst, snapping back and slapping your hand over your mouth. Jerking your head up and he was looking down at you. Dark, dark eyes, almost black. Plush mauve lips. Pensive expression. The man who named himself Dionysus.

Jungkook’s boyfriend.

Well, actually neither of them had actually used the word boyfriend yet, but it was pretty damn obvious.

“So, you’re jealous.”

“N… No! No, that’s not–”

You stopped.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You can be jealous of a dynamic and not of the people in it, you know.”

You looked into the blackness of those orbs, feeling helpless in your feelings.

It came out in a half-sob.

“I hate knowing that you won’t fall in love with me.”

He blinked slowly. Confusion. “Out of principle, that’s probably a bit odd considering I’m actively involved in your ex-boyfriend. Still, you are allowed to feel what you feel. It’s not that bad to desire something you don’t have at the moment. But you are right. I won’t fall in love with you.”

Fuck.

That stung.

Knowing it and hearing it was two different things, you learned.

He unhooked his thumbs from his belt loops and spread his fingers, shrugging. “I’m down to fuck you. Fucking is fucking. Feeling is feeling. I can keep those things separate. You get the good parts of a relationship without the emotional responsibility or attachment.”

“What about Jungkook?” you pressed.

He stared blankly. “What about him?”

“It’s different with him. You know it is.”

His tone didn’t change. Expression unreadable. “That doesn’t mean you have anything to envy there.”

“But you would never betray him.”

An absentminded shrug, or something resembling one. “Some would say I have, being just as involved with Yoongi and still fucking his ex-girlfriend when she begs nicely.”

You felt your cheeks heat, but you kept going.

“I can see it.”

Those piercing eyes narrowed.

“How loyal you are to him. And Min Yoongi. The way you speak about them is too respectful and caring.”

Silence.

Then, a half-smirk and breath of laughter.

“And here I thought you were a bad listener,” the man who named himself Dionysus, the god of excess, chuckled.

Really, it wasn’t him you wanted to fall in love with. Well, maybe and maybe not. There was definitely a feeling, but it was more about the kind of person he was. Fierce, serious, open, and you wondered if Jungkook knew, if Min Yoongi knew, if they fucking knew just how lucky they were to find someone who offered such honest responses to such uncomfortable feelings. A weight lifted despite admitting your ugly jealousy, and he smiled at you, grinning like the devil, letting you know that he didn’t hold it against you. That he would still think of you the same as he always did.

For some reason, that accepting smile made the tears spill out.

You fell into his arms, intending to run to him but your shakings legs could no longer run, so instead you pitched forward and he had to catch you.

“Woah, oh… oh, shit. Don’t cry, uh…”

It still felt good having those silver ringed hands holding you. A small moment of vulnerable intimacy sedating the lust for oneness, and you buried your face into his chest despite sensing his incredibly sudden and obvious stiff awkwardness.

“Er… alright then…”

He patted your head gently, as if you were his cute and small pet, and that small kindness was what you needed in this moment.

“What do you do when you’re alone?”

“Jack off.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“You know me.”

Silence and Min Yoongi didn’t like it. He usually did. Small talk was not for him. He wasn’t a therapist either. He was just a guy, who liked a guy, who did this annoying ass thing of showing up at his studio with his Nintendo Switch and saying he would just stay in the corner until Yoongi was done doing whatever he needed to do before they would fuck.

Or something along those lines.

Yoongi got up from his desk and walked around the chair, sitting down on the couch.

Immediately, the one with the Nintendo Switch sat up. His hair was messy, but he was vain and too good-looking for his own good, so the black waves simply draped stylishly along his forehead. He reached up with a hand and pushed it to the left side, as he always did.

Yoongi waited.

Darker than black eyes met his.

Guarded.

“What? Something wrong?” the man most others knew as Dionysus asked him.

Yoongi clicked his tongue. “I keep trying to finish the song, but something is bothering you and now it’s bothering me. My lame attempt at small talk didn’t work, so I’m asking you straight.” He stared into those dark, dark irises that seemed to suck in all light. “There’s something off with your…” Energy? Aura? Existence? “Vibe.” Good enough. Yoongi noticed the other male wasn’t wearing his sterling silver rings.

Yeah, something was off.

A look away, to his computer and the screen of soundwaves. “I didn’t want to bother you with it since you were working.”

“Can’t work with you like this. Talk.”

“Ah… I guess I shouldn’t have come.”

“Stop acting the inconvenience you aren’t and tell me before I strangle it out of you.”

That wry smile shouldn’t have made Yoongi’s heart flutter, but it did. Annoying. Those eyes on him again, blanketed darkness, and Yoongi was beginning to recognize how different he acted when he approached his other friends about things like this. Some people he left alone and waited for them to speak up. Some he gently prodded and coaxed their troubles out. But this… He couldn’t stand it. Acting like a kid again, following his impulses rather than the life lessons he had learned throughout the years, and maybe that was because he felt safe to do so.

Please talk to me.

A soft sigh.

“I get too much gratification out of causing pain.”

“My throat could have told me that,” Yoongi commented dryly.

A wicked snicker, and the air was already lighter. “I used to think it was cool of me to act that way. To push the limit, but it’s almost impersonal. Remorseless. I didn’t even think things like, they deserve that. I move on and think about what’s next. What could top that. Don’t even bother to give what’s done a second thought. Useful when it’s something that can’t be helped…”

“Less useful when people are involved,” Yoongi finished.

Direct. “I am never shy about hurting someone’s feelings.”

“Again, I know that already.”

This time, there was no laughter. Only a heaviness, but not an unapproachable one. Yoongi found that he was able to wait this one out. He didn’t have to wait long. The other male lifted his hand and pressed his thumb to his lower lip. Pensive, as if he was trying to find the ways to accurately describe what he was thinking. It was probably more complex than a single reason.

Yoongi could understand that.

“Did someone make you do something you didn’t want to do?” he finally found himself asking.

A slight frown.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do it…”

Ah. The words must have been found. Those dark, dark eyes narrowed.

“This is going to sound bad, but the more I do things like that, the more I start viewing people as objects rather than…” He trailed off. “I’m aware that’s not exactly socially acceptable, so I avoid being too dominating.”

Uh huh.

“Your idea of, hm, a normal level of domination isn’t average either. Just so you’re aware,” Yoongi hummed.

“Thank you for your input,” was the dry response, but there was a hint of a smile creeping into that unattached expression.

“You don’t like that part of you?”

A pause.

“I think the problem is that I don’t dislike it,” was the reply, running his hand through his hair again. “I’m perfectly fine if I was locked in my apartment when the internet, delivery, and never speaking to anyone in person ever again.”

“No more fucking holes.”

“I have good hands.”

“You insult me,” Yoongi sulked.

The other male burst out laughing, and then Yoongi felt his body shiver all over when one of those hands reached over and rubbed his back soothingly, and then, all of a sudden, closeness. Green tea and toasted marshmallow. Herbal and warm. Thump. Musky and sweet, head over heels and closer to hell, those soft mauve lips hovering by his neck, the very air between them devious, the smirk so evident that Yoongi found himself holding his breath.

A finger brushed aside his long hair, tucking it behind his ear.

“And this is why I have to at least attempt to be somewhat human,” that husky voice purred into his ear, low octave and dangerous implications. “You are cute when you scowl though.”

“Shut up.”

He wanted to say there was no reason for being bothered by 6something like that. Wanted to tell the taller male that he should have just said it earlier to avoid that heavy air, wanted to say it didn’t matter, wanted to say the feeling I get with you is something I can’t get anywhere else, so you better not close me out or I’ll break back in. Because.

I have to have you.

But, of course, Yoongi said none of that.

He would die of embarrassment if he did.

Teeth nicking at his ear. Chills up and down his spine, and he invited them, invited them to burn his nerves and boil his blood, invited the chills to shimmer deep into his beating heart.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” his boyfriend drawled.

Wait.

He didn’t just think that.

What?

“I can’t work when something is bothering you,” Yoongi muttered back.

“I feel much better now.”

The heat began to draw back.

Before he could stop himself, Yoongi shot his hand out and grabbed the front of that distressed red and black sweater, dragging that body back to him. Dark, dark eyes, plush mauve lips, lithe frame, and alluring charisma that he was honestly jealous of, which is why Yoongi wanted this man to be his.

Among other things.

The man, who chose Dionysus as his alias, smiled.

Yoongi was surprised the other male didn’t call himself the Devil or something along those lines. That seemed far more accurate. Those lips parted and the pink tongue darted out, resting at the edge of his smirk. Between his teeth, teasing, reminding him of what he could do with it. Yoongi tightened his grip and yanked, closer, tumbling, his hair falling into his face, waves of black, and then hot breath by his lips, inhaling his, his body now on top of the other male where it belonged. His eyelids falling, looking down to those mauve lips and his pale hand clutching that sweater, gasping as he felt an arm wind around his waist and slide down, lifting him a little, lower body to lower body.

Friction.

“I can spend hours only thinking about you,” the voice of his dreams whispered below him, deep and dark.

I want to spend every day and every night thinking about you.

“Stupid responsibilities.”

“What?” the other male chuckled.

“I have stupid life responsibilities and I don’t care about them right now.”

He closed the distance and drowned himself in that kiss, intense and possessive and on top, and there was nothing to worry about because that arm was still holding him up, fingers sinking in, that touch missing the familiar rigidity of their sterling silver adornments.

“You’re not wearing your rings,” Yoongi heard himself mumble.

A wispy exhale, trapped between passionate kisses.

“I forgot them,” that deep voice murmured. “Doesn’t matter. I have to take them off eventually, when I’m alone with you.”

His skin burned hot. He liked it too much. Yoongi was glad his hair was too long now so the heat of his cheeks was hidden, and he busied himself by letting his hands wander under the sweater, touching soft, hot skin. Not replying so he could keep those words in his memory. Breath hitching as fingers touched his chin and pushed his head back up, trapping him in kisses once again, that grip sliding down around his neck, resting there.

He sank his nails into that back.

The hand around his neck tightened.

Arousal electrifying his veins. Low moan vibrating in his throat as that strong tongue slowly thrust into his mouth, holding his ass and choking him at the same time, grinding his clothed crotch into his as Yoongi clawed up that back and imagined it bare. The tattoo under his dancing fingers, what if you live like that. Beautiful under his hands and in his mind’s eye, a visual that he was only able to appreciate when allowed.

Heh.

“Finish your song so we can leave.”

“Who the fuck cares about my song? I’ll send it off in the morning. I’m busy.”

Busy taking pants off.

“Yoongi – ah!”

He slid down, off the couch, lifting his chin and pressing his hands against suddenly tense and hard thighs, spreading them, and opened his mouth.

“Yo, you can’t just – fuck, dude!”

He can, he would, he was. When he was alone, Yoongi worried if this was right, if he was making a mistake every time he gave into this temptation, if he couldn’t handle the pressure if those close to him knew the truth, but every time he was in it, throat full of cock and those dark, dark eyes gazing down at him, amazed by his gusto and forwardness, well, fuck, he couldn’t stop. Far from it. He pressed his hand into the other male’s ass and pulled him forward, inviting him, and that devious mind knew what he wanted right away, slowly thrusting into his mouth. Curved his tongue around the hardness and shivered as he felt the head rub against the back of his throat.

It felt so good that it was hard to think it was wrong and even harder to give a fuck.

Those long, agile fingers reached down and brushed the hair out of his vision, exposing him.

“Wanna look at that pretty face when I fuck it,” he purred, grinning like the devil.

Yoongi managed to cock an eyebrow in response. He might have been on the bottom, but that didn’t mean he was going to give in so easily. It did get more difficult when those hips started to move though. One of the other male’s knees was resting on the edge of the sofa and one hand on the back of it, the other on the seat, slightly precarious when his pants halfway down his legs, but all Yoongi had to do was tilt his head slightly, yes, fuck, that was it, the depth, his mouth tightening while keeping his lips soft, remembering everything done to him, earning him a breathless chuckle.

“You’re getting too good at this.”

Good, I better be.

And there he was, on the floor of his studio, sucking dick with his own hand over his clothed erection, stroking himself as those hips steadily and deliberately fucked his face. Electric silence, save for heavy breathing and the hiss of him struggling to catch his own breath when every ascent. On the cusp of lightheadedness, fuck, he was so fucking horny now, adding more pressure to his pulsing hardness, but it simply wasn’t enough.

Fuck it.

Shoved the elastic waistband down and moaned around that stiff length wetly, ceasing to a gurgle when the swollen head hit the back of his throat again.

“Mmmm, I like that, Yoongi.”

Yeah, I figured.

He let his eyes flicker up to that smug smirk and maintained eye contact, jacking himself off as he sucked that thick, delicious cock. Saw and felt those hips roll to rub the head into the roof of his mouth, heard the low hiss at the added sensation, the thrusting a little harder, a little faster, a little deeper, stretching out his neck with the force.

“Just a little more, yes, feels so fucking good…”

Yoongi felt the softness of balls smacking into his chin, spit running down and smearing. Tightened his grip on himself, punishing his shaft, pulsations in his palm, closer, he could feel it, feel the twitch of muscle behind that rock-hard length, closer, he could see it, those eyes closing, hear it, the shudder and the hiss of his name, his mind begging say it again, “fuck, Yoongi, fuck,” low and growly and addicting, those hips driving forward with more force, together, higher, his core throbbing, begging for release.

“It’s gonna be a lot, ah, fuck, be prepared,” was the sharp gasp.

White knuckles, gripping the back of the sofa hard.

A husky sigh and then it was shooting down his throat, thick and salty with only a hint of bitterness, cum flooding his mouth. He gasped, shutting his eyes and swallowing as fast as he could, feeling sudden jerking of his hips, his back arching and wanton moans trapped in his chest, his own orgasm spilling out into his cupped hand, trying to contain his mess so he didn’t drip onto his pants – or worse, the floor. Flinches rattling his spine, his legs, locking his neck so his head stayed still, residual cum still dripping into his mouth, his tongue lapping it up greedily. Yoongi wasn’t going to half-ass the most important part.

Wanting good head meant he had to give good head, and giving good head meant swallowing.

At least, that was what good head meant for him.

His phone vibrated in his pant pocket.

Damnnit.

The carpet was under his chair, not over here. He swirled his tongue around, pretending his phone wasn’t rattling noisily against the hardwood floor. The device did so three times, indicating multiple notifications.

“Hmm, someone is in high demand.”

The other male continued lightly thrusting his cock into Yoongi’s mouth.

He continued sucking it.

Yoongi felt a chill when he finally looked at his phone screen, now cleaned up and hands washed. The notifications were from Instagram. Someone DMing him.

“Who is that?”

“No one.”

A slow nod, disbelieving. “Uh huh.”

For some reason, this was suddenly the embarrassing part. The weird bit. Not the sucking-dick-in-his-music-studio part. Yoongi read the messages again. He knew he had read receipts turned off so the other person couldn’t tell if he read it or not. He thought about turning the phone screen off and pretending like that was that, and yet… He chewed on his lower lip, peeling away at dead skin.

A gentle finger reached up and tugged his lip free, running the pad over it.

Smelled faintly like clean soap.

The hand lowered and patted his thigh.

The one meant for him kept quiet, letting Yoongi think.

“It’s… an artist. Asking to collaborate,” he found himself saying, looking down at that hand, a familiar hand now, with or without the silver rings, a hand Yoongi wanted on him, so he kept talking, hoping it would stay. “I was surprised because I used to admire them a lot, but… It’s been a while. His music never really inspired me. I just…” How to say it? “Used to think up stories about him.”

“Ah.”

Agonizing seconds passed.

The hand stayed, grazing fingers over his clothed thigh and Yoongi felt his skin break out in goosebumps underneath.

“That’s a little strange.” Those dark, dark eyes loomed closer and now they were in his line of vision, sparkling with teasing mirth. “Stories? What kind of stories?” the other male asked, clearly knowing what kind of stories but asking anyway to annoy him.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes and looked away. “Shut up.”

“What does he look like? You gonna fuck him?”

“I’m not going to fuck him,” he snapped, tossing his phone onto his desk. It clattered and slid, hitting the bottom of his monitor. His ears felt hot. Heart racing fast, words spilling out quickly because he couldn’t stand miscommunication. “I don’t want to fuck him. I was young. I didn’t understand. I’m ashamed I ever thought he was attractive.”

“Because you know someone excessively more attractive will want to chase you and pin you down?”

Yoongi’s eye twitched.

He jerked his head and spun to face mauve lips curved into a sly smirk. Resting the side of his head against his fist and locking eyes with him. Shameless. The wave of his black hair curled around the left side of his face, slightly messy from their passion, framing that handsomeness even more.

“You don’t even know what he looks like,” Yoongi puffed.

“Don’t care. You’re clearly fucking me already so, by default, I’m more handsome.”

Reached out with his free hand and tried to flick Yoongi’s chin, but he snapped away, only to be yanked back by a firm grip on his shoulders, causing him to collide with the other male, nearly falling into his lap. Would have scolded him too, if it wasn’t for the speed of those soft lips pressing to his cheek, warm breath against his skin, and then those fingers slid into his long hair, blanketing their close faces in black.

A moment, frozen.

A rough whisper against his cheek, heating it up.

“I’m glad you don’t think whoever it is… is attractive.”

Yoongi found himself looking forward into a single iris, so dark it was nearly black, glistening before him, and he was safe here, in that gaze and this touch, forgetting all about those DMs and tipping his head, lips-to-lips, losing himself in that insistence and persistence, nothing else mattering right now, nothing but wanting it, needing it, craving him.

A single fingertip.

On his spine. Mid-lower back. Then another. Another, dancing up. He let his eyes close, simply to feel it more intensely. The light touch. Grazing but insistent. Changing, from fingertips to hand fanning over his shoulder blades, and his breath caught at the sensation. No rings. Another hand by his left shoulder, tracing the line. He listened to breath, shallow softness behind him, a contrast to his thin whisper. The name on his tongue, rolling off like smoke.

The hand on his shoulder slid across his neck, ghosting his clavicle.

That soft breath neared, feathering over his skin, murmuring into his hair.

“Yoongi…”

Min Yoongi wished he could capture that tone. That color his name was spoken in this dark night, the familiar low caress to his ear that made his head turn. Fingers over his jaw, petals of touch, and the hand at his back slid up and over his shoulder. Down his chest with warm breath against his cheek.

“Maybe I’m addicted to you,” the voice of his dreams chuckled.

Good.

Yoongi couldn’t say anything because the hand on his chin gripped it tight, pulling his head to the left, to lips that hovered by the side of his smirk. Soft. Plush. The hand on his chest was trailing down, teasing his nipples, the curve of his sternum, as if every centimeter of skin needed to be touched. The provocative lips on his cheek, denying the kiss, and Yoongi found himself longing for it, but only because the craving was created right now.

“You’re so fucking sexy.”

The tongue flickered over his lips. They both moaned, in unison, sharing breath, and Yoongi felt the scent of toasted marshmallow and green tea swarm his nose. Warm, herbal, erotic. Closer. His eyes opening just a little, seeing part of the dark bedroom that was familiar now. He felt the shadow of the naked chest against his back. Something hard and thick pressing to the curve his ass.

The hand on his chest was going down, down.

The hot mouth against his cheek turned, agile tongue snaking out to lick his smirk.

And then it was a wave of black strands over his face, lips to lips, and Yoongi let himself fall, into the kiss and into that body, gasping as he felt the hand on his jaw grasp tighter. The one below him tracing his v-line, and the other male shoved his hard cock between his ass, rolling his hips into the crevice, moaning into his mouth.

He could feel the wetness leaking from the swollen head.

His own cock dripping against his leg, hard, neglected, but no more, strong fingers closing in to wrap around the length. He shuddered into the kiss, his own hand involuntarily coming up to trace the contours of the forearm over his abdomen, and then the slow steady pace began to build a rhythm, pleasure vibrating in his core, in his shivering lower half, in his blood.

Yoongi broke the kiss.

Too hard to breathe, but the lips didn’t seem to mind, following his jaw instead, and now the fingertips against his neck were fanned out over his throat, holding him to the chest. Kisses on his left shoulder and his hair all over his face and Yoongi let his eyes open, looking into the mirror by the dresser.

On his knees.

Both on the bed. The other male behind him, stroking his cock while pink tongue licked up his neck, feeling the other man rub his hard length against his ass. All in time with rocking hips. Base to tip, building that delicious pressure that could make eyelids flutter. Something so powerful about the firmness, the insistence, the smearing of pre-cum all over the dark red head as he was forcefully being jacked off, and Yoongi watched his own face, long strands all over his eyes, his mouth open, moaning, seeing a dark, dark eye behind his shoulder taking in their reflection.

Dionysus, he called himself as an alias, and yes, this was excess.

The head behind him raised. Black waves. Devious gaze. Mauve lips curled into a smirk.

“You see it too, don’t you?”

Hand around his neck, pressing in at the sides.

Bliss.

“How sexy you are for me?”

Yoongi replied by reaching back and placing his palm over the head of that cock, creating a sleeve for the other man to fuck as he was choked. Moans thinning to hoarse whimpers. A shudder of want against his ear and Yoongi knew he did the right thing. Faster, harder, rougher, more leaking out. He felt his grip tighten as his orgasm neared, the enclosure of that hand around his throbbing length feeling too good now, but this seemed to heighten it all. Sensation deprivation let him focus on nothing but the things have brought him ecstasy, the heavy pants against his ear, the harsh nick of teeth at the curve, and then hot tongue, dripping, at the base of his earlobe, sensual saliva painted possessively.

“Cum for me, Yoongi.”

These weren’t his sheets.

He gasped and felt his hips buck, thrusting into that hand, flinching, fuck, spilling, snapping his head down to watch the stream of white leak from the dark red-purple head between squeezing fingers. Cascading shiver, and he painted those knuckles, milky and thick, all over, droplets flecking into the charcoal sheets and turning them dark with moisture.

In his high, he had let go of the pulsing cock behind him.

Hazy, apologetic, his lips parting to cry out, but then he was jerked slightly, bent over in sudden ferocity and then he felt it, a roaring pace by his ass, the blunt, leaking tip repeatedly punching into the softest part of the curve as the deep voice behind him swore under his breath, getting himself off with his free left hand.

“F… Fuck!”

He felt his body tremble as something thick and warm shot over his lower back, his ass, growling curses with every jark and splatter of more. The hand around his cock was still there, all power out of that grip, but Yoongi felt the forearm against his side become hard with tension, contrasting rigidity to the soft, hot, twitching head that was jammed in the dip of his ass, groans above him lengthening as more cum leaked down, trailing and sticking to the waiting hole.

“Fuck…. hah, fuck…”

And Yoongi could do nothing, too slow, too slow as he was let go and shoved into the sheets, his body still radiating from the aftershocks, he was too slow to stop the pathetic whine as he felt warm tongue against his ass, licking up the cum painted there, a sticky and slightly cool cum-covered hand pressing down between his shoulder blades, and now the tongue was tracing the pricking, tight nerves, mindless and overpowering pleasure in knowing it was sinful and forbidden.

“Fuck me.”

The words punched out of his lungs. His cheek was smashed to the mattress, his black hair all over his vision, his hands grabbing fistfuls of sheets and the tongue was circling his asshole, spreading him open and exposing that sensitive skin to the world, cold air and hot breath, and Yoongi growled again, low and guttural.

“Fuck me, now.”

Fingers digging into his hip, the vibration of an amused moan against his balls.

“I’m starting to like it when you’re pushy.”

His whole body lurched forward when the other male spit on him. The carnal groan was immediate, binding, all of it so wrong and so dirty but so shockingly sexy that his cock swelled again. Something about the audible sound of hand on hardening girth, pause for tongue on palm, than back to wet, lewd thrusts and Yoongi caught the breathless murmur, what about lube, swift annoyance flaring within.

“Who cares about lube, put your dick in me – fuck!”

His eyes rolled back and his head tipped, shamelessly moaning at the sudden complete, aching fullness, so much, so hard, so slick going in. Yoongi felt knees push his apart, strong hands gripping his ass, spreading him open, oh fuck, gratifying electricity slicing up his spine at the sound of that husky grimace because of how tight he was and yet, surprisingly, it did not hurt not as much as he thought he would. The high of adrenaline, probably, and his fervent desire combining into a potent aesthetic that was amplified by the aphrodisiac of drying cum stuck to his hips and back.

Perfection.

He didn’t have to ask to be fucked again.

Immediate slide out slightly, and ramming back in with a loud, messy slap.

They both swore, loudly.

Probably disturbing neighbors.

But then it was erratic gasps with each hard, deep thrust. Rough, but not too fast, diving into pleasure, and he tightened his core, answered by a hoarse hiss, lifting his hips forcefully and now it was inescapable blinding bliss, Yoongi shoving his face into the sheets, smelling marshmallow and tea and sex, feeling his knees punched into the mattress with every snap of those hips, hands pulling his ass into powerful thighs over and over, suspended by the feeling of being used and feeling so fucking good because of it, sparks racing over his skin, him, him and his hole used, all for the other male to reach orgasm.

Vulgar and yet he felt his leaking cock twitch thinking it.

Nearly an orgasm without even cumming.

He was soaking the bed with sweat and his arousal, messy, intense, his scent now on the bed too, mine, the word battered from his shaking breath, mine, his fingers twisting in the sheets as he thought, he’s mine and he wants me, and those hands gripped his hips tighter, rough groan and low hiss, hard, deep, into pulsing warm tightness.

“Fuck me, Yoongi, you feel so damn good…”

Blunt nails into softness, husky moan as those hands yanked him up into smacking hips, the thick length inside him jerking and twitching. It probably wasn’t much but that didn’t matter because Yoongi could feel it, feel the shudder of release and the wave of orgasm, flowing from that thick cock into him, raw, unbreakable heaven, and Yoongi knew he shouldn’t have been so rash but he had been too hungry and too ready to receive. Too much. Too much want.

Yoongi didn’t want anyone else.

No one else made him feel this good.

“Hah… I need…. Need another shower because of you, fuck…”

And long fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him up as his palms dug into the mattress, pushing himself upwards, moaning as he caught his reflection in the mirror, full of cock and mouth open, pink tongue along pink lips, messy black stands over his flushed face. Saw his black-brown eyes under heavily-lidded lashes and shifted his gaze to behind him. To even daker orbs and messier black hair with a red undertone, a devil’s grin greeting him, white teeth catching the edge of the mauve, plush lower lip.

Involuntarily, Yoongi felt the side of his mouth tick upwards, smirking back.

He didn’t often give compliments, but now seemed like a good time.

“You look hot with your dick in my ass.”

The man who called himself Dionysus at times laughed, dark and sexy and intoxicating, rubbing the side of Yoongi’s hip. Snack! The blow reverberated throughout, sending aching shivers of longing all over, but there was a promising warning behind it.

“Not as hot as your ass looks under me.”

dionysus xii

masterpost

#reader x male wiyllt #reader x oc #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x male wiyllt #yoongi x male oc #male wiyllt x reader #yoongi x oc

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years

Text

dionysus vi, m | jjk, ♂wiyllt

pairing(s): jungkook x reader x male wiyllt other pairing(s): yoongi x male wiyllt, jungkook x male wiyllt — important: contains m/m pairing — male OC is male whatifyoulivelikethat aka me, the author ;)

summary: Life is made of moments. Moments with people. Sometimes, the real moments happen when you're not fucking. Wild, huh? Ah, but, other times, exams are looming near and you need to de-stress. What better way to relax than being ordered to make out with your ex-boyfriend from a guy you met on Twitter while both of you are tied-up and having back-to-back orgasms?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; important! male OC and Yoongi are pansexual and Jungkook is (at this point) bisexual; fluff and awkwardness; smut (m/m and m/f pairing, D/s dynamics, begging, praise kink, vibrator use, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, m-and-f receiving oral, choking, handjob, edging, hyung/oppa kink); non-idol!BTS - sub!reader x dom!male OC x sub!JK, sub!Yoongi; switches between yours, Yoongi’s, and Jungkook’s POV; PTD On Stage in LA Yoongi and JK (their changing hair colors become plot points XD)

the yoongi x ♂wiyllt x jungkook love triangle intensifies

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v

“I need you to help me with something.”

“But I can’t–”

“Shh.”

Those mauve lips shut you up with a kiss, his fingers gripping your cheeks, forcing your head still. He drew back slowly, your protests in his inhale, claiming your gaze with dark, dark eyes that told you could do anything.

“It’s just Jungkook. You’ve kissed him before.”

“B-But… I don’t know if I can keep him q-quiet with my kisses… Only you can do that.”

A devilish chuckle as he caressed your jaw. He pressed the pad of his thumb into your lower lip.

“You need practice, don’t you?”

Rolled his thumb up and down, toying with the softness.

“Practice being a good girl, hm?” the man named Dionysus on Twitter purred, low and sensual, his long black hair drifting down and covering part of his left eye, full of danger and desire. Turning your head with his hand, to the left where your ex-boyfriend-turned-sex-friend was laying on the bed. Big brown eyes wide, his silver eyebrow piercing gleaming in the overhead light, a hand that was not his own clamped over his mouth. His hands were bound at the wrists and chained to the silver ring of the black leather collar around his neck, preventing him from using them.

Just like you.

Still, his fingers were reaching up, stroking the wrist of the other man, begging for attention.

“J-Jungkook…” you whispered.

Jeon Jungkook whined, his black hair messy and framing his temples.

The other man clicked his tongue, not yet looking at Jungkook, fixed on you. Leaning down, placing a light kiss on your temple, whispering your name into your hair. You could smell him, herbal and warm, green tea and toasted marshmallow.

“It’s your job to make sure he doesn’t speak,” he murmured, his index finger rising and stroking Jungkook’s cheekbone. “Do a good job and I’ll reward you.”

A hot shiver slid up and down your spine.

The long black hair lifted and light streamed down. His hand on your chin gracefully turned, cupping the back of your head, pulling you closer to Jungkook, those dark brows and big brown eyes you knew well, long fingers leaving his lips, familiar pink lips now adorned with a silver ring. The other male’s head lowered again, but this time to an ear with three silver hoops, white teeth biting the curve, causing Jungkook to whimper against your lips.

You could hear that husky, warning whisper.

“Let us see your obedience.”

He was meaner to Jungkook.

You felt a surge of envy.

You could see that he wanted it too, his pupils dilating at the order.

Then Jungkook's lips pressed against yours and the vibrator in your pussy surged to life.

“Mmmphf!”

You immediately clamped your thighs together, intensifying the vibrations, and Jungkook shoved his face closer to yours, his lip ring indenting the side of your mouth, hungry and desperate kisses, his hands reaching out, clasping tightly and interlocking his fingers with yours. You moaned, shaken from core to lips, and his tongue slid inside your open mouth, rubbing against yours, his clean scent filling your nose, your whimper mixing with his, holding onto him, eyes sliding shut at the waves of pleasure, steady and deliberate, wetter and wetter, building the fire, clenching around the pulsing sensations.

Movement.

Jungkook squeaked, almost breaking the kiss, but you sucked on his tongue roughly, determined to keep him in place, peeking slightly to see his lashes fluttering in ecstasy.

You heard the sound of tongue on skin.

You glanced down.

Dark, dark eyes greeted you with a cocked eyebrow between Jungkook’s spread open legs.

The other man’s hands were on your ex-boyfriend’s thighs, pinning them down. Flexible pink tongue snaking out between dark mauve lips, slowly and leisurely licking the dark red head, lapping up the leaking pre-cum, saliva dripping down the length of Jungkook’s already hard cock, lewd and obvious, not looking away from you.

Your eyes widened, drenching yourself at the sight.

His left thumb slid up and you saw the remote of the vibrator right before you felt the setting abruptly change to a stronger three pulse beat with a breath of stillness in between each one.

Now it was your turn to almost break away, but Jungkook followed, tugging you back, feverish kisses and intense sensations juxtaposed with a second of anticipation before starting again, over and over, falling into a reverie of euphoria. Your thighs squeezed together, your juices leaking between them, drinking in Jungkook’s moans and your eyes drifted down again, seeing his hard length being swallowed all the way to the base.

That piercing gaze caught you again.

Quirked eyebrow, smug and amused.

The tip of that pink tongue flickered out, licking around the curve of Jungkook’s balls, one side and then what you assumed was the other, tipping his head a little to let you see more, so calm as Jungkook was falling apart in your mouth, depraved groans and desperate whimpers, nearly making you wish that you had a dick and balls that could be licked and sucked like that.

Was that what dick envy meant?

The left hand holding the remote raised. A flare of burning desire and want as he waved it in the air, caressing the button, wordlessly asking you if you wanted more, all while leisurely sucking Jungkook’s dick.

Soft, dirty sounds, his cheeks hollowing out in a slow pulse.

You tried to nod, but Jungkook thought you were trying to break free. He clutched your hands and kissed your harder, deeper, more and more kisses, his brows furrowing and eyes closed, unaware of your silent conversation.

Could a man smirk with a mouth full of dick?

This one could.

The man named Dionysus on Twitter pressed the button and began to actually blow Jungkook.

Holy…

Shit!

That was the only thought you could fathom as you were suddenly attacked with furious vibrations, your slick walls clenching around it and sending you into shivering flinches, squirming on the sheets, whining and moaning into Jungkook’s throat, and he was no better, maybe worse, you were too far gone to know, barely able to see him through the haze of forced pleasure, on the brink, your eyes and his eyes rolling back, drunk on the high, core and spine trembling with thudding hums, pumped full of ecstasy, tightly grasping Jungkook’s hands, messy clashes of tongue and open lips, leaking moans and frantic cries, too speechless to form words. Terrible at keeping silent, but it was too much, too much, and that was just enough, hitting your peak and tumbling over, muffling your wail by fiercely kissing Jungkook, his lip ring pressed to the side of your mouth, clenching your thighs together, and still it didn’t stop, it kept going, throbbing and pulsing and wave after wave, unstoppable and not wanting it to stop, pleasure incarnate, sensitivity rising and orgasms melding into each other, slippery between your legs, slick and sweet and strong, soaring higher, higher, into a dreamlike daze, there, right there, oh, fuck, yes, yes, yes...!

Unbreakable heaven.

Jungkook jerked violently and gasped into your mouth.

It sounded a whole lot like the other man’s name sliding into your throat.

The harsh gulping sound matched Jungkook’s whimpering, squeezing your hands, pulling you to him, stubborn, firm kisses, on your lips, on your cheeks, struggling to hold in his words, your eyes opening as the vibrator in you was turned down several notches, leaving a constant low hum that soothed your aftershocks. You saw Jungkook’s half-lidded eyes ransacked with lust, reflecting your own fucked-out gaze in his blown-out pupils.

You could hear the swirling tongue and wet kisses, feel Jungkook jolt and moan with every one, releasing your lips, his own swollen, puffy, and you felt it too, the soreness of your own, but it felt so, so good, watching him go down, down, blanketed with the afterglow of orgasm.

The vibrator inside you hummed to a stop.

You relaxed your legs, sighing contentedly.

Then you yelped, feeling two fingers sliding in and pulling it out, suddenly replaced by a hot mouth. Instant burst of gratification, at the cusp of speaking, but those fingers that had been in your pussy snapped up, shoving themselves between your lips. You gasped, tasting yourself as a soft tongue slid between your quivering pussy lips, saliva mixing with your juices, drinking you up, burning heat and gentle sucking. Your hips involuntarily bucked upwards to that inviting mouth, dainty licks on your clit sending a mind-numbing buzz all throughout your system. The fingers in your mouth flexed, rubbing against your tongue and it moved on its own, wrapping around those fingers, sucking on them messily, desperately, sanity crumbling away. Plush lips closing in, sucking lightly, pushing you on the edge of oversensitivity.

Consistent licking, coaxing another out of you.

It didn’t take long.

You wailed behind your stuffed mouth, flooding those lips and chin with another sweet, sticky orgasm.

The warm tongue slid down, pressing flat against your shivering slit and licking upwards in a fat stripe, trickles of satisfaction joining the rolling current of your climax, forgetting anything else. Your mouth opened, barely registering the fingers sliding out, tugging on your bound hands and pulling the chain taut against the collar, choking yourself a little, trapped in sensual bliss.

“O... Oppa…”

Jungkook nudged you abruptly with his elbow, big brown eyes wide with surprise, and you started, realizing your mistake.

The warm mouth left you. Black hair rising, curling around his jaw and over his left eye, his smirk smeared with your release, licking his mauve lips slowly.

“Oh, no, someone forgot they shouldn’t talk.”

He tilted his head, grinning like the devil.

“That means one stays tied up and the other one gets to be free.”

He kissed your wrists.

It made you laugh a little, embarrassed at intimacy of it, but he didn’t seem bothered. Those mauve lips continued, flickers of tongue, and suddenly it was no longer chaste, but rushes of exquisite pleasure that demanded to be savored. His fingers were now readorned with sterling silver rings. He held your wrists as he massaged them all over, dotting kisses on your knuckles like a prince.

“Did I go too hard on you?” he murmured to your skin.

“N... No, I’m good.”

Those dark, dark eyes shot upward, questioning.

“I-I mean, it was everything I a-asked for and more… ah…”

Your lower half was still throbbing thinking about it, now trembling even more because of his penetrating stare. Jungkook was already gone, saying he had an early call time for work.

Well, actually, he did not mention anything – it was the other male who yanked him up and told him he was going to be late to work, and Jungkook immediately complained, blurting out that he was intending to call in sick, but his hyung flicked him in the forehead and told him he could not.

“You will not be irresponsible on my watch.”

He had grabbed Jungkook’s face and dragged it down.

“And you want to be on my watch… don’t you?” he had growled.

The man named Dionysus on Twitter was scary.

He was very kind when it came to you, even after he untied Jungkook.

He was very kind when it came to you.

It made you jealous.

“What are you thinking about in that pretty head of yours, hm?” he mused, nudging your cheek lightly with his nose, dancing smirk on those mauve lips. “Stressed from exams?”

“Ah, well… yeah, I have to study all day today…” You frowned, nestling in his lap, breathing in his warmth and the scent of tea and marshmallow. “And I really needed this break, so, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You almost laughed. He had such a playful, self-assured expression and the response was so quick that some people would probably find it insufferable. The unlucky ones that had never experienced an orgasm from him. Not you, of course, because you were right here.

“Is that all?”

He watched you closely, black strands curling around his jaw and over his left eye.

You stared into the darkness.

“How come you aren’t as mean to me as you are to Jungkook?”

Immediately, uncharacteristically, he broke eye contact.

“Hah… what are you talking about?” he mumbled, clearing his throat. The walls came up in those eyes. A pause. Small puff of air, his shoulders relaxing, his thumbs resting on the back of your hands, caressing them as if he was reminding himself that you were with him. Slowly, those dark, dark orbs came back, hazed with sheepishness. “Ah, maybe… it’s my internal bias to be nicer to women. I don’t want you to think I'm mean.”

“But I’m saying you can.”

He chuckled. “Okay. I’ll work on it.”

You stared at him.

“Oppa, do you think Jungkook likes you?”

A crow cawed loudly outside your window.

Those dark, dark eyes stared back and you felt the sudden awkwardness, not from you, but from him.

He ticked his head, exhaling slowly as if he was carefully considering his answer. “I assume he does. I don’t know why else he would agree to have sex with me, but perhaps he likes you too, since he has continued being your sex friend even after you both stopped dating.”

You shook you head quickly. “We only have sex together when you command us to. We’re just friends.”

He blinked slowly at you.

“Oh. I see.”

You tilted your head. “I think he likes you.”

“Ah. Is that so?” A small smirk and you felt he was hiding something from you despite the clear discomfort he was having about this topic. Still, his tone was lightly teasing, playful, not upset. “And why do you think that?”

You scrunched your face.

“Jungkook always thinks a lot about what he’s going to say before he says it, but when he’s really nervous, he pauses often and stumbles on his words…”

“Thought we were going out to eat?”

“Just give me a second.”

The man with the long black hair put his thumbs in his pockets and leaned against the wall. His jacket was flashy, a black leather biker-style jacket with spikes all over the shoulders and collar. Matte black hardware. Tight fitting to his slim frame along with his black turtleneck. Black jeans, black boots with the same matte black hardware that matched his jacket. There was a new sterling silver ring on his right middle finger, a gleaming emblem with a black crystal.

Min Yoongi could see it from where he was sitting on the couch in his music studio, his fingers on his black acoustic guitar as he gazed at the silver-ringed fingers that were splayed across those familiar, denim-covered hips.

He let his hands find the notes. Let his eyes travel up, up, up to dark, dark eyes that looked at him with faint amusement, ghost of a smirk on mauve lips.

“What?”

His deep voice was playful, lightly teasing.

Yoongi didn’t respond, letting his fingers go and playing whatever came to mind.

The head tilted, swoop of black hair over the left side of his face ghosting his cheekbones and eye, devilishly sexy and attractive. Yoongi did not look away. The melody he was playing was foreign yet familiar, something that had been on his mind for a while now, but he couldn’t get it to sound quite right.

Not until he saw those dark, dark eyes and devious smirk.

The man who named himself Dionysus on Twitter.

He let the melody slow, memorized it. Knew it by heart, but he had a feeling it would be like that. It seemed natural, falling into place like black hair slipping through his fingertips.

Yoongi stopped playing the guitar, looking down so he could set it aside.

“That’s nice. Did you come up with that?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not going to write it down?”

He zipped up the guitar case. “Don’t need to.”

“Ho. Such a genius.”

He placed the guitar back in its spot by the desk. Yanked on his black parka and picked up his beanie before looking up, now close to him. The scent of his cologne filled his nose, herbal and sweet, green tea and marshmallow. Did he inhale Yoongi’s cologne too? Did he remember the notes and smell the spicy and woodsy scent and think of Min Yoongi standing beside him?

The other male smiled, dimples on display.

That kind of thing only happened when he was around.

“I don’t need to write it down because I don’t release love songs,” he said slowly.

An eyebrow raised. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Yoongi stared into those dark, dark eyes and breathed in, the now-familiar scent soaking into his memories and his heart. Leaned in, towards those mauve lips. His eyelids felt a little heavy so he lowered them, barely maintaining eye contact.

“I’ve never written one,” he murmured. “Never had a good reason to.”

The other man tilted his head, black strands dancing across Yoongi’s skin.

“It’s annoying though,” he continued, stepping into the warm shadow of the other male. “Once I get a melody in my head, I can’t get it out unless I play it all the way through. And I couldn’t play this one all the way through.”

He closed his eyes.

Not afraid, but nervous all the same.

“Not without looking at you.”

Yoongi pressed his lips to those plush mauve ones and felt a silver-ringed hand grip his shirt, pulling him closer. Passion and intensity, holding onto the fabric very tightly, shuddering exhale on his lips, breaking the kiss.

“Don’t say stuff like that to someone like me,” the deep, husky voice breathed into Yoongi’s mouth. “I’ll start thinking I mean something.”

They both chuckled dryly, hiding under heated breath.

Yoongi moved to step away, but the hand in his shirt remained, tugging him back.

Pulling him into kisses of fervor, spinning them around when Yoongi tried to back away again and pushing him against the wall, shallow breath and warm kisses, down his neck. Fingers dancing under his shirt, metal and soft pads grazing his skin, hooking under the waistband of his trousers and forcefully yanking Yoongi towards him, crotch to crotch, thighs to hard thighs, skillful tongue tracing back up, lips on his ear.

“Let’s go eat.”

Hot whisper making him shiver.

His hardness was pressing against his leg. Yoongi could feel it even through the black jeans.

“I’ll treat you this time, Yoongi.”

He turned his head and looked into dark, dark eyes. They avoided him a little, but tentatively slid back to look at him. He was till stroking his skin with silver-ringed fingers underneath his shirt. He didn’t say anything more. Neither did Yoongi.

He just unbuttoned his pants and let those silver-ringed fingers be tempted downwards.

"Open that mouth."

His ears burning, his lips opening and tongue lolling out. Neck straining under sterling silver and long fingers wrapped around his throat, cutting off the blood to his head. Strands of long black hair brushed against his right cheek, over his eyebrow piercing. Mauve lips, plush and inviting. Hot breath sending shivers over his skin. Green tea and toasted marshmallow filling his nose.

Sweet saliva dripping onto his tongue.

Ricochet of lust, that sinful pleasure in enjoying something that was dirty and wrong, moaning as he swallowed the slick liquid, drunk on it, whining, begging for more, gratifying flares of a punishing grip shooting up his abdomen, locking his hips so he couldn’t move, so he didn’t interrupt the fierce, tight pace of a silver-ringed hand wrapped around his throbbing, stiff cock.

"Hyung... please... take off... your clothes..."

The man named Dionysus on Twitter ticked his head and grinned like the devil.

"Nah."

Jungkook whimpered, keeping his hands firmly on the sofa like he had been ordered to.

"I'm not going to change hands either," the other male drawled calmly. "Sucks for you that my left hand isn't as strong as my right, Jungkook."

Liar.

Fuck, he was lying, because it still felt so fucking good, so good it was driving him insane, lightheaded, on the cusp, wanting more but not getting it, causing the desire to rise and rise and rise, overwhelming pleasure in denial, hyung, please, the world turning into a mess of ecstasy for Jeon Jungkook.

"Please what?"

Tone light, octave deep.

Teasing him.

"W-Wanna cum, please..."

"Why should I let you?" he scolded, ticking his chin and stopping for a half-second, smearing the pre-cum over the dark red head and Jungkook's eyes rolled back, his body involuntarily jerking at the oversensitivity, wanting to cry in frustration and satisfaction at the same time, cut off from climax once again, how did he always know, it was so aggravating, but so, so fucking hot.

"It's too good, you're too good, I'm going crazy, p-please, wanna cum so b-bad, please..."

"I'm not going to let you cum on my rings," the other male snickered, starting up again, hard and fast and punishing.

Jungkook broke the rule.

His right hand flew up and gripped that hand around his cock, sterling silver rings cutting into his palm.

Those dark, dark eyes narrowed dangerously.

He begged with every fiber of his being, stroking himself with the other man's hand because it had stopped moving, putting on his most pleading, desperate tone.

"Please, hyung."

The grip on his neck tightened but he only held on tighter, shallow breaths and soft cries, pushing himself closer and closer to the edge. His hyung surveyed him closely, a slow smirk forming on his lips.

The faintest hint of a dimple.

"Do it yourself then."

Jungkook whimpered, almost protesting.

The fingers constricted around his twitching cock again, making him gasp.

"Just like this," those mauve lips whispered, eyes so dark they were almost black, deft tongue tracing his teeth, grinning down at him. "Jack yourself off with my hand while I'm choking you, dirty boy."

Jungkook was going to lose his mind.

Bucking his hips, depraved groan, his eagerness making him chaotic, so close, but his erratic pace was prolonging his own orgasm, fuck, crying out the other man's name in a thin moan, and those dark, dark orbs were so calm, so composed, that body still hidden from him, still wearing his black long-sleeved shirt and black jeans with a silver chain, taking his breath away and squeezing his cock, so tight, a-ah, core tense and burning, yes, oh, f-fuck, staring into those devilish eyes that commanded him and his dirty desires, compelling him to go, go, go, throwing his head back but not looking away, hoping he looked sexy, hoping he looked as good as was feeling from those silver-ringed hands, airless and in unbreakable heaven, staring down at his tattooed arm and fingers holding the other man's hand, the purple-red head of his cock a glistening blur from an embarrassing amount of pre-cum leaking everywhere.

"I'm g-gonna cum, please, please, can I cum?"

A dark eyebrow rose.

"Please, hyung?" Jungkook whimpered.

Amused smirk on those wonderful lips.

"Cum for me."

And he spat on Jungkook's chest.

"Oh, fuck!"

He yelped at the wet spray igniting his skin, stunned and violently aroused, unexpectedly smashing into the peak, gasping, his eyes widening as his orgasm shot out in thick white strings, over his thigh and crotch, onto his black hand tattoos and leaking down between his fingers, his cum now clinging to silver rings. The hand let go of his neck and he felt another surge of euphoria as the blood rushed back to his head, moaning the other man’s name unabashedly.

Unbreakable heaven.

He thrust into their joined hands again, whimpering, seeing more dribble out of the throbbing tip, his cock shivering, his release dripping down, down, removing his own hand from the mess to see his orgasm painted all over those prominent knuckles and sterling silver, even sticking to the large onyx stone he wore on his index finger.

His cum.

His cum, on that hand.

The cum-covered hand rose and planted onto the head of his cock, the palm smearing the residual orgasm everywhere. Jungkook cried out, trembling all over, flashes of hypersensitivity almost painful, snapping his head up, his cries turning into soft whimpers as the other hand cupped his chin, silver rings against his skin, and pushed it up to meet those dark, dark eyes, leaning in to own him.

“Can’t take it?” Whisper dark, possessive. “You dirty me up, but you can’t take a little punishment?”

“I c-can,” he gasped into mauve lips. “I can, hyung, please…”

The other male’s head tilted, brushing his lips against his lip ring.

“Don’t let me go…”

A soft chuckle and he captured Jungkook’s mouth, rough kiss cutting off his wail as he squeezed the overstimulated head of his cock.

“U-Um…”

“Hm?”

They were standing in the bathroom of Jungkook’s apartment. He watched as the man named Dionysus on Twitter carefully polished each and every one of his rings that he wore on his left hand after washing Jungkook’s cum off of them.

“Do you… want anything?” Jungkook asked awkwardly.

“I’m fine with just pleasing you.”

He felt his ears burn at the other man’s reply. He gulped as each ring was slid back onto their respective fingers. He watched them flex, shimmering with gleaming silver.

“A-Are you sure…? I could, uh… suck you off or something…”

“Sounds like you’re really into it.”

Now he frowned, detecting the hint of dismissiveness. “Wait. I didn’t mean it like that.”

The older male shifted and faced him. Small, playful smile on those plush mauve lips that didn’t reach those dark, dark eyes. He was still wearing his clothes. Hadn’t removed them the entire time.

“Like what?”

His tone was light, but something about it was hurting Jungkook.

So indifferent and unfeeling.

“I…”

He stepped into the bathroom and he sensed the other man’s guard was up, his shoulders shifting, the stance of a cornered animal waiting to strike.

“Wait, no…”

Searching for those eyes, and they were avoiding him slightly, backing up, the rings clicking as they touched the edge of the sink counter, no, no, this was not what Jungkook wanted, how could he let this happen, no, don’t close yourself off to me, reaching forward, lifting his head, pressing his body against his hyung, wearing nothing but his underwear against all those layers of clothing.

“I gotta go, Jungkook,” came the deep, throaty murmur, those lashes lowering, hiding those eyes from him, that safe darkness Jungkook wanted to be on him, now, since yesterday, in all his tomorrows.

“I don’t want you to go.”

A small puff and humorless smile. “All that edging wasn’t enough for you?”

“I want you to stay.”

Quietly.

With loneliness.

He stunned himself with his own tone. Those dark, dark eyes finally locked with his, staring intently, searching for the lie, but Jungkook didn’t know how to lie about something like this. When put on the spot, he ended up blurting things out and hoping he got his point across.

Maybe not the most effective, but it was honest.

“Please don’t go, hyung.”

Jungkook pressed his nose against the other man’s cheek, breathing in and shuddering softly, herbal and warm, green tea and toasted marshmallow, his addiction, rolling his body into the leaner, thinner frame, barely a few centimeters taller. A moment of silence. He refused to move away, stubbornly, and then all of a sudden, a touch, gasping as he felt a heavy hand on his head, cracking open his eyes to see himself in the mirror, his washed-out mint-blond hair tangled in fingers and silver rings, holding him close to a head of jaw-length black hair, half-tied up in a ponytail, beside each other.

Together.

They looked good together, or at least Jungkook thought so.

“Don’t say things like that.” Gentle whisper caressing his ear. “I’ll start thinking I mean something.”

“But–”

The head of black hair turned and mauve lips silenced him, shutting him up for the rest of the night with kisses.

Jungkook eventually got those pesky clothes off.

"You can come in. I unlocked the door earlier. I'll be out in a sec."

The black leather jacket with the matte black spikes was sprawled messily on the back of the couch. He took a moment to re-lock the door before taking off his shoes, stepping inside the apartment. It smelled nice, as usual. Herbal and warm, like green tea and toasted marshmallow.

He could hear noise in the bedroom.

An annoyed grunt in the attached bathroom.

"Is it that safe to leave your door unlocked?" Min Yoongi mused out loud, approaching the open bathroom door.

"It was five minutes, I just finished blow drying my fucking hair–"

Pause.

Yoongi froze.

The man was half-turned, fiddling with something on his wrist as he was in the midst of talking. Yoongi noticed several things about him at once. His black hair was still long, but it touched his cheekbones now instead of his jaw. It was not in its usual ponytail. Loose and wild, revealing the clean fade on the sides of his head. He was shirtless, which was something Yoongi had seen before, wearing slim-fit black jeans with rips in them, the twist of his waist leaving his back tattoo exposed, what if you live like that, his lyrics on the other man’s body.

Even if he had seen him shirtless before, it still made him stop.

What Yoongi hadn’t seen before was the large chain-link bracelet draped over his wrist. It looked heavy and expensive. He appeared to have been in the middle of putting it on before interrupted, turning his head to look at the entrance of the bathroom, suddenly stilling.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

The man named Dionysus on Twitter looked taken aback seeing him, staring at his face.

"You... You changed your hair."

Now it was Yoongi's turn to suddenly feel taken aback.

"Ah... yeah."

It was a deep red-orange now, slicked back except for one stray lock over his forehead.

"I... I had the hair appointment today," he mumbled awkwardly. "Felt like I wanted a change. I didn't style it like this; the hairstylist did."

"It looks good."

Yoongi found that he couldn't look at the other man without his face getting hot. "Thanks."

"Cool with the bomber jacket too. You should do it more often."

He made a mental note of it. Yoongi coughed, ticking his head to the man's wrist. "Need help?"

"No, I, uh... got it..."

He began to struggle again, clicking his tongue and raising his wrist to his face, balancing the end of the chain against his lower lip and trying to hook it. Yoongi shook his head and stepped forward.

"Let me–"

"Got it."

Click.

He wasn't wearing his silver rings yet.

He already smelled nice though, although not quite like his cologne. Still herbal, softer, comforting, like the embers of a dying fire. Yoongi was right next to him, hand outstretched. The other man turned his head and smiled at him, raising his arm. The chain bracelet slid down a few centimeters from the weight. Yoongi noticed the details from their closeness.

Custom chain links covered in stars, a silver galaxy decorating his wrist.

Every time Yoongi thought he couldn't be more attracted to him, he did this shit.

His eyes shifted to the man’s face.

Those dark, dark orbs darted away quickly, lowering his arm. “Let me put on my shirt and we can get going–”

Yoongi grabbed his arm and spun him around to face him before he could back away.

“Yoon–”

He shut him up by kissing him.

If he didn’t, Yoongi would sure he was going to embarrass himself by blurting out how cute he thought the other male was being right now and he wasn’t ready to make a fool of himself at the moment when later they were supposed to be at a public concert.

Being sappy made him uncomfortable.

“We still have some time.”

Yoongi shoved him against his own sink and unbuttoned the jeans.

“What are you do–fuck, Yoongi…”

He squatted and let his tongue do the work, onto warm skin, running over the sensitive spots, pressing his lips and inhaling that clean scent, smirking as he felt that length rapidly swell and grow in his mouth, those hips thrusting forward, engorged head filling his throat, thick and hard and almost too much. He spied one of the hands rising, but it retreated, clutching the counter edge instead.

Yoongi looked up, raising an eyebrow in question.

His safe darkness looked down at him, breathing hard.

“Don’t wanna mess up your hair when you look so good.”

Yoongi felt his heart race in his ribcage.

He wasn’t hugely experienced in sucking dick, but Yoongi knew what he liked, so he did that. Helped that he had a strong, flexible tongue as well. Maybe rapping was a more beneficial career than one might originally think.

If you were actually good, anyway.

“Fuck, Yoongi, fuck…”

Swirling his tongue around, up and down, straining a little to reach the entirety of the length from head to base, choking slightly, but holding back his own gag reflex, lapping at that pocket right above the balls, closing his eyes to focus. He felt a shift and a hand came to press the balls to his lower lip, granting him better access and more surface area to lick, hearing the encouragement of sultry praise.

“Mmm, your tongue feels so fucking good…”

It turned Yoongi on more than he liked to admit, but thankfully he didn’t have to admit anything because his mouth was full of dick.

Back and forth, lips soft, mouth tight, everything he loved when those mauve lips were on him, probably not as perfect, but Yoongi was sure he would become better at it, determined to be, moving his tongue in time with his lips engulfing that impressive girth, glancing up, seeing that head tipped back, long black hair grazing his shoulders, flexed chest and arms, rocking his hips in time with his pace, back to his work, fast and warm and wet, deep, tight, bracing himself with one hand on the cabinets and the other grabbing a handful of that ass, shapely and filling up his palm, savoring the taste and the way his mouth was filled repeatedly, over and over again, addictive, wanting to hear those wanton sounds coming from that mouth that always gave him the most pleasure.

He wanted to be good.

He wanted the man named Dionysus on Twitter to want him more and more.

Yeah, okay. Yoongi felt a bit pressured to care about his appearance because Jeon Jungkook was so damn hot. He wasn’t going to say it out loud or anything, but it was a thought, plus the man with the silver rings was jaw-droppingly handsome in his own right and a small part of Yoongi was vain, a very small part.

Alright.

Maybe bigger than small.

What?

He wanted to look good, be good, suck and take dick better than anyone else so those dark, dark eyes would always want him.

This was his own personal ambition.

He took that perfect cock as deep as he could into his throat, holding his breath, fast, tight, and now achingly deep, looking up to see those eyes nearly black with lust, jaw tense, smirk wide, dimples flashing, something that only happened around him, all his.

“Hah, fuck… I love your eyes, Yoongi.”

So, he kept his gaze upward, watching that expression unravel, black hair curling around his cheekbones, pleasure painted all over, nearly out of breath.

“So close, so fucking close, fuck, you’re so damn sexy…”

Yoongi decided he didn’t care if he passed out or not, too intoxicated on the breathless husky tone praising him to think about bodily functions.

“Gonna cum, ah, yes…”

He felt it, the sudden twitch and hot liquid shooting into the back of his throat, forcing him to stop and swallow, grasping at wisps of air before another jerk and stream of cum coated the back of his tongue, thick and delicious, drinking greedily, curling his tongue around the shivering length and licking it off with every flinch, savoring those soft, delicate moans in that deep voice, and this, this was it, this was theirs.

Unbreakable heaven.

He felt fingertips brush against his cheekbones, stroking his skin.

“Your face is perfect.”

He felt his ears burn.

A teasing smirk.

“It’s even more perfect with my dick shoved into your lips.”

Yoongi growled and was about to pull away but that hand gripped his chin and held him in place, slowly rolling his hips to his mouth, deep dimple on display with that smirk.

“Just a little longer.”

Lowering the octave, purring, confident.

“Please.”

A submissive word, and yet he said it was such sternness that Yoongi felt his cock twitch with want.

He obeyed the command and stayed still.

They ended up being a little late to the concert.

“Jungkook, you should call before–”

Dead silence.

Jeon Jungkook was frozen, jaw dropped and staring at a naked chest with crisscross lines of red. The door was open and the left hand holding it had a large chain bracelet hanging on the wrist, no rings, disturbingly attractive with his messy black hair and swollen mauve lips.

Dark, dark eyes wide, taken aback.

“You… dyed your hair back to black…”

Jungkook jumped and his right hand flew up to his head, brushing it back hastily. “Er, yeah… The mint was a lot to keep up and I got lazy, hahah…” Maybe he shouldn’t have shown up unannounced to the apartment of Twitter user _yourowndionysus, but…

Jungkook missed him.

And maybe he wanted to show off his hair as soon as he could.

No, if he was being truly honest, Jungkook just wanted to see him.

Those eyes shifted, looking from side to side, and the right hand left the doorframe – also missing all the sterling silver adornments, Jungkook noted – reaching out and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, yanking hard.

“Fuck, just come in.”

And he stumbled, yelping in confusion, dragged into the apartment and the door slamming, gasping as he was shoved up against it, suddenly hot all over, too warm in his distressed black jacket of colorful paint splatters, abruptly confronted with the arousing scent of green tea and toasted marshmallow, a heavy exhale, and an intense, stern gaze.

Jungkook was so turned on that he could feel his pant seams stretch.

Those dark, dark robs locked on him, black strands over dark brows.

“H-Hyung…?”

“Yeah?”

Jungkook jumped at the unexpected third voice, smacking his ass into the wood in surprise, and whipped his head to his right, to the space behind the door, so absorbed in the reason he was there that he didn’t think even for a second that he possibly, maybe, perhaps, might have…

Orange-haired, shirtless Min Yoongi cocked an eyebrow at him.

Interrupted something.

“Yoongi-hyung…!”

“Yes, that’s me. Thank you for remembering my name.”

His brain short-circuited.

“B-But, you… and he… w-what?”

Yoongi shrugged. “We went to a concert together.”

Jungkook felt his ears burn hot, snapping his head back and forth between his two hyungs.

“A d-d-date?”

Now neither of them looked at him or each other, and quite frankly Jungkook couldn’t look at them either, even after he was let go, hurriedly reaching up and sweeping his new black hair back and tucking strands behind his ears, over and over and over, trying to hide the obvious flushed heat that was rapidly creeping to his cheeks.

“We were both interested in the artist… I got lucky and happened to get tickets easily from work…” Yoongi mumbled.

“I can pay you back, you didn’t have to...”

“You can pay next time. It’s not like we won’t go out again.”

“R… Right.”

An awkward pause.

No one looked at anyone.

The décor of the apartment was suddenly more interesting than usual.

“Can… Can I come next time…?” Jungkook squeaked, looking from one to the other.

Yoongi stiffened, glancing at the other male, who ran his fingers through his long-ish black hair, and Jungkook could tell it was cut shorter now, to his cheekbones, the sides freshly trimmed down.

“Well, Yoongi got the tickets from his work, so I suppose it would depend on if his work allows it,” he finally replied, giving Jungkook an apologetic look, who looked at Yoongi pleadingly, who looked at the taller male in the silver chain bracelet, and then it became a three-way staring contest where everyone refused to acknowledge what was clearly there.

Right there.

There, in the fact that both Yoongi and the man with dark, dark eyes were shirtless, the latter’s chest all scratched up, and the massive tent in Jungkook’s pants.

Yoongi coughed.

“Ah… sure, I’ll get another ticket next time.”

Silence.

The orange-haired man narrowed his eyes at Jungkook. “Why did you come so late at night?”

Jungkook felt his whole face burn.

“Oh, um, well, I was wondering… if…”

He desperately waited for one of them to attempt to fill in the blank for him, but looking from one to the other and both raised their eyebrows at him, giving Jungkook the distinct impression that he was not, in fact, going to get any help in explaining himself. “If… h-hyung was f-free… to…” He jerked his head away in his mumbles, unable to look at who he was talking about, choosing instead to give Yoongi a helpless, wordless plea to have mercy on him.

Yoongi tilted his head, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. His hair was mussed up as if someone’s hands had been all over it earlier. “To do what?” he prompted in a monotone voice.

Another awkward pause, but only for Jungkook.

“Suck his dick?” said the deep, husky voice of the man in front of him.

Jungkook wanted to choke himself and not in a sexy way.

“W-Well, maybe this t-time, I could… b-because last time, t-there was a m-misunderstanding–”

He was speaking so fast that he might as well have been spelling out a keyboard smash. That was about as much as his brain could compute at the moment, his tongue colliding with the words and turning them nonsensical.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his chin and shoved him back against the front door, forcing him to look into dark, dark eyes. A piercing gaze with hint of displeasure that sent an inappropriate and violently arousing fire blazing up Jungkook’s spine.

“Say it.”

Octave low, dangerous.

“Say what you want to do, Jungkook.”

His eyes shot towards Yoongi, but the other hand grabbed the front of his shirt and knocked his shoulder blades into the apartment door, making him gasp, his breath hitching into a faint whine. He snapped his eyes back, hot all over, burning, scorching, needing it.

“I am speaking to you.”

“B-But, Yoongi-hyung…”

“Is going to suck his dick, get fucked, whatever he wants,” Yoongi coolly interjected, sliding into Jungkook’s view and looking at him over the toned and elegant shoulder, daring him with his dismissive gaze and slight frown.

Unlike him, Yoongi was not afraid to say it.

Jungkook felt a surge of blistering envy.

Pale hands appeared on that chest in front of him. Yoongi’s arms wrapped around that torso, dragging his nails down on that skin. Tight exhale right in Jungkook’s face, the other male sucking in a breath, parted lips and lust, that agile pink tongue tracing his teeth at the touch. Yoongi’s face disappeared, only a single dark brown eye watching Jungkook, shrouded by strands of dark orange.

“And you?” Yoongi drawled, raspy and possessive.

He shouldn’t be angry.

But Jungkook was.

Later, Jungkook realized Yoongi was provoking and teasing him on purpose, but in that current moment, he did not notice. Instead, he grabbed the hand on his chin and pushed it away, furrowing his brows and stepping forward, towards the man with long black hair and dark, dark eyes, the one who generally wore too much silver jewelry, the man who made him want to get on his knees with his mouth open, all so he could show him how much he wanted to improve, all so he could learn, and be the perfect sexual partner and more, excessively more, only the most for the one who named himself Dionysus.

Jungkook could share with Yoongi. He respected him and his wishes.

But he wasn’t going to lose to him.

Jungkook stared into darkness, his safe place.

“I want to serve you, hyung.”

Tilting his hand, his hands closing in, one joining Yoongi’s on his chest and the other trailing down, inhaling deeply, herbal and warm and sensual, lowering his lashes, his lip ring brushing against mauve lips as his palm cupped the hardness underneath the front of those loose black pajama pants.

Diving into the heat, consumed by it, craving the flames.

“I want to make you feel good and I’m going to, right now.”

dionysus vii

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x you #yoongi smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #yoongi x oc #jungkook x oc #jungkook x male wiyllt #yoongi x male wiyllt

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

dionysus v, m | ♂wiyllt

primary pairing: male wiyllt x reader other pairing(s): jungkook x male wiyllt, yoongi x male wiyllt — important: contains m/m pairing — male OC is male whatifyoulivelikethat aka me, the author ;)

summary: You and your ex-boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook, are sexually involved with the same guy, Twitter user yourowndionysus. Er. Long story short, both you and Jungkook learned that you were both subs and that's why the sex was awkward and unfulfilling. Oh. But you can't ask someone to choke you on the first date (well, you can, but that wouldn't be very safe). Plus, you haven't even tried it yet. Maybe if you ask the man with the silver rings for help... again?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; important! male OC and Yoongi are pansexual and Jungkook is (at this point) bisexual; some angst, some fluff, a lot of daydreaming about sex and actual smut (m/m and m/f pairing, D/s dynamics, begging, praise kink, choking, handjob, edging, pantyhose kink(?), fingering, thigh riding, multiple orgasms, cowgirl, phone sex - m-masturbation while listening to said cowgirl, mentions of anal sex, hyung/oppa kink); non-idol!BTS - dom!male OC x sub!JK, sub!reader, sub!Yoongi; switches between Jungkook’s, yours, and Yoongi's POV; PTD On Stage Yoongi and JK

yes, it's 10k words, there's a lot of porn and feelings in said porn there's a bit of a yoongi x ♂wiyllt x jungkook love triangle

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

Silver-ringed hand on his chin.

Silver tongue dancing over his lips, teasing him.

"Jungkook..."

Slivers of sanity left, caught in a tight grip, looking down at the gleaming flashes of silver working him. Hot, taut skin pulsing against that palm, the angry red head of his cock leaking an embarrassing amount of pre-cum. Slow and steady, a deliberate pace that kept him from release. Whines in his throat, begging not to be let go.

"C... Choke me, please, hyung..."

Black strands brushed against his cheek, long hair half-tied back and messy from Jeon Jungkook's hands, one tattooed, one not, his hands touching that soft hair that shimmered with undertones of mahogany in the sun that was filtering through the curtains of his bedroom.

Dark, dark eyes narrowing.

"I keep telling you to stop using the honorific like that. You know my name."

He did, but to Jungkook those mauve lips swollen by his kisses and his teeth only reminded him of that Twitter profile picture of the man's lower jaw cradled by long fingers adorned with silver rings, that picture that he stared at for days and days without saying anything, wondering, wandering, wishing.

User yourowndionysus.

His scent was all over Jungkook's sheets, herbal and sweet, a cologne of green tea and toasted marshmallow that was disturbingly intoxicating and addictive.

"Please... hyung...."

The man named Dionysus on Twitter clenched his jaw and looked down at him, giving up on scolding him as he always did. His hand moved from Jungkook's chin to around his neck, his rings digging into the sides, slowly cutting off his air.

"Bad boy."

Shivers up and down his spine.

Jungkook figured out that he liked both sides of the coin, being good and being bad, commanded by that deep voice and intensifying grip on his hard cock, stroking him from base to head, so good, so good, moaning to that handsome face with a cocked eyebrow, cold expression igniting the fire of arousal within.

The other male leaned down, lips brushing against Jungkook's cheek.

"What should you say?" he asked in a dangerous octave, squeezing his stiff length a little too tight to get his point across.

"T-Thank you, hyung..." he moaned, feeling the hold on his neck tighten and the one on his cock become pleasurable again, tight but not too fast, letting him savor the climbing ecstasy.

"Good boy."

Jungkook whined deep in his throat, drunk on the praise.

His hands slid down that back, right under the shoulder blades, feeling the muscles flex below his fingertips, digging the nails of his right hand right under the left shoulder blade, right where the script tattoo was, what if you live like that, pressing his head back into the pillows and moaning, thoughts emptying from his mind at the thinning circulation, focused only on the hand abusing his cock, thoughts replaced by the image of himself orgasming in those prominent knuckles and sterling silver rings, fuck, oh, fuck, image so arousing his eyes rolled back, wanting it, wanting his thick white cum coating those fingers and making a mess on his own bed, wanting to see the other man to lick his hand off with that smirk of his, chuckling low in his throat.

Dirty boy.

Jungkook was going to lose his mind, almost there, moaning to that dark, dark orb watching him closely, hoping his sound turned the other man on as much as that, steady breathing turned him on, closer, his nails dragging down that back, seconds away...!

The grip on his throat and cock suddenly disappeared.

"W-What... No!"

Gasping, climb to release abruptly cut short, frustration and desperation, his eyes shooting to the older male's smug, self-satisfied expression.

"No, no, hyung, please, why, I've been a good boy, please, wanna cum, please...!"

Begging, pleading, trying to grab his hands but the other man gripped his wrists and slammed them into the pillows, pinning him down roughly. Jungkook gasped, jerking his head up, putting on the most pathetic, needy look he could muster, trying to get the other to give in.

"I'm going to make you wait."

His cock throbbed, needing release, but something inside him throbbed harder, incredibly turned on by being edged and then told that the command was to wait.

"You can be patient for me, can't you, Jungkook?" that deep voice purred, making him whine and squirm and leak pre-cum everywhere, smearing it all over the hard thigh that pressed down on it. "You can show me how much of a good boy you are by only cumming when hyung tells you, hm?"

It was very rare when he referred to himself as hyung, but whenever he did, Jungkook felt his cock twitch and his core burn, reminded of every moment of pleasure the older man gave him.

"Y-Yes, hyung..." he panted, staring into dark, dark orbs.

Jungkook could also tell that, with every instance of him using the honorific in a sexual context, it was turning the other man on too, and the idea that he was developing a kink for the older, more experienced one was far too thrilling to resist.

"You are bad for me, Jungkook," the other male muttered, leaning in and capturing his lips, soaking his senses with herbal and sweet cologne, a scent he was beginning to think he craved beside him always, finding himself wondering when he could lay his head on that shoulder and inhale that scent.

Lustfully.

And innocently, simply savoring his closeness.

Before the other man put his black dress shirt back on, Jungkook stopped him, pushing the fabric up, revealing the script tattoo, what if you live like that, running his nails down on it, creating pink lines around the black letters, tainting it with his touch. The other man sucked in a breath, muscles tensing under his fingertips.

“What are you doing?”

Instead of responding, he pressed his lips to that skin, running his tongue over his marks, kisses up and down that section of spine, hearing his name fall from those lips, Jungkook, slow, sensual, strangely beautiful and erotic.

Jungkook knew these words were Min Yoongi’s lyrics. The other man told him so.

He stared at the black ink and skin irritated red from his nails, framed with marks of his bite.

“You have an ink kink or something?” the deep, husky voice chuckled, pulling the shirt on. He turned his head slightly, viewing him with one eye and a half-smirk. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I would look as good as you do.”

His core and ears shimmered with heat. “I wanted… to touch you. You didn’t let me.”

The other male straightened, standing up. He still had to put his pants on. Jungkook found that he wanted everything to be off again. He just wanted to rip everything off and yank him back into the bed, but before he could give into his impulse, a silver-ringed hand circled his chin and lifted it, rubbing his thumb over his lips.

“The lip ring is a nice touch,” the older male purred, side of his lips quirking up. “Don’t think you should be sucking my dick until it heals a little more though.”

Jungkook almost whined, but then the thumb slid into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue, silencing him with his stern expression and firm grip.

“Shh. So impatient.”

The tip of his tongue touched the edge of silver.

Down, and then dark, dark eyes in line with his, mauve lips in a smirk, pulling his thumb out, a string of saliva snapping onto his chin, the pad of the thumb smearing his own spit onto his skin.

“I know you didn’t get it for me,” his hyung murmured. “But I always had a fantasy of an attractive man with a lip ring, so I suppose that makes you my fantasy come true, hm?”

He said shit like that and followed it with passionate kisses that melted sanity and common sense, Jungkook’s fingers tangled in the top buttons of the black shirt, undoing them, only for the kiss to be broken far too soon. The other man turned away from him, smirk on his lips, yanking his black jeans back on and sauntering out of Jungkook’s apartment before his racing heartrate could return to normal.

The sheets still smelled like him, warm and sweet.

He fell back into them, inhaling deeply.

Whenever the man named Dionysus on Twitter was away from Jungkook, he found that he missed him.

“Hello again.”

“Oh, um, hi!”

It sounded much better in your head, but it did not sound as casual or cute when it came out of your mouth, too flustered by the man in an untucked black-on-black brocade dress shirt and fitted black jeans with silver chains. His black boots had silver hardware, making a significant clinking sound with every step. Sterling silver rings, one on every finger. Two silver coin necklaces on thin silver chains. Four ear piercings, two on each lobe, all silver hoops. Long black hair, half-tied back, a dark swoop over his even darker eyes, mauve lips curved into an amused smirk.

The first couple buttons of the shirt were unbuttoned.

You noticed the pewter buttons had an intricate design printed on them, a fancy emblem of thorns around a ram head.

“You look cute.”

You felt your cheeks heat, snapping your head down to look at your dark blush pink velvet dress layered over your white blouse with floaty sleeves, clutching your pink backpack with the small angel wings.

“Ah… is it too much…?” you mumbled, suddenly self-conscious. Maybe the white stockings and black loafers was a bit too schoolgirl? Or childish? Oh, dear, what if he thought you were too girly or something, maybe you should have gone for sexy, maybe that was more his vibe or something?

“Do you feel good in it?” a deep voice asked, cutting through your thoughts, and you looked up to the man named Dionysus on Twitter leaning down. His head tilted, eye to eye with you, naughty smirk on his plush, mauve lips.

Your eyes widened.

You could kiss him, right now.

“Uh… y-yes… but maybe you d-don’t like…”

He cut in, smooth and effortless like a seasoned criminal. “I like anything that makes you feel good.”

Shivers up and down your spine.

“What do you want right now?” he purred, tone low, voice soft, one thumb hooked into his pocket, and you found yourself staring down his shirt, toned chest slightly exposed, your core shimmering with heat, and snapped your head back up, a pair of amused dark, dark orbs looking back to you.

“K… Kiss…?” you breathed, staring at the softness of his lips.

“Of course.”

He captured your lips, sudden and intense, his breath on your skin, and you inhaled him, herbal and sweet, green tea and toasted marshmallow, your grip on your bag tighter, lashes falling, heartbeat accelerating, arousal shooting through you like lightning. Your hand raised, grazing his chin, whimpering softly, trying to slide your tongue into his mouth to be claimed. Ringed fingers closed around your hand, squeezing lightly, breaking the kiss.

Dark whisper on your lips from a silver tongue.

“Shh. At least wait until I’m in your home so I can ravage you the way you want.”

Your eyes opened slowly, finding his gaze, the man named Dionysus on Twitter, the one who created a safe space for you to hide and explore a part of you that you didn’t know existed. He cocked a dark eyebrow, straightening, slowly letting go of your hand.

You reached out and closed your hand around his, his rings in your grip.

A small smile.

“Um… Jungkook and I broke up.”

He nodded lightly. “I’m aware. He let me know.”

You chewed your lip. “It wasn’t you. Well, it was, but it wasn’t.”

Now both eyebrows raised.

You winced. “Ah, I mean… He showed me how it felt to be loved and how to love, but you… you showed me what passion was.” You held his hand and stared into his eyes, not wanting to look away otherwise you would lose your nerve. “I think that’s what I was missing, and maybe he could have given it to me, but it seemed unfair… that one of us would feel unfulfilled in any way. I didn’t want that.”

You remembered Jungkook’s face when he looked at this man, remembered his expression when he spoke about him. It was not the same as when he spoke about you. When he talked about you, his face lit up and brightened.

When he spoke about the man named Dionysus on Twitter, the desire and light was clouded with shame, not wanting to hurt you, denying himself from it.

It was hard to explain. It was painful to see him like that somehow. It was also becoming clear that your interests were aligned, but almost too aligned. Seeds of frustration had been sinking in between the space that was growing between you and him. And you, not wanting him to feel pressured to become something he wasn’t, wanting him to find himself just as you had found yourself in those dark, dark eyes, let him go. Was it perhaps selfish to break up with someone so you could explore who you were?

Maybe.

“Does that make sense?” you asked.

Somehow, though, those silver-ringed hands and calm gaze gave you courage.

He smiled. “That is a very mature thing to do for both you and his happiness.”

Also, strangely, this man made you consider that maybe, perhaps… your other half might not be a guy at all. You remembered the desire saturated in Jungkook’s dark brown eyes when he crawled to the other man and licked your cum off his face.

Would you ever feel like that for another woman?

“Oopa?”

You saw the dark-haired man’s right eyebrow twitch ever-so-slightly. “Hm?”

“Will you help me again today?” you asked brightly, shouldering your backpack.

He chuckled, deep and amused. “That’s why I’m here.”

He stared at the name on his phone.

Put it back down.

Fuck.

He ran a hand through his hair, now a dark silvery-gray. He had impulsively dyed it on a whim the last time he went to get a haircut. Just told the hairstylist, fuck it, give me a new color. Now, a weird feeling was seeding in him, festering, spreading into his thoughts.

Min Yoongi frowned and shoved his phone firmly away from his hands.

He did not like this feeling.

He could almost hear his breath. Plush mauve lips on his ear, that skillful tongue toying with his earrings, hand sliding down his shoulder and chest, thumb on his collarbone, whispers on his skin and in his memory, his chin tipping down, seeing silver rings and long fingers splayed over his chest, pulling his back flush to another, forcing him to sit down on hard thighs, another ringed hand spreading his legs open.

Did you miss me, Yoongi?

All the time.

Fuck.

Yoongi closed his eyes, leaning back in his studio chair, his tongue tucked in his cheek. He was supposed to be working. He was supposed to be focused, not thinking about one hand on his throat, another on his cock, hot breath on his neck, pressing his back into that chest, staring down at that strong hand stroking him, desperately needing to cum on those silver rings and make a mess on his thighs, wanted to grab that hand afterward and bring it to his lips and lick it off, wanted to run his tongue over silver and those cum-coated fingers, knowing that he would be held securely against that chest, kisses and tongue tracing his neck.

Sigh.

The feeling remained.

He opened his eyes, looking at the pictures of his friends on his desk. The man named Dionysus on Twitter wasn’t on his desk. Someone might figure it out if Yoongi glanced at a picture of that face framed by a swoop of black hair on the left and dark, dark eyes sparkling with mischief. His mauve lips would probably be curved into a smirk. Angular jaw, silver earrings, silver coin necklaces.

Yoongi would look at the photo a little too long and with too much longing, so he didn’t keep one on his desk.

His eyes stopped at a group photo of his friends.

There was a dark-haired man with his left arm around Yoongi, the other raised in a v-sign. Tattooed arm, right eyebrow piercing, bright smile with his front teeth prominent, giving him a bunny-like appearance.

Recently, Yoongi heard that he had gotten a lip piercing as well.

The feeling inside him remained as he stared at that smile.

Yoongi sighed again and went back to his work, trying to distract himself from his thoughts.

Silver-ringed hand on your chin.

Silver tongue on your neck, tracing upwards, circling your earlobe, lightly flicking your earring, making you shiver as he whispered your name, dark and dangerous.

“Spread your legs.”

His thumb grazed your parted lips, resting on the right side and waiting. You shivered, opening your legs, your hands on your thighs, gasping, cold air ghosting your white stockings. You were still wearing all of your clothes, dress and all, per your request. He spread his knees, pushing your legs open even wider.

The man named Dionysus on Twitter was sitting on your sofa and you were sitting in his lap, your back to his chest.

His hand lowered from your chin. It was his right hand. He raised it in front of you, long fingers spread out, adorned and embellished with gleaming silver.

“Take my rings off for me. Put them on your pretty little hands.”

He had eight on this hand. One on his thumb, a crow skull. You reached up and eased it off. It was too big for you, but you slipped it on anyway, feeling the warmth of the metal. Another single one on his index. On his middle finger, however, were four, all the same, silver rings with a pointed tip that stacked like armor. You pulled them off slowly, admiring the way they fitted together. Ring finger, adding to the weight. Lastly, the pinky finger, slipping it on yours. It felt strange wearing all of them, but there was a sense of responsibility and pride that felt oddly arousing, especially when you watched his hand flex, knuckles and tendons visible.

Undeniable strength.

“Don’t drop them.”

His whisper on your ear, soft and with warning.

“I will be very upset with you if you do.”

You swallowed, nodding.

He hummed approvingly, placing a gentle kiss right under your ear, sending pleasant shivers all over your skin, heat pooling at your core.

“Lift your dress,” he murmured, his black hair feathering over your shoulder. “Show me what a dirty girl you are.”

You whimpered and gripped the hem of your dress, lifting up.

There was a wet spot at the crotch of your stockings already. The sweet scent of your arousal was suddenly exposed by your hands, one full of his rings, the other bare, pressing them to your stomach, feeling his chin rest on your shoulder, most likely looking down at you.

His right hand descended, a graceful arc, fingers ghosting your inner thigh.

“You came to meet me like this?” he whispered, turning his head, lips on your jaw. “Ah, so dangerous. What if someone saw you, hm?”

You clutched the hem of your dress tighter, heartbeat thundering in your chest. “I was… okay… no one could see, and… I-I wasn’t…” You trailed off, cheeks heated, his lips trailing soft kisses on your cheek.

“You weren’t what?”

The tip of his tongue, the tiniest kitten lick on your hot skin.

“Tell me.” His breath, gentle but commanding. “You know you can say it.”

“I wasn’t w-wet… until you were near me…”

A smooth, igniting chuckle. “Is that so?”

Fingers gliding down, down. You watched them crawl closer, closer, pulse racing faster, faster, nearing the wet spot, your breath hitching with a whine as they pressed down, down to your heated wetness, rubbing softly, slowly, feeling more than you should. You heard the sound, wet, sloppy, mixing with your moan, watching the fingertips outline your slick entrance, sticking the pantyhose to your pussy, burying it into your folds, his middle finger rising, circling your sensitive nub underneath the fabric.

“You like this?”

“Y-Yes…”

“Where did you see this?” he purred, lips against your cheek, dark orbs in your periphery, but you were too occupied with watching his movements, entranced by the way he played with you, shoving his fingers into you, digging the stockings inward, sticking them to your skin, stroking your clit, shivers and gasps at the strange sensation. “Something you saw in porn, perhaps?”

“U-Um… maybe…”

Rubbing faster now, harder, and you felt it, glimmers of shooting pleasure, your hips tipping up, increasing the pressure, soaking the fabric more, your head tipping back onto his shoulder. There was something wrong about it, being stimulated towards orgasm through your pantyhose, but that was thrilling part of it, somehow thrilling because it was slightly dirty, almost slutty, not something you would dare do with some random stranger on a first date, but…

You shifted your eyes and found his. Impossibly dark, eyelids lowered, observing you with a devilish smirk.

This was your safe place.

Firm, unwavering pressure, a fast pace, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Such a dirty girl, not wearing your panties with your stockings.”

You whined, digging your nails into your dress, his silver rings clicking on your fingers.

“You wanted me to make you cum that bad, hm? Didn’t want me to waste time and make you feel good right away. So greedy. Should I let you?”

“P… Please, oppa…”

Something in those dark orbs flickered, pupils expanding.

“Please what?”

Voice husky, smoke-like, low, whispering into your ear and into your memories.

“P-Please let me c-cum…”

He turned his head inward, lips on your ear, and bit it.

You gasped, feeling his tongue on the curve, hot and wet, his fingers pressing to your throbbing clit, fast and hard and you were already there, moaning sharp and loud, flooding the slinky fabric and your inner thighs with a gush of sweet viscous juices, your hips bucking, forced in place by his left arm wrapping around your waist and pressing down, wave after wave rolling into you, whimpering at the suddenness of your orgasm, moaning again when his fingers slipped down, his large palm flush to your pulsing clit, covering your drenched mound with warmth.

Sharp intake of breath and his cologne entered your nose, green tea and toasted marshmallow, blending with the scent of your own cum.

“Shh…”

You pushed your hips up into his hand, panting hard, whining softly.

The left hand left your waist, dancing down.

Suddenly breathless, waiting, squeezing your thighs on the outside of his.

Two hands, one ringed, one not, resting on your inner thighs, your clit throbbing against the soaked fabric stuck to your pussy, holding your dress tightly, wanting it, needing it, begging with small impatient noises, and he made you wait, calm, his breath steady against your shaking one.

Your name fell from his lips, sweeter than sweet.

“I know you want more.”

His fingernails dug into your stockings and you heard them rip.

You moaned, wanting it, wanting it, wanting it.

The center seam gave and shred apart from his strong grip, his knuckles flexing and silver rings gleaming in your living room lights, sheer white fabric tearing open and exposing your wet, cum-covered pussy, lips slick and glistening from climax.

You told him before you began that you wanted him to make you cum and then tear your pantyhose to have his way with you.

His left hand released you and flew up, cupping your chin strongly, the right tracing your slit teasingly, tearing a pathetic whine from your throat.

“P-Please, fuck me, fuck me, please…”

He flicked your clit and you almost screamed, your back arching, your neck straining against his fingers, his rings digging into your skin.

“Oppa, please…”

There was a sharp sound of an inhale being sucked through teeth, and you felt hardness pressed against your ass, a thick bulge in his jeans.

“Honorifics are not supposed to be used like that, dirty girl.”

And he roughly shoved two fingers into you, pumping them deep and slow.

“Ah, y-yeees…”

You left hand left your dress and you wrapped it around his, pulling it down a little as he thrust his fingers into you, a little faster, filling you up, his hand now around your neck, not tight yet, only resting there, four fingers under your ear and his thumb under the other, your moans becoming deeper, the thought in your head, maybe, maybe if you asked, maybe if you asked to be held tight and shaken so you couldn’t come to your senses, and the thought was so arousing that you became wetter, slippery and loud, embarrassing squelches and bucking your hips upward, so turned on the request tumbled from your trembling lips, unfiltered, unafraid.

“P-Please… choke me, oppa…”

Another sharp inhale, the sound of a clenched jaw.

Faster and rougher and you begged him with your best, most pleading, most pathetic whimper.

“Please, oppa, please choke me…”

His deep, husky voice in your ear, lustful and saturated with dominance.

“You know what you do when you get what you want?”

His grip tightened around your neck and you felt it, instant pressure and sudden thinned circulation, your heart racing to keep up as your thoughts slipped from your mind, replaced by rushing pleasure and thrusting fingers abusing your pussy.

“You say thank you like a good girl.”

He thrust particularly hard, shooting a bolt of pain up your core, and you gasped, tears springing at the corners of your eyes, but it somehow dissipated into the ecstasy, his knuckle grazing your clit to juxtapose the hurt with rough pleasure.

“T-Thank you!”

“Mhm, that’s it,” he chuckled, and the grip on your neck was a little tighter, even pressure of thinned circulation that kept you on the tightrope, lightheaded and woozy, feeling the fingers thrust into your rolling hips, your fingers on his rings, holding on, on tiptoe with your calves and thighs straining, fucking his hand as he fucked you, thinking about nothing else, a strange sense of being used but intoxicated by it because you had asked for it, so wet it was shockingly embarrassing, so slick a third finger slid in and stuffed you even more, pushing you to the brink, choked, fucked, grinding on his erection, pantyhose torn open, all in your living room, and you had the sudden thought, what if someone walked in and saw you right now, on your sofa and asking to get choked by a hand covered in silver rings while you were wearing his so he could stuff three fingers into you and turn you into a moaning, wet mess, and the thought pushed your over the edge, threw you over into a wanton wail and you thrust your hips up and snapped your thighs closed, throwing your head back onto his shoulder and shutting your eyes.

Top of the rollercoaster, breathless at the drop below.

Sudden air and blood thundering back, and the peak of your orgasm hit even harder, your back arching, strong arm around your chest and holding onto you as your hips jerked and flinched into his hand, three fingers deeply buried into your pulsing walls, feeling the burst of your juices sliding over his palm, his wrist, smearing over your inner thighs.

The sensation was all over your body, heated fierce bursts of pleasure, from your core, up your spine, into your head, consuming everything, skin on fire, legs and breath trembling, almost sobbing with how good it was, so good that you didn’t have to worry about anything or think or even fucking breathe.

Who gave a fuck about breathing when you could feel like this?

Down, down, down, a slow descent, aftershocks flinching through you, falling back into his lap, his hand retreating, stroking your sensitive lips with his wet fingers, soft kisses on your neck, kneading your breasts through your clothes.

“Good girl.”

The praise flared through you, feeding the fire within, now more certain than ever that this was it.

You turned your head and fiercely kissed those plush mauve lips, descending into that strength, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth and fucking it like it was your pussy, making your moan with longing, reaching between your legs, clumsily caressing the large bulge in his jeans.

“P-Please… wanna make you feel good…”

He pulled away and suddenly your mouth was filled with the three fingers that tasted of your own cum, pushing in and rubbing your tongue, thrusting deeply, almost making you choke, his eyebrow raised and a criminal smirk on his lips, becoming more wicked as you sucked instantly, obediently. Eager, no, desperate to please.

“Ah, the good girl wants to make the bad boy feel good?” he drawled, making you feel dirty and sweet.

Jeon Jungkook was waiting patiently.

He was holding his phone, sitting on his sofa, watching the time.

He went and got his hair bleached today. Dyed it mint. It was a little impulsive, but he needed to kill the time. Standing around in his apartment was going to make him lose his mind and he wasn’t going to be able to resist. Every corner was a corner that made his imagination run wild, thinking about a man with long black hair, a teasing smirk, and dark, dark eyes, thinking about silver-ringed hands pinning him down, insistent hand cupping his erection, toying with him and messing with him until he begged and pleaded to be used, pleaded to have his face shoved into the floor and his ass dragged into the air, thick and hard length pushing into him with grateful whines in his throat, fucking him into the hardwood.

Yeah.

Jungkook couldn’t stand around all day and think about that without wanting to masturbate to it, so he went to the hair salon and wasted hours bleaching the shit out of his black hair and asking them to color it a cool-toned mint.

He exhaled slowly, watching the time.

He was told that he couldn’t cum until his hyung told him to, so he waited as patiently as he could.

Closed his eyes. His mind wondered, wandered, wished, imagining his hands on those strong thighs, pushing them back, and it was his cock sliding into that tightness, fuck, he must be so good, he had to be, there was no way he wasn’t, and Jungkook would look down and those mauve lips would still be smirking at him, amused at his shock and incapability of holding himself together, those ringed hands grabbing his ass, pushing him in, forcing him to feel it, his hands slipping to the bed, that deep voice nudging him, don’t hold back, Jungkook, fuck me like your mean it, and he would look down to him looking up grinning like the devil, entranced by dark, dark eyes that captured him and dragged him into his safe place, letting go of his reservations and giving into his desire, clutching the sheets to hold on, thrusting with all his power, desperate to hear make the older male moan for him.

Jungkook gasped, opening his eyes, suddenly aware that he was clutching his gray sweatpants a little too tight, the massive tent in the crotch visibly twitching against the taut fabric.

He let go, breathing out slowly, shakily.

He remembered the tattoo under his lips, the black letters traced by his fingertips.

His eyes went to his phone, seeing the time.

His fingers worked quickly, pressing the contact, his heart pounding in his chest, pressing the start call button.

His rings were on the side table by your couch, a plethora of silver. Next to it was his smartphone, black leather wallet, and keys. There was a small keychain on his keys. A tuxedo cat figurine holding a bright orange tangerine.

He was about to take the rings off his left hand but you stopped him.

“Um… can you keep them on?”

He raised his eyebrows at you.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire. “I… well… they look sexy on you… and when you grab me, they dig in a little and it feels… n-nice…” you sputtered, sitting down on his thigh.

He smirked, pulling his right hand away from his left. “And so they stay on.”

His clothes were on the floor save for his shirt, barely holding onto his shoulders, unbuttoned by your hands and spread open, gasping a little at the appearance of his chest, toned muscle and smooth skin, silver necklaces on his collarbones. He was not shy, leaning back as your hands explored, the ends of his black hair curling around his jaw, smirk in his lips. Dark, dark eyes on your body, making you feel a little self-conscious.

You weren’t wearing anything but your blouse, the buttons at the waist still together.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m n-not as good-look–”

He raised his hand, his index finger touching your lips.

“Shut up, please,” he said softly. “I don’t want to hear such things from you.”

Your hands were on his abs, pressed into the muscle.

He raised an eyebrow, lowering his hand. He took one of yours and pulled it down, lower, lower, and you gasped, in contact with hot, taut skin, his hard length against your palm. He slid your hand up and down, breathing deeply, closing your fingers around his cock.

“What were you saying?” he asked slowly with an edge of danger, pink tongue dancing on the edge of his lips. “You couldn’t possibly be sitting on my thigh, leaking all over me and telling me that you’re not good-looking, right?”

You felt it twitch in your hand, veins pressing against your skin.

“U-Um…”

His chin tipped up, lids lowering, surveying you with a sharp gaze.

“N-No…”

The side of his lips curved upwards, satisfied.

“Move your hips,” he ordered, his right hand wrapped around your left, slowly stroking his length. You were about to grip tighter, but his head ticked abruptly, the faintest but stark movement, eyes narrowing, freezing you in place.

“Move. Your. Hips.”

You swallowed hard and began to slide your ass back and forth, gasping, the sudden tensing of his thigh rubbing against your stimulated clit and slippery pussy, rubbing yourself on it, surprised by the pleasure, grinding down on his thigh, and he flexed it more, giving you a surface and delicious gliding friction, jacking himself off with your hand, deliberate and leisurely even as you sped up, following your instincts, multiplying the satisfaction.

“Oooh, w-wow…”

He hummed, observing you closely, reaching up with his left hand, running his thumb over your hard nipple, and you moaned, leaning forward, seeking those plush mauve lips, feverish kiss, gasping, please pinch it, please, and he did, hard, your moan in his throat, harder, your moan deepening and more lustful, kissing him deeper, seeking his tongue, and he gave it to you, sliding it into your lips so you could suck on it desperately, rubbing yourself on his muscular thigh, faster, harder, his fingers teasing your nipples and pinching and tugging, a little pain that fed the blinding pleasure, whining needily, his hard cock in your hand, pulsing and thick, controlled by his grip, wanting it inside you, wanting it to stretch you out and thrust deep inside you, wetter at the thought, body suddenly hot, blouse too much, the scent of green tea and toasted marshmallow invading your nose, mixing with his strong masculine scent and the scent of your own cum, sweet and rich, your clit throbbing on his skin, breaking the kiss, your eyes wide, seeing his open slowly, devious smirk on his lips, swollen and dark from your kiss.

You came all over his thigh with a gasping whimper, your free hand flying up and clutching his shoulder, putting your full weight on his leg and moaning, bundle of nerves viciously pressed into the muscle and pulsating hard, your orgasm seeping onto his skin, wave after shuddering wave of flinching pleasure vibrating through you, riding the high, extending it for as long as you could.

Bzzzt.

The sharp sound cut through your reverie, startling you.

The black-haired man frowned. His ponytail was mussed from pressing his head into your couch. He let go of your hand and your nipple, reaching over to the side table to pick up his phone.

“Sorry, I’ll put it on silent. Didn’t think anyone was going to ca–”

He stopped talking, staring at the screen.

You took your hand off his shoulder and pressed the start call button.

He snapped his head up, furrowing his brow, staring at you with a sharp, intense gaze that made shivers dance up and down your spine at the danger in that look. You reached over and put it on speaker and Jeon Jungkook’s voice drifted from the phone.

“H-Hyung!”

You felt his cock twitch in your hand at the sound.

The dark, dark eyes darted from you to his phone, jaw clenching.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you said softly, squeezing the stiff length in your hand, speaking to your ex-boyfriend.

His cheerful voice said your name with fondness. “Hey! You’re still with hyung, right?”

“Yeah. We’re not done yet,” you replied, teeth sinking into your lower lip, the thrill now burning you with arousal, mixing with the euphoria after release, staring into dark eyes that was rapidly beginning to understand, muscles of his jaw and neck tensing abruptly. “As planned.”

Mauve lips mouthed your words, as planned, with a stern glare and arched brow.

“Hyung, I–”

“You are a bad boy is what you are,” the other man growled.

“A… Are you mad?” Jungkook whimpered, sounding worried. “Please d-don’t be mad, hyung–”

“Stop using the honorific like that.”

He sounded mean.

Just a little bit mean, very annoyed.

It made your pussy throb, listening to his snarl and feeling his rock-hard cock twitch every time Jungkook called him hyung.

A low, sensual moan drifted from the speaker, drenched with lust and need. His name, the real name of the man named Dionysus from Twitter, soaked with desire in Jungkook’s silvery, low octave, irresistible and desperate for the poisoned grail.

“P-Please… wanna cum s-so bad…”

Those dark orbs were on you, piercing through you. “You planned this with him.”

You bit your lip, quivering at the coldness of his tone. “S-Sorry, oppa,” you sniffed, giving him your best apologetic pout.

He exhaled sharply, gritting his teeth, his hard cock twitching in your hand.

“Fuck.”

You reached over with your free hand and picked up on the condom on the couch, maintaining eye contact. The silver-ringed hand clutched the phone, Jungkook’s sweet, lovely moans emitting clearly from the speaker, the sound of hand on skin getting louder. Slow, deep strokes.

Dark, dark eyes on you.

“This is what you want?” he asked, breathing hard, black strands framing his handsome face.

You nodded quickly.

You had asked Jungkook after the breakup if he attempted to see the man with the silver rings and devilish smirk. He had been slightly sheepish, stammering a little, nervously saying that he had, maybe afraid that you would be upset at him, but the news relieved you somehow.

“That’s good!”

“That’s… good?” Jungkook had replied, rubbing the back of his head, looking unsure.

“Have you tried to have sex with him?” you had asked excitedly.

Jungkook had turned bright red. “U-Um… yeah… well… actually… I…”

Because there was something about it, something about the way he talked about him, and somehow this was easier than you and him talking about your previously shared sex life. Somehow, this was exciting, this was fun, this was comforting, listening to Jungkook shyly admitting things like showing up at the apartment which a butt plug in his ass, a thought that turned you on in the sense that you almost wished to be the one in his place, and you knew this was the right choice because he spoke to you freely and you spoke to him freely, asking if it was okay if you met up with him too, the twitter user yourowndionysus.

“Yeah, of course. You should, I think.”

You had blinked at him, surprised. “R-Really?”

Jungkook had nodded. “I don’t think you should do stuff like this with any stranger. That’s dangerous.”

“You don’t think he’s dangerous?”

Jungkook had tilted his head, thinking.

“No, not in a bad way. There’s just… just something about the way he looks at you,” he had said, chewing on his lip. “Feels like you can do whatever you want, even if it’s a little crazy, and he’ll support you. Does that even make sense?”

It did.

The black-haired man lifted his arms, inhaling sharply as you ripped open the condom and fitted it over his hardness, rolling it down, shivers through you as you looked up into dark eyes and an arched brow, unsmiling, just a little mean, holding his phone with one hand and moving his arm to give you space, Jungkook’s soft pants becoming shallow, pleading.

The phone raised to mauve lips, forming a single word.

“Stop.”

You heard Jungkook whine despairingly, the rhythmic sounds stopping. “Please, please, hyung, I’ve been a good boy all day…”

“And now you’re not, so that deserves punishment, doesn’t it?”

A hitched breath, yours and Jungkook paired together, listening to his icy tone.

He raised the fingers of his left hand, curling them inward, beckoning you to his lap, silver rings flashing.

You slid onto his thighs, getting on top of him, tipping your hips to the correct angle, his hand holding himself steady as you positioned, you holding onto his shoulders.

He lifted the phone away from his mouth and spoke to you.

“Down.”

The sound that you made was between a lustful moan and satisfied whimper, gripping his shoulders tightly at the sudden fullness, his fingertips suddenly on your hip, dark eyes telling you to be careful, oh, fuck, unexpected thickness and hardness, centimeter by centimeter sliding into your wet heat, your heart slamming against your ribcage as you heard Jungkook’s despairing cry.

“W-Wait, you can’t…”

“I can,” the other male interrupted. “And I will, because you called me fully knowing what I’m doing right now, knowing exactly what is happening and you want to cum listening to it.”

His left hand gripped your hip, pushing you down the rest of the way, making you yelp and moan, bottoming out on his girth, grasping his shoulders for balance, your thighs pressing against his hips, his rings indenting into the softness of yours.

Jungkook moaned with you, maybe just as strongly.

“Am I wrong?” the other male purred, holding the phone with his right hand next to his mouth, leaning his head back.

“N… No, hyung…”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Can I t-touch myself…? Please…”

“Not yet.”

A quiet, pathetic whimper that made your pussy throb, leaking all over his crotch.

The black-haired man placed his phone down, now both hands on your hips, guiding your movement, slowly rolling your hips, hesitant at first but rapidly falling into the rhythm, gasping at the feeling, controlled pleasure, not as clumsy as the first couple times you tried this position, only to give up and go back to missionary, something both you and Jungkook could understand with relative ease, or at least not need to communicate much for, but this was different, strong hands leading the dance, sliding in, tapping the deepest part of you and then sliding out, making you want it again, and again, and again, needing a little more, bouncing now, caught in the symphony of sensations, staring into dark, dark orbs and a faint smirk.

“I… please, I want it h-harder…” you gasped.

He leaned forward a little, pink tongue tracing the side of his lip, speaking slowly and clearly, loud enough for Jungkook to hear.

“Then ride this dick harder if you want it harder.”

Jungkook was almost sobbing, pleading his name over and over, sounding like he was losing all shreds of sanity.

“H-Hyung, please, please, I need it…”

Silver-ringed hand grabbing your blouse, forcing you to lean forward so you could smack your hips down harder, gasping at the burst of pleasure and hot breath drifting over your cheek, warm and sweet cologne, deep drawl at your ear.

“Tell him to touch himself. Tell him to get off as you’re getting fucked by me.”

His hands on your ass, lifting you and you slapped your hips back down, skin to skin, moaning and Jungkook matching your breath greedily, gasping between the rolling of your hips, do it, Jungkook, he says you can touch yourself, please, and the grateful whine, eagerly climbing to the pace your had set, hard and steady and deep, a little faster hearing Jungkook’s sounds, his hand on himself and his moans pitched with yours, lifting your head, locked into those dark, dark eyes, pupils dilated, cocked eyebrow, and Jungkook must look into these eyes too, he must feel this too, this sense of desperation to chase the pleasure and this sense of calm knowing you didn’t have to hide, reaching down, unbuttoning your blouse the rest of the way, pulling his hands inward and up to your chest, grateful whine as he toyed with your hard nipples, leaving you now to follow the pace you had set, filling yourself over and over, a little pain but so, so much ecstasy, hitting that spot you found you liked most, loud messy squelches and your clit rubbing against the base, hearing Jungkook pump himself in time with your slapping hips.

It was kind of wrong.

It was very hot.

It was a guilty sort of pleasure, but it was addicting and irresistible, making you want more and more.

Strong hands gripped your hips, freezing you in place, making you yelp.

“O-Oppa…?”

“I’m sorry,” he panted under you, shaking exhale falling from his lips. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to fuck you now. I’m at my limit, just tell me to stop if it’s too rough.”

“O-Okay – oh, G-God!’

His fingers dug into your hips and he thrust up, hard, hitting that spot you had been going for with expert precision and power, your head instantly lolling back, moaning louder than before, starting a brutal, intense pace, his breath shallow and labored, those eyes almost black, staring at your body and making your breasts bounce. You held onto his broad shoulders, letting yourself give in and be at the mercy of his ferocious pace, closer and closer and harder and rougher and unstoppable, barely able to hear Jungkook’s desperate plea over your own passionate moans.

“Hyung, please, can I cum, please–”

“Not until she does,” that savage growl snapped, feeding the fire, building the tension, pulling that string inside you tighter and tighter and tighter, Jungkook begging you by name, over and over, please, cum, please, I can’t take it, I’m going to explode, please, sounding ruined, almost as ruined as you were from the powerful thrusts stretching you out and making your walls clench around that twitching, stiff length, so intense you closed your eyes and threw your head back, seeing stars, trying to hold back, trying to give yourself the highest high you could, holding your breath, airless, the sound of Jungkook’s sinful moan filling your head, a sweet song in his beautiful voice luring you to the end, mesmerized by his sound, a dangerous pied piper enticing you to follow him to the edge, ready to fall.

“Fuck, o-o-oh, I’m cumming…”

Going, going, gone.

Your words turning into a heightened, breathless sob, every tense muscle in your core suddenly bursting with vicious tremors and gushing liquid everywhere, all over his crotch, your inner thighs, maybe even onto your poor sofa, and then on cloud nine, pure bliss and euphoria, thundering, inescapable pleasure that cut off your sound, your ears now filled with Jungkook’s helpless wail and cry, imagining what it must be like, thick white strings shooting out from the swollen, purple-red tip of his cock, splattering everywhere, onto his tattooed fingers and knuckles, maybe even his sweatpants if he was still wearing them, turning the light gray fabric to dark gray with spots of his lust, squeezing his length and whining as the rest dripped out. He weakly gasping the other man’s name like a prayer. You felt him thrust up roughly, quick breath and then a long, uninhibited moan fell from those plush mauve lips, the usually poised and composed face falling apart slightly, black strands in disarray, all over his forehead and cheeks, dark eyes closing, his cock jerking and pumping the condom full of his release, shoving himself deep inside your tight, wet pussy with a low growl, his hold on your hips so tight you were sure his rings were going to bruise you.

“F-Fuck…”

He let you go quickly, hands shaking, but you released his shoulders and grabbed his hands, holding them, breath to panting breath, his eyes opening, dark, so dark, rising, finding yours. Heavy, deep, inhale, exhale, his phone beside your sweaty bodies, listening to Jungkook’s strained exertion, whispering the other male’s name, followed by the very thing he had been scolded for earlier.

“Hyung…”

You saw the dark eyebrows tick upwards, half-disbelieving, half-amused smirk on those mauve lips, the tiniest ghost of a dimple on his right cheek.

“I will deal with you later, Jungkook.”

He pulled his hand out of yours and reached over to hang up on him before pulling you to his face, lips to lips, capturing you in a breathless kiss.

When he was dressed and at your door, you looked up at him. He pulled his long black hair out of the tie and combed his fingers through it, wonderfully messy. If you looked closely, you could see a mahogany undertone weaved in the black. His hands were re-adorned with his rings, gleaming silver shimmering against the dark locks.

“Are you going home?” you asked.

“Mhm.”

“Do you ever want someone to go home to?”

He collected his hair into a ponytail, smoothing it on the sides neatly. “Like a lover?”

“Like a forever.”

Those hands paused, his expression becoming pensive. “Nothing is forever.”

“I used to think that too,” you said softly. “But when I look at you, I think that you could be someone’s forever.”

He tied his hair off, smirking. “Why do you say that? Because the sex is that good?”

You waited to reply until his gaze shifted to your face, lightly amused.

“Because you deserve a forever.”

Something in his expression faltered, staring down at you. You looked back up at him, at those dark, dark orbs that promised safety and acceptance. You could feel it, a guarded sadness that made that darkness a safe place because it welcomed lost souls without judgement, maybe because that darkness at one time knew the pain of being judged and having to hide.

Maybe because there were parts of himself that he couldn’t accept yet either.

He smiled and it was a small smile.

“I don’t think I am the one to decide whether I deserve it or not,” he said quietly, and you knew some part of your thoughts must be true. “I don’t do relationships anyway. I’m a jerk with no feelings.”

You raised yourself lightly on tiptoe, lips to lips, placing a soft kiss on those mauve ones, his eyes widening in slight surprise, caught off guard. You broke the kiss gently, smiling up at his stunned expression. His lips parted, a small moment of vulnerability.

“I heard what you said,” you chirped, grinning. “But I don’t believe you.”

The faint swoop of black hair over his left eye curled over his jaw, and he laughed, smirk returning and shaking his head, sending his hair flicking back, uncovering his bemused expression.

“Strangely, not the first time I’ve heard that.”

He was cold.

Really cold.

It was already night. He was standing outside a bar. The car slid up to the curb, stopped. He recognized the car. Reached over and opened the door, blasted by heated air and a herbal, sweet scent. Green tea and toasted marshmallow. He pulled his black parka around him and got in, his thick boots hitting the car floor with a thud, snapping the door closed.

“Hey, Yoongi.”

He was cold, but he felt like he needed it for some reason.

“’Sup.”

“What’s with your car?” the deep male voice asked, waiting for him to put on his seatbelt.

“Thing is old. I’ll bring it to the shop in the morning. Think I need a new battery.”

“That’s annoying.”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“Put your seatbelt on.”

Min Yoongi lifted his head. Lifted his head to a familiar face shrouded on the left side by a swoop of long black hair, half-tied back, wearing a gray sweatshirt and a pair of black trousers, one of his hands resting on the steering wheel. He seemed freshly showered from the fluffiness of his hair and the glow of his skin. Dark, dark eyes and mauve lips. Equally dark eyebrow rising, giving him a questioning glance.

“Thanks for picking me up,” Yoongi said.

The man named Dionysus on Twitter shrugged. “Not a big deal for a good friend.”

Yoongi held his gaze.

The other male began turning the wheel, faint smile on his lips, the hint of a dimple. “Put your seatbelt on before I get pulled over.”

Yoongi put his fucking seatbelt on.

“Where do you want me to drop me off?”

“I’ll just go to yours. It’s closer than mine.”

Silence.

“I have to go to the car shop in the morning. It’s closer to your apartment.”

“Alright.”

He hated this. This heaviness. He could feel it; he wasn’t stupid. It was partly him and partly Yoongi himself, and he knew that. The car was warming his stiff fingers, heat penetrating through his sweater and jeans. Yoongi inhaled deeply. His car always smelled so fucking good. Smelled just like him.

“Why were you at a bar?”

“Coworkers wanted to drink tonight to celebrate finishing an album. I had already declined too many times before. Figured I should try to be a little social,” he muttered.

“Heh, better than me.”

Yoongi tucked his tongue in his cheek.

It was a lie.

Yoongi sat in the car and on his lies.

The other male drove with one hand, calm, smooth. The radio was on low volume, playing soft beats through mumbles of advertisements. Yoongi noticed it was his left hand on the top of the steering wheel, the right resting on his thigh or the bottom, dark eyes on the road. His fingers gleamed with sterling silver, catching the streetlights and traffic lights.

“You found the last one.”

The hand raised off the wheel, spreading his long fingers out. The left pinky gleamed with a sizable ring, an eye with a triangle around it. He put it back on the steering wheel, humming.

“Now I think my thumbs are unbalanced,” he chuckled, clinking his rings against the wheel. “My obsessions never end, heh.”

That’s what Yoongi was afraid of.

“You hungry?”

“Not really.”

“You’re usually hungry when you’re drunk,” the other male teased.

“I’m not drunk,” Yoongi shot back.

Another lie.

Well, he wasn’t stupid drunk. He was only a little drunk. He could still talk normally and communicate what he wanted. He was fine. He was. Another glance, the image now his, watching the other man focus on the road, strands of hair framing his face, streetlights casting shadows, lines he could touch if he reached out. He would let him.

The other man would let Yoongi touch him, if that was what he needed.

Yoongi looked away, staring out the window at nothing.

“Do you think you don’t need people?”

“Hm?” was the response. “Me?”

“Of course, you,” Yoongi replied, and it was supposed to have bite, but it didn’t.

A small, pensive pause. “Why would you say that?”

Because he was there whenever Yoongi had reservations, frustrations, desperations. Because he was there when he needed someone to drink with, someone to sit silently with, someone to touch and hold and want without worrying about anything, not about how he looked, acted, or if he hurt their feelings with his aloofness.

Because he was there, and he never asked Yoongi to be there.

“You can tell me what you’re thinking,” the deep voice murmured. “I promise I won’t be offended.”

Yoongi never thought he needed anyone. He wanted them there – hoped they would be there to support them and stand by him, but he knew everyone had their own lives, never wanted them to give up their time at his expense.

Never wanted their time to be his time.

“My car is fine,” he finally admitted.

“… What?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my car. It’s sitting in the parking lot of the bar. I wanted an excuse for you to pick me up.”

Silence.

Then, soft tone with an edge of ice. “You don’t have to lie to me, Yoongi. You know I dislike lying.”

Yoongi closed his eyes. Yes, he knew. He knew. He thought about it as he sat at the bar, as he drank, as he held his phone and stared at the contact and hated the feeling inside him. Stared at the name and drank knowing full well he could not drink his regrets away and they should not be regrets anyway because he was the one who made the choice to arrange the meetings, to give away the address, to know it was going to happen and it was only his fault.

That day at the door of his studio, looking into those big dark brown eyes and parted pink lips with a mole underneath them, asking for the address, and Yoongi could have pretended he didn’t know it, but he gave it away.

Maybe just to see if this feeling existed.

It did, and he hated it.

But maybe he also wanted Jungkook to feel what he felt too.

“I don’t think the question is whether or not I need people,” the other man finally continued, turning again, calm and clean. “But people don’t need me. Maybe my skillset or my perspective. Other than that, I’m only a stepping stone in their lives.”

Yoongi opened his eyes.

“That’s not true.”

He turned and looked at him. Those mauve lips pursed slightly and he shrugged. He was pulling into his apartment complex now, into the parking lot, past the visitor’s parking and to the residential lot underground.

“I know it’s not, because I thought I was incapable of feeling jealous, but I was wrong.”

He chuckled. “Jealous of what? Me?”

Bzzzt.

The device in the cupholder sprang to life, vibrating incessantly. Instead of looking at his phone, the other male took a moment to pull into his parking spot. It gave Yoongi a moment to recognize the name and feel the small sting as he saw there was not the faceless circle next to the name, but a small picture of a simple emoticon drawn by hand.

A sheepish-looking smile in black and white.

Yoongi knew he was the flat eyes and mouth emoji on the man’s phone.

The silver-ringed hand reached over and picked up his phone, glancing at it. His dark eyebrow raised and he pressed the green ‘start call’ button, bringing it to his ear, silver hoops hitting the screen. Yoongi noticed he had changed them. There was now a moon charm hanging off one and a black gem embedded into the other.

“Hyung! You answered.”

“Hello, Jungkook. I did answer, however I’m in the middle of something right now.”

“Oh, I thought you were done… she said she arrived home already.”

Yoongi had good hearing. He saw the dark orbs flicker slightly. A tinge of exasperation and possibly annoyance. “I picked Yoongi up because there was something up with his car. He’s going to stay the night.”

“There’s–”

But Yoongi didn’t get to finish, because a ringed hand slapped over his mouth, pinning his head back into the passenger’s seat. Dark, dark eyes glared at him, rooting him in place.

“Oh, you’re with hyung! Ah, okay, then I’m sorry, I can wait, bye!”

Click.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and squinted at it. Didn’t move for a few moments, his hand on Yoongi’s lips. The scent of green tea and toasted marshmallow invaded Yoongi’s nose. Silver gleamed from the parking lot lights right under his line of sight.

“You’ve been acting weird,” the deep, husky voice said slowly, turning his head, the wave of black following, eyes raising. “Ever since…”

Pause, still holding his phone.

He lowered his hand.

“What do you want me to do, Yoongi?”

There was no anger in those eyes, even though they should be angry at him because he lied. Those mauve lips parted, then closed again, a hesitation that was unlike him. He busied himself with shoving his phone into his pocket, freeing his hands, and yet they were weighed with decorative embellishments, catching the low lighting as he cracked his wrists.

“You don’t need an excuse for me to pick you up,” he exhaled, raising his head again, dark, dark eyes on him. The small smile on his lips softened his gaze. “You are welcome in my home whenever, for whatever reason.”

“He likes you.”

The smile faltered, disappeared.

“Jungkook likes you in the same way I do.”

Yoongi watched him and although those dark eyes didn’t look away, they were retreating slightly.

“He’s not like me. He doesn’t try to avoid thinking about it. All he does is think about things he likes and ignores the things he doesn’t. All I do is think about the shit I don’t like and try to avoid thinking about how you’re going to replace me with him because he is better than–”

His right hand shot out and his index finger pressed to Yoongi’s lips, silencing him.

“Shut up, please.”

The pad pressed to his lips. Dry, soft. Not callused like Yoongi’s guitar-playing fingertips.

“No one is better than anyone,” he said softly. “No one will be replaced.” The ringed hand lowered now, pulling back, away from him. “Besides, I’m a jerk with no feelings. I’m not worth the high value.”

Warm air hummed from the vents, the car still on idle.

“You don’t need people.” Maybe it was the alcohol, the moment, the darkness of those eyes that was his safe place and he did not want it to leave so he had to be honest. “I know you will never need me, because I never needed anyone either, not until I needed you.”

A wry smirk. “You don’t need me, Yoongi.”

But he was not afraid now. In the uncertainty of being alone, Yoongi had been afraid, but now he was in those eyes and he was leaning forward and closing the distance, waiting for black strands to cover those eyes and for him to back up, but he did not, mauve lips waiting for him, shadows darkening because Yoongi was now covering the light.

“Before you, I was afraid,” he whispered to those lips. “But you taught me I really can live any way I like.”

He chuckled. “You’re the one who said so. It’s tattooed to my back.”

“I didn’t believe it, not until you.”

Breath to breath.

“I didn’t think I could feel jealousy, that I would like someone enough to feel that.”

The darkness in those orbs didn’t respond, but they welcomed him.

“You better let him need you the way I need you.”

A small chuckle. “What do you mean by that?”

Yoongi growled. “I don’t really know. I just know Jungkook looks at you the same way I look at you and if you reject him, I will be angry at you, so don’t.”

And then he kissed him, caught those mauve lips and cupped that angular jaw, his fingers grazing silver earrings, burying into black hair, messing it up, tasted the passion and the lust and the strength, tired of his moment of pretending because there was no point in pretending when he could be what he wanted and do what he wanted because those dark, dark eyes let him, no, made him be honest.

“I should not have kissed you back then,” the other male mumbled, looking down at him through his lashes. “You are dangerous, Yoongi.”

He stared into those dark, dark eyes.

“That sucks.”

His hand slid down, down.

“My car’s still on.”

He pressed down, satisfied at the resistance underneath his palm. Fingers covered in silver rings closed around his wrist, but he caressed the hardness, watching his eyes, savoring the sharp intake of breath.

“Only from my kiss?” Yoongi mused, giving him an open-mouthed smirk.

Dark orbs became darker, squeezing his wrist, pulling him away.

“Let’s go upstairs, hm?”

His tone was even, steady, but Yoongi knew he would make him hurt just the way he liked.

dionysus vi

masterpost

#jungkook smut #yoongi smut #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x male oc #yoongi x male oc #jungkook x oc #yoongi x oc #yoongi x male wiyllt #jungkook x male wiyllt

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

dionysus iv, m | jjk x ♂wiyllt

pairing(s): jungkook x male wiyllt — important: contains m/m pairing and no reader — male OC is male whatifyoulivelikethat aka me, the author ;)

summary: Following a sex advice Twitter somehow got Jeon Jungkook here, at the physical address of user yourowndionysus's apartment, the one who taught Jungkook's girlfriend how to suck dick and taught him how to eat pussy. Exactly what he asked for. No more, no less. So, what if he... asks for more?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; important! male OC is pansexual and Jungkook is closer to bisexual; smut (m/m pairing, D/s dynamics, (a lot of) begging, praise kink, use of anal plug, handjob, m-receiving oral, hair pulling, dick slapping to the face, m-masturbation, anal sex, hyung kink?); non-idol!BTS - dom!male OC x sub!JK; Jungkook's POV; fluff and feels; implied yoongi x ♂wiyllt

part i | part ii | part iii

“I…”

“… You?”

His long black hair was wet. He must had just gotten out of the shower. Damp strands clung to his left cheekbone, framing the left ear and the double lobe piercing. Two silver hoops. He had an undercut and it was much more obvious since his hair was harshly swept to the left. His skin glowed with product. He was wearing a low neckline, collared black pajama shirt with little red devils on it. They were making various faces, little grins and smirks and some with their long tongues hanging out. He was in boxer briefs. Black. Some kind of slinky fabric that clung to his muscular thighs and his crotch.

The breath caught in his throat as Jeon Jungkook stared.

“Shit, sorry, let me put pants on.”

The door was about to close and Jungkook smacked his palm against the front door of this apartment he had never been at until today, suddenly breathing hard, catching the gaze of those dark, dark eyes and the raised brow, stopping the man who named himself Dionysus on Twitter.

User yourowndionysus.

“Um… I broke up with my girlfriend.”

The other man blinked at him. “What?” His handsome features furrowed in confusion. “Did I do something? Are you here to try to beat the shit out of me or something?”

Try?

Jungkook blinked back, now confused himself. “T… Try?”

The man frowned, clicking his tongue. “You think I would let you? You are cute, Jungkook, but I’m not going to let you win even if you’re mad at me for, uh, doing exactly what you told me to do.” Now he pursed his lips and scratched his head.

“N-No, ah, no, that’s not why we broke up. It’s, um… um, because…”

Oh shit.

How was Jungkook supposed to say, because we both figured out the reason why we suck at talking to each other about doing stuff is because we’re both subs and we want to be told what to do?

“Can I… can I talk to you?” he mumbled, sucking in a breath. They were nearly the same height. The other man was slightly taller and he wasn’t wearing shoes. Jungkook felt a bit sad about that, but oh well.

“You’re talking to me right now.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes and pouted.

That smirk returned and so did that deep chuckle. “Come on now. You gave me the chance. I have to take it.”

Jungkook chewed on his lip, slightly annoyed.

The head ticked and the wet black locks flicked in the air. Simple. Effortless. The right hand raised and Jungkook now noticed that only the fingers on his left hand had rings, as if he had been in the middle of putting them back on before being interrupted. As per usual, every finger was adorned except the left pinky.

The right, however, was bare.

His lower lip fell from his teeth, fixating on this man’s ring-free hand.

The long fingers raised, curling inward.

“Come in.”

Jungkook didn’t quite know why he was here. Honestly, he was kind of surprised at himself. He remembered showing up at a certain music producer’s studio. A grumpy, half-awake hyung had greeted him at the door, asking him why he couldn’t just text.

“You don’t answer texts, hyung.”

“You don’t either.” Those cat-like eyes had narrowed. Then he sighed. “Okay, what is it?”

“Um, do you, uh… knowyourowndionysus’saddress?”

“Jungkook, is that Korean?”

“His, er, address. Your friend. You know, um…”

“They guy who taught your girlfriend how to suck dick and you how to eat pussy?”

“Erm, ex-girlfriend.”

Slow blinking. “Oh. Sorry.” An awkward pause. “I have it on my phone. I’ll text to you, hm?”

“A… Ah, yeah, okay sure. Thanks, hyung.”

“It’s nothing. Uh… Friday is probably best if you want to swing by. I don’t think he’s doing anyone on Friday.”

“O-Oh…”

“Well, I guess his schedule could change whenever, but I’m pretty sure…” His hyung scratched the back of his head, turning his arm to look at the large, matte black-faced metal watch on his left wrist, keeping his eyes fixated on it. “He gets off work around this time. Remember. Friday.”

And now Jungkook was here, stepping into the apartment. He looked around and was not confronted with a sex dungeon. Not that he thought it would be or anything.

Okay, maybe.

Kind of.

Jungkook certainly did not expect the two-and-a-half-meter tall café-au-lait-colored stuffed bear sitting in the living room.

The front door closed behind him and Jungkook was suddenly acutely aware of the scent radiating from the man, sweet and spicy with a hint of herbal. Almost like… green tea and toasted marshmallow, but with slight sharpness. It contrasted the fresher, cooler scent Jungkook himself usually wore. He turned his head, but the presence backed off, running a hand through his thick black hair, separating the strands. There was undertone to the black, a deep mahogany that caught the light when he turned his head.

“That’s a big bear,” Jungkook blurted, realizing he had been staring too long at the man’s back.

“Mhm, for when your loneliness is just as big.”

A beat of silence.

Then other man turned around, knocking a stray lock from his forehead. “I’m going to go put pants on.”

Wait.

No.

“Um–”

Three things happened at once. Jungkook tried to step forward. A hand shot up and five fingertips planted firmly on his chest, pressing into the thin fabric of his white-turtleneck. Left hand, gleaming silver rings. And.

Jungkook made a very strange noise between a squeak and a moan.

Dark, dark eyes flickered to him, accompanied by a cocked eyebrow.

Silence.

Several seconds this time. Jungkook tried not to turn fifty shades of red.

His ears were failing him.

There was a sharp clicking sound of a tongue in cheek and maintained eye contact. “Shoes off.”

“O… Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

The hand lifted and he could breathe again, hurriedly kicking off his white boots and neatly stacking them beside each other before looking back up to a very amused smirk. Oh, shit. No. Quick. Say something.

“You have a lot of stuff.”

Those dark eyes glanced over to the living room, to the bookshelves that held anything and everything except actual books. Jungkook finally found a second to straighten the gray dress shirt that he was wearing over his white turtleneck and smooth the weird cease in the crotch of his gray slacks before standing up to view the living room in its entirety. There was a black couch that the giant bear occupied half of and a black coffee table with a glass top. On top of the coffee table was a stack of coasters, ceramic with cute cats on them. Huge flat-screen television. The gray rug was big and fluffy, with a large white cushy-looking beanbag instead of an armchair. The walls were surprisingly white, but the curtains were dark gray, clearly blackout.

But the wall of bookshelves.

He had never seen so many Pikachu in so many different outfits. Nor had he ever seen so many games stacked so neatly, placed next to the controllers of the respective consoles, most of them special edition. Did one person need to own three Nintendo DSs – wait, no, four, what – and two Nintendo Switches, one with neon red JoyCons and one Animal Crossing special edition mint and sky blue? There was even a special edition Pikachu and Pichu gold-silver GameBoy Color in a display case.

Was this guy a Nintendo ambassador or Pikachu’s number one fan?

“I like having a lot of stuff.”

Jungkook stepped forward, noticing there were small details. The coffee table was black, but if he looked closely, underneath the glass it was hand-carved with stars and planets. It was meticulous and one stolen glance at the man beside him and Jungkook knew he must have craved them himself, that proud smirk being far too obvious. He looked back to the bookshelves and noticed the lined-up CDs, not quite recognizing the bands, but all the covers were dark and gave off a rock-and-roll vibe. There were also little figures from other franchises. He cognized a few – Persona, League of Legends, Legend of Zelda, and a snarky-looking pink bunny that seemed to be holding a cookie that had a face on it.

Weird.

The walls had posters all over them. It was obvious they must have been fan art, but they were all beautiful, from various games and a few Japanese animations, mixed with a few funny ones such as a cartoonish Grim Reaper standing on a beach with a bright yellow inner tube, scythe stuck into the ground beside him and wearing a sunhat over the black hood.

“I kind of… expected you to have a different vibe?” Jungkook murmured, looking around, seeing there actually were a few books that had been hidden behind the massive stuffed bear’s body.

“Heh, if there’s one thing I’m not, Jungkook, it’s predictable.”

He looked up and that smirk was waiting for him. The man shrugged casually, ticking his head further into the apartment, his gaze flickering away.

“People don’t usually come to my place to look at my shit. They all want to be in the bedroom.”

Jungkook noticed the black hair was drying now, turning into a gentle swoop around his head, framing his face. Not quite as angular as himself. There was slight roundness to the cheeks and Jungkook caught the faintest hint of dimples if that smirk was wide enough.

“Anyway, I like cute things, so I buy them.”

Jungkook noticed there was a plush sitting on the beanbag chair. An alpaca with a red scarf. He didn’t notice it at first because it was white like the fur of the beanbag.

“What, you think I’d have whips and chains hanging out in my living room?” the other man laughed, ticking an eyebrow at Jungkook when he turned his head to sneak a glance at his face. Shit. Jungkook looked away again, neck heating. “Of course not. I sit here in my underwear and pass out watching Running Man like everyone else. Speaking of underwear, I’m going to actually get pants now.”

And with that, he began to stride past Jungkook, prompting him to snap out of his daze and stumble behind, following that back with the little devil faces until he yelped, colliding into it when it abruptly stopped. The black hair whipped around.

“Why are you following me?”

“Uh… um… I want to talk to you?” was the best he could offer.

Those dark eyes gave him an inquiring look. It really was strange how dark they were. His voice was low with an edge of warning. “You can’t wait until I go put some pants on?”

“Er…”

He liked this.

Jungkook realized he liked being observed so closely like this.

“N… No?”

Those long fingers came up and scratched his chin. “Honestly, I don’t really care, but you seem very distracted when I don’t have pants on.”

Jungkook opened his mouth but all that came out was a bizarre croak, suddenly realizing his crotch was right against a surprisingly soft and firm ass.

The man named Dionysus on Twitter tucked his tongue in his cheek and turned around again, walking down the hall. Jungkook followed, flustered, nearly tripping on his own feet and catching himself the same time a hand gripped his wrist and dragged him along, pulling him away from the walls. It was only then that Jungkook noticed there were records displayed on them, four clear hooks minimally holding each one so the covers could be fully appreciated.

“Woah…”

The goat from Slipknot’s Iowa looked down at him.

“What’s with you, man? I never took you for a clumsy one.”

Jungkook was suddenly acutely aware that that the hand holding his right wrist was ringless, skin to tattooed skin, knuckles prominent, the back his hand smooth and bare compared to his own tattooed one. Jungkook had a very strange thought all of a sudden.

Does he jack off his right hand like I do?

Their hands were almost touching.

So, that would mean…

He turned his fingers inward and the hand left abruptly, letting go of him. Jungkook had to suppress whatever embarrassing noise was threatening to come out of him and look up, seeing a full-sized bed with slate gray sheets and a rumpled black fleece blanket with white stars and moons printed all over it. Black furniture. Hints of cute things, like a meter-long sleeping Pikachu plush on the dresser and a black plush of a goat-headed devil with black wings. Another television hooked up to a white desktop tower with white peripherals. Jungkook noticed the colognes were lined up on a gunmetal tray, most of them with minimal packaging of clear glass bottles and silver tops.

There was a pair of pajama pants with little red devil faces on them on the edge of the bed. They were snatched by a ringed hand and yanked up rather carelessly, giving Jungkook a good two seconds of staring at a man’s ass and being strangely happy about it. The jersey fabric clung to his legs, outlining the thick thighs. He straightened his shirt over the waistband slung low. Jungkook jerked his head to have a brief glimpse of that v-line.

He was aware he was being very weird considering he had already seen this guy full-on naked but he still wanted to look anyway.

The other male seemed not to notice, running a hand through his hair again and reaching for the ring box at the top of the dresser next to the cologne bottles. It was black velvet. With a start, Jungkook realized it was shaped like a coffin.

“Can I see your rings?”

Those dark eyes shot to him, freezing him in place at the entrance of the bedroom.

Jungkook swallowed so hard he nearly choked.

“Er… please?”

“… Mmm.”

He was handed the coffin-shaped ring box.

Jungkook counted. Eight. He wore eight rings on his right hand? “There’s so many…” They were all silver, with one that had a blue stone surrounded by ram heads. A crow skull sing. One had a skull with a jester’s hat. “Do you have to wear them every day?”

That low snicker beside him neared and so did that spicy-sweet scent. Oh, fuck. His heartbeat accelerated at the closeness.

“I don’t have to do anything. I wear the rings because I want to. Also, less expensive than hand tattoos that I won’t take care of and will end up fading over time. I like the aspect of being able to change the rings out whenever I want.” He pointed to the ring box. “I only have them in there so the sterling silver doesn’t scratch.” A light shrug. “Your tattoos are nice though. If I wasn’t so indecisive, I would have a lot more tattoos.”

“I like you back one,” Jungkook replied automatically, then realized maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, unsure if he was meant to see it or not. The other male didn’t seem to be bothered by the observation.

“Good, because it’s a part of me forever now.”

Dark orbs trapped him instantly and Jungkook froze, unable to breathe.

“And if you want to see me naked, you might be looking at it, so might as well appreciate it.”

He wasn’t that much taller. They were practically eye to eye. Those mauve lips looked so soft.

The man who named himself Dionysus reached up and placed his hand on the ring box.

Jungkook refused to let go.

A dark eyebrow raised.

“Why did you come here… Jungkook?”

He watched those dark, dark eyes to watch him.

“I…”

Jungkook did not understand this feeling inside him, the feeling where the world was suddenly so, so hot. The plush, mauve lips formed the word slowly and deliberately.

“You.”

Not a question. Low, deep, and full of danger.

A long pause.

Then a heavy, measured sigh.

“Give me my rings, Jungkook.”

He bit his lip. “But…”

Those eyes looked away and narrowed slightly.

“You’re here because you want me to fuck you, but you don’t even have the balls to say it, so give me my rings or quit fucking around,” he growled. “And what do you think I am, easy? I did what you asked as a favor for my good friend who probably gave you my damn address because you have the human equivalent of lost puppy eyes, but don’t stand there and think that shit is going to work on me.” He held his hand out, gesturing in the air sharply.

“Give me my rings. Now.”

Jungkook did not hand them over.

“But you… you kissed me back…”

He winced, sheepishness clouding his features. “Okay, yeah, I did, because you kissed me and you’re hot as hell, but I need to have some restraint, little as it is, and besides,” he added, reaching over and snapping the ring box shut, frowning as Jungkook clung onto it like the one lifesaver left on the sinking ship and they were the only two survivors. “Stop it. You do this and I’m going to hurt your feelings because I’m a jerk and don’t have any, so don’t do this to yourself.”

Jungkook remembered the casual comment when he asked about the big bear in the living room.

Mhm, for when your loneliness is just as big.

“I really want you to fuck me,” Jungkook finally got out.

He didn’t miss a beat. “You and everyone else. Fuck, let go, dude, give me my damn rings.”

“But I’m not everyone else, I–”

The hand with long fingers gave up, throwing both in the air. “You’re what, Jungkook? What? What are you, because if you don’t tell me in two seconds, I’m going to knock you out, I don’t care how cute you are, I fucking swear–”

Jungkook placed the coffin ring box on the dresser and grabbed those slim upper arms, startled to find they were actually quite defined, the muscle underneath his fingertips immediately hard and tense, dark brows furrowing, so close to losing patience, and Jungkook did the only thing he could think to do.

He used all his strength and jerked the other male towards the bed.

He yelped as instantly a pajama covered leg hooked around his and spun them around, shoving him backward and throwing him onto the bed, Jungkook flailing his arms, grabbing the closest thing to him which happened to be the pajama shirt covered with little red devil faces, clutching it desperately. There was guttural growl and the other man locked his shoulders, preventing Jungkook from dragging him down, fabric straining between his tattooed fingers.

He felt his entire body shiver at the glare now pointed at him, seeing the wave of black hair falling and shadowing the left side of that face.

“What are trying to pull here?” the man snarled above him.

Jungkook gasped as a strong hand gripped his right wrist tightly, and yet he refused to let go.

“I swear, if the next words coming out of you are I love you or some dumbassery, I’ll–”

“H… Hyung.”

A muscle above the right eye twitched.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone like the way I want you.”

The harshness in his expression softened. “Hah...?”

Jungkook put himself on his left elbow, relaxing the tension of the soft jersey fabric, his skin on fire, gazing into dark, dark eyes wary of him, wary of what he was about to say, but listening anyway, listening despite the fact Jungkook kept crossing the line. He knew he was; he knew he was being reckless, stupid, foolish, still didn’t even really know if he was into men or not, conditioned all his life to think there was only one option, and now he knew that wasn’t true because there was another man right in front of him and he…

He knew that he could not let this go.

Could not let him go, this man who called himself Dionysus on Twitter.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Jungkook breathed softly. “I’m not good around people unless I’ve spent a long time with them and been around them a lot. I’m usually fidgety and nervous.”

“You’re fidgety and nervous right now,” the sharp voice cut in, but Jungkook shook his head quickly.

“It’s not the same,” he insisted, squeezing the fabric between his fingers, dragging the neckline lower. The three silver necklaces were missing. He was staring at prominent collarbones and a toned, bare chest. He swallowed quickly, spilling out the words. “I’m not comfortable around strangers. But I want to be around you. I want to be closer to you. But... I don’t know how to do it, so I get nervous…”

“Well, you did see my dick already, so you have a head start.”

Jungkook choked on air and the other man laughed, letting go of his hand.

“Ah, I get it. I figured that was the case. Still,” he said, mirthful tone dropping a little, patting Jungkook’s forearm gently. “Yoongi told me you were straight. Said you’ve only ever dated girls.”

“Erm… well, yeah… If you were a girl, I’d be screwed for sure…”

Those dark, dark eyes narrowed and Jungkook tried to hide his face but his black hair was short now, only brushing over his brows. Shit, why did he get a haircut? He should have left his hair long for moments like this.

“Anyway, I’m not going to be your experiment and you’re one of my friend’s friends, so if I hurt your feelings, Yoongi isn’t going to want to talk to me and I quite like the guy, so, maybe for my sake, stop trying to get into my pants.”

“You’re not an experiment.”

The other man gave him a pained, disbelieving look.

“You’re not,” Jungkook said firmly, tugging at the shirt. His hyung didn’t relent. “It’s you. Doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman or any other gender, I want you.”

The expression changed to slight exasperation, thinning his mouth and eyes into lines. “You’re very stubborn,” he sighed.

“Hyung, I swear on my left nut I really, really want you, even if you hurt my feelings and even if you think this is just for fun, I will make sure Yoongi-hyung keeps talking to you.”

The other male blinked at him.

“Why not the right nut?”

Jungkook blinked quickly, glancing down at his crotch as if his left nut had protested at being put at risk. “Um… I don’t know, the left one always moves to the back for some reason…”

“Yoongi isn’t going to listen to you.”

His head snapped back up. “Yeah, he will. Hyung can’t scold me. I’m the youngest in our friend group.”

The older man let out another big sigh, rubbing his temples. He seemed to recall that who it was that referred Jungkook to him and convinced him to meet in-person at all.

“There are a lot of people out there. I’m just a guy who has a Twitter and now it’s turned into a sex advice and thirst Twitter when it was supposed to be my personal account for shitposting, memes, and cat photos.”

“You’re really handsome,” Jungkook blurted.

He rolled his eyes. “So what? You’re really handsome. You should know. They all line up and think you actually want to knock them down. Okay, I know I’m a degenerate, but I’m a human being too, and sometimes I–”

He suddenly stopped speaking and leaned down, placing a hand on the bed, making Jungkook squeak and his eyes widen, startled at the sudden closeness.

“You trying to rip my shirt off?” he grunted, trying to pry his fingers out of the fabric.

“W... What were you going to say…?” Jungkook sputtered, but those dark eyes looked away, now using both hands to pluck his fingers from the pajama shirt.

“It doesn’t matter, whatever,” the other man grumbled under his breath. “You wanna fuck, right? Fine. Let’s just do it. I don’t feel like trying to get you to see sense anymore, I’ve already warned you a bunch of times–”

“Hyung, please tell me what you were going to say.”

The hands on his fingers paused. One covered in rings, one bare. He sighed and those dark, dark eyes lifted, making eye contact with him. He didn’t shiver. He didn’t feel his heart race.

What Jungkook saw was sadness.

“I’ve got a long way to go and too much internal shit to work through to expect anyone to stay.”

He let out a tense breath. His hands were warm, encircling Jungkook’s, surrounding them with long fingers.

“Not saying you’re going to, because you won’t, you’re just a horny idiot who can’t think straight, and I…”

He trailed off.

Silence.

“You…?” Jungkook echoed softly.

The man named Dionysus on Twitter and his hyung, sighed heavily.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not going to want to stop fucking you if I start and that’s a disaster zone for both of us if I get into it, so please…”

Oh, how I want you, Jungkook.

He stared into those dark, dark eyes that didn’t quite reflect the words he was saying.

“Spare me.”

Heavy breath, fingertips stroking the back of his hand.

“Please spare me, Jungkook.”

He should. He should let go. He should let go of the man who named himself Dionysus, the man who was obviously walking danger and bad for all hearts and clearly saw other people Jungkook himself didn’t even know and would probably never know.

But he couldn’t.

“I promise you,” Jungkook whispered to those dark eyes. “Wherever you go, I will chase after you.”

An eyebrow raised. “Sounds kind of stalkerish, not gonna lie.”

“Um, wait, that’s not what I meant, er–”

The other male laughed, pressing his forehead to his, long black strands brushing his cheeks, hot exhale on his trembling lips.

“It’s fine. I’ll get over it if you don’t want to see me again after this, Jungkook.”

His lips parted, the scent of sweet and spicy filling his nose, heart racing, gazing into dark orbs that couldn’t look away due to their closeness, so instead the darkness closed, lashes and lids hiding the emotions buried deep within, avoiding him altogether.

“I already know I want to see you all the time,” Jungkook whispered to those mauve lips.

“I told you I was a jerk with no feelings, you horny idiot, weren’t you listening?” that deep voice murmured, squeezing his hand.

“I was,” he replied, “But I don’t believe you.”

Those dark eyes opened and glared.

Jungkook kissed him.

“God, you’re an idiot,” those lips mumbled against his lips, and then they captured his, pushing him down onto the bed, hovering over his body, heat and lust and presence, holding his hand with the right and using the left to brace himself, breathing into his mouth and making him moan helplessly, spreading his legs so those strong thighs could slip between them, nothing but a kiss, nothing but a heated kiss from soft lips, but Jungkook wrenched his hand from the one that held him, grabbing those hips and shoving them down onto him, breath hitching as the solid body collided with his, friction and confusion, not knowing what he was doing but needing it, chasing those mauve lips as the head lifted from his, feeling pressure between his legs, hardness to hardness, causing him to gasp sharply.

“Stop it, Jungkook, fuck, stop…”

He did not want to stop, not now, not ever, whining in his throat, tugging down the waistband of the pajama pants that he never wanted on in the first place, please, please, hyung, please, and the breathless response, stop it, Jungkook, you irresistible lunatic, shiver down his spine every time he heard his name from those lips, grabbing the hem of the pajama shirt and yanking it up, tossing the little devil faces aside to reveal the disheveled long black hair and sighing scowl. Strong hands came up to cup his cheeks and kiss him again, one ringed, one not, hot whispers to his lips, I hate how much I want you, you’re so fucking sexy and you make all these perfectly cute sounds when you’re turned on, fuck, Jungkook, you drive me crazy, making him want to say back, I think about those days all the time, I have those memories of you on replay and I wish it was me, I wish I just asked you to touch me, fuck…

One look into those dark, dark eyes and Jungkook realized he actually had said the words out loud, gulping as he witnessed the mischievously pleased expression.

Yoongi’s words came back to haunt him.

Best suck out there by far.

The excessively hot whisper was an order against his swollen lips.

“Take off your clothes for me.”

His mind went back to that day in the park, seeing that tall frame leaning against the park bench, alone, hands in the pockets of black denim, curtain of black hiding those eyes. His stomach in knots, worried this stranger was going to think he was a freak for asking for something so crazy. The head had lifted, just as Jungkook lifted his body now, dark eyes finding his, and in the past and the present, he felt it then as he felt it now, still distressed but strangely calm, unmistakable energy that welcomed him, those eyes telling him then what those mauve lips were saying right now.

“This is a safe space, just you and me.”

He found himself yanking his shirt and turtleneck out of his pants, pulling them over his head, breathing hard and not from exertion. He hadn’t known how to put the feeling into words back then, but he did now, so he said them.

“My safe space will always be your eyes.”

Those handsome features contorted in mild discomfort, looking away quickly.

“Don’t say that kind of thing so suddenly…”

Jungkook reached up and turned that face back to him, wanting, needing to see that face, bringing those eyes to him, reluctant, capable of refusing him, but didn’t. Those dark eyes still weren’t quite looking at him though.

“Please look at me.”

Jungkook found himself whispering, anxiousness shimmering in his tone.

“You make me feel things whenever you look at me.”

Those dark, dark orbs locked with his.

“Feel what?”

His hand dropped, shiver running through him, reaching for his pants. The other male stood over him, tilting his head, slow smirk forming on his lips, and Jungkook found himself there, there, that feeling he had with no one else, breath caught in his throat, undoing the button of his gray pants, heart racing, watching a wet pink tongue darting over those mauve lips, feeling his cock throb at the sight.

“You want to take it off for me?”

Jungkook found himself nodding eagerly, lips parted, unable to speak.

“You want to show me your body?” the other man drawled, circling him slightly with his turning shoulders, crossing his arms, dark eyes roaming down his body and back up to his face, sending Jungkook’s heart spiraling, spinning and tumbling, erection straining against his underwear as he lowered the zipper, on the verge of moaning.

“Y… Yeah…”

Jungkook found himself staring at this man’s toned chest, defined arms, smirking face, silver earrings and rings, collarbones and cologne, and never, never in his entire life had he ever wished a man to fuck the daylights out of him but, fuck, if this man did not fuck the daylights out of him, he was going to go crazy.

“H… Hyung, please…”

Something shadowy and sensual flared in those eyes. The other man ticked his chin to Jungkook’s hands on the zipper.

“Show me,” that deep voice commanded.

His hands drifted up, tracing the waistband, pushing it down, but the other man nudged his knee, shaking his head.

“No, Jungkook. All of it.”

A whimper teased out of his lips, ears and cheeks heating.

That head lowered, curtain of black hair covering his left eye, purring his name, making him breathless, his lower belly getting hot, hotter, hottest.

“Come on now. Show me.”

Jungkook sank his teeth into his lower lip and hooked his thumbs under the top of his boxer briefs and pushed down, whining in his throat as he freed his cock, blood rushing to his cheeks, unable to hide, but somehow it felt so good, so good to drag his pants and underwear down and kick them off, taking his socks with them, littering the floor with his clothes, now exposed, so turned on the head of his cock was beading with pre-cum, sticking straight up.

The man’s eyes trailed down, sending shudders through him at the close observation, his hands awkwardly by his thighs, unsure what to do with them, hips quivering.

“You want my mouth on it?”

Jungkook nodded quickly, sending his black hair flying all over his forehead.

“Say it.”

His skin was tingling, on fire, embarrassed, highly aroused, cock twitching at the order.

“Want to hear you say it in that lovely voice of yours, Jungkook.”

He was lost, lost in those dark, dark eyes and seductive mauve lips.

“P… Please… please suck my cock, hyung…” he whispered shakily.

That smirk came back, exposing the tiniest peek of a dimple.

“Good boy.”

The simple praise shot through him like lightning, soft moan leaking from his lips, raising himself to his elbows as the other man lowered himself to his knees, elegant, swift, long fingers sliding up his thighs and making him gasp, dragged forward a little, legs opening wider, eyelids fluttering as those lips kissed up his thigh, nicking his skin, pricks of pain that bled into pleasure, up and up, closer and closer, hot exhale on his balls and a flickering tongue, slipping Jungkook into a haze of ecstasy, honorific slipping from his lips.

“H-Hyung…”

He noticed the pink tinge on the older man’s ears.

“D-Don’t tease, please, hyung…”

The other man paused.

“Jungkook.”

“Y… Yes?”

“What is this?”

Now Jungkook shuddered at the sharpness of the tone, swallowing hard.

“W… What is what…?”

Those dark orbs flickered up to his, narrowing.

Jungkook held his breath.

“You know what.”

And the other man shot between his legs, diving down, sending Jungkook into a hysterical wanton cry as hot breath washed over his skin, tongue pushing the base of the flared anal plug shoved into his ass, licking his scrotum, wet and hot and wild. His mind reeled, whining desperately for more, but the head of black hair lifted once more, glaring at him, Jungkook squeaking as harsh fingertips pressed to the base of the plug and pushed it in, pulled it out a little and pushed it in. Dark, dark eyes narrowing dangerously, daring him to lie.

“Why do you have a butt plug in your ass, Jungkook?” the other male growled.

Oh, fuck, it was so good, his harsh tone and the teasing of his ass, his hips bucking into it, whimpers in his throat, struggling to find words as a hand closed around on his cock, his eyes rolling back, his hard length finally touched and twitching in the other man’s palm.

“Answer me or I stop right now.”

“B-Because I want to get fucked!” Jungkook blurted out, desperate for it to keep going, clutching the sheets and looking down, words tumbling out, forgetting his embarrassment and fear. “Because… Because, hyung, please, I want you to fuck me, please, please, please, I… I took a shower and cleaned and… and put water up there and e-everything…”

A single eyebrow raised.

“You douched?”

Jungkook sputtered. “W… What?”

The grip of his cock didn’t lessen, slowly stroking, the anal plug sliding in and out of his ass steadily. The other male’s voice was calm, gaze attentive and observant, persuading him to communicate.

“You cleaned because you want my dick in your ass that bad?”

Jungkook felt his face burn. “U-Um… y-yes… I thought… I thought you would w-want me to be clean…?”

“Of course, I do. I will only fuck you if you’re clean.”

The grip of his cock tightened a little and Jungkook whimpered.

“You try to put your fingers up there?”

“Um… y… y-yes…” His eyes shifted. “I… It’s t-tight…”

“Yeah? You a virgin there?”

“Um… Uh… y-yeah…”

“You wanna give it to me?”

His gaze went back to those dark, dark eyes. “P… Please, hyung.”

Was it just his imagination or did those eyes seem to get even darker?

“Ugh, you’ll be the death of me, Jungkook.”

His eyes widened as he heard his name in that tone, desire, slight frustration, bordering on needy.

That pink tongue slid out and wrapped around the head of his cock and Jungkook was gone, gone, those plush lips enclosing his stiff length, swallowing his thickness, fuck, he was in heaven, unbreakable heaven, drenched in saliva and warmth and wetness, the expert tongue swirling all over, bobbing up and down the head, pulsing the plug into his ass, and it felt so good, so good, oh, God, it feels so fucking good, a low hum and he was squirming, hips rising, that mouth holding him, taking him deep, all the way to the back of his throat, tongue snaking out and dripping onto his balls, slurping at them, driving Jungkook insane, grinding into it. Faster, oooh, trapping his cock in the pleasurable constriction of wet muscles, tighter, yes, like that, so good like that, sparks up his spine and electrifying his senses, harder, the best, fuck, hyung, you’re the best, clenching the sheets and lost in that punishing mouth, the amused chuckle vibrating his entire length, and he was letting go, moaning obscenely, filling up the whole room with his sound, tongue and saliva and lips taking him, his ass throbbing around the plug deep inside, making him want more, more, want something bigger shoved into him, thinking about the other man using him for his own pleasure, needing it, begging and hoping with his whimpers, parted lips, rolled-back eyes, fucked-out bliss.

The wet warmth pulled off.

“N-No!”

He gasped, hands flying up, clawing the air, following the man as he backed up, falling to his knees on the bedroom floor and half-sobbing, chasing that mouth, those thighs, that body, saliva dripping down his legs, clutching those slinky black boxer briefs, yanking them down.

“Hyung, no, please, please, I’ll do anything, please–”

Jungkook had no idea what he was saying, too desperate for more to think things through, impatient, mouth open, half-hard length in his face, and his tongue shot out, trying to lick it, grazing that taut skin and moaning, fuck, so velvety soft and heavenly, and then fingers wrapped in his short hair, yanking him and a whine from his throat, frozen in place, clutching those toned thighs.

“Stop.”

“Hyung, p-please…”

Looking up, begging, vision blurry and glassy, on his knees for the man with long black hair and mauve lips, his rings pressed against his scalp, ringless right hand loosely at his side.

“Fuck, Jungkook, please stop using the honorific like that,” the other man grunted, tightening his jaw and the grip on his hair. “Use my name or something else, anything else…”

So he did it more.

“Hyung…”

A wince and a glare. “You little shit.”

The shiver down his spine was addicting, an erotic thrill at that low dangerous tone. He looked up, lost in his safe space.

“Punish me.”

A slight pause, those shoulders above him tensing.

“Please punish me, hyung.”

Those dark, dark eyes narrowed.

“So needy, aren’t you?”

Panting, nodding, tugging at his own hair, moaning.

Long fingers wrapped around that cock in front of his face, fuck, Jungkook had never thought he would want it so bad, but he did, he wanted this cock in his hands and his holes, staring at the shape, the thickness, the girth, not even fully hard yet, stroked by that right hand – Jungkook had been correct, he did jack off with his right hand – head tilted disapprovingly, black strands curling around that cheekbone and angular jaw.

“Open.”

Jungkook’s jaw dropped on command and he nearly choked at the suddenness of that stiff length being pushed into his lips, rubbing onto his tongue and hitting the back of his throat. If the other man had been fully hard, he surely would have gagged, but he wasn’t. Still, Jungkook had zero experience giving a blowjob, messy and sloppy as those hips thrust into his mouth, gargling slightly, shuddering as the hardness was pulled out, immediately coughing.

“Best you can do?” that deep voice taunted.

“N-No, I–”

The wet cock smacked him in the cheek.

Jungkook gasped, head jerking to the side, stunned, his own saliva dripping down his jaw, raising his head in confusion, only to be slapped in the face with that hard, wet cock again, knocking the air out of him, not because it was a violent or rough hit, on the contrary, it didn’t hurt at all, but he was just so shocked that his own cock sprang to life at him being slapped with a dick, suddenly swelling at the rough contact, shameful moan leaking from his throat, breathing shallow, thin and helpless and insanely turned on.

“M… More, please…” he squeaked, ears burning.

The other man ticked his head.

“You gonna give me a nice, tight mouth to fuck, Jungkook?”

The blood was leaving his head and going right to his dick, that rough voice injecting him with the high of arousal.

“Y… Yes…”

The man named Dionysus gripped his cock and smacked him in the cheek with it again, smearing pre-cum on his skin.

“What was that?” he snarled.

Again, and again, and again, the thick, hard length slapping his cheek, saliva and pre-cum caking on his face, his torso trembling, gasping with every hit, hot velvet skin on his blazing cheeks, so wrong, but so fucking good, dirty and filthy and controlling him, words tumbling out.

“Yes, hyung, Jungkookie will, a-ah… will give you a nice, tight mouth to f-fuck…”

The grip on his hair tightened.

A tight inhale.

Jungkook looked up.

The other man was grinning down at him like the devil.

“Open.”

Jungkook opened his mouth, tongue hanging out.

The hard length plunged into his waiting hole and this time he didn’t choke, wrapping his tongue around it, lips closing, copying what was done to him earlier, tightening around it, shivering as those hips rolled into his face, fuck, was this what it was like? He had only ever received blowjobs, never given them, but there was something powerful about it, his nose buried into that hot skin, the cologne filling his nose, sweet and herbal, toasted marshmallow and green tea, the stiffness sliding in and out, hand in his hair guiding him, fucking his face, not so bad. It wasn’t very deep, not the whole thing, and it was invigorating, unreal, glancing up and seeing lust and triumph in dark orbs, smirk on those mauve lips, satisfied sigh drifting down.

“Pretty good for your first time.”

His cheeks heated. Was it that obvious? Well, it had to be his first time. He had only ever dated or touched women and none of them had a dick or made him suck dick, mostly because he could barely get past vanilla sex.

“Let go.”

Jungkook whined in his throat, clutching those legs, wanting to shake his head but not wanting to let go, pleading with his eyes.

“Let go so I can fuck your tight little ass, Jungkookie.”

He opened his mouth immediately.

The hand on his head relaxed, cock sliding out of his lips, hitting him in the chin. Fingers smoothed his hair, patting his head gently, gliding down, tracing his jaw, lifting it. Dark eyes to his glazed eyes, thumb rubbing against his cheek.

“You’re so irresistible like this.”

His cock was leaking onto his thigh.

“P… Please fuck me, hyung,” Jungkook whimpered out.

Those dark orbs seemed even darker with the pupils blown out and black lashes shading them.

“Get on the bed.”

Jungkook would have accepted being fucked on the floor and he half-hoped it would have been that, but he obeyed anyway, scrambling onto the bed, hearing the other man move around the room, slipping a little and getting a noseful of the slate-gray sheets, holy shit, musky and sweet and herbal, so sexy he rubbed himself against them, gasping as the sensitive, dripping head of his cock touched the bed, turning into a yelp as a strong hand grabbed his knee and spun him around.

“What are you doing?” the other male snapped sharply.

“N-Nothing…” Jungkook frowned, blinking hard at the items in that ring-covered left hand. “What is the towel for?”

“Your butt plug, obviously. I have to put it somewhere while I’m railing you.”

His cheeks burned hot.

“O… Oh.”

That was the most intelligent response he had to that nonchalant reply.

Jungkook squeaked as his legs were collected and pushed up, suddenly on his back, cheeks flushing as his plugged ass was exposed, not expecting the position, but the other man seemed undeterred, positioning his legs as if he had done this millions of times before. Powerful hands sliding down, gripping his ass cheeks, spreading them like he was an open buffet.

The man named Dionysus on Twitter shifted his eyes to him.

“Unless you don’t want to look at my face?”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, then he switched to nodding, and then jerked awkwardly, all of a sudden confused at what was the correct answer, the need to clarify rising within him, unafraid to say it now.

“This. I want this,” he blurted.

“Mmm. Hold your ass for me.”

“P… Pardon?”

His hyung dropped his hands and straightened his knees, flipping out the small towel and catching the condom inside it. He ticked his chin to Jungkook’s ass.

“Put your hands on your ass and spread it.”

Oh.

Fuck.

He gulped, hands slipping down, cock twitching at the command, fingers sinking into his own flesh, legs bent in the air, chewing on his lip as the other man ripped open the condom, rolling it down his thick, stiff length.

“You don’t,” Jungkook mumbled, shifting his eyes. “You don’t need that. I cleaned and, um, I’m not going to get pregnant… right…?”

A dark eyebrow arched.

“I… jeez, bro, I always use a condom for STIs, it’s not like you bothered to get tested before–”

“I did.”

Silence.

Jungkook felt his cheeks burn, staring into dark, dark orbs. “I did get tested, hyung. I have the results on my phone. I can show you if you want.”

The other man’s cheek twitched. “Dude… how bad did you want to get fucked?”

“Very bad,” he responded automatically.

The other man’s ears tinged pink. “Well, you shouldn’t trust me even if I do test regularly because of my, er, habits–”

“I trust you, hyung.”

A wince and a glare. “Shit, Jungkook, if I wasn’t responsible, you would be so screwed right now.”

He clenched around the anal plug, smirking slyly.

“Please screw me.”

The other male twitched, narrowing his eyes.

“Ugh, you are so bad for me, Jungkook.”

Before Jungkook could respond, he was doubling over in a gasp, long fingers closing in on the plug and pulling it out, sudden loss and emptiness, barely registering it being rolled into the towel before his thigh was gripped by a strong hand, the other guiding that perfect cock, his voice already whining for it, please, please, please, need your cock, please, hyung, the head pressing to his soft, tight ring of muscle, you want this dick to mess you up, don’t you, outlining the outside, teasing him, his words coming out with a half-moan and half-sob.

“Yes, pleeease, I want it – oh, fuck!”

All of a sudden, fullness, his eyes rolling back, a little pain, but nothing unbearable since he had prepared himself for so long already, but this was much bigger, thicker, harder, oh, God, was this what it felt like? Was it really like this, stretched out and used, another man’s body towering over him, clutching his thighs and pushing him into the mattress, witnessing the pleasure blossoming over the face he had desired for so long, masturbating late at night to the mental image of his ex-girlfriend sucking that dick and wishing it was him, drenched with pride that it was him now, his hand winding down, eyelids fluttering as those hips began to move, deep and steady and so, so good, wrapping his tattooed hand around his leaking length, shuddering and groaning at the feeling of something foreign being forced into his ass, so why did it feel so good, why was it so hot and so sexy and so addicting, why did he want more, more, pumping his length and getting it hard, his cries saturated with ecstasy.

“H-Harder, please...”

“Let me jack you off.”

Jungkook let go, moaning, wanton and lustful as that firm grip encased his quivering cock, forceful hips smacking into his ass, holding his own left leg now so he could get fucked and his dick manhandled, gravity making the slaps harder, those long fingers moving up and down, right hand so it was ringless and Jungkook had the brief mental image of cumming on those silver rings and he was losing it, ass filled and pounded, mattress bouncing, his hips moving of their own accord and rising, drunk on the pleasure, use me, hyung, use my ass to get off, fuck, do I feel good hyung, please tell me I feel good, followed by a deep chuckle, roughly thrusting into him and tearing his sanity asunder, endless euphoria in the steady, vicious assault.

“Look at you, so handsome but so wrecked, fuck, I knew I would love your ass... It looked so delicious in those pants, so perky and round, just waiting for me to ruin.”

“Ah, fuck, please, yes, ruin me, ruin me, ruin me, hyung, your cock feels so good, I need it, need you, f-fuck…!”

The praise was messing with his brain, mixing with the pleasure ricocheting all over his skin and his core, pulsing around that stiff length, squeezing it, savoring the hardness that twitched inside him with every deep thrust, boundless elation at the feeling and the knowledge, his own cock throbbing with need, ferociously pumped by that perfect, expert touch, faster, harder. His hands clutched the sheets and his thigh, knuckles turning white, all the sensations amplified when done all at once, his mouth filled with the name of another man, crazy, absolutely insane, Jungkook couldn’t wrap his head around why it felt so, so good, so right, so heavenly, accelerating towards the peak as that rough voice purred to him, cum for me Jungkook, cum all over yourself, let me see how much you want me, his hoarse gasps back, I want you, I want you so fucking bad, more than anyone else in the world, I’ll show you, fuck, hyung, fuck, staring into dark, dark orbs, saying things he didn’t even know he was capable of saying, embarrassed but somehow calm, his safe space in those eyes, that gaze there to catch him so Jungkook was letting go, wailing, throwing his head back and thrusting his hips up, his cock trembling, flinching as his orgasm shot out, thick white strings dripping down the back of that hand and onto his stomach, moaning as he looked down and watched with fascination, long fingers squeezing him, knuckles painted in his cum, then a fierce smack and Jungkook whined as he felt the cock inside him jolt and shudder, satisfied moan in his face.

“Fuck, Jungkook, fuck, you’re so sexy…”

Seeing the man who named himself Dionysus lose control, usually cool and composed, crumbling, flinching groans and shivering hips, jerking cock inside him, long black hair over his left eye, mauve lips parted, panting, eyes closed, and Jungkook had never thought a man was beautiful, but now he did, staring at the older male, the one visible eye opening, half-lidded, shimmering with ecstasy and flickering downward.

He noticed Jungkook looking at him.

He smirked, cocky and arrogant.

Dimple imprinted in his cheek.

Jungkook raised himself and reached up, bringing those lips to his, closing his eyes, sinking deeply into the scent of green tea and toasted marshmallow, clutching the sheets on the bed and wanting to be here for many, many nights to come, in this bed of unbreakable heaven.

“I don’t wanna leave.”

“You are not a dog. Get out of here and enjoy the home you are paying rent for.”

“Woof.”

“Jungkook…”

“Bark.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Bark, bark, bark.”

“Get off me,” the other man grunted, but Jeon Jungkook did not, wrapping himself around the man who named himself Dionysus on Twitter, the large bear on the ground next to the sofa because Jungkook was occupying that space now, in both of them in their underwear watching Running Man.

The doorbell rang.

“Who’s that?” Jungkook quipped, turning his head to look at the door.

“Who do you think?” the older male sighed, getting up.

Jungkook followed like a puppy, frowning as he realized the other man was not getting any clothes, simply walking up to the door in only his black boxer briefs, glancing at the camera feed before yanking the door open.

“You gave me trouble.”

Min Yoongi raised an eyebrow, his short hair dyed a cool-toned pink, wearing a short-sleeved blue dress shirt and dark wash jeans.

“I gave you trouble? Since when is it my fault where you put your dick?”

“H-Hyung…?”

Yoongi’s cheek twitched.

“Ah...”

“Yeah. Ah.”

“Hm. I thought this might happen.”

“Did you now.” Not a question. A statement.

“I still fully intend on fucking you tonight, regardless of his presence.”

And Yoongi stepped into the apartment in his sleek blue oxfords, slamming the front door shut, grabbing the taller man’s head, tangling them in those long black strands, pulling them away from the other male’s face as he growled, dangerous and deep, but Yoongi paid it no mind, tilting his head and kissing that scowling mouth.

“H-Hyung?!”

dionysus v

masterpost

#jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x male oc #jungkook x male wiyllt #jeon jungkook smut

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