bestcocksult

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yandere!prince who is keen on what your preferences are. (sometimes more than you yourself)

Anul watches as you pet the tiny beast, it's the affection he's ever seen you give willingly and of course he boils hot with jealousy. Your whispers coo at the kitten, you didn't realize he was there untill the crunching of a leaf scared tge poor animal away. You frowned and turned to see what had caused the disturbance. It was Anul, an almost cute pout on his face.

"What are you doing?" he asked you pulling your body into a hug, letting go to cradle your face.

"Nothing, my prince, I was tending to the gardens and it simply strolled along." you were cautious when you said it, nowadays anything would set him off.

"Do you love me [Name]?" he said suddenly, holding you tighter, your breasts pressed right up against his solid chest.

He didn't wait for an answer as he stared, "Because as you know very well, I love you. And if there's something wrong with me that's you don't like, you need to just say it. I would rather you be with someone you at the very least find attractive."

You blinked for a moment unsure of what to say, was Anul, next in line to rule a kingdom of over a million seriously jealous of a cat? "I, uhm, I don't find you unappealing in any way my prince." he was hooked on every word, huffing in dissatisfaction when you finally gave your answer.

"Really?" he asked, tilting his head slightly and you knew what was coming.

"Really."

"Then why don't you show me?"

And his lips were on yours before you could answer. It was hot, and selfish the way Anul kissed you. Like he knew your heart wasn't fully in it but still wanted more, he and you both were shaking by the time he was done, his eyes in a lovesick daze that made your stomach churn.

"I love you, [Name], more then anyone in this entire world could imagine." And that, you knew was true.

Nation’s Sweetheart;; KTH

Word Count;; 4.3k

Genre;; Yandere, Idolverse

Pairing;; Taehyung x Reader

Request;;  

“Can do an idolverse w/ Yandere!V w/ a reader who also is in a popular GG but she breaks up w/ because she wants to focus more on her career and V threatens to release something scandalous of her if she does?”

Summary;; 

In order to protect both your and Taehyung’s careers, you choose to break up with your long-term boyfriend. While dealing with the usual pain that comes after a separation, you find yourself struggling to explain your actions while also maintaining a healthy distance to safeguard your heart, which isn’t made easy when Taehyung comes strolling back into the picture. Things take a dangerous turn when your past refuses to stay dead and threatens to take you down with it.

Warnings;; 

Yandere, blood, swearing, violence, manipulation, abuse and blackmail.

Notes;; 

I dislike this one and I didn’t get any input or editing from my sister this time because she’s too busy watching kdrama FMVs!! :’) 

Main Masterlist || BTS Masterlist

   You felt suffocated.

   "Well, well, well,“ Taehyung’s voice rumbled in your own chest as he spoke, his body pressed so close against yours you could feel him breathing. "Looks like our Nation’s Sweetheart is trending again.”

   You felt suffocated by his embrace as he held you.

   His thighs trapped you between his legs and his feet locked yours to the spot. You were close enough to feel his every movement just as he could feel yours. When you tried to inch away, he’d tighten his hold on you. Like a boa constrictor, he held you in place without an inch to give. Even the smallest shuffle resulted in him buckling down and pulling you closer to him.

   You felt suffocated by this thing you called a relationship.

   With his global recognition and your rising popularity, you rarely had time to see one another. When you did, the hoops you had to jump through just to keep it hidden was on another level of ridiculous. You wanted a regular relationship, or as much of one as you could manage as an idol, but two idols dating seemed impossible. Dating Taehyung felt so empty - it had been so long since you felt sparks that you wondered if they ever existed in the first place.

   You felt suffocated by his touch, by his gaze, by his presence.

   You felt suffocated by his love.

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yandere!prince who's 3 months way from becoming king, the citizens and palace have already begun preparing for his coronation.

yandere!prince whos more terrifying than his father, nobles bow before him like GOD, his dark violet eyes gleaming with power.

yandere!prince who's favorite word is obedience, so it's no surprise when you're accepted as his personal maid he revels in your compliance.

"[Name], stand. Now." You're in his chambers holding a bowl of grapes. (he insists you feed him)

you stand.

"spin." you spin.

"lift up your skirt." you blush, giving him an almost disgraced face. as his personal maid, you were treated better but he'd never been perverted. you should have known better.

you move to set the bowl of grapes down anyways, you'd rather be humiliated for a moment then disobey and be forced to the torture many servants were subjected to. it wouldn't be so bad anyways, you had a petticoat under and would only lift the first layer.

the prince moved before you could, a pleasant smile taking up his brown cheeks, "God you really are perfect. I was joking, m'lady." he layed back down on his red velvet couch, motioning with his hands for you to continue feeding him.

now you were even more confused, the prince nicknamed "iron of evil" was making a joke? (and what was m'lady about, you were quite literally a commoner) you set the ruffles back down and continue pricking the grapes from the vine and into his mouth, this was probably your least favorite task he requested you do.

not because it was hard but because the prince was completely different from how he presented himself to the public.

moaning and whimpering exaggeratedly as you fed him the fruit, the worst is when he licks at your fingers, even taking one into his mouth, pearly whiteness flicking around the digit.

he always seemed to be smiling around you, it was worse knowing how horrible he could be to others.

like that time a noble staying temporarily was caught trying to poison him, usually their sentence to death would be immediate no questions asked but this prince loved to play games.

it was in the throne room, two gaurds stood by the captive and the prince stood in front of him ( you standing silently by his side praying they wouldn't behead him in front of you ) .

and after staring at the man for almost ten minutes without saying a word, he turned to you.

"pick a number between 1 and 1,000"

you jumped, eyes flickering between the man and the prince, "don't look at him, look at me. number quickly." he graps your jaw within seconds. you gasp, there was no arguing with the prince.

you stared directly into his eyes, sputtering out a number, "o-one"

"hmm." his grip doesn't falter, instead he turns your face side to side peering at all your features. "would you look at this, you actually have a desireable face."

you didn't know wether to take it as a compliment or an insult.

he finally lets go, "okay, have him drawn in quarterd. i want him out of my sight."

you gulped, guilt shredding at your heart as the man screamed. now you felt responsible for his punishment, though you suspect he would have done anything he liked anyways.

as usual.

the prince kisses your palm bringing you back to the present, he's been like this lately too. becoming affectionate in private spaces ( and in public spaces ), insisting you dote on him, care for him and play good girl all while you face the consequences ( many people think you're secretly sleeping with him, though hes met his suitor many times )

"what are you thinking of, tell me your thoughts love."

you gulped, "well honestly my prince i was thinking this is highly inappropriate and that your should stop so that the both of us will avoid trouble, and also—"

the prince stops kissing you, darkened eyes glaring at you viciously. "[Name]" he said suddenly.

you gulp, regretting your decision to speak up immediately.

"you're perfect, okay? i need you to continue being perfect so that everyone here stays happy alright?" you nod. "and i told you to stop calling me that."

"i-i apologize my-sorry um, Anul."

Anul grins and shifts his body to sit upwards, "good, now come here." he motions to his lap and you sigh, as of the past few weeks this was common as well. he pats his thigh impatiently and you smooth down your skirt to move towards him. his arms are around you before you can even make it on him, his nose grazing your neck, "mm, perfect, all mine, so perfect."

you sigh again and fold your hands over your lap, you wouldn't deny this prince was comfortable to sit on but it was not only highly unprofessional but horribly nerve racking.

you were just glad nobody was in here to see it.

and just then a knock came from the door. you scramble to move but Anul hold on fast, "come in." his voice was like murky water compared to how he was speaking to you before.

another servant maid opens the door, looking at your turned down face for a moment before adressing her reason for being here. "uhm, [Name] has been requested in the chambers by Ms. Jalei just for a quick meeting." Ms. Jalei was the head of all thr maids in the palace.

Anul looks bored at her. "She's busy." and quickly turns back to you, but the maid hasnt left yet.

she clears her throat again, "it's umh, it's urgent." she say looking at you and the man, his arms tighten around your waist. "[Name]? what should i do? seems likes there another pest trying to disturb our peace. number, 1-1,000" the maid freezes up, even she knew was this meant.

your eyes went wide as you looked at him, god not this again. "I-I don't want her to get hurt."

"Oh how sweet. Don't worry she won't feel a thing." Anul smiles devilishly. The maid looks ready to cry.

You turned between them, you hears what happened with the other guy, you didn't know who this was but you certianly didn't want her to get hurt, not because she f you anyways.

"w-what can i do? to fix it, i don't think she deserves such a punishment. it's me there asking for anyways, so what should i do?" you pleaded.

that caught his attention, "What you can do...?" He thought for a moment, "You. Get out."

The door was such in seconds.

"ya' know ever since i've met you [Name] i've just been so much better, i'd really love it if you gave me a kiss. I think i deserve it dont you?"

you gulped, you saw something like this coming, you were prepared. you gave a small okay and Anul shifted so you were sitting on his crotch rather than his lap. "okay here i go." and placed the tiniest contact on his lips he almost missed it.

he blinked, "what was that."

"well, i just kisses you my prince. as you requested."

"that wasn't a kiss."

"well—" you don't get a chance to answer as he cups your mouth with his, your tounge sliding on the roof of his mouth, by the time he's finished you can barely breath. his hands had someway crawled themselves onto your side and he found himself craving you, needing you carnally and more than ever. he lets go.

"that was a kiss, and don't make me teach you again."

Early 90s AU - Yandere x Reader

I was thinking about a statistical fact I heard once in a documentary, and combined with me going onto one of those unreality liminal space nostalgia blogs the other day I produced this. 

When I started making this, I thought I would start writing and just determine which boy it would be for as I went along with it, then kinda started crafting a boy in my head and ended up characterizing/specifying details to the point that I was kind of creating a boy that didn’t perfectly fit any character I can think of.

So I guess I have an OC now. This feels like the birth of a firstborn son. Yay.

//DARK CONTENT, fem reader, noncon, kidnapping, smoking/alcohol, fetishizing something that might be a little bit too realistic for some people, specific use of the word “rape” several times, victim blaming, mentions of prison/criminal activity, some gender-related derogatory matters/terms/subjects, some potentially unpleasant/offensive handlings/portrayals of medication/mental health topics, mentions of classism

———————

There is one occupation that, while now the risk is essentially obsolete, throughout the 80s and 90s, led to more cases of stalking and harassment than any other.

This position was perhaps a surprising one: the local news girl.

The time and era is an important factor in this. Prior to being able to open your phone and check an app at any given second, you would have to turn on the TV in the morning to check the weather and temperature for the upcoming day. Likewise, rather than the instantaneous accessibility of major world events at your fingertips, most people simply turned on their television and listened in.

This was often on a local basis. National news existed per country, but for weather, people needed to tune in to their local news stations, who also presented local and some national/international news anyway.

The history of weather girls and news girls is long standing, too. Although professional speculation states the obvious, it doesn’t take a historian to guess that one of the reasons it was so common to have a girl doing it was to attract viewers. People like tuning in and watching a nicely dressed, bubbly and energetic woman with a soothing voice. And predictably, it worked.

Some of the repercussions of this, however, were… unpleasant.

Throughout the era, it has been noted by historical statistics that the girls of the local news faced instances of stalking and harassment from men to a level highly disproportionate in comparison to other occupations. There have been speculations as to why this is, most believe it was an early form of the same parasocial relationships that would later become more common with the rise of widespread internet.

What you’re told when you start, though, is simply that people may recognize you around town. Not that it’s a very big deal, but you’re told that if that happens, you should try to maintain that upbeat, peppy, friendly demeanor, and not show any tiredness or irritability. Part of the job is maintaining the image of a lively persona and all. Pretty soon you’ve gotten a few people who recognize you at the store or the park and the like, usually just smiling and exchanging a few brief words or admiration, which you appreciate.

But they’re not the… issue, so to speak.

In truth, there are a lot of very lonesome guys out there. Plenty of them watch you. Plenty think you’re cute, sure. But one in particular – a man you have never met, a man who you don’t know exist – happens to fixate on you.

There’s no OnlyFans, no egirls. If you want porn online, you have to wait for a single jpeg to load up, and his computer chair isn’t very comfortable anyway. And he’s tried, but has never been able to summon the gall to go through the awkward process of getting a magazine or VCR tape from a store. Perhaps ironic, considering someone who did all those things he did would be unable to do something so simple… ah, well.

The local news girl, thus, is… comforting, in a way.

You’re a familiar face, a familiar voice. He can come home after a long grueling day at a job he hates, remove all the filthy work clothes, shower off the grime (sometimes), turn on the TV and sit back. Your face is so cute. But even if he’s tired, he can just lay on the mattress, close his eyes and listen to your voice, so soothing. If he wants to see you really well he has to sit really close to the TV anyway, and the screen often starts going haywire until he has to bang it with his fist a few times before it starts working again… anyway, yes, sometimes just laying down and listening to you is better.

Not that he actually cares in the slightest about anything going on in the world. It all began because he just needed to check the weather before leaving in the mornings, and started realizing how much it improved his day to hear you talk. It’s a welcome comfort in a quiet, empty house. Keeps him sane. Living alone can get… Upsetting, after a while. It’s a good thing you’re on a lot.

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Yandere Coworker Harem x New Hire Reader: A Meeting with the CEO

Follow up to this post

Finally fed up with it all, you decide to leave... but you learn it may not be that easy.

Content Warnings: General creepiness, yanderes, financial manipulation, manipulation, power difference, gaslighting

AN: Holy shit the first part blew up, more so than any post I've ever made on tumblr... ever. Thank y'all, and I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations? Had to ignore a few asks since they were essentially the plot to this part, haha.

As nice as Jake is... it starts to wear on you. The seclusion from your other coworkers, Warren and Jax's constant attention, it all becomes too much. This was the easiest money you've ever made, but it almost felt... condescending in a way. Seriously, you feel like you haven't actually worked in months, just given simple tasks to complete so that Jax could praise you. Otherwise, you felt like you were just eye candy set in a pretty office. No more, you figure. You make up your mind to go back to HR, it's been a long time coming. They either fix it, or you're gone.

With your mind made up, you return to Leon. He'd been so kind before, surely he'd help, right? As you explain your problems to him, he nods and gently smiles. In your distress, you don't notice his hand moving to cover yours, massaging yours comfortingly. You welcome the comforting sensation, overwhelmed to the point of not really considering the implications. You look into his dark eyes as you finish, silently pleading with him for help.

"That really is something. I'm sorry to hear your experience with the company has been so distressing. Tell me, do you have any proof?"

His demeanor seems to shift instantly back to the colder man you remember from your first sight of him. His fingers rubbing gentle circles into your palm shift into a harsher grip.

"Proof? I-I mean, the cameras have probably caught something?"

You'd say there were eyewitnesses, but all of your other coworkers had been avoiding you. You barely even knew their names...

"Unfortunately, our cameras have been malfunctioning lately, I doubt they'd catch anything. Without any actual witnesses, I'm afraid I can't do anything for you."

"How can you say that without even looking? This place is insane- you know what? I'm just quitting. I can't take this anymore."

You try to remove your hand but he keeps it there. His gaze is suddenly ice cold. He lets your hand go after a few moments of tension, fingers lingering before you yank your hand to your chest.

"Ah, you could quit... but I'd really recommend against it. You'd of course have to pay the dues you signed in your contract, as well as any additional fees. I'm not in charge of finances, but my estimate would be somewhere around... 200 thousand or so?"

You gasp, blood running cold. 200 thousand?! You don't remember signing that, but you also don't recall really reading over the contract in your excitement. You try to think of a way out, surely there had to be some sort of loophole-

"Of course, there's always the option of asking the CEO to change your contract, but..."

You'd tuned anything after that out, insisting to meet with the CEO as soon as possible. Which, to your surprise, was almost immediately. Almost like he'd been... waiting for you? Leon himself lead you to the CEO's room, at the very top of the skyscraper your office resided in. As you're let in, you're met with the biggest office you'd ever seen. It composed of the entire top floor of the skyscraper, massive windows encircling the entire ornate office.

You really try to ignore the feeling that you're walking into a trap.

The CEO was patiently waiting for you. Like a king on a throne, he sat in the middle of the room in front of a surprisingly simple desk. You'd heard of the CEO, Kennedy Grey, but you'd never met him in person before. He had an air of sophistication around him, an older gentlemen with salt and pepper hair and a well trimmed beard. His suit was pristine and looked expensive, probably costing more than your entire yearly salary. He smiled, urging the two of you to sit. His eyes glanced over to Leon's, a slight smirk on his face as if the two were in on a joke you weren't.

"So, what brings you two here? I've heard very good things about you from Jax. Things are going well, I presume?"

You fidget, despite his welcoming tone, he felt oddly... menacing. Like you weren't supposed to disagree with him, even if he asked you a question. You begin to explain your issues, but are quickly stopped with a firm look of disapproval when you bring up the idea of leaving the company.

"Now now, we can't have that, can we? With your contract, that wouldn't be a very smart idea, would it?"

Before you can even respond, he simply continues to talk over you.

"No, no it wouldn't. And you've just been such a good worker, we'd just hate to lose you."

"Well, I was actually hoping we could talk about the contract, I just don't think it's fair-" you can barely get your thoughts out as he cuts you off again.

"Unfair? But my dear, you signed it. I'd just hate to get my lawyers involved... they're top of the line, y'know? Besides, you don't actually want to leave, you're just... stressed. What do you need, a paid week off? A bonus for your hard work?"

"No-"

"Well, now that that's done, let's get back to work, shall we? You'll have a bonus on your next pay-"

You've had enough of his condescension and interruptions, it's time for you to interrupt him.

"You know what, I'll take the lawsuit. You people are insane. You can have the money if you want, but I'm out of here."

As you get up, you find you can't. Leon has moved behind you, surprisingly strong arms holding your chair in, preventing you from moving. You look up at him in angered confusion, but he's sharing a look with Kennedy. You once again feel like you're missing an important part of an inside joke again. You try to struggle, but you're stopped as Kennedy interrupts.

"Apartment 101, Evergreen Apartments, right?"

"W-wha-"

"You know, I've been venturing into the rental market recently. Very profitable at the moment. I actually just bought a few buildings in your area, including your little apartment. Such a shame, you know you could do better, right? All you have to do is ask..."

He smiles at you as if this was a normal conversation to him, like he was doing you a favor.

"I guess that makes me your landlord now, if you think about it!" his smile turns colder, eyes crinkling like he's laughing at you, "That being said, I just don't see how you're going to pay for the rent increase without this job. I hate to do it, but it's a necessity, y'know? Cost of living and such."

He waves his hand like it's no big deal, like he isn't playing with your livelihood and threatening you.

"You could move out, of course, but well, word gets around, and I just don't know how the other investors in the area would react to your... history."

You feel dread well up in the pit of your stomach and tears in your eyes. He... has you. What could you even do? Moving out of the city would mean starting over, and that's if you could even find a place and a job to pay for said place, and paying for the lawsuit-

In your panic, you can only whimper, "I just... why? Why me? i don't understand-"

"That's the beauty of it all, you don't have to. All you have to worry about is coming in and doing your job. We'll handle all the rest."

You jump, having almost forgotten Leon was behind you in your panic. You go to open your mouth-

"Wonderful insight, Leon. Now that we're all on the same foot, let's get back to work, shall we?"

You can only numbly nod your head, too overwhelmed to continue fighting.

You're finally allowed to sit up and begin walking towards the door, trying to speed walk out of the huge room that somehow managed to feel claustrophobic. You just wanted out at this point, you needed somewhere to think.

As you step into the elevator, Leon staying behind in the office-thank god-you're interrupted one final time.

"Oh, and I meant what I said. If you ever need any assistance, anything at all, just come to me. All you have to do is ask."

࣪ ִֶָ☾. yandere painter who's obsessed with his clueless muse

it all started with a "hi".

you were just being nice. you saw him around the apartment building often, so it wasn't out of the blue. the two of you just happened to be taking the same elevator at the same time. nothing big.

at least, that's what he thought.

then it happened again. your smile was slightly wider, more genuine than last time. were you happy to see him?

"hello," you offered a small wave, to which he nodded in response to.

he tried not to look at you. tried not to notice your curious eyes that gazed over his paint-stained self.

"are you a painter?"

it was a dumb question, but he turned his head fully towards you to show his acknowledgement. "yea. i am."

"that's cool."

small talk. it was all so casual.

so why could he make out your face in the midst of his multicoloured strokes?

the unfinished portrait of you stared back at him as his paintbrush hovered over the canvas, stuck in motion. his brows furrowed as he stared at the surface, as if glaring would make you go away.

but you didn't. and he kept painting. he convinced himself that you were simply a good subject. yes, that's why his room was filled with different paintings of you.

but it wasn't enough, there was something missing.

he became obsessed, his streaks growing more furious after each dip in paint. he needed to get your exact features down to a t. he needed to embed your very soul into the painting, nothing else would suffice.

his apartment turned into one big, messy shrine of you. brushes and paint bottles carelessly strewn around, mountains of canvases piled high on top of each other.

"hey.. i painted you," he'd mumble, acting nonchalant as the portrait shook in his hands as he extended it towards you.

did you hate it? it doesn't look anything like you! he's a terrible painter, what was he thinking? your silence is killing him, please, say something-!

"wow. this is.. amazing. thank you!" that smile. that damn smile that made his heart burst into a million pieces.

"you're welcome," he grinned way too wide, making up some excuse to get back to his apartment just so he could create more art of you.

of course, nothing could compare to the real thing. but for now, he's content to have you as his muse <3.

Yandere Movie Week

Day 3 - Hush (2016)

Noncon yandere slasher x fem reader - 5.2k words Tags: knife play, spitting in your mouth, slight degradation, DEAD DOVE

Quit fucking squirming. I will cut you, understand?

There. See? Not so hard. Just hold still and let me look at you.

Pretty thing... Even prettier with the way you're all stretched out under me. Never thought I'd be so into a girl, but I guess I was just waiting for the right one to come along.

What's that, honey? Can't really hear you through the gag. Don't really care to neither. I'm not here to listen to you talk.

Hmmm, you're a cute little thing too, you know that? I noticed it the first time I saw you. Sitting in the hot tub with all your friends, getting drunk and stumbling around all helpless. Don't blame yourself too much, but you're the whole reason I ended up here. Did what I did.

It was fate, really. Or luck. Bad luck, on your part. Great fucking luck on mine.

I don't really walk through the woods on my way home. But the snow was coming on and I figured a few minutes shaved off would save me a world of trouble.

Didn't know folk stayed all the way out here. Guess this is some kind of AirBnB situation? Yeah, your plates aren't local, I noticed that much.

I heard you laughing. That's what dragged me off the path. Should be the other way around, don't you think? Me, the big, bad killer, luring you off into the cold, scary woods. But no. Not this time.

Heard you laughing and it got me curious.

If your host kept their fence in better shape maybe I'd have given up. Too fucking late and too fucking tired to be hopping fences.

You're all quiet now. What, you like listening to me yammer? Or are you just curious? Probably ain't easy to be you - some deranged killer coming out of the woods and picking off all your friends. Hell, I guess I'd want to hear his story too, if I was in your shoes.

Where was I? Right, the hole in your fence. Reckon you didn't even notice it. Had no reason to go looking for it.

But I found it. Looked through it just to see what was so damn funny. And that's when I saw you.

D'you know your hot tub is right under those fucking - whaddya call 'em - fairy lights? They make you look like a fucking dream. Reflecting off your skin where it's all wet. Playboy centre fold kind of shit.

I didn't even notice your friends at first. Couldn't take my eyes off you. Kept wondering what your skin felt like - all warm and wet from the water? Or chilly where the air touched you?

And then you stood up and I got a real good look at you. Didn't really think I had a type, but baby, it's you.

What are you looking at? You keep darting your eyes at the door, like someone is gonna save you.

Not happening. No one left out here but you and me.

Do you know how far we are from town? I bet that's why you booked this place, right? A nice, isolated cabin where you and your friends can party as loud as you want. That backfired pretty bad, didn't it? They screamed and screamed and no one heard 'em.

You're crying again. Is it grief or guilt?

Don't worry, baby. I'm here to kiss it all better.

Killing is... You probably think I'm a fucking serial killer, don't you? Guess I probably am. That's the kind of thing they call you when the bodies start stacking up, ain't it?

Thing is, it's never planned out. I don't do this shit for pleasure. At least, not the way you think.

It's like there's this pressure in my head. Building. Getting worse all the time. Only thing that makes it go away is this. Killing.

No, I don't know why they haven't caught me either. Like I said, I don't plan this shit out. It just happens. Like something inside me snaps and my head won't go quiet until its over.

You look scared. Guess I would be too, if some bastard covered in blood had me tied to the bed.

You're the last one, y'know. In case you're still wondering.

All your friends are dead. Even that flighty little bitch who tried running through the woods. Fuck, that was so annoying. Bet she was an annoying friend to have too, huh? I saw the way she was grinding up on your boyfriend last night. You shoulda put her in her place. 'Swhat I would have done. Bash her pretty face in and see how much your boyfriend likes her then.

Sorry. Got a bit worked up for a second.

We've already established I'm not the most... balanced person. So maybe don't do what I do.

I never talk this much. Don't really have a lot of people to talk to. Those fuckers at work are all brain dead, and my friends are mostly in the pen. Hard to talk when they've only got half an hour a week on the phones.

You look like you're the type to listen though. Sweet. Caring. Type to give a kid a kiss on the knee when they fall off their bike and start howling.

Y'know, I almost feel bad about this. But I guess you should know for sure, given what comes next. Might stop you from feeling like you're cheating or something.

You boyfriend is dead.

Thought he was gonna give me some trouble, big guy like that.

Nah. Bled like a stuck pig. Barely knew how to fight. Dissapointing honestly.

You're crying again. Is it the fact that your boyfriend is dead or the fact that I've got you all pinned up under me while I talk about him?

Either way, I like it when you cry.

Yeah, I know. Yet another fucked up thing to like. I mean, I know it's fucked. But I can't help it. It's the way I'm wired.

You must be wondering why you're still alive.

Truth is, I'm not sure either. I don't get, like, turned on when I kill. It's not enjoyable that way, y'know?

But seeing you run away from me? Scrambling like hell, almost making it? Yeah, that sure as fuck turned me on.

Don't look so surprised. I'm literally on top of you, what did you think was gonna happen?

Oh, and now you're squirming again. Can you at least let me finish talking first?

Stop it. Quit fucking moving so much. Hey -

I said FUCKING STOP.

There. Nice and quiet now that I've got a hand on your throat.

Anyway, where was I?

Right, I don't get turned on by this shit. I try not to do it at all, but that's plain impossible. My head goes all weird and then something small sets me off and next thing I know there's a dead cashier or an old lady with their head bashed in.

I've been trying to find other ways of letting off steam. Nothing works. Nothing scratches that itch.

Well, that's what I thought. Until I ran into you.

Y'know, your friend group is the only time I've done this shit premeditated? I spent all night watching you. I'm the one who pulled the spark plugs out of your car. I'm the one who tripped the lights. That was particularly fun. Had people stumbling over dead bodies in the dark and then screaming their heads off.

It was the most fun I've ever had. And I think the whole reason is you.

At the back of my mind, I knew I was going to save you for last. Like a little treat.

Oh, you don't like that at all, do you? You're crying even harder. Didn't think that was possible.

Don't wanna be my dessert? Don't wanna be all sweet for me? That's too fucking bad, sweetheart. 'Cause only one of us has a knife and it sure as hell ain't you.

At first, I thought I was just going to kill you. Maybe take my time with it. See what it's like when I think things through.

But then I caught you. Actually held you against my body while your kicked and screamed.

I don't know what makes you so special.

All I know is that when I finally had my hands on you... I stopped thinking about killing.

Maybe I just got all that shit out of my system when I was busy with your friends. But I don't think that's the whole truth.

When I hauled you up here and tied you up... I gotta be honest, my thoughts were getting real filthy.

That's new. Like I said, this shit doesn't turn me on. I've never had fantasies about... well, I guess we should call a spade a spade, huh? I've never gotten turned on thinking about forcing someone.

But that's exactly what I'm going to do to you. We both know it.

Hey, no turning away. No closing your eyes like I'm some boogeyman that will just go away. Look at me. I said -

Look. At. Me.

Mhm, ain't that pretty? So fucking scared. You make me feel like a God.

Tell me something sweetheart, am I your type? If I wasn't covered in blood and stuff. Don't worry, you can be honest.

No? Didn't think so. Your boyfriend looked sweet. Kind of guy who asks if he can kiss you and hold your hand and all that sappy shit. Me? Well, we both know I ain't asking before I take what I want.

Y'know, it's funny. When I was a kid, I ended up in juvie. Over some stupid shit. Vandalism or something. Can't remember. But when I was in there they had this shrink. Used to single me out all the time for extra sessions. Said he was worried about some "escalating violent tendencies" or something. I didn't really listen.

But now? I think he might've been onto something. I just kill to scratch the itch, y'know? But this? What I'm about to do to you? Oh baby, it's all pleasure.

It's going to be a real fucking pleasure to screw you, sweetheart.

Ha. Look at you go. You really think you can fight me off now? Bit late to try the muay thai, doll.

Where should I start? I think we'll go with your shirt. I've been wanting to see what's under your bra ever since I saw you in your bikini.

Hmm, your hands are in the way with the way I've got you tied. Guess I'll just have to rip it. Hope it didn't have sentimental value.

Just gonna grab it by the collar and...

Would you look at that? Shit tore like fucking paper. Guess that's the universe's way of giving me the go ahead.

Let's toss it. Get to the good stuff.

Oh. Oh my. Is that a lace bra? My favorite colour too.

Aww, did you dress up all pretty for me, sweetheart?

Let me just... Fuck, your tits feel fucking amazing. The perfect size for me. Cute little nipples too. I wonder what happens if I pinch 'em like this...

Baby, was that a moan? Did you just moan for me?

Ha! Didn't know you were such a slut. Thought for sure you were the sweet little girl-next-door. Barley been kissed, barley been fingered, never been fucked.

Don't get all shy now. No use hiding your face. We both heard it.

How about we just say that your body betrayed you? Would that make you feel better? I can fuck you good and proper and when you come you can pretend you didn't enjoy it. There, will that help you sleep at night?

No answer. Guess you can't really give one. And even if I did take that gag off, I reckon you wouldn't have much to say beyond, "Please don't fuck me Mr Serial Killer! I'm saving it for marriage!"

Hmm. Maybe I'm not so opposed to that - hearing you beg a little. Especially with those pretty tears in your eyes.

...No. I'll save that for later. For now...

I hate to cut your bra off, sweetheart. It looks real expensive. But I'll buy you a new one, promise. Victoria's Secret or whatever you want.

Look at you freezing up. Don't like feeling my knife tracing up your belly? Here, why don't you feel it at your throat too?

Sharp, ain't it? Even after everything I've used it for.

You're not going to keep giving me a hard time, are you? I can fuck you with my knife at your throat the entire time if I have to. Awful dangerous that. One little slip...

Yeah, you're gonna be good for me. I can see it in your eyes.

Let's get back to it then. Gotta say, I'm getting hard just playing with you like this. Dragging the tip of my knife down your chest, slipping it under your bra... it's such a pretty sight.

Hold still for this part. Don't wanna cut you too bad.

The straps first. And now the band...

Shiiiit doll, it's even better than I hoped. Look at those tits.

You don't mind if get a taste do you?

Mhhmmm. So warm. I kind of want to just...

Hah, look at the way you squirm when I bite your nipples. What's wrong, gorgeous? Worried I'm gonna leave a mark? Worried your boyfriend is gonna find out? I think he's beyond caring at this point.

Speaking of marks, I've always wanted to give a girl a lovebite. Ma used to say it was trashy, but I think it's kind of sexy. Walking around and everyone knowing you've been fucked.

Here, tilt your head to the side a little. I want to kiss your neck.

Was that a shiver? Don't like me so close, is that it? I ain't gonna bite out your jugular like a dog. At least, not today.

Hmmm, you smell amazing. How the hell do girls do that? Smell like fucking strawberries and shit? Makes me want to gobble you right up.

How do you feel right now, I wonder. Big, scary killer kissing your neck and saying you smell good. I wonder if this shit turns you on. I've heard some girls are really into this "dark romance" stuff. Don't really think I'm being romantic right now, but who's to say?

Why don't we check?

Hey, I'm just unbuttoning your jeans. Quit trying to buck me off.

I could fucking cut them off, if you want me to use my knife so bad.

Yeah, that's what I thought. All nice and sweet for me when I mention the knife. Fucking ridiculous. I can kill you just as easy with my bare hands.

See? You've gone and pissed me off. I was trying to be nice to you. I'm not even going to bother anymore, if you're going to be like that.

Matching panties. Fuck, I'm not even in the mood to appreciate them anymore.

Just gonna rip them off and get straight to it.

Two fingers enough for you sweetheart? Goddamn, look at you arching off the bed. Two fingers too fucking much, apparently.

Shit, you're tight. Must not want this at all. Not surprising. I reckon if I play a bit with my fingers, you'll loosen up. Biology and all that.

God, it's so fucking sick seeing my fingers sliding into you like this. You're getting my gloves all slick and wet. Bet that must feel real strange, huh? Getting finger fucked while I'm still wearing my gloves?

Guess I was right about the dark romance thing. You're soaking. Does this shit really turn you on? Hell, you're about as sick and twisted as me, if that's really the case.

Don't like that, do you? Yeah, I can tell.

You make such cute noises, you know that? All these little gasps and whines. Not like that fake shit you see in porn.

Didn't think I'd be getting so turned on just fingering a girl, but hell baby, I'm 'bout to burst my jeans.

I can't believe I'm about to do this, but it's too late to stop now. Let's get my belt off...

Aaaah, that's so much better. Was fucking strangling my cock. Here, let me grab your thighs and hook your knees over my shoulders.

Yeah, this is perfect. Let's me hold onto your hips real nice.

Can you feel that, sweetheart? My cock rubbing up against your pussy?

Stop shaking your head like that's gonna stop me. Kicking and screaming and crying ain't stopped me, what makes you think I'll change my mind now?

Give me a second. I want to look at you properly. Make sure I remember this for the rest of my life. The first time I'm fucking my girl and ain't she prettier than a picture? Not even my wettest dreams could have come up with something so perfect.

Only one thing in the world could possibly makes this better.

See my knife? Feel the way I'm pressing it against your cheek? Remember that feeling when I slice your gag off.

I want to hear three words. That's it. Anything else and I start cutting, got it?

Good. Now, here's what I want you to say.

"Please fuck me."

You got that? No begging me to stop. No asking me to go slow. Just begging me to fuck you. Nothing else.

And if you ruin this for me, sweetheart? If you fuck up my perfect fantasy? You'll be joining your friends. I don't need you breathing to fuck you. Just warm. Understand?

Good.

There. Your gag is off. What do you say?

Ha! Baby, how can I resist when you ask so nice? Sure honey, I'll fuck you. I'll fuck you so hard my cock will brand itself inside your belly. Ready?

Fuuuucckk.

Oh God, you're the hottest cunt I've ever had. Just wanna stay here for the rest of my life, deep inside you.

Here, let me press my hand against your lower belly when I start thrusting.

Shit, I can actually feel it.

I can feel my dick inside you. Heh, guess I'm a little too big for you afterall.

You're sucking me in, you know that? Your pussy wants me. Don't matter that I'm practically splitting you in half. Your filthy, whore cunt still wants me.

Aww, look at the way you flinch when I swear. Bet your boyfriend never said a single mean thing to you in his life, huh?

God, it's hard to keep so slow. But I'm managing it, just for you. Giving you time to adjust. See? I can be a gentleman too sometimes. Say thank you.

I said, say thank you.

Sure thing, doll. I'll do anything for you. Well, anything except let you go. Ain't gonna be doing that anytime soon, not with how perfect you are for me.

Never had a fuck this good in my life. Didn't think it could get this good.

Hey, don't look away from me. Did I say you could look away from me?

Do I gotta grab your face and force you?

There. Let me see those pretty eyes. Let me see the fear and the pain and the guilt. Give me everything, baby. I want it all. Every part you have to give. Your body. Your soul. They'll all be mine by the time I'm through.

Can't keep holding back. Grab the sheets if you have to, but I'm not slowing down after this.

That's it. Fucking take it.

Take it take it take it. Take my cock and beg for more.

Pretty little slut, I'm gonna fuck you rotten and raw. Ain't known the meaning of getting dicked down until I came along.

Fuck, that's it. Cry for me. Let me see those tears.

Listen to you, repeating what I told you to say like it's going to save you. Just makes me want you more, baby.

Hell, you're tight. Gonna cum inside you. Gonna mark you up. Gonna make you mine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You were made for me, I get it now. Made just for me. No one else is ever going to touch you. I'll kill them. I'll kill you.

Take it, bitch. Take my cock and keep begging for more.

Nothing could pull me out of you. Not heaven or hell or judgement day. This is right where I belong. Inside you. Raping you.

Yeah, that's exactly what this is. Ain't no use denying it. I see you shaking your head like hearing the word makes it real.

That's what I am, aren't I? Your rapist.

And you're still begging me to fuck you.

Oh, you're fucked, doll. Well and truly fucked.

Open your mouth. I want to lean forward and let my spit drop into your mouth while I screw you bleeding.

Swallow.

Good.

You're never going to get the taste out, y'know that? I'm always going to be a part of you - my spit, my cum, all of it. Inside you forever.

You can scrub away my touch but you'll never outlive these memories, baby. I've burnt myself into your head.

Even if I let you go, I'll always be with you. More than your boyfriend. More than any lover you've had or will have.

It's me. It's always going to be me. Your worst fucking nightmare made real.

Tell me you want it. Say you want me to fill you up. Beg me.

Yeah, that's it. Just give in, baby. Stop holding yourself so stiff and just let it happen. Enjoy it.

Bet your man never fucked you this hard, huh? Bet your cunt was dying to be filled with a real cock.

Here, let me move your legs down so they're around my waist instead. I want to kiss you.

No, don't shake your head. You let me spit in your mouth but you don't want to let me kiss you? The hell kind of prude mentality is that?

I'm just going to... yeah, grab a fistful of your hair so you can't keep avoiding me. Look into my eyes, baby. Look at the man who owns you.

Mmhmm, you taste like cotton candy. How the hell do you taste so sweet?

It's kind of cute how inexperienced you are. Got no idea how to kiss a man properly. But it's okay, love. I'll teach you. I'll teach you plenty - how to kiss, how to take cock, how to suck dick.

Better than a college education and all it costed was the lives of your friends. Sweet deal, huh?

Here, kiss me again. No, I don't mean just holding still while I kiss you. I mean I want you lean up and kiss me like you want me back.

No? No?

Listen bitch, you don't get to say no.

Not to me, not ever. Do I have to grab your jaw so hard I leave bruises?

Kiss me back. I'm not fucking asking.

Why the hesitation anyway? I'm in your cunt, aren't I? There ain't any modesty left between us.

Or is it one of those special things? Like how backdoor doesn't count as losing it before marriage?

No, not quite. I think it's more so about the uh intimacy. Yeah, I reckon that's what this is about. Kisses are special. Only for the man you love. Sure, I'm balls deep inside you but if you don't kiss me, it ain't so bad. Is that right? Did I get it?

Hmm, from the way you're avoiding my eyes I reckon I hit the nail on the head.

Baby, do you really think there's anything you can keep from me? I told you once already, I'm taking it all. Everything you would have given your boyfriend, your husband, your true love. All that and more.

So, kiss me back.

That's it. Good girl, taking orders like a champ.

I think I won't ever get tired of your mouth. Kissing you...

C'mere, I want some more.

What's that, doll? You asking me why I stopped moving? Guess I just want to bury myself inside you a little longer. Don't want this to end.

'S hard though. Hanging on so long. If I didn't like you so much I would have busted ages ago.

Hmm, this is nice too. I could get used to this. Cockwarming. Never saw the appeal, but then I've never had a cunt as velvety soft as yours.

You're kind of cringing, why is that?

Hurts? Oh, you mean when I stay still? Yeah, I reckon that's a whole different type of hurt, ain't it?

Want me to start moving again?

Yes? Ha! Never thought I'd hear you say it, doll. Say it and mean it, too.

Let me start moving again and -

Huh. You're liking this. Or at least your body is. You're kinda shifting around to meet me when I fuck into you. Don't think you even realise you're doing it.

Aww, are you embarrassed? Don't hide it from me, sweetheart. I think it's cute that you want to fuck me back. Makes my heart all soft and warm and shit.

Got me feeling - what's it called again - yeah, paternal. Got me feeling like I should take care of you. Should kiss those tears away.

I reckon we're about the same age, but that don't matter. I feel all...protective. Like I ought to lock you away, keep you safe from all the other bastards in the world.

Sorry. I think I'm a little cunt drunk. Got me sayin' the dumbest, sappiest shit.

I reckon we ought to finish this, yeah? Aww, look at you nodding and agreeing with me. You want my cum that bad, doll? Don't worry, I'll give it to you. Give you every drop.

Need to go deeper. Need some leverage.

Oh, this'll do nicely. One hand on your hip and one around your throat. Let's me pull you back onto my dick with every thrust.

Your throat feels so fucking right when I hold you like this. Gives me all the power in the world. One little squeeze and I've stolen your air right alongside everything else I've taken.

Look at the way you're squirming. I think you're 'bout to come. Didn't think I could wring it out of you, but I reckon it's just another sign that we're meant for each other.

Let me pick you up a little, wrap my arm around your waist so you're bouncing on my cock. Hmm, I can kiss your neck like this too.

Shit, that's so much tighter. You're strangling my dick, baby. Go easy, God.

Oh, fuck I'm so close. I think you are too.

Where's my knife? Hey, don't squirm, I'm just gonna cut your hands loose. There.

Here, wrap them around my - huh, guess I don't have to tell you. Mmm, really diggin' your nails in, ain'tcha? Holdin' onto me like I'm the last lifeline in the whole world.

No, don't move. I like it like this. All pressed up against you.

Gonna hold onto my knife though. Can't have your hands loose and leave my knife lyin' around. Nah, don't worry. I ain't gonna hurt you with it. Just gonna keep it in my hand.

God, baby. Do that again. Grind on me again.

Mhmm, that's so...

Sorry. But I'm not holdin' back anymore. We're finishing this.

Hold on tight. I'm gonna give you the best ride of your life.

Hahh, listen to you whinin'. Fucked all the thoughts right outta your head, didn't I? You ain't even usin' words no more.

You're close. I can tell. Just come for me, doll. Quit worryin' 'bout right and wrong. Just shut your brain off and let your pussy get what she needs.

Thaaat's it. Keep grinding on my cock.

Fuck, I can feel every little tremor and squeeze.

Yes, just like that. Come on, come on now. Give in, baby. It was a losing fight from the start.

Oh God, that's it. You're squeezing me to hell, baby.

Dammit, I can't hold on much longer.

Fuck, oh fuck. That's it, yeah that's it. Take it. Take it. FUCKING TAKE IT.

Take my cum, baby. Have every drop of it.

I fucking love you. I do.

My fuckdoll, my pretty girl. Take every drop baby, you've earned it.

Damn. I can't - I can't even talk. Gimmme a minute. I just... needa catch my breath.

Fucking hell.

Hey, c'mere. No pulling away now. I want to keep holding you so close.

Just let me rest my head on your neck for a sec, okay?

Mhhmm. You still smell so good. But I can smell the sex on you now too. You're like a bitch after heat.

I like it. Like smelling myself on you.

Shh, no crying. Just hang onto me. Dig your nails in, if it makes you feel better.

You're my girl. I'll take care of you. I promise.

No, I'm not pulling out. I'm going to keep you plugged up. Don't want to waste all that hard earned cum, do you?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Shhh, baby, shhh. You're okay. I've got you.

Here, let me move the hair out of your face. I want to look at you.

Ah, there she is. My girl.

Look at those eyes... You're even prettier now, baby. Didn't think it was possible, but it's true. The way you're looking at me... All soft and defenceless... It's the prettiest thing I've ever seen.

You look surprised. I can be nice too, y'know. Just got to get all the cruelty out of my system.

Ma used to say it was the devil. Used to call it my devil face. When I'd get so bad that I'd kick the cat or pinch the baby or set things on fire.

I bet I scared you real bad, huh? Your whole body is shaking.

Shhh, you're okay. I've calmed down now, see? I'm not going to keep hurting you.

Here, I'll even hum you a song. The lullaby my ma used to sing me whenever I had a nightmare. And I reckon this sure as hell is a nightmare for you. The worst night you've ever had.

C'mere, put your head on my shoulder.

There, a little better isn't it? You're not crying anymore.

What's that, doll? Did you say something?

Will I let you go? Oh, honey. What a silly question...

I can't. Even if we ignore the fact that you've seen my face and heard my voice and have my DNA all over you, I don't want to let you go.

I wasn't lying. I think I'm falling in love with you. And I realised something. Fucking you... it's even better than killing. Doesn't scratch the exact same itch, no. But it comes pretty damn close.

Close enough that I think I'll be able to hold off. Close enough that I think my head will stay on straight if I have you around.

Not guaranteed. I can't control this shit, God knows I've tried. But maybe there's a chance.

I'm not letting you go, love. No way in hell.

You're the best damn fuck I've ever had.

Day 1 - Fear (1996)

Day 2 - Secret Obsession (2019)

Day 3 - Hush (2016)

Day 4 - The Perfect Guy (2015)

Day 5 - The Boy Next Door (2015)

Day 6 - The Invisible Man (2020)

Day 7 - Til Death Do Us Part (2017)

Taglist: @jsprien213 @trolleri-trollera @mel-vaz

Strip Poker with a Yandere Cowboy

Sometimes, a debt is best paid off on your knees. Tags: Male Yandere x Fem Reader, dubcon to noncon, thigh riding, older man, daddy kink goes brrr, 6.9k words

Thinking about losing a bet and losing it bad. One of those casinos where you can almost feel the grime in the air, shady looking dealers cutting cards right in front of you, but you're just too slow to realise it.

You're too drunk to be playing, and too pretty to be losing so bad.

When you're all out of chips, you should know better than to take house credit. But you're already in the hole - you've spent all your savings on poker and you need one big win to even it all out.

It's late when the game ends. Just you and two others left at the table, whiskey turning sour on your teeth when you realise just how bad you've screwed yourself over.

You're not surprised when two hulking enforcers come to get you. Suits all black and neatly pressed, but it's still not enough to hide their tattoos or scars. Not enough to soften their rough edges.

"Boss wants to talk to you, miss. If you would."

Nice of them to offer, but everyone at your table knows it's a farce. A little game of pretend so it doesn't hit quite so hard when they drag you off.

You stand, silently cursing yourself for being so stupid, for wearing such painful heels, for wearing such a short dress. They lead you towards the back of the casino, and every step feels like another nail in your coffin. You're not just deep in the hole anymore. You've somehow shoveled all the way past the goddamn mantle.

They take you to an office high above the casino. Floor to ceiling windows giving the boss a way to look out on his domain.

The first thing you notice about the room is the smell of leather and whiskey. Not unpleasant, especially not after being down there with the peasants.

The boss is standing at the window when you come in, holding a glass of whiskey. All you can see of him is his back - broad, the outline of his muscles showing through the cotton of his button up. His hair long enough to brush his collar, and thick.

The bouncers (thugs? enforcers?) leave you alone with him. Door whispering shut and locking you alone with your debt.

"You ain't a bad player, girl."

You try to smile. Fail.

"Not that good, or else we wouldn't be here."

He chuckles, rich and deep as brandy.

"C'mere. I wanna show you something."

You're halfway across the room before you even realise you've moved. Something in you jumps at his orders, and the rest of you struggles to catch up.

When you reach the window, the first thing you notice is the table you played at. The high rollers poker set up, smack dab in the middle of his view.

"I've been watching you all night, girl. You've got a good poker face, and a mighty interesting way of distracting your competition."

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly self conscious. You aren't the first girl to wear a low cut dress to a card game, and you won't be the last. But hearing him point it out still makes you feel a little ashamed. No trick too low for a winner and all that, but still...

You change the topic.

"I know it's bad, but listen, I can give you my address, my ID, my banking details. Maybe I can pay the casino off in installments. I'm sure you've got some sort of loan agreement on standby for situations like these."

The man hums, and you turn to finally look at him.

He's older than you, his hair bordering on black and shot through with grey. Strong jaw, light stubble, nice lips. Hazel eyes, with fine lines at the corners.

If you had to picture a casino mogul with shady connections, he isn't what you'd come up with.

"That's true, but I reckon you don't exactly qualify."

His drawl is all Texan, deep and slow. It makes something inside you flutter.

"I've got a job. I know I'm a student, but I can pay."

He doesn't answer. Instead, he offers you his glass of whiskey.

You take it, more nervous than anything else. You're used to cheap tequila and even cheaper beer, but even you can tell that he drinks some high quality stuff. When you take a sip, the flavour sits on your tongue like a kiss.

"No sweetheart, I reckon you and I will have to work something else out. The kind of deal I only offer to... special customers."

You meet his eyes and you realise exactly what sort of customers he means. The pretty kind. The drunk kind. The too-short-skirt and too-high-stilettos kind.

Your throat goes dry and you toss back another gulp of whiskey to try and cover it up.

Your ma used to say that getting yourself into trouble meant no one else but you was responsible for getting out of it. But did that really mean dropping to your knees and paying off a debt with your tongue?

You look around his office, hoping to buy yourself some time. The floors are genuine hard wood, and there are stag heads mounted on the walls. There's a hunting rifle half assembled on his coffee table, in the middle of being cleaned.

"What..." You swallow, try again. "What do you want me to do?"

"Play a few rounds of poker with me."

That surprises you enough that you turn back to face him. There's a slight smile on his face, a kind of wry, secretive amusement.

"I think I'm all out of credit mister."

He grins full on, the tips of his fangs just barely visible behind his lips.

"We ain't playing for cash this time."

He looks you over, eyes roaming and then lingering. Your skin prickles over in goosebumps. You're used to men looking at you, but never so openly. Never so proprietary.

Like you're bought and paid for already.

"No darlin'. I reckon we play for the last thing you've got to your name."

He smiles again, wolf fangs showing. "I reckon we play for the clothes off your back."

Your breath hitches, eyes going wide. You don't know it, but you look just like a doe on the first day of spring. Looking right down the rifle but too stuck to run.

He sucks his teeth, still smiling. "Best out of ten. If I can get you out of your clothes by the end, you pay your debt off with.... well, I ain't gonna spell it out for you."

"And if you don't?"

"You walk out of here a free woman. Not owing us a cent and still in your pretty little dress."

The devil would have offered a better deal. But what else can you do? Sue him? Yeah, that'd go well. Broke college kid with a bad poker run against a man you're pretty sure works for the mafia. You won't even make it to court in one piece.

You pull in a slow breath, trying to still your heart.

You meet his eyes, even though it takes everything in you to hold them.

"Deal."

He offers you his hand just like the devil would, if Old Scratch decided to wear cowboy boots and Levi's. You take it, palm dwarfed by his.

He leads you to his desk and pulls a chair out for you, every inch the southern gentleman. His fingers brush the nape of your neck when he pulls away.

He sits down across from you and you can't help feeling small. It's like being in front of the principal all over again, huge mahogany desk and all.

He digs through a side drawer and pulls out a pack of playing cards, the box still wrapped in plastic. The sound of it tearing makes your ears tingle.

"Fresh deck. So we both know it's a fair game."

He shuffles just as fancy as you'd expect, cutting and then cutting again until the cards blur in his hands. You watch his hands, trying to spot tricks you know you can't hope to understand.

He's got nice hands, you notice in-between card spreads. Long fingers, clean nails, veins that stand out against his skin. A fancy watch on his wrist but no sign of a wedding ring, not even a tan line.

Well, maybe it ain't surprising. You wouldn't want to marry him either, if he regularly plays strip poker with his clients.

"You wanna deal first, darlin'?"

"Sure."

He offers you the deck but doesn't let go.

"You gotta kiss it for good luck. Don't ya know that?"

He's smiling at you again, that half twist to his lips that feels less welcoming than stepping straight into hell.

You lean forward and kiss the cards, your lipstick stain bright against the white.

"Is it my luck or yours?" you ask.

He lets go of the cards and watches as you deal.

"I guess we'll just have to see, won't we?"

Two man poker is a whole different game to the regular hold 'em. More aggressive. There aren't other hands to lessen the blow, so a draw is damn near impossible. No folding either, at least not against him. It's win or lose, no inbetween.

You win the first round, but just barely. Your palms slick and softening the edges of the new cards.

He doesn't react to losing. Not a smile or a frown or even a twitch in his fingers. He just takes the deck and deals again.

An ace, a jack and a king on the table. A ten and an eight in your hand. Not the worst, you can make it work.

He flips another card on the table. A nine. That gives you one more card for a straight.

You glance across at him and freeze. He hasn't even touched his cards. He's just looking at you, reclined all easy in his chair with the shadows falling across his face in stripes of dark.

"You've got a tell, girl. Do you know what it is?"

"No. But I get the sense you aren't going to tell me."

He picks up his whiskey and takes a sip, his lips brushing the lipstick stain you left behind.

"Nah. That wouldn't be any fun, would it?"

You look back at your cards. You can win this round with a little luck. Neither of you are betting with chips, so at least you don't have to worry about bluffing your way out. It's all luck this time. Luck and maybe just a bit of skill.

He draws the last card. Another king.

Not what you were hoping for. It leaves you with a four card straight.

He takes his time flipping his own cards over, watching you the entire time.

Your eyes flick down. Two kings. That means he has four of a kind. An easy win.

He doesn't even bother to look down. Just smiles as he reads the defeat in your face.

"Heels off, pretty girl."

You do it as slowly as you can, but you can't delay the inevitable. Your heels land on the wood floor with a thud. That leaves you in your stockings, your dress, your bra and your barely there thong. Four more pieces. Four more wins and you'll be his to claim.

He watches you without moving, still smiling. You can imagine this same scene playing out a hundred years ago. The gunslinger and the bar girl who landed too deep.

You reckon it would end the same too.

You shuffle the cards harder then you should, cardboard slapping in the silence. You deal fast, barely bothering to look at the three table cards.

Your own hand is a king and a three. Random.

He thumbs up the corner of his cards and you struggle to read anything in his face. Was that a slight twitch in his ring finger? A tightening around the eyes?

You flip the fourth and fifth cards in quick succession. Nothing at all to work with. Your hand is a total bust. You don't even bother trying to keep a poker face. You flip your cards over and start reaching for your stockings.

"High card," he says quietly.

You freeze and look at his cards. It's true. His hand is even worse than yours. You win because of your king.

You exhale sharply, feeling light as air. Three rounds down, still safe. Seven to go.

You win the fourth round with a damn lucky full house.

The fifth is cutting it close. You both end up with flushes, but he wins by having two more royals than you.

You try not to show too much skin as you slip out of your stockings. Thin material like this shouldn't make any difference, but you feel a little colder after losing them.

You don't feel very lucky. And maybe he can tell, because his smile gets just a bit wider.

You can still taste his whiskey when he deals the next round. Almost sweet. Almost mocking.

Your ears are buzzing with blood. Your heart rocketing against your chest. Three pieces of clothing left. Five rounds of poker. Are those good odds? You can't tell anymore.

You lose. Catastrophically.

He tries not to be smug, but not even his stone cold poker face can fully hide it.

"Need me to unzip you?"

"No."

You don't want him touching you. Not until the very end.

You reach back and unzip your dress with a little bit of tugging.

Better to just get it over with, right? You let the dress fall to the floor in a glittery heap and cross your arms across your chest. The cold sends goosebumps crawling across your thighs.

You're wearing a matching lace set. Bra and panty both a dark green. Your lucky colour, though you sure as hell don't feel lucky now.

He whistles.

"Didn't know you dressed up so nice 'fer me."

You sit back down and scoot your chair in, so the desk hides a bit more of your skin. You don't reply.

You win the seventh round, but any feeling of victory is crushed with the eighth. He wins it almost too easy.

You don't look at him as you undo your bra. You keep one arm pressed against your tits, but he clicks his teeth and you slowly lower it.

He doesn't whistle this time. But you can hear him shift forward in his chair, can hear the slight intake of breath.

You're sitting at his poker table in nothing but your panty with two rounds to go. You thought you begged lady luck plenty, but up until now you didn't know what true desperation felt like.

You shuffle as softly as you can, aware that every movement just brings attention straight to your chest.

You still try to avoid looking at him, even when you deal his cards.

He catches your wrist before you can pull away, his thumb bruising your pulse.

"Not so quick. Can't a man enjoy the view he's won?"

You finally meet his eyes. Darker now, much darker. Hazel bleeding into the golden brown of oak wood.

"You haven't won yet."

He let's you go, his smile fading.

The first three cards are a three, a seven and a nine.

Your hand is a three and a seven. A two pair right out of the gate. Still, you try not to be too hopeful.

The fourth table card is an eight.

But the fifth card? Your fingers are shaking when you flip it over.

He growls. The first real break in his carefully maintained poker facade.

A seven.

That leaves you with a full house, the fourth best hand. You win.

One more round to go.

He grabs the cards with more force than needed, bending the whole deck almost in half.

He shuffles fast. A lot faster than before, fingers moving differently somehow. It makes your spine tingle. He couldn't possibly be cheating while you're looking straight at him, right?

He tosses your cards at you like a proper dealer would, and then flips three onto the table faster than you can follow.

All hearts. An ace, a jack and a ten. Three parts of a royal flush.

You know without even looking at your cards that they're junk. And when you do finally pick them up, you realise its even worse than you thought. They're random number cards, no relation to the table cards at all.

The fourth and fifth table cards aren't much better. Your last hand is a total bust. You let them fall onto the table without bothering to wait for the call.

Stupidly, you want to cry. You can feel that lump in your throat, can feel that pricking behind your eyes. You sniffle without meaning to.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, doll," he says kindly, "You were never going to win."

He flips his cards over. They stare back at you like an accusation.

The king and queen of hearts.

That gives him a royal flush. He wins, with a hand few people ever have the luck to draw.

He stands and slowly comes around the desk. Your eyes are glued to the floor and all you can see of him are the tips of his boots. A soft, brown leather. Worn in, but clean.

No fake vaquero then. He's cowboy all the way through.

He rests a hand on your hair.

"Stand up, sweetheart." He isn't unkind about it.

You swallow and push yourself to your feet. You've been naked in front of men plenty of times before. But never like this. Somehow, you feel exposed. Like he's peeled away more than just your clothes. Like you're standing with both your tits and your soul bare.

He touches your hips and you flinch, still looking down at the floor. His thumbs run over the lace of your panties. He flicks the elastic and it thrums against your skin with a small snap.

"These are mine now, ain't they?"

You nod.

He hooks his fingers under the lace and tugs them down. Your underwear drops to the floor without even a whisper.

He takes a slow, deep breath. Then drags his palms up your sides, stopping at your rib cage - right under your tits.

"I'm gonna be good to you, girl. I promise."

You steel yourself and slowly drag your eyes up to meet his. You try to keep them back, but you can feel tears collecting at your waterline. You blink and they splash down onto your cheeks, warm as blood.

He doesn't wipe them away.

He leans forward and presses his lips against your forehead. As sweetly as a father would.

"I've got you, sweetheart. I've got you."

That only makes the tears come faster. Because he does have you - every inch of you, bought and paid for.

He leads you back to his side of the desk, your legs as unsteady as spring willow.

He sits down in his chair and looks up at you, palms cradling your hips. He traces his thumb across your skin, admiring.

"Come sit on my lap, girl."

You don't want to. You desperately don't want to.

But you do anyway, humiliation scorching your cheeks.

He clicks his tongue and grabs your legs, forces them apart so you're straddling his thigh, your back against his chest. He bounces his leg and the denim grinds against your clit.

Your gasp and make the mistake of looking back at him.

He's reclined in his chair like Lucifer at lunch, at ease and smug all at once.

"Didn't your daddy ever bounce you on his knee, girl?"

"No."

He lays a hand on the curve of your waist, his thumb stroking electric tingles down your spine.

"Guess I'll have to do what your daddy never could then, huh?"

He bounces his leg again, his jeans rubbing past your folds and scraping against your clit. You hiss, closing your legs like that can make any difference. How does he keep doing that? Aren't you heavy?

His other hand comes to your waist, and without any warning, he drags you backwards a few inches. Your clit rubs on his jeans fast enough to almost burn.

"C'mon girl, don't tell me you're so sensitive already?"

He rocks your hips forward and you shudder.

"Of course I am! It's fucking rough."

He clicks his tongue again, like he would at a horse.

"Watch your tongue. I don't like it when my girl swears."

His thumbs press indents into your skin, pushing your hips forward so you end up right back where you started, your clit ten times more sensitive.

He reaches forward and tilts your chin towards him, so you're looking at him over your shoulder.

"You gonna make me wash your mouth out, girl?"

You have a pretty clear idea of what he wants to use and it sure as hell ain't soap.

"No."

"No, what?"

He can't be serious. Isn't this embarrassing enough? Still, you have no power here. None to deny him, none to turn him away.

"No, sir."

It burns your tongue to say it.

He hums quietly, happy as a cat with stolen cream.

He leans up and nips your ear.

"Show me what you got, kid. Ride me and maybe I'll let you go."

He drags his lips down your neck before he pulls away.

You bite your lip, feeling like you've just been tossed on stage with a microphone and nothing else. You feel like you need to perform for him, and it's humiliating.

You rock your hips forward a little. It doesn't feel so bad, when you're the one in control. His jeans are rough on your clit, but... electrifying too.

You do it again, a little further, his leg solid and thick between your thighs. His hands slip from your waist to your ass, grabbing and kneading.

"Thaaat's it. Don't it feel real good?"

Your pussy is getting wetter and you can feel it soaking through his jeans. You feel just a little bolder. Give him a good show and maybe things won't have to go quite so far as you fear.

And hey, you ain't exactly a virgin. You know how to ride a man.

You stretch your arms up and cross them behind your head, all the better for him to admire your body. You grind forward on his thigh, clit rubbing against the traces of slick that soaked into the fabric.

You gasp again, not so shy about being quiet.

You hear him hiss softly, but he doesn't stop you.

You pick up your pace, sliding on him like a bull rider would. You didn't think it possible, but you feel your cunt pulsing. Feel it aching for something to fill it.

Riding on an older man's knee, with your back arched like a cat in heat. Debt hanging like a sword over your neck. And still, your body wants to be fucked. Demands to be fucked.

You don't realise his hands have moved until you feel his fingers brush your clit. His fingers are hot and slick with spit, and he forces them between your pussy lips.

You freeze, his spit smeared all over your cunt.

"What -"

He doesn't let you finish. One arm curls around your waist and her drags you back against his chest, your ass pressing against the icy cold of his belt buckle.

The new position leaves your cunt wide open to his touch, and his thumb presses hard against your clit.

"Fucking tease," he mutters, thumb tracing lower and probing at your entrance. "Had to watch you all night, my cock fucking aching."

"Wait, slow down. I -"

He slips his thumb into your cunt. Not deep, but rough.

You gasp. Try and squirm away, but all it gets you is another hiss in your ear and his belt grinding against your bare ass.

"Told myself I was gonna go all slow with you. Fucking impossible."

He takes his hand away from your cunt and sucks his fingers. When he touches your clit again, hot spit drools down your folds.

So icky.

He doesn't care if you don't like it. He rubs it like lube all over your cunt, two fingers probing at your entrance.

Gross. You don't want his spit inside you.

But there's no real way to tell him that, is there? Not when he owns you for the rest of the night. Not when you agreed to it.

His fingers push inside you, stretching you out with a dull ache. So much thicker than when you touch yourself, his fingertips reaching so much deeper. His skin isn't soft like yours is - you can tell he's worked with his hands because you can feel it. Lord help you, you can feel every inch.

"Hot and wet," he murmurs against your hair. "Just how I like it."

He pumps them in and out of you a few times, before pulling out with a twist that makes you shudder.

"Needed to check. Make sure you can handle my cock."

He holds his fingers up and slowly separates them. Slick and spit stretch in thin strings. Are you really that wet already? How? You didn't think you were the type to even get wet. All the men before him would have to dig your bottle of lube out of the nightstand before you even let them near you.

He brings his fingers up to your lips, smears the slick across them.

"Open up."

It's his spit.

You don't want to taste it. Don't want it in your mouth. He's not your boyfriend, he's not your lover. He's just a thug with a thing for girls two decades younger than him.

He presses harder against your lips.

"Open. Up."

You do. His fingers make your tongue tingle, long enough to brush the back of your throat and almost make you gag. The taste isn't the worst. You can mostly taste yourself - salty as seawater - and a little bit of whiskey.

"Suck."

You try not to think about it. Just suck him off and pretend it's your own fingers.

"Good girl."

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and grabs your jaw.

"You ain't gonna give me any trouble about what comes next, are you?"

Your answer is muffled by the way he's holding you, but it's still clear enough to understand.

"No, sir."

"Good. Don't wanna have to wrestle you into place."

It makes you shiver. The implication that he can. That he would. If you decide to put up a fight, it's not going to stop him. Not going to make him back away and question the boundaries of consent. He's going to fuck you, whether you want it or not.

He relaxes his hold on your jaw, his palm skimming down your throat. A reminder, whether he means it to be or not.

He squeezes your tit. Not too hard, skin warm against yours.

"Stand up," he orders, his voice tight.

You're barely on your feet before he's pushing you forward, one hand on the nape of your neck.

He bends you over his desk.

The wood is cool and smooth against your skin. Almost comforting. Almost.

The sound of his belt coming undone is loud in the silence. You've heard that sound so many times before - that little clink of metal - but not once has it sounded quite so awful.

You want to stand up, want to at least have some say in what's about to happen.

No chance. His hand on your neck is tight, like he's holding down a calf for slaughter.

"Been wanting this since the moment I saw you."

He kisses your temple, and then your cheek. He ignores the tears pooling on the sleek mahogany.

He catches your wrists and pins them against your lower back. Not twisting enough to hurt, but tight enough that he has you caught all the same.

Your arms pinned and one hand holding you down by the nape. That's how he takes you.

He doesn't even bother trying to be nice. The head of his cock catches on your entrance and then he's pushing all the way in.

He bottoms out with a snarl, his grip tightening on your neck.

He pulls out almost all the way, and then slams right back in. You bite back a scream, your whole body tensing up.

Didn't he say he was going to be good to you? What kind of goodness is this?

"Too much to handle, girl?" he mocks, all his southern charm withered and gone.

"That's okay." He drags you up by your neck, your back arching painfully. "By the time I'm done, you'll know what it's like to get ridden by a real cowboy."

He drops you, you chin slamming hard against the wood. You taste blood, though you aren't sure from where.

He grabs your wrist and crosses your arm behind your back, so that your right wrist ends up next to your left hip and vice versa. It's uncomfortable. Almost painfully so.

And worst of all, it gives him all the leverage he needs to start pounding into you. Mean. Rough. Hard enough that every thrust has the huge desk rocking forward.

"Slow down! It hurts!"

He laughs.

"Too big 'fer you? Huh, little girl?"

"Yes! Ju-just go easy. Please."

He snarls as he bottoms out again, his throbbing tip scraping the deepest parts of your cunt. Spreading pre cum all across your cervix.

"Say you love me."

"What?"

He pulls all the way out, panting. His tip rubs against your clit, hot and wet and sticky.

"Say you love me and I'll slow down."

Is he insane? You don't even know his name. You can't love him, not with the way he's touched you. It's cruel to make you say it - haven't you entertained enough of his perversion?

You take too long to answer him.

His grip tightens on your wrists. Harder than anyone has ever held you.

"Fine," he growls, "The hard way it is."

You don't last long. Every lover you've ever had would stop if you even flinched. Until tonight, you didn't think sex could hurt so bad. You didn't think being fucked could leave you sobbing, praying for it to end.

You didn't realise that some men get off on seeing your tears.

By the time you manage to say it, your cunt is a sobbing, aching mess. Your nipples are rubbed raw from the friction, your wrists not much better.

"I love you."

He doesn't even break pace. Cock spearing inside you with less mercy than the Devil.

"Again."

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you! I've always loved you! You're the man I've waited for all my life. I love you. Please stop hurting me."

He does.

He loosens his grip on your wrists and hooks one massive arm around your waist. He flips you over so you're on your back.

And oh, what a sight you make. Mascara running. Lips swollen. Tears caught in your lashes. Ruined.

He forces his way between your thighs and leans down, palms on either side of your face.

His hair is messy, his shirt half undone. But it's his eyes that catch you.

There's hellfire in the way he looks at you.

"Again," he says quietly.

You swallow, your words and your courage abandoned on the floor with your dress and stockings.

"I..."

He waits, never looking away from you.

"I love you."

He smiles. It doesn't comfort you at all.

"Liar."

He touches your cheek, surprisingly gentle.

"You have a tell, remember? I'll always know when you're lying."

He leans down and kisses you. His tongue presses against your teeth, and then swipes deeper into your mouth.

Old enough to be your father and he's got you naked on his desk, cunt drooling around his cock and his tongue down your throat. It's blasphemy. It's monstrous.

It's the best damn fuck he's ever had.

He doesn't break off the kiss when he starts thrusting. Slower this time, savouring the way your cunt throbs around him.

You whine against his lips, your cunt still burning.

"Quit 'yer complainin'," he murmurs, "Goin' slow, ain't I?"

His Texan drawl getting thicker the longer he's between your legs.

"Hurts..."

"You want me to come in your mouth instead?"

You shiver, not sure which is worse.

"Fine. You wanna choke on it? I ain't gonna stop ya."

He pulls you up and gathers your hair in his fist. An awkward position, but with you sitting on the edge of the desk, all you have to do is lean down to take his cock in your mouth.

He's surprisingly patient with you. Or maybe he just likes seeing you naked and crying on his desk.

It's almost over, you tell yourself. Just suck him off and you can leave. Put it all behind you and never touch a deck of cards again.

His cock is creamy with your juices. Most of it in a ring around the base.

You lick the tip and shiver. It's bitter. The way pomegranates sometimes are.

His hand on your head is heavy, demanding. You don't want him on your tongue, but he's already taken so much. What difference does this last bit make?

You try and relax, try and take all of him. It doesn't work. You gag, tears brimming on your eyes.

He huffs, amused almost. Or mocking. You can't tell.

"I can always finish in your cunt, if you can't handle it."

No. You most definitely can't handle that.

You take a deep breath through your nose. You can handle it. You will handle it. 

You grab his belt and pull him a little closer, nails digging divots in the leather.

He makes a pleased sort of noise and pushes your head down, all the way to the base. It's awful. You're overwhelmed by the taste, the smell, the feel of him.

He groans.

"Takin' it so fucking good, ain'tcha?"

He keeps you in place by your hair, and slowly pulls out. He let's you catch a hasty breath before he's right back in, a growl rumbling through him.

"Yeah, I reckon you needed this too. Needed your daddy to teach you a lesson on taking dick."

He chuckles, still fucking your throat with slow, deep thrusts.

"Needed to be reminded of your place in the world. Right here on my cock."

He has ridiculous stamina. None of your boyfriends have lasted half as long.

You moan around his cock and he shudders, grip tightening on your hair.

"You want to end this? Want me to let you go?"

You nod, looking up at him through your lashes with your mouth stuffed full of cock. Poor thing. Got more than you bargained for, didn't you?

He smirks, teeth ready to tear you apart.

"Then just hold still, alright? Gonna fuck your throat good and proper."

He bucks his hips and you choke. Whole body tensing as you gag and fight to hold still. He doesn't go so fast that you can't handle it, but you're right on the brink. Tears coming fast, lips feeling raw and bruised.

The sound of it is obscene. The slick sliding of his cock, the small coughs and gags. All of it the epitome of filthy sex.

Your hands move from his belt to his thighs, half to steady yourself, half to slow him down.

He's thrusting deep, his breathing getting faster. Each exhale almost a snarl.

He grabs your jaw and holds your mouth open right before he comes, his tip resting on the edge of your tongue.

His spunk shoots across your tongue and palette - flooding your senses with the the taste of him. And for a second or two, you think you'll never be able to rinse it away.

He groans, shamelessly loud.

"There," he pants, "Just how it's 'sposed to be."

He pulls out and tilts your chin up until you meet his eyes.

"Swallow."

You do. It's goes down thick - clinging to your teeth. Your stomach clenches, like your body knows exactly what you've consumed.

"Good."

He takes a deep breath, and then let's you go.

Well, for a second or two. Long enough to tuck his cock back in his jeans and redo his belt. And then he's grabbing you around the waist and pulling you against his chest.

He sits back down and drags you with him. Back on his lap, just like you started. Only difference is, this time your head is tucked under his chin and he's got one arm loosely draped over your thighs.

For a minute or two, there's only the sound of you both catching your breath

You don't want to keep thinking. You wish your brain would just shut up and let you get through this without pointing out all the ways you're hurting.

You try and sit up, maybe grab your clothes, but he doesn't let you. Hand coming up to press your head back against his chest.

You sag against him, defeated. Still not done then.

He's the one who finally breaks the silence.

"I know you, girl," he murmurs against your hair. "Better than you think. Tonight ain't the first I've noticed you."

You hum quietly, not sure what he wants you to say.

"You wanna know something funny? I've got a whole lot of dealers in this place. And almost all of them are honest men."

You lift your head a little.

"Almost all?"

"Just about every single one them. Except for the one you had tonight."

You go cold.

"You rigged my game." Your voice is hoarse - from tears, from his cock, from fear.

He laughs. " 'Course I did. House always wins, doll. But sometimes I just nudge things along."

He strokes a hand up your thigh, lazy and possessive.

"Like tonight. When I had a pretty girl on the line and an empty bed to fill."

You try and pull away, but his arm is still tight around your waist. Keeping you pressed up against him.

"How many? How many girls have you done this to?"

"A handful. Can't really remember all their faces, after all these years. But doll, none of them were you."

"What difference does it make? You're... you're a monster. A predator."

He laughs, indulgent.

"That what you wanna call it? I just call it 'risk management.' Folk know exactly what they're signing up for when they walk through those doors. Ain't my fault some of 'em don't know when to stop."

You push against his chest, trying to force your way off his lap. He's too hot, too close, too terrible. This man was inside you and it turns your stomach. You feel dirty from the inside out.

He clicks his teeth and squeezes your thigh.

"Quit squirmin'. You ain't goin' nowhere."

"Let me up. You got what you wanted, right? Our deal is done."

You slap his chest, hard.

"Let me go."

He doesn't.

"You really wanna be difficult with me, hmm?"

He smacks your ass, full strength. You yelp and jerk away. But there isn't anywhere to go except closer against him.

"You ain't going nowhere. So just sit pretty and let your daddy tell you a story."

"I don't want -"

He rubs his palm over your ass, over the same spot he hit you. You shiver and shut your mouth.

"Like I was sayin', all of those girls were just flings. I let 'em go if they don't want it. If they prefer the interest, so be it."

He's smiling. You can hear it in his voice.

"They never do though. Not when the choice is between fifteen minutes sucking my cock or fifteen years at prime lending rate."

He runs his palm over your ass again, squeezing.

"But you're special, ain'tcha? You're my girl. No more flings after you."

He presses a kiss against the crown of your head.

"You're the one I've been waiting for."

"You can't," you manage. "You can't keep me here. We had a deal. My debt is settled."

"You think I can't pull a few strings?" He sounds more amused than insulted. Like a father when his daughter says he can't pick her up like Superman. "It ain't hard, doll. A car left abandoned out in the desert. Your phone and ID all neat in the glove box. Couple grand to a captain on the force to have your case packed away as cold. Easy as apple pie."

You're icy from the tips of your fingers to your toes. He runs a hand through your hair, soothing.

"But I don't gotta do that, do I?"

Your lips are numb. No, no, no - this isn't how it's supposed to go. You know he's a thug, you know he has connections beyond what a legal man ought to have. Can't be a casino boss otherwise. But none of that was ever supposed to apply to you. You're just a dumb student who spent a few too many weekends at the tables. That doesn't deserve a punishment like this.

"Do I?"

"No, sir."

"Right. Because you're going to stay with me without putting up a fuss. Gonna be my girl."

"Yes, sir."

He hums, pleased.

"You'll love it here, doll. You can play as much poker as you want. All on the house."

Yandere Bouncer

You feel perfectly safe getting drunk and letting loose, especially with your favourite bouncer to keep an eye on you. Well, up until the night you realise that every party has a price. Tags: Simon "Ghost" Riley inspired, implied somno, 3.1k words

Y'know who you shouldn't trust as much as you do? Bouncers. Sure, most of them are great. Just trying to do their jobs, keeping people safe when the booze starts hitting too hard.

But not in your case. No, when it comes to you - the bubbly party girl who smiles at just about everyone - the yandere bouncer at your favourite club doesn't have such noble intentions.

He's a big guy. All the security guys are, but he's big even by those standards. Standard issue black t-shirt straining at the seams when he crosses his arms. Mean mug, always scowling at any drunk stupid enough to breathe the same air as him.

Girls and guys alike think he's hot, but no amount of liquid courage can stand up to his glare. Anyone who tries to flirt with him usually thinks better of it when they're less than two sentences in. He's not here to hook up in the bathroom or be a rebound situationship. He's here to work.

The first time he runs into you, he barely notices anything beyond your skirt. Short as hell, even by clubbing standards.

What, do you want every bastard in there to get an eyeful of your thong, sweetheart?

He doesn't say it out loud. Just scoffs and hands you back your ID. Doesn't bother to reply when you wish him a good night.

The second time he runs into you, you're a little tipsy already. Smiling up at him like you don't see the pierced eyebrow or the scowl. He's tempted to not let you in - club has a strict no pre-drinking policy - but then you bat your lashes at him and joke that pre-gaming is the only way anyone can have any fun at all in this economy.

He snorts and let's you pass. He doesn't fully recognise you - too many faces, too little light - but some subconscious part of him takes note of your perfume. Something bright and fruity that makes him think of summer punch and getting drunk on the beach.

You try and greet him before you leave, half hanging off your more sober friend. You yell something over your shoulder about having a good time and smiling more. He isn't sure what you're on about, but it's kind of cute the way you mumble a little when you're drunk.

He doesn't expect to see you again, nor does he expect to recognise you if he does. There's half a dozen clubs in this rotten city, and half a million pretty girls with too short skirts.

But he does.

Notices you standing in line because the people around you are cracking up, total strangers laughing at some lame joke you made. He let's his partner do most of the ID checks that night. Not really realising it, but wanting a chance to watch you.

Your jokes aren't that funny. You touch people too much. You've got a laugh that's a bit too loud. But people like you.

Total strangers chatting it up and smiling like they've met a celebrity.

He rolls his shoulders, cracks his knuckles. A few people in the front of the line flinch away from him. He doesn't bother reassuring them.

What is it about you? What makes you so magnetic?

When you're finally at the front of the line, you give his partner a megawatt grin and call her by her name. Ask how her shoulders holding up after that brawl last week.

You smile at him too, your fingers brushing his wrist when you take your ID back.

"Hey, Mr tall, dark and scary. How's the biz treating you?"

"The same as it was last week. Same as it's going to be next week," he grinds out.

You pat his arm - are you seriously touching him? You barley know him - and flash him that same beaming smile.

"Don't be so pessimistic, handsome. I see lots of booze and parties in your future."

He scoffs. "Yeah. I reckon just about anyone could figure that."

You aren't offended. You just wink at him and disappear, your new friends in tow.

When he finally goes on break, he asks his partner about you.

"Oh, she's sweet, isn't she? Don't think she's been coming here long though."

"Three weeks," he mutters. "She knows your name?"

His partner laughs and tosses her cigarette onto the pavement. "Guess so. Nice of her to ask, don't you think?"

He isn't sure what to think, honestly.

He doesn't see you for two weeks after that. And when you're finally back, he can't help asking you about it.

"Oh, I had work," you say with a shrug. "I'm very flattered that you noticed."

"Hard not to. There wasn't any commotion, so I figured you weren't around."

You giggle and slap his arm, as cheesy as a cheerleader in a slasher movie. Still, it's kind of nice. Girls don't really act that way around him. It's either shy or terrified. Bubbly and a little over the top is a nice change.

He watches you walk away, your skirt just as short as the first time he noticed you.

Damn, doll. You make it hard for a man to focus. Got my mind in the bloody gutter.

It's late when you finally stumble out of the club, your heels in one hand and your phone in the other. You're trying to order an Uber but your cracked and unresponsive screen doesn't mix well with your booze addled senses. He gives it five minutes before he intervenes.

He plucks the phone out of your hand and sighs when you sag against him, half murmured thank yous slurring against his sleeve.

Out past your bedtime, eh love?

"Where do you stay?"

You tell him, your eyes half closed and your forehead resting against his arm.

Telling a stranger your address? C'mon doll, you should know better than that.

He waits with you until your ride arrives, and then he walks you to the car. He takes note of the number plate, only half aware that he's doing it.

He leans on the roof, barring his teeth at the driver in something only half related to a smile.

"Drop her off safe, yeah?"

"Yeah, for sure," the man agrees, nodding like a bobble head. "Wouldn't think of messing with her."

I'll break your wrists if you even look at her wrong.

"Right. Have a good one."

He raps his knuckles on the roof and watches until the tail lights fade.

There's an itch at the back of his brain that he just can't get rid of. Some annoying, rebellious part of him that keeps thinking about how warm you felt when you leaned up against him. How you're just short enough that he can rest his chin on your head.

The itch doesn't go away.

He keeps thinking about you until the weekend rolls around. What the hell do you do for work? It's hard to picture you in corporate - not when he's seen how low your necklines go. Pitching up to meetings and HR presentations when just a few nights ago you were drinking shots off a stranger's back? Not fucking likely.

...Although you would look pretty great in one of those tight little pencil skirts. Yeah, you pert ass would probably have your coworkers breaking their necks.

He doesn't see you in line until it's almost midnight. You look a little out of it. Constantly checking your phone, a half frown puckering your perfectly gelled brows.

He wants to pull you out of line. He really does. Not to give you any fancy VIP treatment - he wouldn't mind it though, he'd like to spoil you a little - but to just talk.

He shakes his head like a bull until the urge isn't quite so loud. Unprofessional, that. Showing favouritism. Not fair to the other people waiting in line. Still...

When he does finally get to talk to you, you aren't yourself. You cover it up with a smile, but even he can tell it's a poor veneer.

"I'm meeting up with my ex," you tell him when he finally gets around to asking. (It takes awhile. Has your ID always been this interesting? Shiny patterns. Nice typeface they're using now. And your birthday is exactly six months after his. Cute).

He doesn't know what to say to that. Isn't sure how he feels about it, either. Why the hell are you meeting some douche who you were one hundred percent right to dump? (He assumes it was you who did the dumping. No man in his right mind would let you go, not even if you're the type to swing a knife around on bad days).

"Good luck," he manages at last. "Hope he isn't an ass."

You squeeze his arm when you leave and he feels the ghost of your fingers for the rest of the night.

Your ex is an ass. All that and more. He can tell from the too heavy cologne, the pretentious boat shoes, the obnoxious laugh.

You're on his arm, smiling but not entirely comfortable. What are you thinking? Entertaining this overly polished turd of a man?

He stops you before you leave. Leans down and brushes his lips against your hair.

"You sure you're okay to go home with this guy?"

You give him a quick nod and a grateful smile.

He straightens, angry but not entirely sure why. He watches you walk away, his right hand clenching and unclenching around his radio until the veins stand out on his forearm.

You could do better than that, doll. You could be doing me.

He ends up finding your ex's name. Entirely on accident, swear. Finger slipped and before he knew it he was watching the CCTV footage of the front door, pausing when the guy's ID got flashed to the camera.

And now that he has that info, it's only logical that he checks him out on social media. You're a valued customer. He needs to be sure that the people you're associating with are safe.

Oh, and this guy isn't safe at all. Party animal, pussy hound. Sure, there's a pic or two of you together, but most of his profile is dedicated to shots of raves and cocktails and pretty girls.

You deserve better, don't you know that? Someone who can keep you safe when you're drunk, who can keep an eye on you when the clubs you like are filled with dark corners and shady drinks.

He's going to ask you out. It's only half decided - most of his brain pulling him one way and most of his cock pulling him the other. His heart split somewhere in the middle.

He's gonna be good for you, he knows it. Get rid of that overblown and overrated ex. Teach you which drinks are hopelessly overpriced and which ones are worth the cash. Not going to change you, no. That's what insecure men try and do when their girl likes to let loose on the weekends. No, he likes you just as you are. You need a bit of muscle to lean on, that's all.

But when the weekend rolls around, all his plans go swirling down the gutter. You're on your ex's arm again. Smiling too quick, laughing too sharp. But with him all the same.

C'mon doll, thought you were smarter than that.

You don't get a chance to chat. Your ex drags you straight into the club, barely waiting to get his ID back.

He wants to trade shifts. Abandon door duty and follow you around inside.

He doesn't. He snaps at the patrons and he bites his tongue bleeding and he clenches his fist until his nails dig into his skin, and he manages to not follow you.

The best decision to make, after all.

Your ex waits until the night is almost over to finally make his move. Or at least that's how it looks.

When he walks out of the club with his arm around your waist, it's clear that you're totally out of it. Barely standing on your own two feet, hair hanging forward and hiding your face.

He stops you. Of course he does. He's seen you tipsy and he's seen you blackout, but he's never seen you this bad.

Your ex tries to brush it off.

"She didn't have any head for the shots, that's all."

He doesn't buy it. Tilts your chin up and shines his torch in your eyes.

There it is. The fucking bastard.

Your pupils are blown out wide, not contracting at all even with his torch burning right into your retinas.

He knows you. Better than he'd like to admit. And he knows you don't party this hard.

He straightens and looks down at your ex with thinly veiled disgust.

"She's not going home with you."

The man laughs. "She's my girlfriend. 'Course she is."

He smiles. Or shows his teeth at least.

"She's. Not. Going. Anywhere."

The man freezes for a second, and then his smile turns nasty. "Who the fuck are you to decide who goes home with who?"

He wants to punch your ex in the throat.

He doesn't. Just looks at him, fingers curling into a fist almost as big as your head. Your ex is drunk, he's not as sharp as he would be sober. But his instincts aren't so dull that they don't recognise what's in front of him.

He's a bouncer, true. But more than that, he's a fighter.

Your ex can see it in the way he stands, can see it in the eyes that move too quick to follow.

And he's not just a fighter. He's a man with a whole lot to fight for.

Your ex licks his lips, too stupid to shut up.

"I'll call the cops on you, asshole."

The bouncer laughs. The first time anyone around here has ever heard it.

It's not a pleasant sound.

"Go ahead," he snarls softly, "Call them. And when they show up, why don't you also tell 'em the reason why your girlfriend is all shot up with special K, hmm?"

"She isn't -

"Don't even try it."

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you away from your ex. The bastard at least has the sense to not fight him.

Your boyfriend starts going on about calling the club owner, getting him fired. But he doesn't bother listening - it all fades to nothing when he holds you.

There, the way it's 'sposed to be.

You're warm, burning up with a fever. (How hot does your cunt feel if your hands are already scorching?) He needs to get you checked out. Needs to make sure whatever shit your ex snuck you isn't mixing with the alc.

You blink up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. (Your lipstick would look so fucking good staining his cock).

"Mr tall, dark and scary. Gonna get me home again?"

He nudges you in the direction of the parking lot and you stumble, hands knotting in his shirt.

"Even better, doll. Gonna take you home myself."

You close your eyes the second he straps you into his passenger seat. It takes a minute or two to shake you awake.

He isn't an EMT, but working clubs means knowing all the signs of an overdose. You're on the verge of passing out, but you're not in any real danger. Breathing regular, heartbeat fast but not concerningly so. Lucky. Things could have gone a whole lot worse. As it stands, all you're going to suffer tomorrow is a bit of nausea and one killer headache.

He brushes the hair out of your eyes and smiles when you lean your face into his palm.

"You're totally out of it, aren't you? Won't remember a thing come morning."

You hum quietly, lips brushing his pulse.

"The hell am I 'sposed to do with you? You don't even have your keys on you."

He sighs and closes the passenger door. No help for it - he's going to have to take you to his place. (You, in his bed, where you belong).

You don't complain when the engine guns to life. A little beyond the realm of registering those sorts of things.

And you don't complain when he carries you up to his apartment, your head in the crook of his neck.

He doesn't mean to undress you. He's a lot of things, but not a degenerate. It's just when he finally lays you down on his sheets, it's clear that the straps on your dress are cutting into your. Gonna leave marks that burn in the morning.

Getting you out of your dress is the responsible thing to do. And if it has his cock twitching, well, that's just coincidental.

You're in matching lace underwear.

He fists the blanket until he stops thinking of beating your asshole ex into a dirt.

She was gonna give it to you anyway, you bastard. You didn't have to drug her.

He breathes out through his nose. Once. Twice. Calm down, focus on the here and now. Deal with that bastard later.

There. Much better. And look at you, burrowing down into his pillows. Do you like the smell of him, is that what this is?

He undoes your bra and tosses it over his shoulder to join your dress and heels.

Didn't he once hear that it's unhealthy to sleep with a bra on? Increases the risk of cancer or something. Yeah, that's why he took it off. For the sake of your health.

He watches you for a while. The steady rise and fall of your chest, the flickering behind your eyelids as you start to dream.

He should take a picture or two. It would be a shame not to. And what you don't know can't hurt you, right? All pretty in his bed. God knows the girls he brings home never get the chance to sleep. This is a rare thing, worth documenting.

The flash doesn't bother you. Maybe a few more. Just to make sure they're good quality. Don't want to look back tomorrow and realise the pics are all blurry.

Just a few more. Maybe a video.

You look good, but you'd look even better without your panties in the way. They ruin the view.

He hooks his thumb under the band and slips them off, his fingers almost brushing your cunt.

There. So much better.

He swallows and puts his phone down, some part of him screaming at him for being a bastard. Another part screaming at him for not being a big enough bastard to take what he wants.

"You're too sweet to end up in a stranger's bed, doll. Getting fucked when you're too out of it to remember."

The streetlight outside his window washes you in alternating stripes of dark and light. He leans down and runs a hand up your thigh. Soft skin, like a peach right before you sink your teeth in.

"So it's a good thing we're not strangers."

The Long Game III

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: sugar daddy au, yandere, life of luxury

summary: singapore suits you, just like he knew it would. ss you chase your dreams and fill the rooms with your laughter, namjoon stands quietly at your side, the architect of a life designed to keep you safe, happy, and his. you think you chose this path. but you’ve always been his greatest masterpiece

warnings: voyeurism (hidden 📷), smut, risk of being caught, hint of exhibitionism, power imbalance, manipulation, light d/s dynamic…i think that’s it 😅

word count: 2,253

a message from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️ maybe this is more of an fyi to myself than y’all…but i’ll keep changing the header with every little drabble for this series until i make one i’m happy with. but if you like one in particular, feel free to let me know ☺️

Singapore suits you.

Namjoon sees it in the way your eyes light up as you move through each room like you’re drifting through a dream. Your fingers skim over smooth marble countertops and custom furniture, over rich fabrics and curated décor—everything selected with you in mind. You linger by the floor to ceiling windows, gazing out at the marina, your reflection caught in the glass like a painting he can’t stop staring at.

The glow of the city lights flickers in your eyes, casting gold over your cheeks, and Namjoon thinks, yes. This is exactly where you’re meant to be.

He watches you from the doorway, shoulder leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. There’s a deep, heavy satisfaction in his chest—something bone deep and salacious. The kind of pleasure that comes from knowing you’ve orchestrated something flawlessly.

Of course, you love it here.

He chose it for you.

The penthouse is perfection—sleek and warm, minimalist but indulgent. The kind of place that whispers success without shouting. The kind of place a woman like you deserves. You don’t even question it. Why would you? From your perspective, everything simply fell into place.

Just like the job.

A sudden opportunity, an ideal position at a competitive firm, in a beautiful new city at just the right moment. You told him it felt like fate. He had smiled, tucked your hair behind your ear, and said maybe it was. But fate had nothing to do with it. He’d rewritten your path in silence, paved it in opportunity and made sure the world bent around you in ways you’d never see.

The company that made the offer? One of his. A quiet subsidiary. A name you wouldn’t associate with him unless you were already looking. And you’re not looking. You’re dreaming. Planning. Building your life.

Exactly how he wants.

Because everything around you—the neighborhood, the view, the job, the life—is his gift to you.

Carefully wrapped.

Flawlessly executed.

He can feel the heat of your happiness from here. It warms him in ways nothing else ever has. You were born to be adored. Protected. Possessed. And Namjoon is the only one who has ever truly understood that.

“Joon, what do you think about adding some plants in the living room?”

Your voice pulls him from his reverie.

He hums, tilting his head just slightly. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You’re still by the windows, tilting your head as you gesture to an empty corner. “Maybe something tall? A fiddle leaf fig or something? And maybe a few hanging ones near the bar?”

He steps closer, slow and deliberate, hands slipping into his pockets as he comes to stand beside you. You turn to look up at him, eyes soft, smile easy. The sight nearly knocks the wind out of him.

God, you have no idea.

You don’t know how hard he worked to bring this moment to life. How many strings he pulled. How many men he threatened. How many surveillance layers are hidden in these walls. You don’t know about the email threads marked confidential or the financial reshuffling required to make the transfer seem organic. You don’t know that your coworkers report to a man who reports to him.

You don’t know.

And Namjoon isn’t going to tell you.

Because this version of you—the one standing barefoot on polished stone floors, dreaming aloud about indoor plants and accent walls—is everything.

He leans in slightly, brushing his knuckles down your arm.

“A few plants would look beautiful here,” he murmurs, voice low. “Something vibrant. Lush.” He traces your wrist, smiling when you shiver slightly under his touch. “Something alive that needs you to care for it.”

You smile again, and his chest aches.

Your joy is his reward. Your comfort, his mission. Your safety, his obsession.

But underneath the warmth, something else simmers. A cold, razor sharp edge that never dulls.

Because this is still the honeymoon stage.

You love Singapore now. You love the apartment. The job. The fresh start.

But he knows you.

Knows how your heart wanders. How easily you crave newness.

That’s why he chose this exact high rise. Why your penthouse sits just beneath a vacant unit—one he owns outright. It’s why your “new job” was created with enough flexibility for remote oversight and why your apartment is stocked with cameras disguised as smart home sensors.

Because Namjoon loves you.

But he doesn’t trust the world with you.

Not when he’s worked so hard to build one where you’re never out of reach.

So he lets you play house. Lets you imagine this independence is your own design.

The movers are still here, working efficiently as they unpack your furniture and personal belongings under Namjoon’s careful supervision. The air hums with the sharp rip of packing tape, the shuffle of boxes, the dull thump of furniture being placed exactly where he wants it.

Namjoon walks with you from room to room, appearing relaxed—hands in his pockets, posture unhurried. But he’s not just admiring the way the space is coming together.

He’s watching the security feed on his phone.

Discreetly flicking through the camera angles as you chat about curtain colors and light fixtures, about which drawer will hold your favorite teas.

Everything is exactly as it should be. Kitchen, living room, entry points, bedroom.

Then he pauses.

The bedroom camera catches you standing by the window, the city skyline casting your silhouette in stark relief. The camera was placed for safety, but this angle? It’s perfect. An accidental masterpiece. The way your top clings to your body, the supple curve of your breasts beneath the fabric, the outline of your thighs where the light hits.

Heat flares low in his stomach.

He swipes out of the app and turns to you. You’re just a few feet away, oblivious, glowing.

It’s too much.

“Come here,” he says, gruffer than he intends.

You blink up at him, a bit confused by the shift in his tone, but you come. You always do. And the moment your fingers brush his, he laces them together and leads you into the bedroom, then into the walk in closet off to the side.

The closet is massive, paneled in soft white with matte brass hardware. One entire wall is mirrored—floor to ceiling. The other houses shelves and hanging racks, freshly filled with the wardrobe he bought for you. A plush velvet ottoman sits in the center.

Namjoon shuts the closet door behind you. The sounds of the movers continue beyond, boxes being repositioned, instructions traded in hushed voices. But in here, everything stills.

“Joon?” You laugh softly, your voice husky with curiosity. “What are you—”

He doesn’t answer.

He’s already sitting down, tugging you onto his lap like he’s been waiting all day to do just this. His hands find your hips and press down, grinding your core directly against the thick length straining behind his zipper.

Your breath hitches.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes, one hand sliding up your spine, the other gripping your thigh possessively. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You part your lips to say something but it dies in your throat the moment he cups your breasts. His thumbs roll over your nipples, teasing them through your top until they harden beneath his touch.

“You really don’t know?” His voice is darker now, low and rumbling. “The things I think about when I watch you. When I hear your voice. When you smile at me.”

You tremble in his lap, hips moving of their own accord. Namjoon’s breath stutters as you grind against him.

He tugs your top down, exposing your breasts, and leans forward without hesitation. His mouth closes over one nipple, tongue swirling slowly, lips wet and hot. He sucks—hard—then softens the pressure, licking lazily as his hand toys with the other.

The mirrored wall reflects everything.

You catch sight of yourself—head tilted back, chest bare, Namjoon’s dark hair between your breasts, his hands greedy and worshipful at once. The sight makes you moan, your hips rolling instinctively.

Namjoon lifts his head, his mouth glistening. Then his hands slip lower, past your waistband—

He stills.

You aren’t wearing any panties.

His pupils dilate instantly.

“No panties?” he murmurs, brushing his fingers along your slick folds, your arousal already seeping onto his slacks. “You’ve been walking around all day like this?”

You smirk, even as your breath shortens. “I like the way it feels.”

His restraint snaps a little more.

“You little fucking tease.”

His fingers slide into you with precision, two at once, stroking deep and curling upward. His thumb circles your clit in practiced rhythm, dragging soft gasps from your lips as you cling to his shoulders, legs already shaking.

“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, tipping your chin toward the mirror.

You obey—because you always do.

You see yourself—your back arching, Namjoon’s fingers disappearing inside you, his mouth at your throat, your face twisted in pleasure and need.

“So wet for me,” he groans, dragging his fingers deeper. “And this tight little pussy still thinks she doesn’t need a chauffeur?”

You blink through the haze. “What—?”

“You said you wanted to drive yourself,” he hums, dragging his teeth across your neck. “Wanted to explore the city alone. Said you didn’t need help.”

His thumb presses harder on your clit, and your hips jerk.

“That was disobedient.”

Your breath catches. “Joon—”

He cuts you off with a kiss—open mouthed and hot, stealing the air from your lungs.

“If you want my cock,” he says between kisses, “you’ll have to earn it.”

He fucks you with his fingers, faster now, the wet sound of your arousal barely masked by the sounds outside the door. You’re trembling, thighs clamping around his hand, face buried in his neck to muffle your cries.

“Come for me,” he growls, biting your earlobe. “Right here. Just like this.”

And you do—body locked up in his arms, lips parting around a strangled moan, your reflection in the mirror blurred by the tears pricking your lashes.

But Namjoon doesn’t stop.

“That’s one,” he whispers against your cheek. “You can give me another.”

You whimper, already sensitive.

“Be a good girl,” he croons, his tone deceptively sweet, “and maybe I’ll give you what you’re so desperate for.”

The second orgasm hits harder. Messier. You clutch at him, shaking uncontrollably, eyes wide and glassy. Namjoon holds you steady, his fingers finally stilling as he kisses your jaw, your cheek, your temple.

You melt against him—boneless, dazed, flushed.

There’s a knock at the closet door.

You freeze.

Namjoon grins.

“Sir?” one of the movers calls. “We’re just about finished. Would you like to do a final walkthrough?”

Namjoon strokes your back. “Give us a moment,” he calls back.

Then he turns to you—still in his lap, still trembling.

He lifts your chin with two fingers and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“We’ll pick this up later.” He says, calm and seemingly unaffected. He feels your heartbeat against his own—erratic, frantic, pulsing like a secret against his chest.

You, on the other hand, are very much affected.

Namjoon lets the silence stretch between you, his arms still wrapped around your trembling frame, watching as realization sinks into your bones. The flush creeping up your neck. The way your eyes dart toward the door.

Anyone could open it.

You’re still bare from the waist up. Flushed. Slick between the thighs. A trembling mess in his lap.

Anyone could see.

You scramble to pull your top back into place, hands shaking slightly, your breath catching when the fabric catches on your nipple. You don’t meet his eyes—too focused on smoothing down your clothes, on regaining some kind of composure.

Namjoon doesn’t help you.

He just watches.

Because there’s something about the way you react to being almost caught—the way your thighs subconsciously press together, the way your pupils stay blown and your lips remain parted in dazed silence—that makes him hard all over again.

Once you’ve settled into a semblance of order, he finally speaks.

“Let’s go,” he says softly, almost kindly, his voice at odds with the quiet dominance still coiling beneath it. He lifts you off his lap with firm hands, steadying you as you wobble slightly, your legs still weak from overstimulation.

He straightens his own clothes in one fluid motion. Composed. Effortless.

Then he opens the door.

One of the movers stands just outside, tablet in hand, mouth slightly open before he quickly schools his expression.

But Namjoon sees it.

The flicker of recognition. The twitch of a gaze that dips a little too low.

A slow, territorial burn curls in his gut.

But he reins it in.

For now.

Namjoon slides an arm around your waist and tugs you close, his hand resting low, possessive, as he steps forward into the hallway.

“Let’s see your new home,” he murmurs, voice warm and perfectly measured.

You nod, still quiet, clinging to him just slightly. Whether it’s from embarrassment, arousal, or both—he doesn’t care.

Because as he walks you through the condo, guiding you gently from room to room, he adjusts the cameras again.

Subtle.

Precise.

His mind already races ahead.

You love Singapore. You’ve said it more than once.

But it’s only been a few weeks.

He’ll give it a few months—let you settle, let you fall into this new life he’s curated for you.

Let you think this freedom is real. Because your life may feel new, may feel like yours—but every inch of it was always his.

two | masterlist | four

HOLAGE |

Synopsis: a tale of a very yendere jungkook

Warnings: mentions of blood, tying up, mentions of cuts, a blade, wound. Reader is kinda babyfied. Possessive jk. [Let me know if I Let something out]

Jk x fem reader.

#Maybe there's a dead dove that you don't wanna eat.

18+. Minors dni

"Now you see if didn't try to run away i wouldn't have to do this"

The man behind you scrubbing your body with a cloth says. His tone very light diminishing all dominance you thought you had.

The warm water falls on your skin lightly but with the way your heart is racing each drop feels like a slap on the skin. You'd think warm water would make you feel relaxed but it doesn't.

And the fact that jungkook has you sandwiched between his naked wet body and the shower wall doesn't help. He doesn't do anything suggestive he only repeatedly rubs the foam drenched cloth around your body, making sure to get off the dried blood on you. Not your own blood but of the man who tried to help you by giving you a lift.

Jungkook never understood why people wanted to take you from him. Well he kinda knew why. You were perfect, the immaculate depiction of the woman in his heart and fantasies. He's dreamt and thought of you everyday, there's no time when you aren't on his mind. And he believed people knew that that's why they'd try to take you from him, but he'll never let that happen. Never in his fully woken self, even in his sleep he can find you.

You can hear his breaths become heavier as he runs the cloth against your breasts then your nipples and runs it down your stomach. He's movements are slow and gentle, if it weren't for your racing heart and the situation you'd be aroused. Jungkook never really pushed the idea of sleeping with you though you could see him here and there struggling with his own body for control. You knew he thought about you that way, you could tell. Especially when you'd see his bulge peaking from his sweat pants as he tucked you into bed after your shower.

Today was no different you could see his bulge through his dark pants as the water rinses your body. He always kept his trousers on when he helped you shower even though you're sure it was uncomfortable for him, you guess it's for self control. You're glad though.

"Why do you always run away like I'm a bad person." He says your bodies facing each other as he dries your hair with a towel. You stand still like a mannequin, not knowing what to do in this situation.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" His eyes are bright and large as he looks down at you and you up at him. You look away trying to avoid his delicate and innocent gaze. It's a facade and you know it, this man was far from delicate and innocent. Even though sometimes he can act to be, you knew better than to fall for it.

He uses his thump and index finger to trap your chin and pull your attention to him.

"Do you think I'm a bad person baby" he asks expecting an answer and his eyes demand one too. You know he doesn't like being ignored. You're already on his bad side for trying to run away, so it'd be best if you just played along.

You shake your head giving him your answer but by the look on his face he's not satisfied by your answer.

"N-no I don't think you're a bad person" you say timidly. He liked it when you were timid.

"I'm glad that you think that" he says brushing your hair.

"But why do you always act like im a bad person." he brushes

"Why do you run away huh?" He brushes a little harder and you can feel and hear him get angry.

"When all I do is take care of you and give you all you want" he brushes harder again and you want to do something cause he might end up ripping your hair from your scalp, wouldn't be the first time removing your hair. One time when you tried to ran away he cut your hair to teach you a lesson. It's been a year since then and your hair has grown from the short length.

His eyes focus on the brush as he continues to list the things he's done for you and all you think about is a way to cool his brewing anger.

Validation.

"I know and appreciate what you do for me" you place your hand on his chest as you spill lies from your mouth.

"Your actually the reason why I'm still alive" though jungkook can tell when you're playing with him he decides not to acknowledge it.

"Then why do you ran away"

"I'm just silly jungkook. You know that. Sometimes I do things without thinking" you look in his eyes and he must be buying it.

"I just wanna go out sometimes. You know" You say playing with the locks of his hair.

"You know I wanna take you outside." He runs his hand in your hair.

"But you're such a bad girl that I can't do that" he says as you feel his demeanour shift, not longer gentle and delicate.

"And you know what happens next"

"I'm sorry babe" you try to use a pet name to soothe him but it doesn't work. You know what he means and tears fill your eyes as you think of it.

"I'm really sorry" you whine tears falling from your eyes as you try to plead your case.

"Its too late for sorrys now" his eyes glare at you and you can feel the darkness and cold pool from them and his aura.

Your heart begins to pound against your chest, you're afraid your chest might rip open. Jungkook begins to pull you to your bedroom and you try to stop him from taking you there, little 'I'm sorrys' leave your mouth that's now collecting your tears. But he doesn't listen he continues to drag you to your room.

"No dinner for you today" he says coldly, eyes on the ground he's dragging you on. You'd even forgotten how hungry you were because of the fear you were feeling.

Even though it was your room, it wasn't good when jungkook took you there. He'd always let you sleep in his room on his white and comfy bed. He'd always let you sleep there. The only time he took you to your own room to sleep was to punish you. The room itself isn't bad but it's not as good as jungkook's.

The thoughts of what he's gonna do to you and has done to you in this room make your weeping louder. Jungkook never liked seeing you cry, well sometimes, but he had to do what needs to be done to teach you the lesson you never seem to learn.

"Jungkook I'm sorry... I'll listen this time" you yell, mucous now filling your throat. You gag feeling like you wanna puke.

"I-i-i pr-promise I'll listen this time please, I'm sorry I'll never do it again" you plead but it's like he can't hear. He actually can and it hurts him but those feelings are pushed aside. He needs you to be a good girl and if this is the only way so be it.

He steps back and stretches after tying your hands behind your back. He didn't gag you cause he wants to hear your screams and pleads. Your legs are untied and he knew you knew better than to kick him or struggle.

"Why do you have to be so bad" he says hovering over your shaking body. You were sweating from fear, your entire body moist. He stares at the little 'hello kitty' panties you're wearing. He knew you'd look great in them when he bought them.

He chuckles.

Turning around to go to the little drawer you'd never liked to see him approach. You hear the drawer open and the clanking of metals together and your wailing grows louder.

"Jungkook please"

"The audacity you have to even call me by my name" you hear him scoff as the drawer is closed and he approaches you.

You almost lose your breath when you see the blade in his hands. It's become so familiar to you, you know every pattern and design on it by heart and mind. He'd always do this when you misbehaved but especially when you tried to ran away.

You shake intensely when he squats in front of you and spreads your thighs revealing the other 3 wounds you got when you tried to ran away.

"D-da-" You want to say it but its so hard. Maybe if he hears you call him that he'll take it easy on you.

"Oh look at these" he says tracing his fingertips over the 3 soon to be 4 scars on your thighs, when he does this the pain you felt from them resurfaces. You can hear him laugh at the memory.

"Daddy please I'm sorry" you finally say it bit it doesn't change his mind. He simply sighs at the name, he loved when you called him that but you only did when you were in this kind of situation trying to escape his wrath.

"I'll never ran away again" you've said that many times, "I mean it this time" and that too.

"Daddy plea-"

"Why don't you ever just want to be a good girl...my good girl" he seems low his voice not so aggressive, but it still makes you scared.

"I'll be a good girl, I promise" you continue to plead trying to lift yourself up and find his eyes.

"Shut up" he yells shutting you up. But you can't shut your sobs up.

"I don't like doing this you know." He spreads your legs wider and he tries his best to not stare at your core.

"All I want is for you to be a good girl..." he says gliding the blade against your skin and you continue to cry.

"...my good girl..." he pokes the blade againt your skin as your skin tears.

"...a good girl...for me" he finishes saying as the blades begins to drag against your skin, lining the mark with the others. Its like he's counting tallies. Immediately a line of blood follows. You scream and he smiles as he watches the liquid follow the blade.

"You just don't like to listen huh?" He says finally stopping his movements.

"I just want you to know I'll never stop until you learn... I'm never giving up on you Y/N"

k e r o s e n e

⋆ TAGS — cheating, older!oc, oc’s a mommy (her hubby’s a hunk), obsessive!jk, blackmail, dead dove do not eat, non-con and dub-con (oc never says yes at all bc she’s coerced even if she "gives in"), dark, smutty smut, tit play, mentions of breast milk, protected sex and then unprotected sex (dw reader is secure n safe!), harassment bc jk does not take no for an answer, threats that oc lowkey gets hot n bothered by, exhibitionism but my way (SPOILER: someone gets fucked next to a sleeping body), some plot, slight(?) dirty talk, jealous!jk, jk is not a good guy at all, oc’s morals r questionable 2, open-ending, SOMEONE DIES sooo, office sex, angry(?) sex, drugging, meanie!jk, degradation, breeding kinks r mentioned, misogyny and objectification, possessive!jk

⋆ WORD COUNT — 15 k

I can live in your dreams, will you be my fantasy little baby? 

“Oh, it’s you.” You let a breath of relief from your lips, “Did you need something?” There’s a small pause and you end up averting your eyes. 

The tension is heavy and it has your stomach twisting in knots out of anticipation. Your eyes flicker over to him and you make eye contact in an instant. You stare into his eyes nervously as an all too familiar sensation of feeling like prey washed over you. 

“Always so cold,” Jungkook’s steps are calculated and slow, his dark gaze stays on you the entire time, “but for you though? I’ll take anything y/n.” He stops in front of your desk with a wicked little smile, “My bad–Mrs l/n.” He corrects himself. 

You bite your tongue as a twinge of annoyance passes over you, “Jungkook..” A soft sigh of frustration leaves you, “One of these days you’re going to get me in trouble if you keep calling me by my name, it makes people think..we’re close..” You murmur the last part to yourself while looking to the side, “ ‘s not something I feel like explaining to the dean either.” 

Jungkook draws closer to you, he slides his hand along the surface of the desk as his fingertips lightly graze the wood. Your eyes drop down nervously, you take a step back but he follows. You’re at the corner of the desk when he finally cages you in with one arm, “And why would you have to explain to the dean? Hm? What kinda stuff you got goin’ in your pretty little head?” He grins. 

He’s so close you’re practically inhaling his cologne, he smells undeniably good as you hold yourself back from breathing in more of his intoxicating scent. You jump when his fingers brush over yours, “Relax,” Jungkook laughs playfully, “you’re always so tense.” 

“Was there something you needed?” You finally breathe out after realizing that Jungkook wasn’t going to be paying attention to anything you’ve said up until now. Telling him to stop would be like letting him off with a slap on the wrist and you figured it was better to see what he wanted so you could get this entire interaction over and done with. “I have a few meetings to attend so my time is short.” 

A few beats of silence pass and Jungkook doesn’t say anything which makes it harder for you to figure out what he was feeling. “Do you now?” He hums, “But no, nothing much, I just needed help with the rubric.” 

You quickly retracted your hand from his and stepped away from the desk, “What part did you need help with?” You’re gnawing at your bottom lip, just itching for this entire interaction to be over. 

Jungkook beckons you over, “How am I gonna show you if you’re all the way over there?” He snorts, “C’mere, I won’t bite.” He breathily hums while he fishes out the papers from his bag. 

You wobble over on uneasy legs with your arms folded numbly over your chest. You’ve long tuned out Jungkook’s voice, the only thing you were acutely aware of was where his hands touched as he talked to you. You peered from the corner of your eye to watch as he stroked up and down your arm slowly. Occasionally he’d give you a small faint squeeze to the arm while his thumb rubbed circles over your goosebumps. 

“y/n?” Jungkook’s voice grounds you back to reality, you’re suddenly more aware of your surroundings—more aware of him. “You with me?” He appears out of the blue in your face, you flinch at the close proximity and turn your head. 

“Yeah.” You softly breathe out, “I, uh think you should be fine. You’ve never failed the other assignments before, so this should be no different.” You tug your arm from his hold, “Is there anything else before I go?” Despite slipping on your coat, Jungkook’s piercing gaze manages to make you feel like you’re naked. “Jungkook..?” You whisper. 

Jungkook tilts his head to the side as his hooded gaze racks over your covered form, “Mm,” he toys with his lip ring and bites his bottom lip, “nah, I think I got somethin’. I’ll see you around, Mrs l/n,” he coos softly while licking his lips. 

You’re left standing alone with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. 

+

I can be what you need, little baby. Just tell me what you need. 

You’re not sure when the obsession began, nor WHY it even existed. Had you possibly led him on? Did Jungkook get any mixed signals you might not have been aware you gave him? There were so many why’s but very little answers. 

Jungkook came from a very wealthy background (old money), his father was a famous business tycoon and Jungkook was set to inherit the family company in the future. Much like his father Jungkook lived up to the Jeon name. He was ambitious, intelligent, and cunning. If things weren’t going his way it was known that Jungkook would make it happen one way or another. 

What Jungkook wanted, he got. Thanks to daddy’s money of course. Despite this though Jungkook proved to be a highly intelligent individual. His exam scores over the years were proof. Even now Jungkook’s scores were at an all time high, he was the picture perfect example of a good student. The perfect role model if it weren’t for his rather unorthodox behavior. 

It began with little thank you notes attached to snacks, then small gifts like plushies and flowers. From the very beginning you had been wary of his gifts, you couldn’t decipher whether he was sending them platonically or romantically, but you being the absolute saint decided to give him the benefit of doubt. That alone would be your demise. 

What began as brief polite conversations slowly turned into lingering looks and wanton whispers of unspoken desires. 

You as his teacher knew better and tried to set things straight with him but each time you sat him down he’d give you those devilish eyes of his and leave you a sputtering puddle. What even was the point if Jungkook always managed to turn you into a mess with his cocky attitude?

You found yourself worrying about your job more often. Jungkook simply didn’t care about the ring you wore around your finger, it’s something he’d come to tell you many, many times. You partially blamed yourself for not being firmer with him, Jungkook was a brute who had no regards for your personal boundaries. It was evident in the way he cornered and handled you to his liking. 

Which is why you weren’t surprised with him anymore. 

“Comin’ to bed soon love?” You look up to see your husband propped up against the doorway with his arms folded over his bare chest. You’re tempted to look further down when you notice he’s wearing those damned sweatpants, the ones that hung low on his hips.

“Yeah, I have one more left and then I’m all yours.” You sleepily smile while blowing him a gentle kiss, “And Jae? Did he fall asleep already?” 

Jicheol brushes his wet hair from his face with one hand, “Out like a light, must’ve been real tired from today.” He comments, “Which reminds me of a certain someone’s bedtime.” He gives you a look that immediately has butterflies fluttering, “If you’re not in bed by eleven I’m comin’ in here and carrying your ass out. You’re warned.” He tosses you a little smirk over his shoulder before slipping away and shutting your office door. 

Your face flares up like a shy schoolgirl as you chew on your pen to distract yourself from the not so nice thoughts invading your brain. You notice the papers you’re holding belongs to Jungkook, you’re surprised he ended up at the bottom of the stack. You scratched your head in wonder and curiosity since you wanted to see what Jungkook wrote. With a lazy hum you lean back in your desk chair and begin reading. 

‘I can be your baby in real life, sugar,’

‘Look me in the eye tell me I'm the one,’ 

‘Can't you be my fantasy, little baby?’ 

Your heart begins to race and you swear you can hear your heartbeat hammering in your ears. Shock fills your entire being the more you read and the heat never leaves your face. You don’t know what to think or say, this by far was something you would have never guessed would happen to you. Not even in your wildest dreams, or nightmares. 

The icing on top was the fact that he had written within the essay requirements and had met each and every one of your expectations so technically the essay was valid and you couldn’t just toss it out. It was clear that he had thought it through, he went about his word play smartly and knew how to phrase his words just damn near perfect. 

So here you were now going through a crisis because your very hot student just said he wanted to bang you in different positions all night long. You felt like if this kept up with him you were going to be taking a paid or unpaid leave, it didn’t matter to you as long as you could take a break and get away from this all. Get away from him. 

“Babe?” Jicheol’s voice brings you out of your moment of hysteria, “It’s past eleven-ten come to bed now, yeah?” He strolls into your office, “Damn, that bad?” He says while eyeing the papers sitting in your hands. He goes to reach for them when you finally snap out of it and yank the papers back. “Uhh..okay, didn’t know it was THAT bad of an essay, now quit playing and come to bed.” He groans tiredly. 

You place a hand over your racing heart and sigh, “I don’t wanna talk about it.” You toss the essay onto the desk and lead your husband out by the arm, “Let’s just call it a night.” You mumble while hiding your face in his arm. Jicheol doesn’t mention anything else. 

.

“He went too far.” You whisper under your breath while turning away from the innocent papers sitting on your desk—innocent but oh so ominous.

Since reading it you’ve been on edge. You tried to avoid the topic of essays during a lecture but a sweet girl had asked and you were forced to talk about them. Jungkook had a (knowing) smirk the entire time as you informed the class that you indeed had finished reading and grading them. You hadn’t meant to but your eyes slowly gravitated towards him, your gazes met until you were the one who turned away with a flushed expression. 

A gentle but firm knock brings you out of your inner turmoil, “Who is it?” You softly call back while turning to the door with a hand over your chest. 

“Me,” Jungkook replies while already slipping into the room like he has many, many other times.  

Your heart skips a beat and your stomach does a flip, this was harder than you initially thought it would be. You’re not so sure this is even a good idea but you inhale deeply and close your eyes, “..I’m going to keep this very brief with you,” you step behind your desk while reaching for the essay lying on your desk, “the essay—why?” 

Jungkook grins softly, “What?” He shrugs innocently, “Didn’t like it? Was I a little too ‘vulgar’? Not somethin’ you’re used to people telling you?” His gaze alone is enough to make you feel like he’s undressing you with his eyes, unpleasant little shivers creep up your spine and you try not to let it show how nervous he’s making you. 

“Don’t–” You raise your hand with gritted teeth, “..There are lines that shouldn’t be crossed, and you’re crossing every one of them. I warned you time and time again about your..‘actions’ but you’re not taking me seriously.” You give him a pointed look trying your best to come off as stern. 

Jungkook lazily grins, “Oh but I am taking you seriously Mrs l/n,” the way your name rolls off his tongue shouldn’t make your stomach swoop the way it does, he takes a step closer and you backwards, “ ‘s why you’re my favorite teacher y/n.” 

Your patience finally snaps, “Let me make myself clear: these little games of yours? Stops today. I’m not entertaining you nor the stupid child’s play you have going on. If this keeps going I’ll report this to the dean and have you removed from class.” 

You try your best to stand tall and keep your gaze unwavering but Jungkook’s a challenge though. He stares back defiantly with his dark onyx eyes—they’re empty and void of any emotion (his tongue poking the inside of his cheek says it all though). “Really now?” He hums, “Let me know how that goes for you,” he chuckles under his breath while reaching over with a tattooed hand to play with the family picture lying on your desk, “Cute you even came up with that silly little idea.” 

“Excuse me?” You watch closely as he handles your picture frame so carelessly in his hands.

“Go on,” he nods his head as his lips curl in amusement, “run to the dean and tell ‘em allllll about how inappropriate I am. You have my essay as proof,” he licks his lips, “I wonder if they’ll think the same thing as me,” his voice drops to a husky whisper, “pretty face..soft lips..” His gaze drops down before he’s meeting your eyes again, “Pretty everythin’.” 

You clear your throat, “Leave,” you point to the door, “I can’t have you in my class any longer. So leave, I’ll have this situation sorted with the dean by tonight so expect to receive a letter or email.” You hold your hand out for the picture frame, “Jungkook.” 

Jungkook tosses the frame up in the air a few times, each time making your heart skip a beat as you wait with a bated breath. “Okay.” He grins and places the frame in your hold, “There’s a tiny little problem though,” he mumbles and suddenly grips your hands tightly and squeezes. 

You gasp in surprise as he tugs you closer until you’re both leaning face to face. He’s so close you can smell his spicy scented cologne, the forced proximity begins to make you panic with fear. The only thing separating you two is the desk and nothing else—even then you have no doubt he’d just pull you over the surface if he wanted to. 

Your eyes flicker over his face a few times and you nervously lick your lips, “Let me go,” you’re not sure why you’re whispering when you could be yelling and screaming bloody murder right now. 

But you don’t. 

“Jungkook–” 

“You know,” he starts softly, “my dad always said if I wanted something then to take it. No one’s going to give you anything simply because you say please and thank you. You’re either at the top of the food chain or…the bottom. ” You make a wounded noise and turn your cheek to him as his hot breath fans over the side of your face, “and right now ‘m gonna take.” He mumbles, “And if I have to take a little walk down to the dean’s office and tell them that my beloved professor is making moves on me—I will.” 

Your eyes widen and his grip slowly loosens when you start going lax in his hold, “You wouldn’t want me to tell everyone their favorite teacher likes fucking her students? Maybe we can make it a little spicy and tell them how we’ve been having a three month affair? Hm?” 

“Y-You’re insane.” You yank yourself back from his hold in a rather harsh fashion. You cradle your sore wrists to your chest and stare back at him with glossy eyes, “None of that is true and you know it.” 

He barks out a laugh, “Oh baby,” he wipes an imaginary tear from his eye, “who said anything about truth? It’s a wonder what money can buy these days.” He hums, “ ‘s a reaaaalll shame my dad funds a few organizations here too don’t you think? Maybe my dad should have a loong phone call with the dean tonight, they’re pretty good friends after all. I’m sure they’d like to catch up.” 

You feel like your world is crashing down, he’s cornered you and now you’ve got no escape. You’re filled with hopelessness and despair, Jungkook’s got you right where he wants you. “C’mon don’t make that face,” you don’t notice when he comes to stand in front of you, “no one has to know..” He coos quietly while backing you up into the desk.

“Jungkook–” Your hand comes up to push his arm away when he sets it right next to you on the desk, he cages you in with his breath fanning over the side of your face because you refuse to look him in the eyes. His hand is so close to your thighs too it nearly has your heart jumping out of your throat. “Jungkook, please.” You whimper while turning your face as the two of you look into each other's eyes. 

His lips part but a knock brings the two of you out of your trances. He looks at the door in annoyance and clicks his tongue, “Fuckin’ hell.” He mutters more to himself while refusing to move from his spot. “Mrs Gong?” You hear one of your students say, “I was um, wondering if you had a few minutes to talk about the essay.” She says softly. 

“Go on,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, “answer her.” He teasingly nips at you. 

You tremble under him and push at his chest repeatedly, “Y-Yes..! Give me a moment I’m finishing up with another student right now dear,” you yelp when Jungkook strokes over your inner thigh, slapping a hand over your lips for a few seconds, “... J-Just sit out there, I’ll come in a bit.” 

Jungkook chuckles quietly, and ignores the fierce glare you throw his way. “Let me go, Jungkook.” You attempt to slip away from the desk but Jungkook brings you back in with a hand curled around your waist, “Jungkook–” He silences your desperate pleas with a soft little ‘shh’ as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. You can’t do anything but helplessly stare back at him, angry at yourself for being so weak and caving in. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen baby, so listen carefully,” he softly whispers, “I’m going to leave you my phone number and you’re gonna answer me later on tonight—ah-ah, none of that now,” he says when he sees a protest bubbling up, “you’re gonna be a good girl and reply okay? I don’t give a fuck if your husband is there or not, if you don’t answer me baby I’m gonna be forced to do somethin’ ugly and we don’t want that now do we? No, that’s right.” He talks to you like he’s speaking to a child or something. “Got it all down?” 

You nod timidly and hold your tongue, “Good girl.” He smiles and lets you go, “Remember baby: answer.” He waves his phone in the air teasingly while stepping away. 

You watch him walk to the door, he stops briefly and your heart skips a beat wondering what he could want now. “And for the record—I meant every little word just now.” He smirks darkly before pushing the door open and stepping out. You’re left standing there in the middle of the room trying to calm your racing heart.  

“Mrs Gong?” The girl timidly calls out. 

Your eyes snap over to the picture frame sitting in your hands and you take a deep long breath, “Come in.” You just dug yourself a hole you can’t even get back out from. 

+ 

You looked out of your class window to see that the sky was beginning to set and it was a lovely shade of red-orange hues mixed with purple. You quickly glanced down at your watch and figured now would be a better time to leave. You shrugged your coat on and carried your things out the door. The janitor greeted you on your way out as you made your way down the dimly lit hallway. 

The campus was pretty lonely and empty save for a few people here and there. Your heels clicked against the pavement as you made your way down to the teachers parking lot. From a distance you heard another pair of footsteps but you paid no mind thinking it was probably another teacher or the security guard. Sometimes things were too good to be true. 

“Was beginning to wonder where my favorite teacher wandered off to.” Jungkook calls out from behind. He stands there with his hands in his pockets and a hand combing through his slightly messy hair. “Thought she might’ve run off for a second, we can’t have that happening now can we?” He hums. 

You let out a chilly breath and shake your head, “Been busy with work and life stuff..” Your eyes are lowered to the ground, you refuse to meet his eyes because you already know what’s staring back. “Did you need something?” You tilt your head. 

Jungkook toys with his lip ring and nods, “I’m guessing that’s why you requested days off for next week then hm? Husband takin’ you on a little trip, is that it?” He looks mildly bothered but the underlying possessiveness in his tone makes it easy to ignore. “Tell me baby,” he steps closer while caging you in between him and the car, “you trying to get away?” 

You look up at him through your lashes and shake your head, “Jungkook, we’re outside.” You squirm around uncomfortably, “Someone’s gonna see us..!”

“C’mere,” he curls his hands around your waist and tugs you into him, “we got some business of our own.” You nearly stumble when he begins walking you two away from your car, your eyes dart around the parking lot in panic as you attempt to budge yourself away from Jungkook. 

“Where are you taking me? Stop..! You realize how crazy this looks,” you turn your head in time to see a sleek black car come into view, no doubt it belonged to Jungkook though. “Why am I here Jungkook?” You pushed at his chest until he finally stumbled back a little. 

Jungkook gives you a playful smile, “Out, gonna give you a nice little send-off before you run off from me next week baby.” He reaches around you to unlock his car, “Get in, ‘s fuckin freezing out here.” When you came out the sky was still colorful, now it’s completely dark and the only thing around was the orange lighting from the several lamps in the parking lot. 

“Jungkook I’m not getting in the car with you,” you hopelessly look at him while pursing your lips in an attempt to suppress the oncoming whine, “I have things of my own to do, my husband is waiting for me.” You secretly relish in the way his eyes narrow when you mention ‘husband’, “Can’t all this wait for another day?” 

He props himself against the car, his gaze drops down to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. “I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands baby,” he leans down to whisper low in your ear, “we do this the easy way or something really bad can happen.” His lips slide along your cheek gently, placing a small trail of kisses to the corner of your mouth. 

You meet his eyes as a thick wave of tension falls over you both. He takes your silence as an answer and pecks your lips, “Get on then,” he murmurs. His car lights up in a fuschia pink color when he starts it, you feel small curled up in his leather seat. 

This is it. You’re really doing it. 

Your heart races even faster when you see Jungkook reach over to shift the gears, “Wait, Jungkook–” You slip your hand over his marveling in the size difference, “My car, I can’t leave it here.”

Jungkook lets the steering wheel go and for a minute you think he’s giving in, but ignorance is bliss. He tugs you in by a hand to the cheek, slotting his lips over yours as he uses his hold to keep you still. You sit there unresponsive in complete shock, Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind as he occasionally tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth. He moves his lips languidly until wet little smacks begin to fill the quiet car. 

You reach over to push him off but he quickly snatches your wrist up in his hold, you barely even fight back as you end up falling into his touch even more. You make soft noises as tiny little moans spill into Jungkook’s hot mouth, your lips are glossed over and slicked up with spit from his kisses. 

Jungkook pulls away and pants hotly into your mouth, “You make it hard to control myself.” He quietly murmurs while pressing chaste kisses on you, “You have no idea,” he whispers, “those pretty little eyes and sweet lips drive me mad sweetheart. Fuck,” he clicks his tongue in annoyance. 

Jungkook quickly shifts the car and begins pulling out of the parking lot. You end up hopelessly looking back at your car as it gets smaller and smaller the further he gets. To add more salt to the wound your phone buzzes loudly in your purse, you pause and Jungkook does too. “Answer it.” He says whilst slipping his hand over your knee, “C’mon baby, don’t keep him waiting.” 

Your eyes sting with unshed tears as your worst fears come true, Jicheol’s texting you asking if everything’s alright and if you’re coming home now. Your eyes slide over the words over and over again, you can’t bring yourself to reply to him it was too much. Eventually though (because of Jungkook’s piercing gaze) you manage to reply that you’re heading out for drinks with some colleagues. 

Jicheol replies with a ‘have fun, love u lots’ and something inside of you twists bitterly. “Tell him not to worry,” Jungkook turns to face you at a stop light, “me and you? We’re gonna have a nice loong conversation all night.” 

. 

“Relax pretty,” Jungkook mumbles behind you, “just sit back and let me do all the work.” His big hands settle over your hips using his grip to guide you towards the large bed sitting in the middle of the room. 

Originally (or so you’ve been told), Jungkook was planning on having a dinner date first before taking you back somewhere for some fun. But here you were, standing in the middle of a hotel room feeling like a cheap whore. Funnily enough Jungkook had picked out a couples suite too judging by the rose petals, candles and bottle of wine. 

You came to a stop in front of the bed, your hands were gripping the sash tying your coat together in an effort to stop Jungkook. Like everything else though, he took again and again.

His hands pried yours off and slipped the coat right off your shoulders, it pooled around your feet and you were left standing in your white blouse and black pencil skirt. You could feel his hot breath fanning over the side of your neck, sending pleasant little shivers down your spine. 

“Look at you,” he whistles low as his hands cup both of your tits through the blouse, “like a wet dream come true, you’d make any man fall to their knees baby.” He purrs while massaging both soft mounds, the stimulation has your tits aching and nipples hardening through the cups of your bra. 

A weak whimper slips past your lips, you reach up to grip his wrist tightly rather than attempt to pry him off. You stumble over your coat just trying to get away from him, “Jungkook—no,” you turn in time to see him advancing towards you like a predator. 

He licks his lips slowly as he reaches out to gently shove you onto the bed, “No what baby? I’ll treat you realll good, show you how you’re meant to be fucked stupid. I’d have you hangin’ from my cock in a heartbeat, ‘s all you’re good for baby: takin’ cock and bein’ filled with cum.” Jungkook climbs over and pins you on the bed, “Don’t need to use your pretty little head when you’re with me baby,” 

You cry out in surprise when he rips your blouse open and leaves a flurry of hot open mouthed kisses over your chest and peeking tits. “Fuckin’ hell,” he snarls and yanks the bra down, your tits come spilling out from the cups. He takes a hard nipple into his mouth and suckles gently, mimicking that of a hungry babe. 

“Oh,” your eyes squeeze shut as hot pleasure shoots all the way down between your legs where you need it the most. His tongue rolls and swipes over your nipple repeatedly, he hums low and sneaks his other hand up to cup your tit. You moan louder as Jungkook fondles the soft flesh in his hand and your nipple ends up rubbing against his palm. 

“You like that?” He rasps out and pulls away to give your other nipple the same treatment, “Got such slutty little tits for me, bet I can make ‘em leak for me.” A cheshire grin paints his lips as he deviously licks over your wet nipple, “We’ll just have to wait ‘n see, don’t we little mama?”

It feels like you’re in heaven right now just by having your tits played with. It wasn’t like Jicheol and you didn’t have an active sex life—nor was it boring by any means—but one thing that never quite went away was the sensitivity in your tits. Another thing you had discovered was that you still had some milk in there, if you played with them for long enough your tits leaked like crazy (Jicheol knew this firsthand). 

Your eyes flutter shut as more moans force themselves out of you, “Fuck–wait,” you whisper out while pushing his head away, “hurts a little…” You mumble while shivering from the cold air hitting your wet nipples. 

“Gonna taste that pussy of yours baby,” Jungkook reaches for the zipper to your skirt, “wonder if it’s as pretty as you.” He licks his lips hungrily, “Show me,” he pats your thighs and tugs the skirt down your legs. 

Jungkook moans when he sees the lace garter attached to your sheer black stockings, “God, look at you. You were made for me weren’t you baby?” He strokes over your legs and then pries them apart, settling nicely between your open legs. 

Jungkook tugs you close until your hips are pressed tight against his own, you can feel the print of his hard cock through his joggers. It feels hot and heavy, you’re already picturing how big his cock’s gotta be and the mere thought is enough to make your mouth water. As ashamed as you are to admit it, but you’re eager for him to fuck you. You want him to make good of his promises to fuck you all night in different positions until you can’t cum anymore. 

A wave of regret washes over, “Wait,” you sit up and cover your chest with one arm mentally preparing yourself. If you were going to cheat, then you were going to make sure you didn’t remember any of it, “pass me a glass of wine.” Your lips are pursed in a soft pout, gaze half-lidded and dreamy-like (a charm you used on Jicheol to get your way at times). 

“There you go sweetheart,” he reaches over for the entire bottle and pops it open, “let yourself go for me.” He purrs and brings the wine directly to your lips. 

.

You become hyper aware of everything around—the rain that hits outside the fogged-up windows, the faint crackling noise from the candles, and the shuffling noises from the bed. How much time has passed since you both got here?

“Oh fuck..” You hear Jungkook breathily mutter under his breath, he continues to fuck his cock in and out of your soaked and sopping pussy without abandon. The lube ends up dripping from your folds and slides down the crevices of your cum splattered cheeks.

You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve cum, your clit’s numb and rubbed raw by now. An array of used condoms litter the trashcan nearby and by the looks of it the box might be empty after this round. Surely he’ll stop there…right? 

“Hear that?” He grunts with effort as he smacks his hips into yours, “Sloppy pussy drippin’ all over me, ‘s like you were made for me, made to take cock ‘n be my lil’ cock sleeve.” He purrs low and lowers himself until he’s hovering over you. His strong hand comes up to grip your thigh, he wraps it around his waist and holds you close while he fucks into your greedy pussy over and over again. 

Your face heats in embarrassment as the squelching and slapping noises get louder, you manage to bite your bottom lip and suppress the cries and whines that threaten to slip out. Everything about this is so good, from the way he fucks down to his heavenly cock that Jungkook sure as hell knew how to use, but you rather die than admit your enjoyment openly. 

“Shit.” Jungkook looks like a wet dream come true as his head hangs low in pleasure and his necklace swings back and forth from the force of his thrusts. 

You’re scrambling to find a grip on him, your hands curl around his shoulders and hold on for dear life. Your once quiet sighs become louder mewls and moans, little breathy “uhs” leaving your lips. The louder you get the harder he goes, he’s driving his cock deep inside with such force you wonder if you’ll be able to walk after this. 

With each punishing slap he lands there’s a sweet little sting that follows afterwards. A particular thrust startles you bad when he brushes up against your g-spot. You find yourself leaning into him, thighs widening around his waist as you angle your hips in a way you know his cock will hit the spot. 

“Mm–wait, ‘s good there,” you breathe out, “fuck..right there…” Your words are slurred and come out borderline pornographic reminding you of a porno or something. 

Jungkook doesn’t reply anything other than a grunt, he reaches down to hook your thighs over his shoulders. He’s pressed so close his chest is rubbing up against your sore tits each time he lands another thrust. You’re finally letting your moans slip as the volume begins steadily increasing inside the room. The noises you both make rival those of the creaking and skin slapping. 

“My name baby,” Jungkook whispers over your lips, “let ‘em know who’s fuckin’ this pussy.” The crazed look he has in his eye paired with his wild thrusting has your orgasm slowly ebbing away at you again. 

You don’t like how close he is, how exposed you’re feeling from the forced face to face proximity he has you in. The hunger in his eyes has your cunt clenching around him like you’re afraid he’s gonna stop fucking you. Jungkook lets out a low moan and reaches up with one hand to squeeze your chin tightly, “C’mon, don’t go all stupid on me,” he licks his lips. 

“Jungkook,” you softly moan as your lips part in a tiny ‘o’ from the grip he has on your chin/cheeks, “mmph—’m coming..!” You grit your teeth and arch your back just a tiny bit given that Jungkook’s got you in a mating press. 

Jungkook lets your face go and does the unexpected, he lands a hard slap on your ass before he’s rubbing the sore skin gently, “Louder.” He lands another smack, this one hurting more than the one before.

“J-Jungkook..!” You cry out with watery eyes. 

“Again.” Smack.

You manage to whimper out a half-garbled cry of his name, your pussy rhythmically throbs around his cock in a milking motion. There’s a nasty sound each time he bottoms out balls deep inside, your thighs shake and tremble from their spot on his shoulders. You’re left with a dazed cloudy feeling afterwards—nipples sore and your pussy wet as hell. 

“Mmm,” you bite your lip and turn your face away in dizziness, “s..leepy..” 

Jungkook doesn’t stop fucking you even if you sleepily beg him to stop. He pumps away at your spent cunt until he’s coming with a low groan of your name and a throbbing cock. You let out a sleepy sigh as your eyes begin slipping shut, you feel Jungkook gently tap your chin to get you awake again, “Open up for me baby, we’re not done here.” He hums low. 

+

You woke up early in the morning after barely managing to catch any sleep. Jungkook had his face tucked in the crook of your neck and his arms tightly wrapped around your body. Your back was pressed against his chest where his necklace tickled the back of your neck. His hands were folded over your middle, grip tight and snug. You were beginning to wonder how the hell you were getting out. 

“Fuck my head hurts,” you whisper out while lifting your head to survey your surroundings. 

Clothes, shoes, bags—they were tossed everywhere. The sheets were sliding off the bed and the comforter was completely off hanging to the side. You spotted the empty glass of wine and two cups sitting together on the nightstand next to the candles, bitterly reminding you of the night before. 

“I need to get out of here.” You whisper while tightly wrapping the white sheets around your body. 

You don’t know how but you somehow manage to untangle yourself from Jungkook’s arms and slip off the bed. Jungkook’s still sleeping so you use this as a chance to dress and leave quickly. You’re not too sure if you’ll be leaving anytime soon if Jungkook wakes up. 

“Shit.” You frown when you see all the messages Jicheol sent you (there were a ton of missed calls too). 

jicheoooll<3 : babe r u ok? 

9:23

don’t get too wasted, call if you need me to come

9:35

having fun?? 

10:00

you staying with friends tonight babe? pretty late alr

10:57

gn, call me in the morning beautiful 

Once you manage to get dressed and call a taxi, you put all your attention to replying with a made-up story in your head. The guilt is eating you alive but you can worry about feeling like a shitty person later, right now you need to get away.

The cold air hits you in your face when you step out of the warm building, people are going about their days and cars are moving steadily through traffic. You hear a beep and you see your taxi parked on the side of the road. For now you can forget and you’ll worry about Jungkook later, you think to yourself while slipping into the warm car. 

.

Your heart begins pounding at the sight of Jicheol’s car which is still parked out in front when you come home. You check the time on your watch and numbly realize he must’ve called in, the guilt feels ten times worse. With a heavy sigh you park the car in the driveway and slip out with your things and coat in hand. You were going to have to face him and your son one way or another, no use in crying over it now. 

“What’s done is done.” You find yourself thinking out loud while heading up the steps. Your key is halfway in when the door suddenly opens and the warm air from inside hits you in the face. You’re momentarily stunned as you stand there with your hand still hovering in the air, “Jicheol.” 

Your husband lets out a breath of relief as his big hands come up to cup your face inspecting for any injuries etc, “You’re okay,” he says in obvious relief, “did you have fun last night?” 

“Yeah..” You whisper back, “Think ‘m gonna shower though, I stink.” You complain softly while heading inside rather quickly in an attempt to avoid Jicheol because you don’t know whether you want to cry or scream at your own guilt, “How’s Jae?” You were hoping to slip away to the bathroom before Jicheol could catch up but he’s hot on your tail after shutting the front door. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you bitterly think while turning the hot water on. 

“He’s fine, your mom came and picked him up last night. He’s gonna stay over for the weekend.” Jicheol slips his hands around your waist and gently guides you into the spacious bathroom, “Wanted to be here when you came,” he mumbles in your ear while kissing over your neck and shoulder, “missed you last night.” His hands slowly unbuttoned your messy blouse, “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ bout your fine ass, should’ve never let you walk out the house like that.” He huskily says. 

Normally you’d shudder in anticipation and delight but right now the guilt is eating away at you. Your eyes slip shut in an attempt to focus and steer your mind away from what happened last night but god Jicheol’s making it hard. No matter how much you try to think about something else, your traitorous mind finds a way to flash images of Jungkook ripping your top open and sucking your nipples till they were sore and leaky. 

“Got such slutty little tits for me, bet I can make ‘em leak for me.”

A breathy little ‘yes’ falls from your lips when the pair of hands massaging your tits slip under the cups and knead your sore mounds of flesh. Jicheol rolls your nipples between his fingers knowingly, tugging just the way he knows you like. “So fuckin’ needy.” Jicheol chuckles darkly. You lose yourself in the feeling as moans and sighs fall, the heat from the water running isn’t helping much either. 

Your eyes slip open and a noise of confusion leaves you when Jicheol stops to tilt your chin towards him. Everything shifts back into place and you’re suddenly aware of everything around you—the running water, the steam, Jicheol—you try to ignore the disappointed feeling you get in your chest (you're scandalized that you’re feeling disappointed to begin with). 

“You okay baby?” Jicheol looks worried, “Want me to stop?” 

“No,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders and tug him closer to you. Jicheol stares at you through half-lidded eyes, licking his lips hungrily when you bring his face down. Your lips hover over his, “I missed you too.” You whisper quietly before closing the distance between you two. 

Jicheol releases a muffled groan and slips his hand down to grip your hips tightly, you sigh blissfully when you press up against his front. You can feel the outline of his cock pressing against your lower stomach, sitting there throbbing from its confinements. He mutters a husky “fuck” and lifts you up onto the countertop with your back pressing against the foggy mirror. 

Jicheol always makes you forget. 

+

You ended up pulling Jungkook aside after a lecture sometime later on during the week. You spend the entirety of your mini-vacation at home sulking in discomfort anytime you think about what happened with Jungkook, and Jicheol wasn’t making it any easier with his sweet self. It was driving you insane and you felt like you needed to talk about it to feel a little better about your shitty actions. 

Jungkook already has a sly little grin on his face when he slips into your office, “Why the pouty little face? You’re the one who called me here,” he folds his arms over his chest as he stands in front of you with amusement written all over his features. 

You meet his eyes hesitantly and take a few seconds to gather your thoughts, “Now that you got what you wanted, can we both mutually agree this little thing of yours is over?” What’s scarier than Jungkook’s anger is his silence. It was like trouble was brewing in your face and you didn’t know how to stop or control it. “Don’t look at me like that Jungkook, you knew what was coming. I’m married for fucks sake,” you whisper to him, eyes darting back and forth between him and the door.

“Our thing.” Jungkook loudly corrects making you turn your head in alarm, “last I remember it takes two to tango baby, ‘n you sure as hell didn’t seem done when I fucked you all night long. Or did you forget?” He tilts his head to follow your gaze when you begin avoiding his eyes, “Hm? C’mon sweetheart, tell me how much you enjoyed it—how your little pussy was so good to me and soaked my cock?” He cages you in and yanks your chin up to face him, “C’mon, say it.”

You let out a terrified whimper and try to push him away but Jungkook pins you up against him, “Jungkook–let go,” you turn your face away trying to look away, “get off..!” 

“Oh but you loved it baby,” he coos out while watching you fight against him like a child throwing a tantrum, “ ‘s why you gave it up to me so easily,” he pouts mockingly, “rode ‘n fucked me like the little fiend you are sweetheart.” He rasps hotly in your ear, “Gripped my cock nice ‘n tight with that soaked cun—” 

You moaned wantonly as he wrapped his lips around a sensitive spot on your neck, through your panic though you began pushing at his shoulders to stop him from leaving a mark, “J-Jungkook, no,” you bite down on your lip with a muffled moan, “fuck—just listen to me dammit!” You grip his face in both hands, “There are rules and boundaries Jungkook, you can’t just fucking waltz in here doing shit because you feel like it alright?! My job, my reputation, my LIFE is on the line and you’re more concerned with getting your dick wet? Do you just not care that my life can potentially—no—be ruined, all because you’re a rich brat who wanted pussy?” 

Jungkook recovers from the initial shock when you snapped at him, he cups your face and slams his lips against yours. You pant hotly into his mouth while he spins you both around and guides you onto the desk, papers and pens go flying as Jungkook comes to stand between your parted legs. You’re forced to let him in as he moves his slicked up lips desperately, he kisses with such ferocity it knocks the breath out of you. 

“Mmph—Jungkook,” you whisper between harsh breaths and kisses, “stop.” You gasp out as he buries his face in your neck and leaves more filthy opened mouthed kisses. 

He pulls away with a soft pant, “You don’t want me to, trust me,” he tilts your chin again so you’re facing him, “I’ll make your life a living hell in point two seconds baby, don’t test me. Unless you want everyone to see how much of a cock slut in bed you are, is that it baby? You want them to see how pretty you look when you’re hanging off this cock? Because I can make it happen.” He darkly whispers. 

A sick part of you shivers at the threat when he talks to you in that low tone he uses when he’s angry. Your pussy has a second little heartbeat down there because of him, you can’t even say you’re ashamed anymore. You silently stare because you refuse to give him the satisfaction of replying. Jungkook doesn’t need to hear it though because he’s already leaning in to kiss you more gently than before. 

“Don’t need to think,” Jungkook mumbles, “just sit ‘n look pretty for me sweetheart, ‘s all you need to do.” He trails off as his hands slip up your skirt, hooking his fingers around your panties and tugging. They come sliding down to your ankles while Jungkook works his belt open, “Gonna give you what you need,” he trails off. 

Your lust filled eyes meet him in a fierce stare down, not once do you look away as he spreads you open and makes himself comfortable between your legs. You hate how easy it is to submit and fall under his control. You were supposed to be the one with authority here, not him. Funny how he turned you putty in his hands each time. 

Jungkook fists his cock with slick noises, he’s pushing through your slicked up folds and you feel the head poke at your unclenched leaking hole. There’s a filthy little voice in the back of your head that hisses in excitement chanting a series of ‘yes’ and ‘in’ over and over again. Your cunt’s hungry and desperate to be stretched out by his fat cock.  

“.. Just shut up and fuck me.” You find yourself whispering while wrapping your legs around his hips and bringing him closer.

Jungkook forgoes the condom entirely, he taps his cock over your pussy a few times before he’s pushing in with a low hiss. He fills you up inch by inch, everything feels so much better with him going in bare. Your mouth waters at every little bump and curve you feel, your pussy opens right up and molds to fit around him.

Your lips fall open in a silent moan as Jungkook bottoms out in your tight little sopping hole, your rim stretches and hugs his cock nice and snug. It’s a tight fit but you’re in utter bliss right now, and even if you wanted to complain at the small sting you feel when he shifts but you don’t bother to. Jungkook’s not going to listen anyways, he never has. 

“There you go,” Jungkook bites on his bottom lip, he keeps you steady with his hands curled around your waist, “open right up for me baby.” He breathes out. 

His hips slowly roll forwards, he idly grinds and bumps his hips against yours. You feel some pressure here and there, like your poor pussy’s going to burst but each time he moves you feel him hit a sensitive spot. Your hips jump when the tip nudges into your cervix, just poking like he’s testing the waters or something. 

“Jungkook–” you huff, “slow down, hurts.” You try shifting around to see if you’re able to steer his cock away from your cervix. 

Jungkook lays a soft apologetic kiss over your shoulder before he’s hoisting you closer, he has your hips tilted at an angle where he’s striking dead on into your oversensitive walls. You moan in relief, biting down on your lip to keep your noises in. You nearly forget that you’re both still on campus, fucking on your desk like it’s some cliche porno. 

“Fuck you feel so good,” Jungkook whispers into your ear, he hooks his chin over your shoulder and fucks into you. His hips roll into yours over and over again, slipping in and out of your drenched pussy with ease. You can faintly hear the wet noises start up wondering if your desk will be salvageable by the end of this. 

You find yourself holding on to him tightly with your arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders. Your moans threaten to spill out each time he fucks himself in, the tip keeps grazing over a sweet spot repeatedly sending pleasant little shivers down your spine each time. Jungkook doesn’t stick to that languid pace for much, he ends up bucking his hips eagerly and shoving his cock deeper. 

“Oh fuck,” he rasps out while hugging your body tighter, “c’mon, make some noise for me baby. Let ‘em know who’s fucking this greedy cunt.” He grits his teeth and slaps his hips into yours with a loud squelching ‘plap’.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” as if on cue your pussy makes another embarassingly loud squelching noise. You’re so fucking wet it’s slipping down between your asscheeks and pooling under you. “And these tits,” he groans and slaps one through your blouse, “such pretty fuckin’ tits on you, wonder how they look all swollen and filled. Maybe I’ll breed this cunt till you catch, it’ll make a nice little surprise for your husband.” He grins wildly. 

You whine loud—it’s unintentional (you’d like to think)—the very thought of possibly ending up pregnant sends a sick thrill down your spine. You find letting cries and whimpers slip from your lips, they’re louder and clearer than before. Jungkook smirks knowingly and you know what he’s about to say, but he simply lays you back on the desk and lifts your legs over his shoulders. The angle changes again and your mouth falls open. 

“There..!” You throw your head back and groan. 

His cock repeatedly punches into your g-spot, you scramble to get a hold of something to keep you grounded. You feel like you’re going crazy with him hammering away at your sore cunt and your impending orgasm bubbling in your lower stomach. Jungkook’s face hovers close and you can feel his hot breaths fanning over you. 

“There?” He moans, “Like it when I fuck you stupid huh? Pretty pussy all meant to be mine,” he slows down but keeps his pace brutal, “gonna fill you up baby, you’re lucky I can’t put a baby in you.. Or else.” He darkly mumbles while leaning down to swallow up all your moans and sighs. 

Your eyes flutter shut from the strong pleasure, he knocks the breath out of you each time he bottoms out. Your clit throbs pathetically from neglect and you desperately want to reach down to soothe it but Jungkook’s pounding you so good you can’t focus. Your lips part with a needy cry, he uses it as a chance to bite on your bottom lip and swipe his tongue over the seam of your lips. 

“C..um, ‘m gonna cum,” you softly whimper while arching into him, “please ‘m so close.” 

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, he quickly falls into you and rolls his hips into yours over and over again. You trap him against you but Jungkook figures out a way to keep moving. Jungkook grinds into you slowly, letting you feel every inch and the girth. This makes your mouth fall open as a shudder runs through your body. 

“Fuck..” You begin shaking from pleasure, your arms slip from his shoulders but Jungkook simply hoists you upright into his strong big arms. 

You’re caged against his chest while he slowly fucks in and out, you’re so close you just need a tiny little push. If Jungkook could just hit that spot one more time—ohh.. “Jungkook,” you feel a strong tremor pass over you. Your cunt squeezes him tightly, rhythmically clenching and massaging him as you cum all over him and yourself. 

Jungkook doesn’t let up no matter how tight you get, he’s groaning and hissing under his breath while whispering the most filthiest fucking praises, “There you go baby, jus’ like that. Go on and make a mess for me, want you dripping my cum out of that loose cunt of yours.”

He cums a few minutes later with a loud moan, you like the feeling of his throbbing cock buried deep inside as he unloads all his pearly white cum into you. You squirm around a few more times but Jungkook ultimately ends up gripping your hip to stop you, “Shit–don’t do that.” He moans painfully. 

The two of you pant quietly while trying to catch your breaths. It turns into a slow little make out session you can’t refuse or resist because he’s that sexy post orgasm glow. You’re lips-locked when a knock brings the two of you out of whatever world you were both just in. 

You pull back from his lips with a wet noise, panting hard as you try to catch your breath from the brutal fuck just now. “Mrs Gong?” You hear one of your students say. 

Jungkook’s still hazy from his orgasm (evident in the way he looks at you all blissed out), he tucks his face in the crook of your neck and quietly moans when you clench around his half-hard cock. He doesn’t say anything thankfully, “I’ll be right out,” you finally manage to say without sounding like you just ran a marathon. 

This boy was going to be the death of you. 

+

jungkook : get ready, gonna take you out. wear somethin pretty too

You frown in both annoyance and confusion, when and how did Jungkook get your address? “I don’t even wanna know.” You mumble while shaking your head, with Jungkook there’s no limits to his depravity. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had someone paid to get your information. 

You look over at the bedroom door and make sure it’s closed before you sneak to your closet and dial Jungkook, “What the hell do you mean we’re going out?” You mutter while balancing the phone on your shoulder, “I don’t remember little dates being a part of this arrangement.” 

“The tongue you got on you,” Jungkook says from the other line, “makes me wonder if I need to stuff it with somethin’ else damn baby. But we’ll save that for another day, today I wanna take you somewhere nice,” 

You pulled a sweater from a hanger and paused, “Jungkook what’s the dress code?” You sigh in exasperation, all this talking and he still wasn’t telling you anything. You figured you might as well make the best of it, “Hurry up I still have to call my nanny to come take care of my son, I don’t have all day.” 

“Casual, not too casual though. I’ll see you in five.” And with that he hangs up. 

“Great,” you sigh while tossing your phone on the bed after shooting the nanny a quick text, “I’ll see you in five, my ass,” you mimic while finding something nice to wear. 

The door creaks open and your son Jae comes running in making excited airplane noises, “Where you goin’ mama?” He tilts his head, “Are you going to see aunties for lunch? Ooh, can I come, can I come?” He buzzes in excitement while smiling from ear to ear. 

“No baby, mama’s meeting a different friend, a work friend.” You gently correct yourself while surfing through your jeans, “Wanna help me choose an outfit,” you squat to Jae’s level and brush his unruly hair out of his face, “looks like I’m gonna need your eyes for this Jae.” 

His eyes widened comically, “Mama but you have your own!” He gasps while covering his face with his tiny hands, “These are my eyes!” He squeals while running out of the room. 

You grin deviously and chase after him with a “come back here”. The house is filled with your giggles and Jae’s excited yells and laughter, you end up chasing Jae back to your room as the little boy hides himself under the blankets. 

“C’mon, mama wants to look pretty today won’t you help me baby?” You pout while sitting on the bed, “Pretty please with sprinkles and fairies on top?” 

Jae pops his head out with a dramatic little sigh, “Fiinee,” you grin triumphantly, “I’m gonna make you look prettier than any other lady out there today.” He smiles toothlessly and runs into your closet. 

You end up wearing a pair of light-washed jeans and your cream colored sweatshirt. Jae didn’t know anything about shoes so you slipped on your cozy socks and a pair of brown tasman slippers. Upon Jae’s insistence you applied a little mascara and clear gloss over your lips, “There, is mommy done now?” You ask while spraying some body spray he was holding out to you. 

“Done, you look so pretty.” Jae shyly says while hiding his face in your leg, “Is Miss Danielle coming today? I like her a lot, she’s super cool and nice.” 

You hum absent-mindedly while putting your phone and wallet in your purse, “Yes she is, mama needs you to be the bestest boy ever okay? I’ll be back around dinner time when daddy’s coming home okay?” You smile sadly, “I’m gonna miss you.” 

“Me too,” Jae softly says before the doorbell brings him out of his trance, “I’ll get it, I’ll get it!” He runs off leaving you to your devices. 

“That boy.” You shake your head and slip your watch on. You can hear Jae talking with Danielle down in the foyer as you finish getting ready. 

Your phone pings and you immediately know who it is, “Danielle,” you greet while passing the girl in a hurry, “thanks for coming last minute you’re a lifesaver.” You sigh in appreciation, “House is yours and if you’re hungry order some delivery for you and Jae okay? I’ll pay you extra if I take too long. If my husband comes home first then you’re free to go.” 

Danielle already has Jae in her arms as she smiles sweetly at you, “No problem, you know I like Jae a lot anyways.” She shrugs, “Have fun.” 

“Oh I will.” You bitterly mutter, “Bye my loves.” You blow a kiss to your son at the door and head out. Jungkook’s Mercedes is parked right in front of your house and you done nearly sprint over in fear. Your heart quite literally almost falls out of your ass. 

“Are you fucking insane?” You spit while slipping into the car, “Jungkook move, oh you just finally fucking lost it didn’t you? Anyone can see you—my neighbors, my son, the nanny!” 

Jungkook laughs quietly and brings you in for a messy smooch, “Calm down, we’re leaving right now.” 

“No, right now.” You glare, “Move.”

Jungkook’s eyes drop down to your lips in obvious hunger, “Give me a kiss.” You look at him in disbelief and he merely shrugs, “What? You heard me.” He’s really not playing around because he doesn’t budge or make a move to shift gears or anything. 

You nervously look around the area before leaning over to quickly kiss him, “There.” 

“Another one.” He calmly replies despite your whining and the face you make. He’s serious then, you think while curling a hand behind the back of his neck and pulling his face closer to yours. 

Your lips meet in a hot kiss, you find yourself putting a little more effort into it than most times he’s kissed you. Jungkook’s a good kisser you won’t lie/deny, if anything you felt shittier for admitting that you enjoyed kisses with him. You gently bite down on his bottom lip in a mix of arousal and curiosity. 

Jungkook lets out a quiet groan and leans more into it to deepen the kiss. “No more,” you whisper when you pull away to catch your breath, “I’m serious.” You softly say albeit a bit more gentle and less hostile. 

“Okay.” He pulls away and starts the car. His hand comes over to settle on your thigh, fitting so easily like you were made for him. 

You slump in your seat and turn your head to watch your home slowly disappear as Jungkook pulls out of the neighborhood. If you look closely though, you won’t miss the awe-struck looking nanny standing there looking from the living room window. 

“Are you okay? What are you looking at?” Jae asks. 

“Nothing,” Danielle mumbles as she shakes her head, “let’s watch tv yeah?” There’s no way she just caught her boss kissing someone who was obviously not her husband. 

.

“How was your day?” You find yourself looking up from the bowl of chips you’re having when Jicheol suddenly talks to you, “Dani told me you had a last minute meeting with a coworker?” He hums while unbuttoning his dress shirt slowly, “y/n?” 

Your focus shifts back onto Jicheol after momentarily spacing out, “It was good,” you mumble and try not to think about earlier when Jungkook was buried balls deep fucking you over the hood of the car, “Had some lunch and then we went for like a nature walk..of some sorts.” You trail off dumbly. 

Jicheol raises a brow, “Some sorts..?” He tilts his head with confusion written all over his face. 

“Fuck, Jungkook!” 

“Right there..!” 

“Mmmh..yes,”

“Com–coming!” 

You freeze mid-chip and peer over at your husband, “Yeah..some sort,” you crack a tiny smile to break the tension, “that’s not important though,” you set the bowl off to the side somewhere, “how was your day?” You smile prettily. 

Jicheol (thankfully) takes the bait, he has a smile painted over his handsome face, “Boring, I had a few meetings here and there and then some paperwork to file.” He sighs heavily and falls dramatically on the bed next to you, “You busy tomorrow?” He quietly asks while poking your side. 

“Depends,” you softly whisper and lean down to press gentle kisses over his lips, “what are we doing?” You blow against his lips gently, cracking a smile when Jicheol hooks a hand around the back of your neck, “Hm?” 

Jicheol doesn’t reply and instead brushes his lips over yours, “C’mere,” he quietly murmurs, “on my lap sweetheart.” You can feel his big hands over the small of your back, he guides you over so that you straddle him. 

You bite your lip and watch Jicheol closely, the excitement builds up quickly because something about your husband drove you wild. Jicheol didn’t even have to try to get you in the mood, god bless for fine men like himself. You lean down to attach your lips to his rather eagerly, if you both could just skip the foreplay—

“Babe,” Jicheol pauses when your phone begins to ring loudly. You let out a deep sigh and hesitantly pull away from him looking mildly annoyed. His sharp eyes stay on you while you reach around for your phone and check who it is. “Who’s calling?”

‘Great’ you think while seeing the caller ID, “No one, probably spam.” You say through gritted teeth while turning your phone off ALL the way, “Don’t worry about it,” you mumble while giving him quick pecks, “ ‘s not important baby.” You run your hands along the planes of his chiseled chest and toned stomach. 

Jicheol uses his hold on you to switch your positions, you giggle up at him when your head lands on the soft pillows, “What’s so funny, hm.” He buries his face in the side of your neck and sucks marks into your unblemished skin. 

Your lips part and you bury your fingers in his hair, “Nothin’,” you lick your lips as you catch your phone from the corner of your eye, “nothing at all.” You say as his lips find yours and the two of you sink into the sheets. 

+

The cold morning air brushes against your cold cheeks fiercely, only fueling your adrenaline to keep jogging despite your lungs begging otherwise. You liked morning jogs a lot, helped clear your mind and get you away from everything for a bit. Besides, the trail you took was local and not many people came out at this hour. 

“Ah shit.” You whisper tiredly while pausing in your tracks to pick up your fallen AirPod. You take a minute to inspect it and clean the earbud of any dirt and grime it might’ve got from the floor. 

You hear footsteps nearby but you assume it’s another runner (while there weren’t many, it wasn’t rare either). You move off the trail to get out of the way when suddenly the steps stop and a strong pair of arms wraps around your middle. You yell out in surprise and turn your head to see who your attacker is. 

“Jungkook..?” You breathlessly ask, “You scared me, what the hell is wrong with you?!” You smack his chest a few times.

Jungkook has this scary look on his face but what’s new? This spoilt brat was always pissy about something so you weren’t phased, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Don’t fuckin’ do that again.” He glares, “You intentionally ignored me for one,” he takes a step forward, “and then two, come to my surprise baby you turned your phone off. The fuck is that about?” He growls. 

You shake your head and sigh in disbelief, “Really? You’re crying about me turning my phone off? So what, am I supposed to ask you for permission now? Can’t even let my phone die without you freaking out?”

Jungkook snatches your wrist and tugs you towards him, “Don’t fucking give me that,” he whispers dangerously low, “I’m not a fucking moron like you think I am.”

“Nobody said that.” You tug on your wrist, “Now let me go, someone’s gonna see you and I have to get back home.” Jungkook’s about to answer when he suddenly pauses, staring at something. You frown in confusion and look, “What?” You follow his eyes and you go still. 

The marks. 

You really done it now. “Jungkook…” You hesitantly meet his eyes and wish you never had. He looks so fucking pissed you don’t know whether to cry or run away. 

The fear kicks in and you take a step back from him. Jungkook pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue and slowly nods his head, “I see..seems like you were too busy being a little cockslut hangin’ off someone else’s cock. Tell me was it good?” He darkly mumbles, “Did he fuck you better than I did? Did he have your pussy droolin’ and creaming around his cock like you do to mine? He make you scream like I do baby?” He envelops your entire throat in his hand, not gripping but rather just holding you in place. 

“I’ll scream.” You whisper shakily. 

“Go ahead,” Jungkook laughs in your face, “you do it plenty so I don’t see the difference now.” Your face burns with humiliation and you turn your face away from him, “Oh don’t give me that,” he mock-pouts, “c’mon baby look at me.” He grips your cheeks between his fingers as he squeezes them together and makes your pouty lips form a tiny little peak that he smooches. 

“Jungkook please,” you softly whine, “not here, someone’s gonna see.” 

“You’re right,” he mumbles while staring at the dark hickeys Jicheol left on you, “I know a better place.” You follow his eyes and look over to see that he’s set his sights on your home. Immediately you turn to protest but Jungkook lifts a finger over your lips, “Ah-ah, just do as I fuckin’ say.” 

. 

You’re walking on pins and needles right now, today might just be the day your entire world ends up ruined. You can’t help the way your eyes flicker over to the laundry room, the anxiety claws at your insides and you’re desperate for any escape. After Jungkook had demanded you let him into your home things started piling one after the other. 

First it was Jicheol who had decided to come early from work (out of all days you bitterly think), and then you had Danielle over helping with Jae. How the hell are you planning on explaining anything if Jae or Danielle accidentally enter the laundry room and see Jungkook in there? This isn’t a “oh, my mistake” situation, there’s no coming back from this once everything begins to surface.

You shudder just thinking about it, “Danielle–honey, do you mind taking Jae out to the park for a bit? I got a lot on my mind right now and I think I’m gonna just cook dinner or something to get my head out of the clouds. I’d prefer if Jae wasn’t in the house though.”

Danielle stops coloring the page Jae had handed her as she tilts her head up to meet your eyes, “Oh, sure. Do you want me to pack him something or will we be coming back early?” She stands to her feet while dusting off her jeans. 

“Pack a few snacks,” you look over at the closed double doors and nervously bite your lip, “actually here, just take this and bring me back the change—or don’t. Just head out before it gets dark.” You say while ushering her and Jae out. 

Danielle doesn’t comment on your jittery behavior, she simply waves bye and takes the little boy with her down the street to the local park. Now you just have to find a way to keep Jicheol occupied. “Jicheol? Baby do you mind stopping by the store and bringing me a few things?” You loudly call out. 

Jungkook’s long made himself at home in your kitchen, he waves his hand with a teasing smirk on his face. “Fuck you,” you mouth while passing the kitchen to head upstairs where Jicheol was probably at, “Jicheol baby can you run to the store?” You sound out of breath by the time you reach the top, Jicheol’s standing in the doorway in his loungewear. 

“Sure, you got a list or something?” He hums. 

“Uh yeah, I wrote it down but I forgot where I slipped the note. Just go, I’ll send it to you when you’re on your way yeah?” You try to appear as calm as possible but the devil downstairs wouldn’t let you. 

Jicheol looks at you weirdly but ends up nodding anyway, “Okay well, you do that.” He slips past you, “I’ll call you if you don’t send the list by the time I get there.” He begins descending downstairs, “By the way, did the neighbors get a new car? I swear I keep seeing that same Mercedes up and down the street.” 

You freeze in terror and clench your fists tightly, “..Oh really? I didn’t know either,” you slip downstairs and turn the corner to see Jicheol standing in the kitchen while drinking a glass of water you don’t remember seeing him or anyone for that matter set out. 

“Maybe you should get going before it gets late. I kinda need the things for the dinner I’m making.” You nervously smile. 

“You tryin’ to get rid of me now?” Jicheol laughs, “So jittery baby, what’s got you all fired up hm?” He tucks you into his arms and rocks side to side, “Did something happen baby?” He softly says in your ear. 

“No,” you mumble back, “was planning a surprise.” 

Jicheol nods slowly, “Okay, I’ll be back then my love. I can’t wait to see what you got planned.” He winks and parts from you. You close your eyes and wait for Jicheol to leave, you can hear him getting his keys and a few other trinkets of his. Any minute now.. 

. . .

“Jicheol?” You call out when you don’t hear the front door open or close, “Is everything okay?” 

You end up stepping out to go see what was happening, instead you got a fat load of Jungkook carrying your unconscious husband away to the living room, “Jungkook?! What did you do? What the fuck did you do?!” You begin panicking, pacing back and forth throughout the room, “Fucking hell, are you some sort of deranged psycho!” 

“Relax,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, “I drugged him, well been drugging him with the water I left out.” He snickers and tosses Jicheol over the couch, “Fuck he’s heavy,” he cracks his back and rolls his muscles, “baby, baby,” he raises his hand, “you’re stressin’ me the fuck out with all your walking and pacing.”

“Well excuse me, my husband is drugged and passed out in front of me, but sure I’ll keep it down for you Mr Jeon, anything else?” 

Jungkook lazily grins, “You can be as loouuud as you want, I’m not complaining.” He raises his hands in surrender, “But you know what, there is something you can do for me.” He purrs low, “Come here.” 

Your eyes widen knowingly and you shake your head, “No, fuck no. We can go to the room or anywhere but not here—not in front of him.” You hiss. 

“I don’t really give a fuck.” Jungkook tugs you close, “Awake or asleep, I’ll fuck you whenever and however the fuck I want.” His hot breath ghosts over the side of your neck, “I know that deep down—you love this, gettin’ fucked silly in front of your husband, don’t you wanna show him how well you take my cock?” He whispers. 

Your eyes slip shut in both arousal and horror, “No.” 

“Liar.” Jungkook bites down on your earlobe teasingly, “Explain this,” he suddenly thrusts a hand into your sweatpants. His cold fingers cup you through your panties, heavy palm sitting right under your pulsing heat. “Hm?” 

“J-Jungkook, no,” you fight against his grip and squirm around, “listen to me dammit!” You sob in frustration as all the fight begins to slowly leave your body, ending with you melting into a mush of goo. 

Jungkook coos softly, “Baby needs a cock in her? Is that it?” He cages you in between him and the coffee table the back of your knees bumps into, “C’mon tell me, you know I like hearing filthy things leave that pretty little mouth.” He tilts you by the chin to face him, “Look at me,” he patiently hums. 

Your eyes flutter open to the bleary sight of Jungkook, “Just get it over with,” you blink tears away, “please Jungkook.” 

He doesn’t say anything when he slides his lips on yours, his hand cups the side of your face to hold you perfectly still and pliant in his hands. Your face scrunches cutely and you find yourself trying to guide him away from the living room with hands over his abdomen. However a frown makes its way to your face when you notice he doesn’t budge. 

“We’re not going anywhere sweetheart,” he calmly says after pulling apart with a string of spit connecting your messy lips, “but you already knew that, why play dumb?” He talks to you like he’s talking to a child. 

You make a noise of protest but it dies down when Jungkook begins moving. He guides you over to the armrest of the sofa Jicheol’s passed out on. Your heart slams in your chest violently like it’s about to burst. Jicheol’s sleeping face is centimeters away from yours making it all the more horrifying.

Jungkook steps behind your bent form, he runs his hands over your sides and thighs with a pleased sigh. He slips his hands into your sweats, taking his sweet time in massaging your hips and the swells of your ass cheeks. You end up biting your lip and trying not to squirm away from his unwanted touches. 

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath when he tugs your sweatpants down and sees the pretty undies you had on under, “well happy fuckin’ birthday to me.” He whistles and runs his palm over the waistband, hooking his fingers in and pulling until the band snapped back in place. 

You yelped and jolted from the stinging sensation you felt in your hip, he finally decided to grant some mercy and tugged the panties down your thighs. They dropped around your ankles alongside your sweatpants leaving your cunt out in the open for Jungkook. By now you’re sure some wetness had built up between your sticky dewy folds, they felt moist and drenched. 

“Such a little liar,” he smacks your drooling cunt, sending you reeling over the couch with a cry of shock. Your face is dangerously close to Jicheol’s, you catch yourself from letting out another yell when Jungkook spanks you again. The pain sparks a heat inside of you. 

“If I woulda known this slutty cunt drips at the thought of being fucked infront of your husband, I would’ve fucked you a long time ago baby.” He chuckles breathily and rubs over your tender pussy. You moan in protest from the “soothing” touch, he has to give you a warning pinch when your squirming becomes tedious, “Behave.”

Jungkook slips his fingers between your folds, parting them in a ‘v’ as he strokes over your entire pussy. A delicious shiver passes over you when his fingers brush over your slippery clit. The touch is enough to make your swollen bud throb with anticipation and need. You bite a whiny moan and let your head hang in slight disappointment. Jungkook isn’t deterred though, he keeps brushing over your clit never quite touching it. 

“Drippin’ already.” Jungkook murmurs while burying his face in your neck, “head up baby, want him to see the slutty little faces you make while getting fucked stupid.” He shallowly dips his fingers into your sopping hole with a lewd squelch. “Hear that?” He purrs low, “filthy already.” 

Your face grows hot with shame but Jungkook doesn’t stop swirling his fingertip around, he wipes his finger clean in your inner thigh, leaving behind a dollop of slick smeared all over. He shuffles behind you until the head of his weeping cock slides through the mess between your legs. His cock comes poking out through your thighs as he slips himself between your squishy wet folds. 

He slowly rolls his hips and lets his cock slide over your mound again and again. The underside of his shaft rubs against your clit giving it the much needed friction you were craving. “Mmh,” your thighs squeeze together and you push your hips back, plush ass meeting his pelvis with a messy smack. 

“Needy little thing,” Jungkook muses and steers you forward with a hand over your back, “gonna fuck it out of you though—he may have married you but this cunt still belongs to me at the end of the day.” He suddenly slams his hips forward, instantly filling you with a loud splat as his balls collide with your folds, “Mine to fuck, mine to breed, mine to claim.” He groans. 

Your mouth falls open and you shudder, his cock from this angle somehow makes you feel fuller and more stretched out. Your rim hugs his cunt tightly and you can feel the slight tug on your perineum when he backstrokes. Another lewd “uhn” leaves you when he drives his cock right back in, the tip pokes your cervix but it’s nothing too serious or painful. 

“Let me hear you,” Jungkook bites his lower lip and rolls his hips faster, “let your husband hear how you—really—like to get fucked.” He huffs under his breath and brings the hem of his shirt up to his mouth, biting it so he can see his cock disappear into your ruined cunt over and over. 

Your ass ripples with every thrust and there’s a low smacking noise, he’s punching more and more moans from your throat. It’s harder to keep them in when he’s rubbing those spots so good. His cock bumps into your g-spot occasionally but Jungkook wants to drag it out so he doesn’t hit it yet. Your pussy clenches around him drawing a hiss from him as his fingertips dig into your hips. 

Jungkook slams forward and sends you toppling over the armrest a little with your feet dangling a few inches from the floor. You’re jostled closer to Jicheol and hold back a terrified scream you almost let out. Jungkook’s losing control and the pace is sending you flying towards your husband, one wrong move and you’re going to topple on top of Jicheol.

“J-Jungkook slow down,” you mewl, “ ‘m gonna fall..!” You gasp, he hits your g-spot head on with vigor. When he sees the tremor that wracks your smaller frame he starts pounding into that spot wildly. 

Your cries are clear as day, the wet smacking is thundering and the couch rattles loudly over the wooden flooring. You scramble to find a good grip to keep yourself steady while you get the pounding of a lifetime. His vicious thrusts send you forward but his firm grip keeps you speared right on his cock. You chant Jungkook’s name which only spurs him on as he fucks you like a madman. 

Jungkook lets the hem of his shirt go and trails a hand up to twist in your hair, “Fuckin’ slut—pussy’s mine ‘n mine only. Let’s leave him a nice little present for when he wakes up baby, yeah? Gonna fuck this slutty pussy on him even with my cum dripping from it? Least you’ll be all loose ‘n wet for him,” he smirks, “you’d like that wouldn’t you? Maybe we should let him join next time, we’ll fuck all your little holes and keep ‘em filled with our cock.”

You shamelessly moan at that and tilt your head back for him without having to be asked. He lets out a pleased moan and leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, “One cock not enough anymore?” He rubs your ass with his other hand and lands a hard slap over it, “Hm?” 

“N-No,” you hiccup with teary eyes, “need t-to cum,” you gasp, “soo close..mmh..” 

“Cum,” Jungkook whispers, “go on,” he brings a hand down between your sticky thighs and smacks your clit with two fingers. 

The sting sends you over the edge with a loud cry spilling from your lips. You shake from the intensity and slump over with a tired moan. Jungkook doesn’t care that you came already because he keeps pumping his cock in and out of your, using your cunt for his pleasure. 

He yanks you back like a ragdoll and wraps his hand around your throat tightly, “Next time think twice about lettin’ him mark you,” he growls in your ear, “or else drugging won’t be the thing I do.” He lets you go carelessly and grinds his cock deep, pelvis pressed tightly to your ass. 

Your lips part silently in a ‘o’ as you shudder, a mini-orgasm takes you by surprise and you’d rather not think it’s because of what he said just now.. Surely not right? Right.. 

Jungkook moans softly as your pussy hugs his cock nice and snug. He fills you spurt after spurt with cum, not bothering to pull out right away. In fact he grinds his hips in tiny motions to milk his orgasm out, sighs of relief slipping from his lips. The room feels hot and you’re pretty sure the stench of sweat and sex is pungent in the air.  

“Jungkook,” you shakily murmur while pushing back, “c’mon, it’s not funny anymore let me up.” You softly plead while looking back at him with wide glossed over puppy eyes. 

Clean-up is a quiet ordeal, Jungkook looks smug when you pass by with shaky legs. He doesn’t miss the chance to smack your ass, to which you fiercely glare at him as you disappear to quickly change. When you emerge in a comfy home outfit you stand in the doorway pointing to the front door. 

“Out.” You glare, “Not in my house Jungkook, this is the first and last time we do this. You hear me?” You’re not entirely sure he’s listening but you say it anyway. This was not only risky as hell but stupid too, everything was at stake (even if the adrenaline was crazy). 

“Kiss,” Jungkook mumbles with a grin as he finishes slipping his coat back on, “c’mon before I go baby.”

You stare at him unimpressed and walk over to press a gentle kiss over his lips. Of course he wraps his hands around your waist and tugs you closer to him, kissing Jungkook was never a quick ordeal. Nothing was ever quick with him. “Okay,” you push at his chest gently, “enough. My kid and nanny are coming home any minute now, get out.” You huff. 

“Yeah, yeah, you weren’t saying that when I fucked your brains out–” His laugh is cut off when he pauses to stare down the hall in amusement, “Looks like we have a audience baby.” He grins. 

Your head whips to see Danielle standing in the kitchen doorway, she looks shocked and disturbed. Jae’s nowhere insight but your heart still drops to your ass, “D-Danielle.” You’re going to fucking lose it right now. 

She takes a step back and looks at Jungkook with both fear and nervousness, “T-The front door was l-locked so we came through the  b-back.” 

“Dani–honey wait,” you stretch your hand out to her but she’s already running. You can hear Jae in the pantry loudly asking where the applesauce pouches are at. You look at Jungkook with fear in your eyes, “Jungkook—s-she..s-she knows!” You quiver and hold back a sob. 

Jungkook cups your face in his hands, “Don’t cry sweetheart, I’ll fix it yeah?” He hums, “Don’t worry that pretty little head, everything’s gonna be fine.” He kisses your cheeks and wipes your tears with his thumbs, “Smile for me—yeahhh, there you go pretty girl.” He grins, “I’ll handle it.” 

+

Jungkook blows the smoke out from his lips, he crushes the cigarette under his boot and clicks his tongue in annoyance, “Shit,” he mutters and digs around his pocket for his phone, “hello?” He answers with his head tilted back as he watches the tiny snowflakes fall around him. 

“Did you handle it?” 

“I did,” Jungkook chuckles, “what, not gonna ask if I’m tired? It was a lot of work baby, don’t you think I deserve a present?” His eyes flicker down briefly but he goes back to snow watching. 

“...Thank you.” 

“Oh you will be thanking me later, but for now I got a lot of things to attend to so I’ll see you around baby. Don’t get too comfy, I was thinking about heading to London just the two of us. I’m sure that pretty brain of yours can come up with somethin’ to tell him, bye baby.” He smirks and hangs up before you can get a word in. 

He stands in silence just staring at the lump in front of him. “Poor kid, shit luck and shit life.” He grunts and lights another cigarette, “..Gotta get the cleaners ‘n shit—fuck it’s a mess.” He sighs and dials another number, “Hello?” He loudly says, “Round up the cleaning team—no it’s only one, might be two but for today it’s one. Teen, the baby-sitter.” He nudges his foot against the stiff limbs laying in the snow. 

“I’ll triple the payment if you help me eliminate a certain someone..yeah, spring cleaning. Oh, and don’t tell father about this. He’ll be real sad to know it happened..again..”

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan @lilyflowerguk @sayokodiary @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore

Fighter (Jungkook)

Warning: This is a dead dove fic ⚠️

You've always been a fan of MMA practising boxing and jujitsu in your spare time. It was a welcome distraction from your busy life.

Hitting the gym after a stressful day of being a corporate slave did ease the tension and helped you blow off some steam.

Learning jujitsu opened up a whole new world for you as you got more immersed into the sport you took a keen liking to watching it as well.

Soon enough you and your gym buddies would meet up over the weekend to watch fight broadcasts which eventually turned into you buying tickets to live matches.

It gave you a sort of adrenaline high.

It made you forget about your worries even if it were for a little while.

This weekend was no different than any other you and your friends were seated on the ring side.

Watching new fighters try to work their way up the ranks serving as an opening act for the main event.

They generally never really caught your attention much as most of them were just clumsy amateurs  trying to make it big.

Concentrating more on your beer at hand.

The commentator was introducing a new rookie from Korea Jeon Jungkook.

Fighting on a 2 loss streak this was his last chance to prove himself otherwise as a rookie he wouldn't be able to get a fighting contract.

Out of curiosity you looked up only to find him looking directly at you nervously sliding from one leg to another which was understandble given the fact that this one fight decided if he would have a career or not. The end was near for him.

He didn't have much hope or faith in himself.

He had sacrificed his all for his dream and now he slowly saw it drifting away from his grasp.

His head was filled with a million thouts

Voices crowded his mind of self doubt and anxiety as he made his way into the ring.

The sound was deafening he felt as if his head would explode.

Until suddenly everything went silent he became painfully aware of every detail in complete silence as he locked eyes with you.

It was as if for the first time in a long while he felt at ease.

He felt grounded

His breath leveled back to normal

The tremor in his hand subsided as he stood there entranced by you.

Until he heard the bell ring.

The referee pulling him into the centre of the ring starting the fight.

The first round went better than expected he was able to land a couple of punches causing some damage to his opponent.

He dominated the first round demonstrating his skill and impressive striking.

The second round he was grounded by his opponent jungkook knew he excelled in striking but lacked in wrestling and ground work

Using his weakness against him sending a powerful blow to his face which resulted in a deep gash.

With blood rushing down his face clouding his sight.

The fight had brought the audience to the edge of their seat the last round would decide who would win.

Jungkook was exhausted and bloody and beaten maybe it was best to accept defeat at this point things weren't going his way either way.

If he didn't win this fight he wouldn't have anything to return to he gave up all his savings to recieve training.

He had been alone all his life his parents died when he was about 5 leaving him to his grandfather who ran a boxing gym.

This is where he grew up this was all he ever knew ever since he was a child.

It wasn't soon when his grandfather too passed away leaving him all alone yet again. He promised that he would become world champion one day it was either that or he wouldn't want to live.

Without this life wasn't worth living.

The voice of self doubt took over once again he felt defeated he didn't know how much longer he could go on.

But they were once again silenced .

Silenced by your cheers it was the first time in his life that someone cheered for him.

You a complete stranger believed in him at that more than anyone ever did in his entire life.

At that moment you were all he needed your cheers gave him the strength to fight the last round knocking his opponent to the ground earning him the first victory in his professional career.

After the event he tried to find you in the crowd but you were no where in sight his lucky charm.

He knew he had to find you.

The days that followed he started training with a new found energy it was like he was a whole new man.

He gained confidence and knew that he had to work on his technique especially his wrestling.

His coach recommended a local jujitsu gym where he should begin training.

With his gym bag hanging on his shoulder he stepped into the gym.

And began sparring on the mat for about an hour or so not really caring about the building up fatigue.

Nearly spent he was about to call it a day until he saw something flash over the corner of his eye

He watched as you and your sparring partner giggled while tossing each other around.

It was a strange experience each time he saw it was like he was reborn.

It felt as though he was given a second chance at life ever since he saw you.

He couldn't work up the courage to speak to you that day so he tried his best to impress with his fighting skills despite being exhausted he sparred until you left in hopes of seeing you for as long as he could.

Packing up for the day he was just about to head back home as his phone began to buzz in his back pocket. To his surprise it was his manager informing him that his latest win had landed him a fighting contract and that he was scheduled for an upcoming fight that would offer his a decent pay check.

He was extatic things were finally turning around for him. He credited this win again to you.

It couldn't possibly be a coincidence he saw you the first time he won and now he again met you the day he got a contract.

He was sure that you were his lucky charm.

His suspicion was proved right when in his next fight there you were in the front row

That day he won by knockout and he won his next fight as well similarly with you right by his side.

It could no longer be a coincidence in his mind you were cemented as his lucky charm and he felt that he wouldn't win without as you sit obliviously to his strange theories by the ring you begin to feel a little uncomfortable with the way he is starting at you as if you would disappear the second he looks away.

Bruhsing it off as him probably being disoriented after the fight you didn't think too much of it.

But soon the feeling was harder to shake off he started showing up to your gym more often training when you would train offering to be your sparring partner which you kindly declined.

Given that you preferred to stick to your friends he wouldn't let any man near you either

His possessiveness was starting to creep you out. He wasn't your boyfriend but would tell everyone that he was and when you confronted him about this he told you that it would help keep the creeps away from you.

But who was going to tell him that he was the one creeping you out.

It didn't stop at that he would often wait until you finished to walk you to your car in the guise of keeping you safe or the way he would constantly borrow your stuff saying that he had forgotten his at home.

Soon things like your clothes started to go missing from your gym bag as he snuck them out as souvenirs.

As he clutched a bouquet of roses he followed you to your car today was the day he would finally confess and make you his.

He patiently waited for you to finish your session as he walked you out as usually but before you got into your car.

He stopped you.

You saw his face change to a shade of pink as he looked like a giddy school boy.

He held out the bouquet of roses to you confessing his love and undying affection for you.

It was sweet and he looked so hopefull but you couldn't lie to him and tell him you felt the same.

You tried to be as gentle as you could trying to let him down.

But he was in denial he didn't understand how you couldn't see that you were meant to be you were soulmates it was destiny.

He wasn't relenting so you just ripped off the bandage.

"Listen I said I don't like you it don't understand why that's so hard to get into that thick skull of yours leave me the fuck alone"

He stood there stunned as you stormed off slaming your car door and promptly driving off.

You saw his reflecting in your rear view mirror his eyes were glossed over and he looked like a kicked puppy with his head held low the bouquet of roses that he had so carefully picked out now layed on the cold concrete floor.

He watched as you disappeared off into the night.

It was obvious that you were playing hard to get. That's okay he would just smother you with love until you didn't say yes. Otherwise he would just have to turn to move unpleasant measures at least unpleasant for you he would surely enjoy what he would do to you.

Everyday he would show up at opening time at the gym and leave at closing in hopes of catching you but as the days went by you didn't show up.

You thought it was best to lay low for a couple of days for the awkwardness to wear off.

When he couldn't find you at the gym he started to show up at your office just waiting outside the parking lot waiting for you.

You could only avoid him for so long, soon he began to show up wherever you went it was starting to scare you.

You reached your breaking point when one day you were sleeping you heard the door to your apartment rattle as if someone was trying to break in.

You could hear him on the other side yelling at you to open the door.

" Open the fucking door. Why do you have to make this so difficult.

We are meant to be why can't you just accept it?

I'll do anything for you just tell me what I need to do.

I'll do anything just open the door I just want to talk to you.

I'll treat you so well no one can love you the way I do those jerks that you flirt with at the gym can't love the way I do.

What we have is something special they wouldn't understand.

Open the fucking door or I'm going to break it down. "

You saw the hinged of the door begin to come off as he started to break it down.

You were sure he was going to murder you tonight if it wasn't for security showing up

It took five men to subdue with great difficulty.

Eventually the cops had to be called to restrain him.

He was let out of jail with nothing more than a slap on the wrist as the fighting leage didn't want their top new prospect to not show up for his fights.

The cops adviced you to leave town and lay low for a while because there was nothing they could do about him as he hadn't hurt you yet.

And the officials at the fight leage would simply bail him out each time as his fights were starting to bring in money.

You packed up your essentials in a hurry and headed to your parents home in the country side to get as far away from him as possible.

He was warned by his manager to not get into trouble for a while as he had a big fight coming up that would bring him close to fighting for the championship.

He trained hard every single day maybe if he became champion you would finally love him.

Even when he coughed up blood from overtrainig

He never stopped he had to win.

When fight day came his eyes anxiously scanned the crowd for your face.

You surely couldn't have abandoned him now.

You were his lucky charm

The calm in an ocean of noise

Without you hear he wouldn't win.

He has to have you

How could you betray him like this all you had to do was show up.

The fight commenced and he was on a 4 fight winning streak he couldn't risk losing it when he was climbing up the ranks.

He gave it his all and nearly lost the fight the only reason he won was because of a technicality and a penalty awarded to his opponent he was beat up and his ego was severely bruised.

He blamed his near loss on you how was he supposed to win without his lucky charm.

His delusion was only further proved by the outcome of the fight.

He began to become superstitious and was convinced that it would bring bad luck if he didn't have you.

His only dream in life was to be world champion and he wasn't about to let your refusal stand in his way.

He had to take matters into his own hands he had to make discussions for you because you clearly don't know what's good for you.

Without wasting even a second still covered in blood and sweat he pulled on a jacket and fired up his truck to your home.

He knew where you parents lived he would occasionally show up at night to watch you through the window when he couldn't sleep your presence calmed him down.

He knew he had to lure you out some way or another.

That's when a sinister idea popped into his mind.

He took out a burner phone a dialled your number.

When he heard your voice greet him.

" I'm not going to repeat myself.

Be a good girl and come out. We are going on a little trip just you and I.

If you want to be bad and stay inside I'll just simply come in and drag you out but if I have to do that I can't guarantee the safety of your parents.

They are old and weak you wouldn't want them to get hurt now would you.

I certainly wouldn't mind sending them to an early grave so now be a good Little girl and come with me "

You knew he wasn't joking he was more than capable of killing a grown man let alone your aging parents and living in the country side meant that you couldn't even call for help by the time you did he would have easily murdered your entire blood line.

You had no option but to comply as you snuck out through the back door trying not to wake your parents up maybe some day you'd be able to see them again if he didnt end your life this instant.

Sneaking out you were met with his face a sinister grin plastered across his face.

It was still bloody with most of the blood having dried down you assumed he left the ring directly to find you it was only a matter of time.

He opened the door for you shoving you in as you hesitated.

You were paralyzed with fear he was like a wild animal that was pushed into a corner and wounded he was unpredictable.

All you could do now was comply.

As he sped through the empty highways you knew that if you didn't escape now you wouldn't ever leave.

When his eyes were glued to the road ahead you hesitantly unlocked to lock to the passenger side door.

Just as you were about to open the door to the moving car and make your escape.

You felt his hand grabbing the back of your neck with a bone crushing grip slamming your head into the dashboard effectively knocking you out cold.

He pulled you back and rested your head back onto the seat.

Gently brushing a few strands of hair off your face as he occasionally admired as he drove off.

You looked so peaceful like this so calm and serine he could spend his entire life admiring you.

After an hours drive you finally reached your destination it was a quaint little house just outside the city he had bought it with his first major pay check for you.

He had invisioned his entire future with you by his side today was only the beginning of your life together.

He couldn't help but smile in content as he carried your unconscious body into the threshold of your new home.

He layed you down on a soft mattress in a room he had designed to your liking the sheets matching to the walls painted in your favourite colour.

Slowly coming back to consciousness.

The side of your head felt like someone had taken a hammer to it.

You were slightly disoriented as you tried to take in your surroundings the soft mattress underneath you did little to provide you with comfort.

What little sense of safety you felt vanished as you saw him at sitting beside you running his calloused hands across your naked skin.

"I hope you don't mind I had to get you out of those filthy clothes. It wouldn't have had to be this way if you understood my love for you I never would have had to go this far."

A chill randown your spine as he began to go on and on about how he bought this house for you and how much he was looking forward to spend the rest of your lives together.

"I've done so much for you. I keep you safe.

I bought you this house that matches your liking I all but worship the ground you walk on don't you think I deserve something in return for all I have done for you. "

He said as he straddled your hips.

He tried to fight him off all only to land one punch on him reopening a cut that he had sustained in the fight as blood gushed down his face onto yours

You watched in horror as he seemed completely unfazed by it.

Infact he almost seemed excited by the sight of it.

" Guess I'll just have to fuck the fight out of you"

He grabbed both of your wrists with one one hand pinning you down.

His other hand roaming your body groping you as he pleased.

Ripping off the final coverings from your body leaving you bare for his hungry eyes to shamelessly eye fuck you.

He leaned down to kiss you to which you turned away.

The second time he tried his patience began to wear off with your non compliance wearing his patience thin.

He wasn't having any of it.

Before you could try to push him off you felt a searing slap land on your face the force of which whipped your head to the side.

Before you could even react to it another one followed then another he slapped you around like a rag doll mercilessly raining pain on you he only stopped when you tasted metallic blood on your tounge seeping in from your cheeks.

The fear in your eyes turned him on the fact that he has so much power over you at any given moment he could take your life without even having to try.

You were completely at his mercy and he wasn't feeling very generous today.

You trembled under him knowing that it was best to just comply.

"If you behave this can be a pleasurable experience for the both of us , and if you don't well I don't really care. I'll get what I want either way."

Having you immobilised with fear just made it easier for him to take advantage of you.

He still loved you in his own sick and twisted way and wanted you to feel good too.

He slide down your body grabbing your hips sliding them down to eye level as he spread apart your legs.

His breath fanning over your cunt making you shiver.

You tried to close them but either hand on your thighs held them down like chains.

He teased you gently running his toung through the expanse on your sex.

Slowly building up his pace while lapping you up.

His fingers teased your entrance as you bucked your hips towards him to get some sort of contact our of desperation he loved how needy you had gotten as he ate you out.

Edging you until you were on the verge of tears begging him to let you realse.

He loved the pained look of desperation on your face it made him feel needed.

He would move his tounge skillful working you up to your high only to stop just before you came.

He did this for what seemed like hours.

Teasing you torturing you with pleasure.

The frustration building up in your body was clouding your vision you needed to release one way or another it had gotten to a point where it was almost painful.

He himself could feel his cock strain against the fabric of his underwear.

Big and angry just waiting to burry itself into your soft warm walls.

As much as he enjoyed watching you be a desperate slut.

He needed some action himself.

Moving up caging you between his arms.

You didn't have much energy left in you with the assault he earlier did and the hours of edging you were completely spent.

As he slowly tried to fit his massive girth inside of you.

It was a tight fit as you tried weekly pushing him away telling him it was too much to handle.

He reassured you that you would be fine and to be a good girl and take whatever he gives you.

Once fully inside it felt as if he was splitting you open.

He tried his best to go as slow as he could but the months of pent up frustration and rage all led up to this moment.

He couldn't hold it in anymore as he drilled you into the mattress.

Your finger nails drew crimson marks all along his back as he brought you from one orgasm to another barely giving you rest between them.

It was like he was in a daze finally getting his hands on what he so desperately crave

Terms & Conditions: Part 2 (Final Act)

when the suit comes off, the truth does too.

pairing: CEO’s son!Jungkook x assistant!Reader

summary: You swore you came here to build a career — not fall apart in the hands of the CEO’s son.

warnings: power imbalance, office tension, explicit sexual content (oral sex m. receiving, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, possessiveness), infidelity (both parties), arranged engagement themes, physical violence (fight scene), public scandal, emotional manipulation, toxic power dynamics, angst, some hurt/comfort.

w.c: 10k

Part 1 is required reading. This is a finale part 2.

You don’t even wait until the floor clears for lunch.

There’s no strategy left in you anymore — no calculated timing, no softened voice. You step into the corridor just as the meeting room doors close behind him, your clipboard still clutched in your hand, the adrenaline already humming in your ears like static. And when he sees you, he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pretend to be surprised. His gaze settles on yours with that same maddening calm — like the night he spent inside you meant nothing, like the woman draped over his arm the next evening wasn’t wearing the exact same shade of lipstick you left smeared across his throat.

Drawing in a single breath, you face him. "You're engaged."

It's not a question - it doesn't need to be. The silence that follows hangs heavy between you, thick enough to suffocate.

He releases a long sigh and, unusually, drops his typical facade of sarcasm and control. Meeting your gaze with unreadable eyes, he stands with hands in his pockets like a defendant who knows the verdict won't matter.

"Yes," he says simply. "I am."

You remain perfectly still, fingers tightening around your clipboard as you deliver your next words with razor-sharp precision. "So what was I, then? Disposable? Or just free?"

Your words strike true - you catch the flicker in his eyes, the subtle clench of his jaw, the shallow breath he takes. Yet he offers no apology, no explanation. Instead, he responds with the detached tone of a business presentation.

“It’s not like that.”

“No?” You step closer. Not much. Just enough to make him hold your gaze harder. “Then explain it. Explain why I was bleeding wine in front of investors while you stood there with your fiancée, saying nothing.”

He exhales through his nose, slow and tight, voice lowered now, like the weight of the conversation is finally dragging his composure down with it.

“It’s a business arrangement,” he says, words deliberate. “Old money. Shared capital. Our families have been connected since we were teenagers. This isn’t about love, or lust, or even choice. It’s about control. It’s about deals with names older than either of us.” A pause. “It’s expected.”

You laugh — short, bitter, too empty to sound like anything real.

“Expected,” you echo, your voice cracking on the word like it’s poison in your mouth. “And I was… what? Unexpected? A glitch in your system? Something to delete once the ink dried?”

His silence and downcast gaze speak volumes.

Your breath catches unsteadily as your heart pounds against your ribs. "You could've said something," you whisper, the words barely audible. "Could've stopped. Didn't have to kiss me, didn't have to stay."

His voice takes on a sharp edge. "And you didn't have to let me."

The accusation hits you like a physical blow, leaving you frozen in place. When you finally find your voice again, it emerges quiet and glacial. "I wasn't the one promising anything."

He meets your gaze, his expression unreadable but his voice carrying notes of both defense and warning. "You had a boyfriend."

The words strike deep - not because they're false, but because they expose the very wound you'd hoped he'd forgotten. He catches every micro-expression that crosses your face: the catch in your breath, the clench of your jaw, the momentary downward flicker of your eyes.

"You think this was one-sided?" he murmurs, drawing closer. "That I seduced you from nowhere? You kissed me back, begged for it, moaned my name while your boyfriend's contact was still in your phone."

You flinch but hold your ground, because beneath all the anger lies an unbearable truth: he's right. And that very fact feeds both your hatred for him and your self-loathing.

✓

You cut him from your life completely. No acknowledgment when he stands at the printer, no response to his comments in campaign threads, no glance during Monday syncs. You give him nothing - not a breath, not a look, not a hint of the woman who once surrendered to his touch.

Though you refuse to meet his gaze, you can feel it following you - heavy and deliberate, as if trying to summon back the version of you who trembled at his voice. Instead, you present him with a carefully crafted facade: high collars, red lipstick, clipboard held like armor. This version of you is untouched by memory, unmarked by the intimacy you once shared.

Two weeks later, she arrives. Nami. Her visit is mentioned casually in a morning brief about corporate guests from London, but the moment the elevator doors open, you understand. She embodies effortless elegance - her cream suit perfectly tailored, her heels precise, her smile polished to perfection. She and Jungkook move together with practiced grace, his arm hovering near hers without quite touching, their matched presence speaking of wealth and careful calculation.

Your stomach twists as you try to ignore them, but when his burning glance finds your desk, something shifts inside you. As Minho from strategic ops approaches with coffee and a smile, you seize the opportunity. Your fingers brush his arm, your laughter flows freely, your gratitude comes with lowered lashes and a voice too sweet to be genuine.

When you finally look across the space, Jungkook stands with Nami but his eyes are fixed on you. He remains motionless except for the tightening vein at his temple and the slight shift of his jaw. In that moment, you discover something colder than satisfaction blooming in your chest - the realization that you could wound him without a single touch, just as he wounded you.

You maintain your performance with Minho, your laughter pitched just loud enough, your proximity carefully calculated. Though you don't look Jungkook's way again, you can feel his unwavering attention. When you finally return to your desk, your smile falls away like a discarded mask. You press your lips together and resume working, knowing that if you must bleed, at least you're making him feel every drop.

✓

It’s late when he finds you again — not by accident, not by fate, but with the kind of deliberate intensity you can feel long before you hear the footsteps approaching from behind. You’re the only one left on the floor, most of the office dark now except for the hallway lamps casting low, golden streaks across the concrete, and the single strip of cold light above your desk where you sit, pretending to finish the expense report you opened twenty minutes ago but haven’t touched since.

You hear him before you see him — the soft thud of his shoes crossing the carpeted floor with just enough pressure to announce him and no one else.

He doesn’t speak your name — not at first — just lingers behind your chair for a moment too long, his presence as heavy as ever, a pull you can feel at your back like heat from an open flame.

When he finally moves, it’s slow — fingers brushing the edge of your desk, not touching you yet, just hovering like memory, like warning, until he steps closer, his voice low, already rough, already wrecked.

“You’re ignoring me.”

Silence is your only response as you click aimlessly through a spreadsheet, your eyes fixed on meaningless numbers while your throat constricts with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“Say something,” he pushes, his voice darker now, not cruel, but desperate in a way you’ve never heard it. “Or do you only speak when you’re on your knees?”

His crude remark ignites something in you. Rising with controlled fury, you send your chair rolling back with a sharp clatter. Your body turns to face him in one fluid motion as you shove his hand off your desk, stepping into his space until you're toe to toe, your carefully maintained composure finally shattering.

"Don't touch me." The words cut through the air between you, crystalline and absolute.

He remains rooted in place, breathing hard with stormy eyes and hands flexing at his sides - a man struggling against the magnetic pull between you, fighting the urge to close those final inches.

"I can't stop wanting you," he confesses through clenched teeth, each word brittle and raw. "You know that, right? You feel it too. Don't lie to me."

"You don't get to want me," you counter, your voice trembling with the effort to maintain your resolve. "Not while you still belong to someone else."

A soft curse escapes him as he reaches for your wrist, seeking something solid to anchor himself to - but you wrench away before his fingers can find purchase, your next words slicing through the tension like a blade across silk.

"Break it off."

He freezes as you fix him with an unwavering stare, your eyes blazing not with tears but with a fury that threatens to blind. "If you want to touch me again, if you want me at all," you continue, each word deliberately cruel and precise, "then end it. End your deal, your arrangement, your legacy contract or whatever the hell you call that woman, and choose me."

His jaw flexes, shoulders rigid, a muscle ticking in his cheek like the last thread holding him together. "It's not that simple," he manages finally - a hollow defense from a man suddenly realizing how little control he truly has.

Your voice drops to a whisper, steady and final. "Then this is over."

You leave him there, your heels clicking against the floor as you walk away without pause or backward glance. Your exhale trembles in your lungs as you disappear down the corridor, leaving him frozen in the harsh fluorescent light. The message is clear: if he wants you now, he'll have to earn you.

✓

You download the app that same night, your thumb hovering over the red-pink icon for a full minute before you tap it — like even that act alone requires courage, like even pretending you’re ready to move on might tear something inside you loose.

You don’t tell yourself it’s a statement. You don’t pretend it’s casual. It’s not about hunger or curiosity or trying to bury the feeling of Jungkook’s body still inside yours. It’s about escape. About choice. About quiet rebellion in the form of swipes and curated smiles and profiles that don’t mention empires or legacies or what their family owns in London.

Dan is the first to reach out, a welcome change from chasing someone else's silence. You like the fact that he doesn’t make you chase, doesn’t smirk behind every word, doesn’t leave you staring at your phone for three hours wondering if you imagined the weight of his silence. Dan is polite, easy to talk to, refreshingly available — a man who replies in full sentences, asks about your work with genuine interest, doesn’t look at you like you’re the puzzle he wants to solve before he breaks it.

You go on your first date with him the following Friday — a corner booth at a rooftop bar, not flashy, not elite, but just nice enough to make you wear a dress that hugs your waist and lipstick that isn’t red. Dan compliments you the second you sit down. He doesn’t stare at your mouth when you speak. He orders a whiskey neat, listens when you talk, smiles when you laugh. When he walks you to the curb and asks if he can see you again, he doesn’t linger too long or press too close. He just touches your elbow, soft and brief, and waits for your answer.

You say yes, though you're unsure if it's attraction or desperation driving you - if you're trying to forget or simply reclaim ownership of your body. That night, lying alone in bed, untouched by choice, you realize it's the first time in weeks you haven't dreamed of chains against your collarbone.

Dan becomes a steady presence. Your meetings increase from weekly to twice that, each time marked by thoughtful gestures - good morning texts before important meetings, unexpected coffee deliveries, genuine interest in your work and opinions. He never mentions your past, and Jungkook remains unspoken between you. Dan represents something fresh - no complicated history, no clandestine encounters, no sin-stained conference rooms. While love hasn't bloomed, you're finally open to its possibility.

The revelation comes naturally one morning, neither planned revenge nor calculated provocation, but something far more potent: simple truth. You're standing by the design team's table, adjusting files while half-listening to Lisa, the new junior manager from strategy, chat about Gangnam restaurants. Her perfectly manicured hand curls around her cold brew as others hover nearby, feigning work while eavesdropping.

When Lisa turns to you, eyes bright with curiosity about your upcoming second date, you feel your throat tighten. Across the floor, Jungkook stands with his back partially turned, close enough to overhear. Something reckless and wounded inside you makes you straighten your spine as you answer with practiced casualness, as if your voice had never caught in his throat.

"Tomorrow actually," you say, matching Lisa's enthusiasm when she comments on Dan's apparent interest. You offer a practiced smile - the kind reserved for men who don't leave marks on your soul. "He's nice. Stable. Makes plans, follows through."

Though you don't look directly at Jungkook, you notice the shift - his fingers gripping the desk edge with barely contained violence, his jaw tightening, shoulders tensing with unspoken words. His silence speaks volumes, and you savor this moment of control, cold and satisfying like salt in someone else's wound.

The smile remains fixed until you reach your desk, where reality spins slightly behind your eyes. You remind yourself of your choice - if he claimed it wasn't simple, you're making it elementary. You're moving forward, even if the progression feels like dying.

✓

It's been a month since you first let Dan in - not into your heart or the part that still twitches at Jungkook's voice, but into your space and body. When it happened, it was slow and considerate, with gentle hands and a mouth that didn't demand. You told yourself it was the right decision, even if it wasn't passionate or dangerous.

Dan had stayed the night, his chest warm against your back as he slept peacefully. You laid awake counting the ways his touch failed to ignite you, wondering when settling for "good" had become your compromise.

Now in the break room with your coworkers, you wear practiced casualness like armor as Mina leans in with a conspiratorial smile. "Are you still seeing that guy? The tall one?"

"Dan?" you ask, lifting your coffee cup.

She nods while Jiyoon from HR chimes in, "He's hot. Quiet, but... the good kind of quiet."

You could deflect, but something defiant stirs within you. "We've been seeing each other for a while now," you say evenly. "We slept together last weekend."

Their heads tilt forward as soft oh's and knowing mm-hmms fill the air. When Mina grins expectantly, you offer a measured laugh and a simple "He's good. Very... attentive."

It's just a casual comment, but the sudden silence behind you - where the automatic doors whisper open and closed - speaks volumes. You don't need to turn to know it's him. His presence pulses like a second heartbeat as you calmly sip your coffee, letting your words linger.

He stands frozen, tension radiating from his rigid frame, before walking away without a word. Though he doesn't speak, his silence echoes through your veins for hours as you approach the end of your workday.

You’re five minutes from slipping into your coat, catching the last train, and crawling into your apartment where Dan texted that he might stop by, and where your body aches more from stress than arousal. Your eyes are dry. Your shoulders sore. You’ve done nothing wrong all day, and yet the tension hasn’t left you since that moment in the break room — the quiet that trailed behind you like perfume, his silence thickening the air every time he passed.

The email lands in your inbox at 7:52 p.m. sharp.

From: Jeon Jungkook

Subject: Campaign Budget Review – URGENT

Need your eyes on the attached. Need edits by tonight. Stay.

The email lands without greeting or explanation - just a demand to stay late and review the campaign budget.

Though you could decline with a curt "will handle first thing tomorrow," you find yourself staying, unable to break free from the pull he still has on you after these past months. The numbers only need minor adjustments, but you meticulously revise each cell, turning the task into an act of quiet defiance.

By nine, the office falls silent save for your typing and the occasional sweep of headlights through the glass. His arrival comes not as a sound but as a presence - a shift in the air like an approaching storm. You maintain your focus on the spreadsheet, refusing to acknowledge how your pulse quickens under his gaze as he approaches your chair.

"You're sleeping with him." His words cut through the quiet.

You turn slowly, deliberately calm as you meet his eyes. "I'm sleeping with someone who isn't engaged," you say coolly. "Something new after you, I like that."

Though he doesn't flinch, his hands curl into fists. "Why?" The words strain like fraying rope. "You're bored. I know you are."

"And yet," you murmur, rising to face him, "I'm still choosing him over you."

He moves with sudden intensity, reaching for your waist with an instinctive need. You shove him away hard, your voice sharp with anger. "Don't you fucking touch me."

Instead of apologizing, he advances again, eyes burning. "You think I'm okay seeing you with someone else?" he hisses through clenched teeth. "You think I'm sleeping well at night, watching you walk around here like none of it meant anything—"

"Good," you cut in, breathless but unflinching. "Now you know how it feels."

His silence speaks volumes as he stares at you, finally understanding that what lies between you has transformed from seduction into consequence. You walk away first, knowing that this time, he has no right to follow.

✓

It’s the kind of evening that doesn’t tolerate mistakes — an annual investor gala held at the Seoul Grand Marquis, a glass-and-marble beast of a venue tucked into the heart of the business district, where every chandelier costs more than your rent and every napkin bears the weight of legacy branding. This night is about power, about vision, about shaking hands across glass tables while making eye contact that means money, and you’ve known since the moment the invitation appeared in your inbox that this would be a war disguised as a party.

Every department has representatives attending — not just for visibility, but for survival. The gala is where acquisitions are hinted at, expansions teased, internal stars subtly ranked by who they’re standing next to and how loudly the room stops to listen when they speak. It’s also the one night each year when employees are permitted to bring a date — a silent status symbol more than a courtesy. It’s the company’s way of saying: show us who’s beside you, so we know who you are outside of your salary.

Dan had offered without hesitation. He’d even asked what color you planned to wear before choosing his tie, showed up to your apartment early that evening with flowers wrapped in white tissue and a nervous smile that looked too genuine to ignore. You’d let him help with your zipper. You’d let him kiss your shoulder as you stepped into your heels. And you’d told yourself, not for the first time, that normal wasn’t boring — that stability could be seductive in its own quiet way.

You arrive just past seven, hand resting light against his arm, your dress a sleek, open-backed slip of black satin that clings at the waist and falls like smoke to the floor, elegant but not attention-hungry, chosen precisely for its control. You wear no necklace, just earrings — thin, delicate, silver — and your lipstick is not red. You’ve been careful with every inch of yourself tonight, each detail designed to say: I am not here to play the game. I am here to win it.

Dan’s hand lingers on your lower back as you’re escorted toward the mezzanine ballroom, his voice soft, full of small compliments, polite jokes, quiet awe at the decor. You listen, you smile, you nod — and yet even as the champagne flute settles between your fingers and the soft strings of a quartet unfurl through the air like silk, there’s only one thing you’re aware of beneath your skin.

The anticipation coils within you like a rising tide. You feel it the way sailors sense an approaching storm - not with fear, but with the quiet certainty of something inevitable approaching.

The air shifts, almost imperceptibly, but with unmistakable weight.

Conversations pause mid-sentence. Laughter drops in pitch. Heads begin to turn in one slow wave, like a tide drawn toward something gravitational. And you know — before you turn your head, before you finish your breath, before you even dare glance — that it’s him.

Jeon Jungkook arrives with all the ease of someone who has never had to ask permission to exist. His suit is black, tailored within a millimeter of precision, cut to showcase the width of his shoulders and the power of his frame in ways that were never accidental. His shirt collar is open. His watch is new. His posture is effortless. And beside him — arm tucked lightly through his, gaze serene, steps measured like choreography — walks her.

Nami.

Her dress is a shade between champagne and cream, expensive in the quiet way only generational wealth understands, cut high at the neck but low at the back, revealing the smooth curve of a spine trained to never flinch. Her hair is swept into a twist that probably cost more than your entire outfit, and diamonds gleam at her ears, her throat, her wrist — no single piece overwhelming, but together they form a statement louder than any introduction.

Together, they look untouchable - a picture of perfection as she leans into him with the quiet confidence of someone who belongs there. Her fingers brush his sleeve with practiced familiarity, each gesture speaking of countless moments shared and countless more to come.

While Dan remains absorbed in conversation beside you, eagerly trying to charm the executive before him, you feel yourself drawn across the ballroom into Jungkook's unflinching gaze. The man who once whispered promises against your skin now stares at you with an intensity that makes the rest of the room fade away.

His eyes find yours deliberately, purposefully.

He looks at you — all of you — and his stare does not flinch. His gaze traces your neckline, lingers at your mouth, dips to the curve of your waist where Dan’s hand rests lightly like a placeholder. And for a long, long moment, he says nothing.

His eyes speak volumes in that moment - a dark intensity that matches your unwavering stare. When you finally break his gaze, it's not from fear or weakness, but because you've seen enough. This carefully crafted facade - the ballroom, the elegance, the man himself - has lost its luster, and you're no longer interested in maintaining the illusion.

He doesn’t come near you, not once, not even when protocol would have allowed it, not even when the polite mingling between departments would have excused a nod, a half-smile, a harmless comment about the wine or the music or the work you're both supposed to be doing — instead, he remains at a distance all evening, and yet you feel him watching you like heat from a closed door, like the memory of being touched in a place no one else can see.

There’s no space between your bodies anymore, not truly — not with how often his eyes find you across the ballroom, always in the quiet between speeches, always in the hush just before applause, in the breath before someone says your name — his gaze never lingering long enough to be obvious, but never glancing away quickly enough to be innocent, always returning, always waiting, as if his vision can reach through fabric and skin and hours of practiced indifference.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

You smile at Dan’s quiet jokes and accept the compliments from passing executives with a grace that feels like performance, not for the company, but for him, because everything about tonight has become a silent refusal to be anything less than composed — and if your spine is rigid beneath the satin of your gown, if your glass trembles slightly in your hand when you sip your champagne, no one else seems to notice.

Dan remains effortlessly attentive, not pushy, not overbearing, his presence beside you gentle in the way a safe harbor is, the kind of man who places a hand at the small of your back only when necessary — never to mark, never to command, only to anchor — and it’s during one of those moments, when you’re leaning in to listen to a conversation about the new China expansion strategy, that his fingers slide across your waist and settle low, pressing with the faintest pressure at the curve of your spine, grounding you without even knowing he’s touching a live wire.

You feel it instantly — not Dan’s touch, but the reaction it causes. Across the ballroom, Jungkook’s body shifts — subtly, almost imperceptibly, the kind of movement only someone who knows him too well would recognize — and even while mid-conversation with a group of executives near the bar, you see it, the sharp turn of his head, the flicker of his eyes, the rigid set of his shoulders the moment Dan’s hand settles exactly where Jungkook’s had once rested just before pushing you against his office door.

He doesn’t make a scene — he never does — but you see the way his jaw tightens, the way his hand flexes at his side like it’s fighting the need to close into a fist, the way his attention fractures mid-sentence as though his entire body has just become too tight to contain what he's feeling.

And then he walks away — not excusing himself, not smiling, not even pretending to maintain appearances, simply turning his back on whoever is still speaking and disappearing through the crowd with the kind of cold, singular focus that only ever means one thing when it comes to him: he’s going somewhere he isn’t supposed to be, to do something he’s no longer allowed to want.

Dan leans closer, says something about the main course arriving soon — something warm, something ordinary — and you nod, forcing a smile as if you’re still listening, still present, still in control.

But your body is already moving, your fingers setting down your glass, your eyes flicking toward the hallway behind the reception arch where the corridor leads away from the chandeliers and the silk and the curated spectacle of luxury, into the dim space lined with marble and mirror — a place built for privacy, for reapplication of lipstick and last-minute touch-ups, and, tonight, for whatever this has become between you and the man who just walked into the dark.

Without a word to Dan, you slip away into the shadows - drawn, as always, by a force stronger than reason.

The hallway behind the ballroom is dimly lit, lined with gilt-edged mirrors and low recessed sconces, the carpet thick enough to muffle footsteps, the air faintly perfumed with expensive citrus and something sweeter beneath it — and when you step past the velvet curtain that separates noise from silence, laughter from lust, you already know exactly where he’s gone.

The restroom is a cathedral of indulgence — marble floors, gold-trimmed stalls with private doors that close to the floor, velvet-paneled walls that swallow sound, plush settees for resting, reapplying, restrategizing. It’s the kind of room built for discretion. The kind of room that hears things and never repeats them.

You find him by the mirrors — his jacket off, sleeves rolled, chest rising a little too quickly for someone who claims to be fine. His eyes meet yours in the reflection first, and for a moment, neither of you speak. You stand there, inches apart and centuries away, the silence between you thick enough to drown in.

And then he turns.

“You need to stop,” he says, not as a command but as something closer to a plea, his voice rough, ragged at the edges, like he’s been holding it in all night and it’s finally breaking loose. “You can’t keep looking at me like I didn’t fuck you against a glass table and promise you it meant something.”

You don’t move. His steps are slow but certain as he closes the distance between you, and when he reaches you, his hands hover — not touching, not yet, just suspended at your waist like he’s begging your skin to remember him.

“I can’t do it anymore,” he breathes, softer now, just for you. “Not with you pretending he’s enough. Not with me standing there next to her, tasting you every time I close my fucking mouth.”

Fire burns in your gaze as you meet his eyes, wordless. Without hesitation, you pull him into a kiss.

Not gently. Not sweetly. You kiss him like punishment, like hunger, like you want to taste the lie in his throat and make it yours. His hands crash into your body the second your lips part — one gripping your jaw, the other dragging down to your hip, to your ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise. You pull him in with both fists knotted in his shirt, teeth clashing, breathless and furious and starving.

He breaks the kiss to bite at your neck, dragging his mouth down your throat as you walk him back into the furthest stall, slamming the door behind you with a force that makes the hinges rattle. He’s already unbuckling, already reaching for you, already so hard it’s like his body’s been waiting for this since the moment you left him standing in that empty office.

You sink gracefully to your knees before him, hands sliding up his thighs with deliberate intent. And when you look up at him, lips parted, breath hot, eyes blazing, you don’t need permission. You wrap one hand around his cock — flushed, thick, dripping at the tip — and lick a slow, deliberate stripe up the length, your tongue flat and obscene, your stare never wavering. He groans, low and choked, one hand flying to your hair, the other gripping the stall wall like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

You start slow — lazy, teasing, letting him feel every inch of your mouth as you take him in, lips sealing tight, jaw relaxed as you begin to move, your hand following where your mouth can’t reach.

“Fuck—” he gasps, eyes falling shut, hips jerking just slightly. “God, your mouth—fuck, I missed this—”

You hum around him — deep and wicked — and he moans so loudly it vibrates through your chest.

He can’t stay still.

He starts moving with you, thrusting gently, then harder, until one hand’s cradling the back of your head, the other buried in your hair, guiding you with slow, rough pressure as your lips slide wet and filthy down his cock again and again, saliva spilling at the corners of your mouth.

You let him take control, wanting him to come undone beneath your touch. And when you suck harder, faster, your throat relaxing, his rhythm stutters — his hips twitch, his breath breaks, and he pulls you off with a sharp, wet pop, panting, dragging you up into his arms, kissing you with his cock still hard between you, his mouth crashing into yours like he needs you to taste yourself on his skin.

The kiss deepens into something raw and primal, tongues and teeth clashing as their hands grasp desperately at each other. He spins you, presses you against the velvet-paneled wall, his hands yanking up your gown, dragging your panties down with such urgency that you nearly fall forward — but he catches you, hoists you up, lifts your thigh, and sinks into you in one deep, punishing thrust that knocks the air from your lungs and sends your moan echoing off the polished gold.

There's nothing gentle about the way he takes you - it's raw and primal, the way it's always been between you. Not when months of silence and pride and punishment collapse into a kiss against velvet and gold, into the way his hand cradles the back of your thigh and pulls your leg higher so he can fuck you deeper, so he can hear exactly how soaked and wrecked you already are for him.

He fucks you with a fierce desperation, like you're both his salvation and destruction - a sacred thing he worships even as he breaks you apart.

Every thrust is rough, brutal, breathtaking — the kind of rhythm that feels almost angry, like he’s trying to rewrite history with each snap of his hips, like he’s punishing you for every night you kissed another man and didn’t come apart like this, for every time you smiled at Dan like your body didn’t still ache for his hands.

He grunts low in your ear, hips snapping up as your back arches, as his fingers dig into your thigh so hard you know it’ll bruise, but you don’t care — not with the way he fills you, the way his cock drags inside you with punishing precision, not with the way your breath hitches every time the base of him slams against you and makes your whole body jolt.

“Fuck—” he groans, voice breaking at the edges as his forehead presses to yours, sweat beading at his temple, “You feel—fuck, you feel better than I remember.”

Your answer is nothing but a moan — low, ragged, your fingernails tearing down his back through his shirt, your teeth clenching around the chain that hangs against your throat now, heavy and swinging with each thrust, catching between your lips as you pant, as you let it cut into your tongue like it’s his name.

He grabs your hips and pulls you down harder onto him, hips pistoning now, his thrusts deeper, meaner, his teeth grazing your neck, your collarbone, biting the slope of your shoulder until you gasp and clench around him so tight he curses again, voice rough in your ear, all breath and gravel and loss.

“You miss this?” he growls, dragging his lips across your jaw, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear as his pace falters, then sharpens again, somehow harder, somehow deeper. “Miss me fucking you like this? Filling you up so deep you forget your fucking name?”

You whimper — not a word, not an answer, just the kind of helpless sound you make when there’s no more room in your head for anything but him. Your hips roll instinctively, chasing friction, clinging to him as the coil inside you twists tighter and tighter, unbearable now, heat flooding low in your stomach.

His pace never falters, his rhythm relentless and demanding. One hand leaves your thigh and slides up to your chest, yanking down the top of your gown just enough to expose the curve of one breast, and his mouth is on you instantly — tongue hot, lips sucking hard as his teeth graze over your nipple, as your head hits the wall behind you and you cry out, desperate now, pleading.

“Please— Jungkook, please—”

He groans against your skin, teeth grazing your chest, voice shaking with the effort to hold back.

“Say you missed it.”

“I— fuck, I— I missed you,” you gasp, your voice breaking as your nails dig deeper into his back, as your thighs start to tremble around his hips. “Missed this— I need— please, don’t stop—”

“I’m not gonna fucking stop,” he snarls, his pace suddenly brutal, unrelenting, his body crushing into yours, one hand tangled in your hair now, the other still fisted in your thigh, his breath hot against your lips as he kisses you again — filthy, wet, tongues colliding, teeth scraping, nothing left of restraint or dignity, just hunger clawing out of both of you like it had been caged for too long.

You come undone with a sob, your entire body trembling as your climax rips through you like fever and lightning, your hands fisting in his shirt and lips parted around his chain. Your thighs lock around him as your nails dig half-moons into his shoulder blades, marking him as yours in this moment of blazing truth.

And when you bite down on that chain — hard, trembling, gasping his name like a prayer — he follows with a broken moan into your mouth, his thrusts growing erratic, then jerking once, twice, deep, as he spills into you, his whole body shaking with it, his mouth crashing into yours like he can’t bear to come without you swallowing it whole.

You stay like that — still joined, still breathless — forehead to forehead, hearts galloping in sync, the air around you heavy with sweat, sin, and something too quiet to name.

Outside, beyond the velvet walls and marble doors, the music drifts on, while inside this sanctuary, you remain locked in an intimate silence with him, neither of you ready to voice the weight of everything left unsaid.

Your breath is still tangled in his mouth, his forehead still resting against yours, the weight of what just happened settling over you like the hem of your gown, rumpled now around your hips, clinging to sweat-slicked skin. Your heart is still galloping in your chest, still racing from the pace of him, the sound of him, the way he said your name like it had always been meant for him to say.

And Jungkook is still inside you.

He doesn’t pull out immediately — just holds you there, both of you trembling, breathing hard, his hands gentler now, soothing, one trailing down your thigh, the other brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face.

And then he smiles - not with triumph or victory, but with the resignation of a man who's accepted losing everything else just to have this moment.

“You’ve got glitter on your nose,” he murmurs, voice thick and wrecked, and when you frown, confused, he leans forward and kisses it. Just once. Softly. Playfully. As if the gala still exists somewhere far away and the only thing real in the world is this ridiculous little smear of sparkle and the woman beneath it who just broke him open all over again.

You laugh — a small, incredulous sound, still breathless, still shaking, and he grins like the sound of it is the only thing that’s ever mattered.

“I hate you,” you whisper through your smile, biting back another laugh as he kisses your jaw, your cheekbone, your collarbone where his chain left a faint indentation in your skin.

“No you don’t,” he breathes, adjusting the strap of your gown with slow, reverent fingers. “If you did, you wouldn’t still taste like yes.”

You hit him lightly on the chest, and he catches your wrist mid-slap and kisses the inside of it, then your palm, then your mouth again — slower this time, almost delicate — before you finally push him back with a grin.

“Get dressed,” you murmur, already reaching for your panties, smoothing your gown down, fingers trembling just slightly. “You look like someone who got exactly what he wanted.”

“I did,” he says simply, tucking himself back into his slacks with only half a care, his eyes never leaving you, even as he buttons his cuffs again. “And I’d look a lot worse if you hadn’t.”

It’s absurd — how easy this feels, how light, how young. How it almost resembles happiness.

You fix your lipstick in the mirror above the sink. He watches you like a man watching a storm recede, like he’s not ready for the calm yet but knows it’s dangerous to ask for more.

And then, as you open the door together, walking into the velvet-lined hallway with your shoulders back and your smiles just barely still in place — you see her.

There she stands - Nami, waiting with crossed arms and perfect posture in her immaculate dress. Her expression remains composed, but her eyes slice through both of you with devastating clarity, as if she's been anticipating this moment while hoping you wouldn't be foolish enough to make it real.

When she speaks, her voice carries a quiet, lethal precision: "Of course it's you."

You and Jungkook freeze in unison, but Nami simply turns away with the elegant dismissiveness of someone brushing dust from silk. The deafening silence lasts only a heartbeat before you both lurch into motion - Jungkook cursing under his breath as he adjusts his jacket, you stumbling after him on trembling legs, your hand reaching desperately for his sleeve as you call out her name. But she continues down the endless hallway, refusing to acknowledge either of you.

✓

You’re still walking side by side, your steps nearly in sync but your heart thrashing beneath your dress like it knows this illusion of calm is already burning at the edges, when the sound of raised voices cuts through the ambient hush of the ballroom and makes you stop cold in your tracks.

At first, you can’t quite place the tone — it’s not yet shouting, but it carries the kind of tension that doesn’t belong among canapés and champagne, and it wraps around your spine with the certainty of something about to go very, very wrong.

Then, through the ambient hush, your name echoes through the hallway, followed immediately by his in a voice that makes your blood run cold.

You turn the corner just in time to see Nami standing beside your shared table — poised, polished, untouched by the unfolding storm — her flute of champagne still untouched in her hand, her expression unreadable in the way only women raised in legacy can manage, as if nothing happening around her is worth acknowledging. She doesn’t look at you. She doesn’t look at Jungkook, either. She looks directly at Dan, with her chin tilted slightly upward, her voice smooth and composed, as if she’s merely answering a question no one had the nerve to ask.

“I thought you should know,” she says, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly, not enough to be called a smile, but enough to make the accusation feel like a verdict, “she’s been fucking Jungkook.”

And there is no gasp, no cinematic moment of a dropped wine glass — just the collective breath of the room catching and holding, suspended like a violin string pulled tight, waiting for someone to cut it loose.

Dan stands still at first, not blinking, not reacting, just staring at Nami like he’s trying to decipher whether what she said was real or a very cruel joke told far too well. The silence that stretches in the beat that follows feels sharp enough to slice clean through your skin.

Your throat closes around his name as you take a step forward, not fast, not frantic, just instinctive — as if proximity alone could soften what he’s already begun to believe.

“Dan—”

His head snaps toward you. And in that moment, his expression — the confusion, the hope, the disbelief — shatters.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he says, and the volume of it is enough to silence every conversation within earshot. A few heads turn. More follow. By the time he takes a step back from the table, every gaze in your radius is fixed directly on the three of you.

“I defended you,” he says, voice shaking now, but loud, too loud, and cracking under the weight of humiliation. “I told people you weren’t sleeping your way up. I fucking trusted you.”

Your skin goes cold as shame washes over you, leaving you frozen and mute in its wake. His words hang in the air like smoke after a fire, and though he hasn't said it outright, that one cruel word - slut - vibrates beneath the surface of his tone, threatening to break free. Just as you brace yourself for what comes next, you feel him.

Jungkook — behind you now, still close, but his presence shifts, sharpens, becomes something solid and storm-dark in the space between your shoulder blades. You don’t even need to see him to feel the change in him — how still he goes, how quiet, how charged.

Dan sees him too. And the second their eyes meet across the chaos, Dan’s lip curls into something bitter and ugly and furious.

“Oh, now you want to show your face?” he spits, his voice rising, unhinged now. “She fucks you in secret and I get to be the dumbass holding her coat like a goddamn idiot?”

And maybe that would have been the moment it ended. Maybe if Dan had stopped there, if he hadn’t gone further, if he’d swallowed the rest of what he was about to say and let the shame stay between the three of you — maybe then it could have been salvaged.

But he doesn’t. He looks you up and down, then turns back to Jungkook, and with a voice too loud and too clear, he finishes the sentence like he’s spitting blood.

“Enjoy your office slut while she still lets you have her.”

A heartbeat of silence fills the room before Jungkook launches forward with no warning. He just steps forward with a precision so sudden it looks like instinct, his fist connecting with Dan’s jaw in one clean, devastating arc that sends the entire room spinning around them like they were never meant to witness this moment, but now can’t look away.

Dan crashes into the edge of the table behind him, knocking over wine, cutlery, crystal, dragging a stunned gasp from the nearest guests — but before he can right himself, Jungkook is on him again, grabbing the front of his suit jacket, fury carved into every line of his face as he shoves him back and shouts something you can’t even hear over the surge of movement and voices and chairs scraping the floor as people rush forward to separate them.

Someone grabs Jungkook’s shoulders. Two others pull Dan away, blood at the corner of his lip, eyes wild with disbelief and rage. Security is already on its way. The scene is already ruined. The gala is over before dessert.

And all you can do is stand there in the wreckage — exposed, humiliated, heartsick — with the taste of Jungkook still on your tongue, and the entire room watching like they’ve been waiting for this to happen from the beginning.

It isn’t just the party that ends in silence — it’s something deeper, something more private, something inside you that doesn’t know how to keep breathing once the shouting has faded and the chaos has been contained into the shallow hush of luxury’s aftermath, as if the room itself is trying to pretend nothing ever happened.

The moment Jungkook is dragged back by two men in tailored suits — the kind of men who are hired not to be noticed unless something needs fixing — and the moment Dan stumbles upright, unsteady, his lip bleeding and his tie askew like it’s choking him instead of holding him together, is the same moment your body seems to finally register what it’s done, what you’ve done, as if the weight of your choices only now decides to settle across your skin like a second gown, invisible but suffocating.

The tears don’t arrive in any cinematic fashion; there is no gasp, no trembling lower lip, no dramatic collapse to the floor — only the hot, dry sting behind your eyes that refuses to blink away, the slow withdrawal of blood from your fingers until your hands feel foreign, and the unbearable tightness in your chest that makes it impossible to breathe without thinking first, as if even your lungs are ashamed of you now.

Without running, speaking, or begging, you remain still - exposed beneath their stares. You simply stand there, the way shame always does — still and exposed and far too visible — as the room folds in around you like paper, heavy with whispers and half-averted stares, the air thick with what no one is brave enough to say aloud but everyone is already retelling in their heads.

The ballroom, once glittering with laughter and wine and curated joy, has turned into a stage abandoned mid-performance, every guest now an unwilling actor stuck in place with champagne still bubbling in flutes they no longer remember picking up, as conversations die mid-sentence and eyes flick between Dan, Jungkook, and you, tracing the messy triangle like a scandal lit in gold.

And standing at the center of it all — flawless, upright, radiant even in betrayal — is Nami. She hasn’t moved, not even a little; her posture remains exquisite, the line of her shoulders unbent, her hands still folded gently in front of her like this evening belongs to her still, like nothing has been taken from her because she refuses to acknowledge anything could ever be taken from her at all. Her gown is still perfect. Her lipstick hasn’t smudged. Her expression has not cracked.

She does not speak to you, nor look at you, nor shift so much as a breath in your direction — not because she’s uncertain, not because she’s restraining herself, but because there is nothing left in this room that requires her effort, and that includes you.

Her silence carries a devastating weight beyond mere emptiness - it's the crushing finality of everything that's been lost.

And what makes you crumble — not outwardly, not visibly, not yet — is the realization that she never needed to raise her voice, never needed to fight, never needed to defend herself or even retaliate, because she knew all along that you would lose this on your own, that the moment she said your name aloud, the rest would collapse without her lifting a finger.

Dan, still tasting blood, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wild with disbelief but now clearing, now hardening, and when they land on you, there is nothing soft left inside them — no confusion, no heartbreak, only the sharp glint of something that once trusted and now despises.

“You two deserve each other,” he mutters, his voice no longer raised, but quiet and dangerous in the way a knife is when it rests against skin, and without looking back, he turns and walks straight through the crowd, parting the onlookers like he’s been released from a cage and no longer cares who sees the wreckage left behind.

No one moves to intervene, and Jungkook remains rooted in place, making no attempt to follow. He remains where security left him — his lip split, his white shirt crumpled at the chest, his knuckles smeared with red like ink — and though he does not speak, the intensity in his gaze burns across the distance like a thread that refuses to be cut. He does not apologize. He does not look ashamed. But his eyes, dark and electric, are no longer filled with want — they’re filled with need.

He isn't asking for forgiveness - he's asking you to choose him despite everything. And you stand frozen, breath caught in your throat, unable to form words or even move beneath the weight of this moment.

Because somewhere beneath the soft echo of heels clicking away and gasps fading into murmurs, you finally feel it — the ruin, the humiliation, the spotlight you can’t step out of — and it presses down on you with a clarity so sharp you could almost laugh.

In the wake of shattered crystal and spilled wine, the gala lies in ruins. Dan stands with blood on his lip, while Nami remains pristine and untouchable in her calculated victory. And you - you are the architect of this destruction, having sacrificed everything not for ambition or vengeance, but for that most dangerous of forces: pure and consuming desire.

✓

The night is colder than it should be, air damp and heavy with the kind of post-rain clarity that makes the concrete shimmer like glass, the luxury sedans and town cars lined up in the marble-bricked circle drive outside the venue suddenly looking less like power and more like armor no one can wear anymore. And there, near the far end of the lot, standing with his back to the building and his fists curled loosely at his sides, is Jungkook — breathing unevenly, chest rising too fast, his once-immaculate shirt wrinkled and half-untucked, the corner of his mouth still smudged with blood that hasn’t yet dried.

His knuckles are scraped. His cuff is torn. His jaw is tight in a way that suggests the only thing holding him together is the silence he’s forced to stand in.

And she is already waiting for him.

Nami stands two paces from his side, her arms folded neatly across her waist, her coat draped like a sheath of silk across her shoulders, as pristine now as when she first walked into the ballroom — her expression unreadable, but her voice, when it comes, clear and sharp and final.

“You’ll lose the London deal,” she says, no anger in it, no bitterness, only the practical coolness of someone who has been trained her entire life to count what things are worth.

And for a moment, he doesn’t respond.

Just stands there with his gaze fixed on the ground like he’s trying to burn a hole through the pavement, shoulders still shaking from the tail end of everything he just threw away.

Then he breathes — one long, low exhale — and lifts his head.

“I already lost something more important,” he answers, his voice cracked and hoarse and quieter than it’s ever been.

Nami remains silent, already understanding the weight of his words without needing them explained. When she walks away, her departure is as final as the evening itself.

It’s not until she disappears around the curve of the entrance that you step forward — slow, careful, like your body hasn’t fully remembered how to move yet, like the sight of him under the parking lot lights has knocked all the breath from your lungs again.

In the heavy silence between you, his eyes find yours - wide and bloodshot, rimmed with a shame that asks for nothing but your presence, a silent plea that you haven't turned away. While his hands tremble at his sides, your heels echo once against the stone before falling still. Without hesitation, you reach for him, your fingers finding the bruise blooming along his jaw as your thumb gently wipes away the smear of red beneath his lip.

His eyes drift closed as he leans into your touch. When you finally break the silence, your voice carries a gentle certainty that barely ripples the quiet air between you. "Let me take you home."

The simple nod he gives in response marks a shift - after months of games and secrets and unspoken wanting, he surrenders to your lead. There's nothing left to fight now, and you're the only anchor he has left to hold onto.

.

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Corruption: Intro.

Pairings: Yandere!Taehyung x Reader || Jimin x Reader

Genre: Yandere, Romance (?), Psychological, Angst, Smut

Disclaimer: I do not condone, nor support or encourage anything I write in this fanfiction. It is purely fiction, means of entertainment, and should be treated as such. I do not think any of the BTS members would act remotely anything like what is represented here, which is why it’s called fiction. Other than that, please enjoy, and read at your own discretion. 

Trigger warnings and Tags; +18, Yandere elements, Possessive and Obsessive behaviors, Toxic Relationships, Unhealthy idealization, Drug and Substance Abuse, Mommy/Daddy Issues, Slow Burn, Smut (in future chapters), Artist!Tae, Rich!Tae, Lowkey SugarDaddy!Tae, BDSM, Power Dynamics, Manipulation, Slight age difference, Naive!Reader, Easy to Manipulate!Reader, Virgin!Reader, Virginity Kink, Corruption kink.. (There’s gonna be a LOT of kinks in here for further chapters, so I’ll save the wall of text LOL.) 

Intro  Part. 1   Part. 2   Part. 3   Part. 4  Part. 5  

Boring, he thought.

Everything about this stupid fucking event was excruciatingly boring.

First off, he didn’t even want to be here. His mother forced him to come, practically dragging him outside by his own ear. 

“If you still want me to sponsor your pathetic little project, it’d be smart of you to come along with me this evening.” Ah yes, the typical threats of estranging him financially in hopes of him spending time with her. Typical Mrs. Kim. 

The outing was a simple event where selected students who had won his fathers Academic Scholarship were rewarded a ‘party’ for their hard work and efforts. The scholarship was offered to college students who managed to make the highest ranking grades throughout their entire university. Impressive, to say the least, which is why each student present was granted $45,000 USD straight towards their college funds.

That sort of funding was simply pocket change for a man like his father.

His father was the CEO of Kim’s Legal Law Firm. It happens to be the third largest law firm in the country. Taehyung’s father has a tender soft spot for college students, especially ones who attend the same school he graduated from. Which is why he did events like this yearly, specifically for them.

But Taehyung? He could give two shits about a “Scholarly Party”. He wasn’t in school, nor did he want to be tied down by the ropes of education ever again. High School was more than enough, and that was years ago. He barely graduated. Though, after having his parents “talk” to the principal of his private school, he suddenly went from having a D grade point average, to being at the top of his class in under an hour. He remembers clearly how Kim Namjoon glared daggers in his skull when he walked up the stairs leading to the stage at their highschool graduation, accepting his honors award that rightfully belonged to him instead. Taehyung couldn’t really blame him, either. He’d be pissed off too if someone’s rich parents paid off a school to make their irresponsible child graduate, whilst stealing his honors award that would’ve surely benefited him if he tried to enroll in college. 

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The Fanclub: chapter three

↪︎ Yandere! BTS

↪︎You’re enrolled in a new school, complete with new rules, new faces, and new enemies. If only you hadn’t run into him. If only you hadn’t met them. Too bad, they’ve been chasing you since the start.

Warnings: yandere themes, mentions of harassment, violence, bullying

Yandere behaviour is not okay. It is disgusting, toxic and extremely unhealthy.

Word count: 5k

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Role model (Yandere! Jungkook)

This is from a prompt from a loooong time ago, so I can't find the exact quote but it is!

Police officer! Y/n

Warnings: yandere themes, obsessive behaviour, some violence, self harm,

2.5 k

“That kid’s here again.” Officer Kim snickers, nudging your elbow. You let your eyes trail over to where he’s pointing, seeing Jeon Jungkook being hauled into the station by two officers.

He looks angry, his jaw still clenched from holding his tongue, eyes ablaze with fury. He tugs against the grip they have on him, shoving, snarling, anything to get them away.

“I’ll handle this.” You state, watching Jeon Jungkook’s gaze snap to your form. He’s not struggling anymore, but he still looks furious.

“Yes, lieutenant!” One speaks. “He was involved in a fight, hospitalising the victim. A friend of the victim called it in but they were not present when we arrived at the scene.”

“Got it. Thank you.” You shift your gaze to address the boy. “Follow me.”

Jeon Jungkook follows closely behind you, without being restrained. You suppose he couldn’t do much even if he wanted to, being handcuffed was certainly a restriction. You lead him to the interrogation room, securing the cuffs before you sit down opposite him.

“Y/n, I swear-”

You sigh, “You’re visiting here an awful lot these days. Sooner or later you’ll find you don't get out again.”

The boy makes a weird expression at that. You choose to ignore him, rather than focus on his strange mannerisms. Who could look so comfortable cuffed as a criminal in a police station?

You open the notepad. “Can you tell me what happened, Jeon?”

He frowns, looking rather displeased. Perhaps it’s not a great memory. “...No.”

“Look, if we don’t get your side of this, then we can only believe what the others say. Wouldn’t it be better to explain your side first?” You offer a hopeful look, doing your best to explain it in a way that might compel him to answer.

He scoffs, “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.” You raise an eyebrow, promoting him. Jeon Jungkook sighs deeply, searching your face for something. He decides to speak. “He provoked me. He was saying...things that I didn’t like. So I punched him, but he kept talking, that piece of shit, so I kept hitting him. I shouldn’t have stopped when the police came, damnit, I should have made sure he’d never speak again— What is it?”

You blink, confused. “I’m sorry?”

“I knew it.” He rolls his eyes. “You think I’m a monster.”

You frown, aware that you’re losing progress quickly. “That’s not it. I don’t even know the full story, how could I assume yet? Can I ask what he was saying? Jeon?”

“Jungkook.” He speaks again. “Call me Jungkook and I’ll answer whatever you want.”

Poor kid, he must not be called by his name often. “O-okay, Jungkook, can you recall what this man was saying that made you angry?”

Jeon Jungkook finally answers after a long pause, “He was saying disgusting things about someone I like. I asked him to stop, and he began to mock me. And continued to talk shit. That’s why I punched him. You understand, right?”

“Violence is never the answer, Jungkook.”

His fists are clenched. “How else was I supposed to make him stop? If I just left the bastard, he’d do it again. He could even-”

“Could even what? Jungkook?” You were so close. You were sure of it. Whatever he was about to say was the real reason Jeon Jungkook attacked this man.

He avoids your gaze. “...I didn’t want him to...interact with the person he was talking about. I knew I had to at least hospitalise him, otherwise-”

He was definitely hiding something. A huge part of the puzzle was missing, for sure. It all lay in the person Jungkook liked, so all you had to do was work out who that was. If you could check his phone, then maybe…

“Where are you going?!” Jungkook sounds alarmed. Should he not be relieved he’s no longer being interrogated? The boy must be scared.“You can’t meet with him. Y/n. I’ll tell you more...I know about other people too! I can tell you anything you need to know!”

He would rather sell out others than have you meet with the victim? Strange. You expressed this to officer Kim Seokjin too, and he agreed that it was odd.

The two of you stood on the other side of the glass, watching Jungkook carefully. He could give something away now that it felt as though he was alone, after all. But he didn’t. He just stared forwards, fists clenched.

“Perhaps he doesn’t want you to think badly of him.” Seokjin offers. “The kid behaves well around you, we all saw how he was when he first got here...and compared to how he is with you…"

"What are you suggesting? He sees me as a role model or something?" You narrow your eyes. You're not sure you believe exactly that either. From the way he acts, he cares about your opinion more than just someone he looks up to. It's almost like…

"A mother figure, maybe?" Seokjin suggests, shrugging. "I don't know, maybe things aren't good back home for him, and...you've been kind to him. I'd say it's a good idea to keep treating him nicely, maybe he'll tell us more this way."

You nod, sighing.

The officer from earlier walks back in, "Lieutenant L/n! The hospital called, there's been a complication, the victim's had to go in for surgery."

"Shit. Is he going to be alright? We need to talk to him as soon as possible." Everything just keeps getting worse and worse. You fear for Jungkook, too. If things go wrong, he could be charged with something much worse than he was anticipating. It could be disastrous.

"They said they'll call as soon as he's stable, ma'am. We're tracking down the witness, see if he has anything to offer, but…"

"Right. I'll keep working on the kid, then. Officer Kim, perhaps if you join me this time, we can get something different from him?"

"You want us to play good cop bad cop, Y/n? He already likes you, so I think it's clear which roles we're playing." He smiles, nodding to the officer on his way into the interrogation room.

"Who the fuck are you?!" You hear Jungkook shouting. Fuck. It doesn't take long before you're rushing into the room, noting Jungkook's aggravated expression. He hasn't even noticed you've walked in, too busy attempting to intimidate Seokjin out of there, it seems.

"Well, I was hoping to say it's a pleasure to meet you, but now I'm beginning to doubt that. Behave, kid." Seokjin speaks curtly, voice emptied of emotion.

"I'm not a child." Jungkook responds, huffing.

You make your presence known, walking into the room and sitting opposite, beside Seokjin. Jungkook's eyes narrow, flickering between the two of you, as though he's figuring something out. Perhaps coming to terms with the fact that he really is in trouble this time. That there's even two of you interrogating him now.

Whatever he ends up concluding, he scowls, clearly not pleased by it.

"Now, the victim-"

"The boy you assaulted." Seokjin pipes in.

"Is undergoing surgery for his injuries." You frown, "Jungkook, if there's a complication…if he doesn't make it out of there, you're going to be in for a lot more than this. I'm worried, honestly."

His eyes flash, "You're worried? About me?"

You nod. Jungkook looks delighted, if only for a brief moment. It's almost pitiful how easy it is to cheer him up, the thought only worrying you more.

"You should be worried too." Seokjin hisses. "You're going to be locked away forever if you don't start talking."

"We were talking, officer." Jungkook smiles, mocking. His eyes are deadly. "Perhaps if you stopped interrupting us-" He trails off.

"Oh. Oh I get it now." Seokjin laughs, voice cold still. "If you tell me what you did, kiddo, I promise I won't tell Y/n here anything."

"She's your commanding officer." Jungkook argues, looking frustrated. A little panicked, too. Is it working? Finally? "You can't withhold that information. You're lying."

"...With my permission, it's acceptable." You nod, sending your most comforting look to Jungkook.

He shakes his head, once, twice, continuously. Panicked. "No, no, you'll- you're going to hate me for it, I know it! I'm not saying anything! I won't!"

"Jungkook." You soothe, he opens one eye, slowly. "I won't hate you, I won't even know what you say. It's okay, if you tell officer Kim what we need to know, then we can work on helping you. You just need to help us first. Okay?"

He pauses, staring at you, long and hard. Jungkook's eyes shine wide, searching for something. He sighs, nodding. "...Please don't listen in..?"

You nod, grabbing your notepad and leaving. Of course, you need to know what's going on. But if that happens a little while later, it won't hurt. Even if Seokjin ends up telling you the details later, it won't hurt. You'd feel far too cruel betraying Jungkook's trust now, not when you'd seen the desperation in his eyes.

You walk to the coffee machine, pressing the buttons until your drink is spilling through the filter. You always forget to put the cup down. You stand, waiting for it to fill up. It seems to be taking forever.

Each drop is slow. Gradual. It's almost relaxing, how the coffee drips at its own pace, regardless of the hustle and bustle around you, especially at the station.

You watch each drop fall into the dark drink, waiting. It's waiting to finish as much as you are waiting.

"Fuck you!! You bastard!!! You lied to me!!" Jungkook's screeches can be heard throughout the station. Apparently the interrogation room really isn't as soundproof as you'd like to think, though rarely does someone yell with such ferocity.

It's only when you hear thudding, loud clambering from inside the room that you rush to action. It sounds like they're fighting, but there's no way…there's no way Jungkook could've-

The door swings open, harsh. It hits the wall with a bang.

Seokjin stumbles out, face pale, a little blood on his face. You rush over at once. "What happened?! Are you okay??"

"He's…he's a complete psycho. That crazy fucker. I can't believe this. Y/n, he-"

A shout from inside cuts him off, a ferocious roar, fueld with anger, "Shut the fuck up!! I told you if I ever heard your voice again I'd rip your tongue out with my bare hands!!"

Seokjin quietens his voice immediately, looking genuinely fearful. "He's obsessed with you, Y/n. That's why he's done this, all of this. Don't go in there."

"I have to." You grit your teeth.

He sighs, nodding, clearly worried. "...be careful. Get out if you need to, no matter what. And don't trust him."

You head back inside. The room looks as though a storm has ripped through it. And yet Jungkook still sits on the chair, hands still cuffed to the table. But the papers are strewn everywhere, the two chairs opposite are toppled.

"Y/n!" Jungkook practically cheers out your name. You steel yourself. You must not fall for his traps. His smile drops instantly, "I guess that bastard told you everything already…Guess there's no hiding it anymore…haha…" He grins at you, lazily, but his affections are obvious. You can't believe you've been so stupid, thinking he thought of you as a role model. Stupid.

"So…" Jungkook starts, "Don't suppose you wanna go on a date sometime?"

"You know that's not possible, Jeon."

He groans, "Ugh. I'd made so much progress with you! You finally actually liked me! Maybe not as much as I wanted, but you were so nice… And you finally started calling me by my name. You have no idea how good it sounds coming from you." He sighs, dreamily, "I think even the fucking death penalty would sound good from your lips."

"You can't do this. You can't hurt people just because-"

"Stop saying that! You understand now! It wasn't just anyone, I was defending you!!" He peers up, noticing your silence. Jungkook begins to laugh, manic, irrational laughter. "You hate me now, don't you?" His eyes are brimming with tears. "You do! You think I'm a monster!!" He laughs, pained, wincing between each laugh.

You're still silent.

"You hate me." He whispers.

Jungkook suddenly lurches forward, not to attack you, but instead to slam his own head on the table. The metal table. You rush forward immediately.

"You think I'm a monster." He slams it back down, hard. You shriek at the sight of blood staining the surface. His own forehead is in a much worse state. His nose drips with blood. He must have broken it. Jungkook manages another chuckle, clearly about to continue.

"Stop it! Stop it, Jungkook. Please." You finally reach him. You know it's stupid, but you're concerned. You take his face into your hands, to check for injuries, to comfort him, hopefully, and to keep him from harming himself anymore. It looks bad, it looks painful. You move only one hand away, cupping his cheek with the other. A quick distraction. Jungkook seems to lean into the touch, suddenly docile. You pull out the first aid kit you carry with you. Just a small pack, but you're worried that if you leave he'll panic again. You can't risk it.

You dab at his wounds carefully with the wipes, that being all you had with you at the time. His eyes don't leave your face for even a second.

Jungkook winces, hissing a little as you press a sensitive spot. "Sorry." You mumble.

He shakes his head, smiling softly. Adoringly. "You're gentle with me, my love." He closes his eyes, peering at you with mischief in his mind. "You can be rough if you want. I'll succumb to your everything. My body belongs to you."

"No, Jungkook. It doesn't. Your body belongs to no one but yourself, and the same is true for all of us. I don't have the right to hurt you even if you…"

"Love you? Even if I love you? I beg to differ. I would gladly let you do anything to me." He whispers the words, a dream said aloud.

۶ৎ SHADOWS OF OBSESSION | m. list

In a gritty city, a ruthless criminal's obsession with a shy medical student ignites a dangerous, passionate dance of desire and darkness. As their worlds collide, secrets unravel, and the line between love and possession blurs, pulling them into a thrilling, heart-wrenching saga. Will their twisted bond survive the chaos, or will it consume them both?

pairing: criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre: criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, angst, fluff

warnings: 18+, several explicit sex scenes, mature themes, dark content, graphic violence and gore, non-consensual and dubious consent, cnc, psychological and emotional abuse, kidnapping and captivity, substance use, mental health themes, each chapter contains their individual warnings (reader discretion is advised due to the intense, dark and potentially triggering nature of the content)

status: ongoing

main masterlist

۶ৎ

— 01 ; "eclipse of envy"

— 02 ; "thorns of desire"

— 03 ; "ashes of devotion"

— 04 ; "embers of absence"

— 05 ; to be released.

۶ৎ SHADOWS OF OBSESSION [1] —

“You think you can scream at me? Threaten me? You’re nothing, you hear me? A little girl playing hero, and now you’re in over your head. You’re my obsession, my fucking curse. I don’t believe in love, in fairy tales, but you—you’re in my head, clawing at me, and I can’t rip you out. It pisses me off, you know that? You’re too soft, too pure, and I want to break you, want to make you scream just to see if you’ll still look at me with those innocent eyes.”

pairing: criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre: criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, angst

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, violence and injury, intrusion, mentions of blood loss and physical pain, descriptions of bullet wound, medical procedure, emotional vulnerability, isolation and loneliness, mentions of past trauma, moral conflict, departure and regret, argument, crying and screaming, several mentions of being frightened, non-consensual undertones, solo masturbation, he steals her panties, panty sniffing, cock palming and fisting, he cums on her panties, voyeuristic and obsessive element, possessiveness, oral sex (f. receiving), cunnilingus, rough handling, angry confessions, sensory overload, eating out, clit sucking, tongue fucking, face sitting, face riding, cum swallowing, hair fisting, clothed sex elements, dirty talk, making out, restriction, aftercare absence

wc: 12.3k

a/n: im literally way too excited for this new series !! hope you guys love it <3

series m. list | main masterlist

۶ৎ

The city was a living beast, its veins pulsing through cracked asphalt and flickering neon signs that buzzed like dying insects. The air was heavy, saturated with the acrid stench of diesel, rotting garbage, and the faint, metallic tang of blood that seemed to cling to the shadows. Alleyways gaped like open wounds, their darkness swallowing the weak glow of streetlights. Jungkook stood against a graffiti-scarred wall, the rough concrete biting into his back, grounding him in a world that had never shown him mercy. A cigarette dangled from his lips, its ember a defiant spark in the suffocating night, curling smoke that stung his eyes and coated his throat with ash. At twenty-eight, he was a specter carved from violence, his black leather jacket clinging to his broad, muscular frame like a second skin. Tattoos snaked across his neck, chest, and arms—each inked line a testament to a life of blood, betrayal, and unrelenting vengeance. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, damp with sweat, framing eyes that gleamed with a cold, predatory intensity, like twin shards of obsidian reflecting a world he despised.

Jungkook’s life had been forged in fire. Orphaned at ten, he’d grown up in the underbelly of the city, a street rat who learned to steal, fight, and survive before he could read. The streets were his mother, cruel and unyielding, teaching him that trust was a noose, love a fairy tale, and mercy a death sentence. He’d seen kindness betrayed, hope crushed, and innocence slaughtered. By sixteen, he’d killed his first man—a rival gang member who’d tried to gut him over a stolen deal. The memory still lingered: the hot spray of blood on his hands, the gurgle of a dying throat, the way his heart had raced not with fear but with power. Now, he was a name whispered in fear, a criminal who moved through the city’s shadows like a wraith, living for himself alone. His heart was a vault, locked tight, its key long since thrown into the abyss. He didn’t believe in redemption, didn’t seek it. All he had was his revenge, a fire that burned hotter with every betrayal, every scar.

Tonight, that fire was a inferno. His latest job—a deal with a rival gang—had gone to hell, a double-cross that left him with a bullet in his arm and a fresh grudge to settle. Blood seeped through his fingers as he pressed his hand against the wound, the fabric of his sleeve slick and warm. The pain was a dull throb, a familiar companion he’d long since made peace with. But the blood loss was making his vision blur, his head swim, and the world tilt like a ship in a storm. He gritted his teeth, his jaw tight, his breath hissing through his nose. “Fucking bastards,” he muttered, his voice a low growl, rough as gravel and laced with venom. “You think you can take me down?”

He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot, the leather creaking as he shifted. The alley reeked of piss and decay, the kind of place where dreams came to die. He scanned the shadows, his senses razor-sharp despite the haze creeping into his mind. Footsteps echoed in the distance, a dog’s bark cutting through the night like a blade. His enemies were out there, hunting him, their knives hungry for his blood. He could feel it, the weight of their malice pressing against him, a storm gathering on the horizon. “Come on, then,” he whispered, his lips curling into a sneer, his eyes blazing with defiance. “I’m right here.”

But his body betrayed him, his knees buckling slightly, forcing him to lean harder against the wall. The blood was pooling now, dripping onto the pavement, each drop a soft pat that echoed in his ears like a countdown. He needed to move, to find a place to hole up, to stitch himself together before the reaper came knocking. His hand tightened around the knife in his pocket, the cold steel a comfort, a promise. “I’m not dying tonight,” he snarled to the empty air, his voice breaking with a raw, desperate edge. “Not until I’ve buried every last one of you.”

Across the city, in a quieter, tree-lined neighborhood, you were a world apart from Jungkook’s chaos. At twenty-two, you were a medical student, your life a delicate tapestry woven from late-night study sessions, dog-eared textbooks, and the soft hum of your own thoughts. Your small apartment was a sanctuary, its walls painted a gentle cream, adorned with lavender curtains that swayed in the breeze. The air inside carried the faint scent of chamomile tea and vanilla candles, a warmth that wrapped around you like a hug. Your bookshelf sagged under the weight of novels, medical journals, and a few worn poetry collections, their pages marked with your neat, looping handwriting. You were shy, introverted, your voice a soft murmur, rarely rising unless necessity demanded it. Your world was gentle, a fragile bubble untouched by the brutality that defined Jungkook’s existence.

Orphaned at fifteen, you’d learned to navigate life alone, your heart scarred but resilient. Your parents’ deaths—a car accident—had left you with a quiet grief, a hollow space you filled with dreams of becoming a doctor. You wanted to heal, to mend the world’s wounds even if you couldn’t mend your own. You were innocent in a way Jungkook could never comprehend, your eyes still bright with hope, your heart still open despite its cracks. You avoided crowds, preferred the company of books to people, and blushed at the slightest attention. Your life was simple, your days a rhythm of classes, study, and the small joys of a warm drink or a sunny afternoon.

Tonight, you were exhausted, your body heavy with the weight of a long day. Your backpack strained against your shoulders, stuffed with notes from a grueling study session at the university library. The autumn air was crisp, biting at your cheeks and carrying the earthy scent of fallen leaves, their brittle edges crunching under your sneakers. Your breath puffed out in soft clouds, visible in the chilly night, and your glasses fogged slightly, forcing you to push them up your nose with a gloved finger. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the motion automatic, your mind already drifting to the promise of your cozy bed and a steaming cup of chamomile tea. The street was quiet, the only sounds the rustle of leaves skittering across the pavement and the distant hum of a car engine. Your heart was light, a rare moment of peace—tomorrow’s exam was one you felt ready for, your hours of preparation a quiet victory.

You hummed softly to yourself, a tune from a song you couldn’t quite place, your steps quickening as you neared your apartment. The streetlights cast long, golden pools on the sidewalk, their glow a gentle contrast to the inky sky above. You fished your keys from your pocket, the metal cold against your fingers, their jingle a familiar comfort. “Almost home,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a habit born from years of talking to yourself in the quiet. The thought of sinking into your soft blankets, of letting the world fade away, was a warmth that spread through your chest, chasing away the night’s chill.

But the city was a beast, and its shadows hid monsters. Jungkook’s world and yours were about to collide, two orbits crossing in a moment that would shatter the fragile boundaries of your lives. His blood stained the pavement, your keys gleamed in your hand, and the night held its breath, waiting for the spark that would ignite a fire neither of you could control.

The night was a living thing, its breath cold and sharp, weaving through the skeletal branches of the trees lining your quiet street. The air carried the faint tang of impending rain, mingling with the earthy scent of damp leaves crushed underfoot. Your sneakers scraped against the uneven sidewalk, each step a soft echo in the stillness, your backpack a heavy burden slung over one shoulder, its straps digging into your skin. The streetlamp above flickered, casting jagged pools of light that danced across the pavement, and your breath puffed out in delicate clouds, curling like ghostly tendrils in the autumn chill. The jingle of your keys was a sharp, metallic heartbeat in your hands, their weight reassuring as you fumbled to find the right one, your mind already drifting to the promise of chamomile tea and the soft embrace of your bed.

Then, a shadow shifted—a movement so subtle it might’ve been a trick of the light, but it wasn’t. Your pulse stuttered, a sudden, violent lurch that made your chest ache. You froze, keys clutched like a lifeline, your eyes darting to the lamppost across the street. There he stood, a towering figure carved from darkness, his presence a violation of the night’s fragile peace. He was tall, his frame broad and unyielding, muscles taut beneath a black leather jacket that gleamed faintly under the streetlight’s sickly glow. His dark hair was a messy cascade over his forehead, strands clinging to sweat-slicked skin, and tattoos coiled up his neck like serpents, their ink blacker than the shadows pooling at his feet. His right hand gripped his left arm, fingers slick with blood that dripped in slow, deliberate rivulets, staining the pavement in obscene blossoms of crimson. The sight was a visceral punch, the air itself thickening with the coppery scent of it, sharp and metallic, cutting through the night’s damp musk.

You gasped, the sound tearing from your throat before you could cage it, raw and trembling, a betrayal of the fear blooming in your chest. Your heart slammed against your ribs, a frantic bird in a cage, and your legs screamed to run, to flee into the safety of your apartment and bolt the door against this man who looked like he’d been forged in hellfire. His eyes—dark, fathomless, glinting with something feral—locked onto yours, and it was like being pinned by a predator, your breath stolen, your body no longer your own. He was danger incarnate, a storm in human form, and every instinct you had wailed for you to escape. But then then you saw it—the sway in his stance, the way his knees buckled slightly, the pallor of his skin, ghostly pale beneath the streetlight’s glare. Blood oozed from between his fingers, thick and relentless, and the sight twisted something inside you, a pang of compassion that warred with your terror. He wasn’t just dangerous—he was dying.

Your mind was a tempest, thoughts crashing against each other in a frantic dance. Run. Lock the door. Call the police. He’ll kill you. But another voice, softer, insistent, rose above the chaos: He’s bleeding out. You can save him. You’re a doctor—almost. Your hands shook, the keys biting into your palm, your breath shallow and ragged. You took a step forward, then another, each one a rebellion against the fear clawing at your throat. You stopped ten feet away, close enough to see the sweat beading on his brow, the way his chest heaved with labored breaths, but far enough to bolt if he moved. The distance felt like a fragile shield, though you knew it was nothing against a man like him.

“Hey,” you called, your voice a trembling thread, barely cutting through the night’s oppressive silence. “You’re… you’re hurt. Badly. You need help.”

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing, and he scoffed—a low, guttural sound that rumbled like distant thunder, sending a shiver skittering down your spine. “Mind your fucking business, girl,” he snarled, his voice a jagged blade, rough with pain and laced with venom. “Go home and play with your dolls.”

The words stung, a slap to your pride, and your cheeks flushed hot, the heat creeping up your neck despite the cold. You were no child, but his tone made you feel small, insignificant, a mouse daring to squeak at a lion. Normally, rudeness would’ve sent you retreating, your introverted heart shying from conflict, but the blood—God, the blood—kept you rooted. It pooled at his feet, a dark mirror reflecting the streetlight’s glow, and you could smell it now, sharp and sickening, mingling with the faint leather of his jacket and the acrid hint of cigarette smoke clinging to him. He was fading, and you couldn’t walk away. Not from this.

“I’m a medical student,” you said, your voice steadier now, though it quivered at the edges like a leaf in the wind. “You’ve been shot. You’re losing too much blood. You could die if you don’t get help.”

His lips twisted into a sneer, but his eyes flickered—something sharp and fleeting, like a spark in a storm. Amusement, maybe, or disdain. “You think I give a shit about dying, little girl?” he said, his voice dripping with mockery, each word a deliberate cut. “I’ve been dead for years. Walk away before you join me.”

The threat was a fist to your gut, and you flinched, your breath hitching, your fingers tightening around your keys until they hurt. His words were a warning, a promise, and you believed him. He could kill you, snap you like a twig, and no one would ever know. But you saw the tremor in his hand, the way his fingers slipped slightly, blood oozing faster now, and it anchored you. You were trembling, your pulse a deafening roar in your ears, but you couldn’t leave him. Not when you could help. Not when your hands, your knowledge, could stop the life from draining out of him.

“I live right here,” you said, gesturing to your apartment with a jerk of your chin, your voice soft but firm, a quiet defiance you didn’t know you had. “I have supplies. I can stitch you up, stop the bleeding. Please… let me help you.”

He stared at you, his gaze a physical weight, stripping you bare, peeling back every layer until you felt exposed, raw. His eyes were black holes, pulling you in, and for a moment, you thought he’d lunge, grab you, end you right there. Your breath caught, your body tensing, ready to run, but you held his stare, your heart a wild thing in your chest. Then he laughed—a harsh, barking sound that grated against the night, bitter and broken, like he was laughing at the absurdity of you, of this moment.

“You’re fucking insane,” he said, shaking his head, his voice low, almost a growl. “Stupid or suicidal, I can’t decide. Fine, princess. Lead the way. But don’t cry when you regret it.”

The words were a challenge, a dare, and your stomach twisted, fear and resolve tangling into a knot. You nodded, barely, your throat tight, and turned toward your door, your keys shaking in your hand as you unlocked it. His presence loomed behind you, a dark tide ready to swallow you whole, and you wondered if you’d just invited death into your home.

Your hands trembled as you pushed open the door to your apartment, the soft creak of the hinges slicing through the heavy silence. The air inside was warm, infused with the delicate scent of lavender from the candle you’d left burning on the coffee table, its flame flickering like a heartbeat in the dim light. The stranger’s presence behind you was a storm cloud, dark and oppressive, his heavy boots thudding against the hardwood floor, each step reverberating in your chest. You flicked on the light, and the room bloomed into view—your sanctuary of pastel pinks and creams, a stark contrast to the man who stood in its center, his blood dripping onto your cream-colored rug, staining it like ink on a canvas.

He was a towering figure, his broad shoulders filling the space, his black leather jacket gleaming under the soft glow of your fairy lights. His tattoos curled up his neck like vines, dark and intricate, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. His face was sharp—high cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes so dark they seemed to swallow the light. Blood oozed from his left arm, the crimson stark against his pale skin, and his right hand pressed against the wound, his knuckles white with effort. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the lavender, creating a discordant perfume that made your stomach churn.

“Sit,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, pointing to the plush cream couch with its scattering of pink throw pillows. Your heart was a wild thing, hammering against your ribs, and you wondered if he could hear it, if he could sense the fear and resolve warring within you. He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his gaze, but he complied, sinking onto the couch with a low grunt. The cushions sighed under his weight, the fabric creasing beneath his leather-clad frame. Blood smeared onto the armrest, and you winced, your neat-freak tendencies prickling even in this surreal moment.

You hurried to your bedroom, your bare feet padding against the cool floor, the hem of your sweater catching on the doorframe. Your medical kit was tucked under your bed, a sturdy black case filled with the tools of your trade—tweezers, sutures, antiseptic, gauze, all meticulously organized. Your hands shook as you pulled it out, the metal clasps cold against your fingers, the weight of it grounding you as you carried it back to the living room. Every step felt like a plunge into the unknown, your mind screaming that you were insane to bring this man—this bleeding, dangerous stranger—into your home. You, the girl who flinched at raised voices, who preferred the company of books to people, were defying every instinct to help him.

He watched you as you returned, his gaze unrelenting, like a predator tracking its prey. You knelt before him, the rug soft beneath your knees, and set the kit on the coffee table, its glass surface reflecting the candle’s glow. The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the faint crackle of the candle wick and the steady drip of his blood. You opened the kit, the scent of antiseptic rising sharp and clean, cutting through the blood and lavender. Your fingers moved with practiced precision, laying out your tools—sterile gauze, a bottle of saline, a pair of gleaming tweezers. Each item gleamed under the light, a stark reminder of the task ahead.

“Why the hell do you have all this?” he asked, his voice low and rough, like gravel dragged across stone. There was a mocking edge to it, but also a flicker of curiosity, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real. “You some kind of wannabe surgeon, playing doctor in your pretty little apartment?”

You kept your eyes on your tools, your cheeks flushing at his tone. The heat crept up your neck, and you pushed your glasses up your nose, a nervous habit. “I’m a medical student,” you said, your voice soft but steady, though it trembled at the edges. “I need these for practice. To learn.”

He snorted, a harsh sound that made you flinch. “Of course you are. Little miss perfect, saving lives with her pink pillows and her lavender candles. You think you’re gonna fix the world, don’t you?”

Your fingers stilled, the tweezers cold in your grip. His words cut deep, slicing at the fragile hope you carried, the dream of healing a world you’d barely seen. But you didn’t respond, focusing instead on his wound. You gently pried his hand away, his skin warm and rough, the blood slick against your fingers. The bullet had torn through his forearm, leaving a jagged gash that wept crimson, the flesh raw and angry. You swallowed hard, your stomach lurching at the sight, but your training kicked in, a steadying force amidst the chaos.

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in as you worked. You cleaned the wound with saline, the liquid glistening as it washed away the blood, revealing the depth of the damage. The metallic scent was overpowering now, mingling with the faint musk of his sweat and the leather of his jacket. You reached for the tweezers, your hands steady despite the tremor in your chest, and leaned closer, your breath shallow. His arm was corded with muscle, the veins prominent beneath his inked skin, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, a furnace against your cooler touch.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” he said suddenly, his voice softer now, but laced with a darkness that made your skin prickle. “Helping someone like me. You don’t know what I am, what I’ve done. You’re too soft, too… innocent. The world’s gonna eat you alive, and you’re out here patching up monsters.”

You paused, the tweezers hovering over his wound, his words sinking into you like stones. Your throat tightened, and you met his eyes for the first time, your gaze locking with his. His irises were nearly black, flecked with hints of amber, and they burned with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Maybe it will,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, “but I can’t just… walk away. Not when I can help. Not when you’re bleeding like this.”

He laughed, a bitter, jagged sound that echoed in the quiet room, like glass shattering. “You’re gonna regret that, sweetheart. Kindness like yours? It’s a death sentence. You think you’re saving me, but you’re just digging your own grave.”

The words stung, sharp and cold, but you pushed them aside, focusing on the task. You dug the tweezers into his flesh, searching for the bullet fragments, the metal scraping against tissue with a faint, sickening sound. He didn’t flinch, not even a twitch, his face a mask of indifference despite the pain you knew he must feel. His stoicism unnerved you, a reminder of how different he was from you, how hardened by a world you couldn’t imagine. His stare never wavered, his eyes tracking every movement—your trembling fingers, the flush of your cheeks, the way your lips parted as you concentrated. It was as if he was memorizing you, cataloging every detail, and the weight of his gaze made your skin burn, your heart thudding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

The candlelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles, the faint scar above his eyebrow, the stubble dusting his jaw. His breath was steady, deep, the rise and fall of his chest hypnotic as you worked. You found a fragment, a small, glinting piece of metal, and pulled it free, the blood welling up anew. You pressed gauze against it, your fingers brushing his skin, and the contact sent a jolt through you, electric and unsettling. His arm was warm, the muscle unyielding, and you pulled back quickly, your cheeks flaming.

“You’re shaking,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Scared of me, aren’t you? You should be.”

You swallowed, your throat dry, and focused on stitching the wound, the needle glinting as you pulled the thread through his skin. “I’m not… scared,” you lied, your voice barely a whisper. “I just… I want to help.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to make you jump. “You’re terrified. I can see it in your eyes, the way you’re trembling. You don’t even know me, and you’re letting me bleed all over your perfect little life. Why? What’s wrong with you?”

Your hands froze, the needle poised above his skin. Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let him see. “Nothing’s wrong with me,” you said, your voice cracking. “I just… I believe in helping people. Even people like you.”

“People like me?” He leaned forward, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your cheek. The scent of cigarettes clung to him, sharp and bitter, mingling with the blood and sweat. “You don’t know what ‘people like me’ do, little girl. You don’t know the blood on my hands, the lives I’ve ended. You’re playing with fire, and you’re too damn naive to see it.”

Your heart pounded, his words a blade twisting in your chest, but you didn’t back away. You met his gaze, your eyes wide and glistening. “Maybe I am naive,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “But I’d rather be naive than cruel. I’d rather help than hurt.”

For a moment, he was silent, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find the crack in your resolve. Then he leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re gonna learn, sweetheart. And when you do, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You finished the stitches, your fingers deft despite the storm in your mind, and wrapped his arm in a bandage, the gauze soft and white against his inked skin. Your hands lingered a moment too long, the heat of him seeping into you, and you pulled back, your heart racing. You stood, your legs unsteady, and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, the cool liquid sloshing against the sides. When you returned, you handed it to him, your fingers brushing his as he took it. The contact was rough, deliberate, his calloused skin grazing yours, and you nearly dropped the glass, a gasp escaping your lips.

“You need to rest,” you said, avoiding his eyes, your voice barely audible. “Moving too much will tear the stitches. You’ll bleed again.”

He didn’t respond, just stared at you, his expression unreadable, his fingers curled around the glass. The candle flickered, casting fleeting shadows across his face, and you felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch, heavy and inescapable. You mumbled something about getting a blanket, your voice tripping over itself, and fled to your bedroom, your cheeks burning, your heart a wild drumbeat in your chest. The door clicked shut behind you, but it did nothing to block out the memory of his eyes, his voice, the way he’d filled your space with a darkness you couldn’t name.

The first light of dawn crept through the lavender curtains, casting delicate, dappled patterns across the hardwood floor of your apartment. The air was heavy with the lingering scent of antiseptic and blood, a stark reminder of the stranger who had invaded your quiet world. You lay in bed, your body rigid, your breath shallow, as if any sudden movement might summon him back from the shadows. Sleep had eluded you, your heart a relentless drum in your chest, each beat echoing with a confusing blend of fear, adrenaline, and something else—something you couldn’t name, something that made your skin prickle and your cheeks burn. The memory of his touch, rough and fleeting, lingered like a phantom burn on your fingers, and the intensity of his gaze haunted you, those dark eyes that seemed to see through you, into you, unraveling secrets you didn’t even know you kept.

You clutched the edge of your quilt, its soft, worn fabric a poor shield against the storm of your thoughts. The night had been a blur, a reckless act of compassion that now felt like a dangerous gamble. You, the girl who flinched at raised voices, who preferred the company of books to people, had invited a bleeding stranger into your home—a man who looked like he could crush your world with a single glance. Your mind replayed his voice, low and mocking, laced with a bitterness that made your stomach twist. “Kindness gets you killed, little girl.” The words echoed, sharp and cutting, and you wondered if he was right, if your softness was a liability, a ticking bomb waiting to detonate.

Finally, you couldn’t bear the confinement of your bed any longer. You swung your legs over the side, your bare feet meeting self-crocheted rug, its texture a grounding contrast to the chaos in your head. Your oversized sleep shirt, a faded pink thing that hung loosely on your frame, brushed against your thighs as you stood, your glasses fogging slightly from the warmth of your breath. You crept toward the living room, each step deliberate, your heart thudding so loudly you were sure it would betray you if he was still there.

The living room was bathed in the soft, golden glow of morning, the lavender candle on your coffee table now extinguished, its wick blackened and spent. Your eyes darted to the couch, and your breath caught in your throat. It was empty. The stranger was gone, as if he’d never been there at all, a specter conjured by your reckless heart and banished by the dawn. The blanket you’d given him was folded with unsettling precision, its edges aligned as if he’d taken care to leave no trace of his chaos. But the evidence was there, undeniable: the blood-stained rug, its once-cream fibers now marred with dark, rust-colored splotches; the trash can, where used bandages lay crumpled, soaked with the crimson of his wound.

You stood frozen, your bare toes curling against the cold floor, your fingers twisting the hem of your shirt. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant hum of a car outside and the faint ticking of your kitchen clock. You should’ve felt relief—he was gone, you were safe. But instead, a strange ache settled in your chest, heavy and unplaceable. It wasn’t fear, not entirely. It was the ghost of his presence, the way he’d filled your space with his danger, his intensity, leaving you both rattled and inexplicably alive.

“Who are you?” you whispered to the empty room, your voice trembling, barely audible. The question hung in the air, unanswered, and it unleashed a flood of others. Why had he been shot? Was he a criminal, a murderer? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, your skin prickling with goosebumps. You’d been reckless, stupid, letting him in without a second thought. Your compassion, your need to help, had blinded you to the danger. And yet, the memory of his face—sharp jaw, inked skin, eyes that burned with a fire you didn’t understand—made your cheeks flush, your breath hitch. You pressed your palms to your face, willing the heat to fade, but it only grew, a traitor to your logic.

You sank onto the couch, the cushions still warm where he’d sat, and the faint scent of him lingered—cigarette smoke, musk, something darkly masculine that made your pulse quicken. “You’re an idiot,” you muttered to yourself, your voice cracking with self-reproach. “He could’ve killed you. He could’ve…” Your words trailed off, your imagination conjuring images of his hands, rough and tattooed, closing around your throat. But instead of fear, the thought sent a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, and you hated yourself for it.

You stood abruptly, needing to move, to shake off the spell he’d left behind. You paced the small room, your footsteps soft but frantic, your glasses slipping down your nose. The blood on the rug seemed to pulse in the corner of your vision, a silent accusation. You grabbed a sponge from the kitchen, the cold water stinging your hands as you scrubbed at the stain, the metallic scent of blood mixing with the lemony tang of dish soap. Your movements were frantic, your breaths coming in short, shaky gasps. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you chanted under your breath, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t know if you were crying for your recklessness, for the stranger’s pain, or for the way his absence left you feeling so hollow.

When the stain was as faded as it would get, you sat back on your heels, your hands trembling, your chest heaving. The room felt too big, too empty, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in the pressure. “He’s gone,” you whispered, as if saying it aloud would make it true, would erase the way his eyes had pinned you, the way his voice had curled around you like smoke. “He’s gone, and you’re fine. You’re fine.”

But you weren’t fine. You felt exposed, like he’d peeled back your skin and seen the soft, trembling thing beneath. You stood, your legs unsteady, and moved to the window, pulling back the curtain to peer outside. The street was quiet, the trees swaying gently in the morning breeze, their leaves a riot of amber and crimson. No sign of him, no shadow lurking in the corners. He was a ghost, a nightmare that had slipped away with the night. But the bandages in the trash, the folded blanket, the faint scent of smoke—they were proof he’d been real, proof that you’d touched the edge of something dangerous and lived.

“Why did I do it?” you asked the empty room, your voice breaking, raw with emotion. “Why didn’t I just walk away?” You pressed your forehead to the cool glass, your breath fogging the pane. You’d always been the good girl, the one who helped, who cared, who believed in healing. But now, that belief felt like a crack in your armor, a vulnerability that could’ve cost you everything. And yet, the thought of him bleeding, dying, alone—it twisted something deep inside you, something that whispered you’d do it again, even now.

You turned away from the window, your heart still racing, your body thrumming with a restless energy you didn’t understand. You needed to study, to focus, to reclaim the quiet life you’d built. But as you moved to your desk, your eyes caught on the couch, on the blanket, on the rug. He was gone, but he’d left something behind—a mark, a shadow, a question that burned in your chest. Who was he? And why, despite everything, did you hope you’d see him again?

Jungkook’s world was a jagged edge, a place of blood-soaked deals and betrayal, where trust was a currency he’d long since burned. But you—you were a splinter in his armor, a soft, infuriating intrusion he couldn’t carve out. He tried to drown you in the chaos of his life, to bury your memory beneath the weight of his vengeance. He tracked his enemies through the city’s underbelly, his boots crunching on broken glass in abandoned warehouses, his gun heavy in his hand, the acrid tang of gunpowder lingering in the air. But no matter how many bodies he left in his wake, your face haunted him—your wide, guileless eyes, the hesitant curve of your lips, the way your hands had trembled as you stitched his wound. It was maddening, a fever he couldn’t shake, and it drove him to the edge of his own darkness.

He started watching you, not out of intention but compulsion, like a moth drawn to a flame it knew would burn. The city at night was his domain, its shadows cloaking him as he stood across from your apartment, the cherry of his cigarette glowing like a lone ember in the void. The air was heavy with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the faint sweetness of jasmine from a nearby garden, a cruel contrast to the storm raging in his chest. He leaned against a rusted lamppost, its cold metal biting into his back, and exhaled a plume of smoke that curled upward, blending with the fog. His leather jacket creaked as he shifted, his tattoos itching under his skin, as if they, too, were restless for you.

Your routine became his scripture. At 7:30 a.m., you’d step out of your apartment, your backpack slung over one shoulder, its straps fraying at the edges. Your hair, often loose, caught the morning light, strands glinting like spun gold as you tucked them behind your ears with a nervous flick of your fingers. You walked with purpose but caution, your sneakers scuffing softly against the sidewalk, your glasses slipping down your nose as you adjusted them with a small, unconscious frown. He memorized the way you paused at the crosswalk, your lips moving slightly as if whispering a mantra to yourself, your breath visible in the crisp autumn air. By 8:00, you were at the university, disappearing into lecture halls where he couldn’t follow, though he imagined you there, hunched over a notebook, your pen scratching furiously, your brow furrowed in concentration.

Evenings found you at the library, your silhouette framed by the warm glow of a desk lamp. He’d linger outside, hidden in the alley across the street, the damp brick wall cold against his shoulder, the faint hum of traffic a distant pulse. Through the window, he’d watch you, your head bent over a textbook, your fingers tracing lines of text, your glasses reflecting the light like twin moons. Sometimes, you’d bite your lip, a habit that made his jaw clench, his fingers twitching around his cigarette. Other times, you’d stretch, your arms lifting, your sweater riding up to reveal a sliver of soft skin at your waist. It was a glimpse of vulnerability, a reminder of how fragile you were, and it made his blood burn with a mix of protectiveness and possession. He hated it—hated you for being so delicate, so unaware of the wolves circling your world.

Fridays were his favorite. You’d stop at the campus café, the bell above the door chiming as you entered, the air inside thick with the aroma of roasted coffee and warm pastries. You always ordered the same thing—a chamomile tea and a strawberry pastry, the kind with glossy pink icing that left crumbs on your lips. He’d watch from the street, his breath fogging in the cold, as you sat by the window, your fingers wrapped around the steaming mug, your eyes soft with contentment. Once, you licked a smear of icing from your thumb, your tongue darting out, and Jungkook’s grip on his cigarette tightened, the paper crumpling, the ash falling like snow. He wanted to storm in, to wipe that sweetness from your lips himself, to taste it on his tongue. The thought was a blade, sharp and dangerous, and he forced it away, grinding his teeth until his jaw ached.

“Why the fuck can’t I stop?” he muttered to himself, his voice a low growl lost in the night. He flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot, the spark dying with a hiss. “You’re nothing. Just a girl. Just a fucking distraction.”

But you weren’t. You were a fire in his veins, a poison he drank willingly. He learned everything about you. Your favorite books—dog-eared romance novels and dense medical texts, stacked haphazardly on your shelf. Your scent—floral lotion, sweet and clean, clinging to your clothes, your pillows, your life. Your habits—how you hummed softly when you cooked, your voice barely audible, a melody he strained to hear from outside your window. He knew you were alone, no family to anchor you, your parents gone, your world held together by sheer will and quiet dreams. It made him angry, how exposed you were, how easily the world could crush you. He could crush you. The thought was a dark thrill, a temptation he fought every time he saw you.

He watched from alleys, from rooftops, from the edges of your life, his presence a ghost you felt but couldn’t see. You’d pause sometimes, your steps faltering, your eyes scanning the darkness as if sensing the weight of his stare. Your brow would crease, your lips parting slightly, and he’d hold his breath, melting into the shadows, his heart pounding—not from fear, but from the electric pull of you. “Look at me,” he’d whisper, the words swallowed by the wind, his voice rough with longing and loathing. “See me, damn it.”

One night, he learned about your student loans, the debt that kept you awake, your sighs audible through your open window as you pored over bills. He saw the way your shoulders slumped, the way you rubbed your eyes, your glasses fogging with unshed tears. It was a vulnerability he couldn’t ignore, a crack in your armor that called to the part of him he’d buried long ago. Without thinking, he acted. He left an envelope on your doorstep, stuffed with cash, your name scrawled in his sharp, slanted handwriting. The bills were crisp, smelling faintly of ink and his cigarettes, a fortune from his blood money. He told himself it was a transaction, a debt repaid for the night you’d saved him. But when he saw you find it, your eyes widening, your fingers trembling as you counted the bills, he felt something twist in his chest—a sick pride, a hunger to see that look again.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he hissed, his voice low, venomous, as he watched you from across the street, the envelope clutched to your chest. “You’re gonna ruin me, and I’ll ruin you right back.”

He kept doing it, leaving stacks of cash when you weren’t home, each one a silent claim, a tether tying you to him. He’d watch you use it, paying your rent, your loans, your eyes bright with relief but shadowed with confusion. “Who are you?” you’d whisper to yourself, your voice soft, trembling, as you sat at your kitchen table, the envelope in your hands. He heard it through your window, the sound slicing through him, making his fists clench. “I’m your fucking shadow, princess,” he wanted to say, his voice a phantom in his throat. “And you’re mine.”

His obsession was a living thing, a beast with claws and teeth, growing with every glimpse of you. He memorized the way your cheeks pinked when you were flustered, the way your fingers tucked your hair behind your ears, the way your laugh—rare and soft—felt like a gift he didn’t deserve. Your existence was a paradox, a peace he craved and a fire he couldn’t control. It infuriated him, how you made him weak, how you made him want things he’d sworn never to want. “I don’t need you,” he snarled, his voice echoing in the empty alley, his cigarette burning down to his fingers. “I don’t need anyone.”

But he did. He needed you, and it was a truth he couldn’t outrun, no matter how fast he ran through the city’s shadows, no matter how many cigarettes he smoked, no matter how much blood he spilled. You were his weakness, his obsession, and he was a man drowning in it, watching you from the dark, his heart a battlefield, his soul a war he couldn’t win.

The night air clung to Jungkook like a second skin, heavy with the scent of rain and the acrid tang of his cigarette, its ember a lone beacon in the suffocating dark. His obsession with you had spiraled into something monstrous, a beast that gnawed at his insides, demanding more than just stolen glances from the shadows. He couldn’t stay away, not from you, not from the soft, feminine haven of your apartment that was so starkly at odds with the jagged edges of his world. Tonight, the pull was stronger, a magnetic force that drove him to your doorstep, his lockpicking tools silent as he breached your sanctuary once more.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he stood in your living room, his boots leaving faint smudges on your cream-colored rug. The space was a sensory assault—lavender and vanilla from a flickering candle on your coffee table, the faint sweetness of chamomile tea lingering in the air, the soft hum of a distant refrigerator. Your apartment was a cocoon, all pastel pinks and lilacs, with throw pillows embroidered with delicate flowers and a knitted blanket draped over the arm of your couch. It was you, distilled into every detail—the curve of a ceramic mug on your counter, the dog-eared romance novel on your shelf, the faint shimmer of your floral lotion in the air. It infuriated him, this softness, this fragility that could be crushed in an instant. He could crush it. He wanted to. And yet, he was here, drawn to it.

He moved through your space with predatory grace, his fingers trailing over your belongings, each touch a claim, a violation. The couch creaked as he sank onto it, the cushions yielding under his weight, still warm from where you’d sat earlier. He lit another cigarette, the sharp snap of his lighter echoing in the quiet, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals, tainting the air with its bitter edge. He exhaled, the haze settling around him like a shroud, his dark eyes scanning the room, memorizing every inch. Your life was laid bare here—your dreams, your fears, your innocence—and he consumed it, ravenous.

His gaze fell on the laundry basket in the corner, half-hidden by a sheer curtain. His pulse quickened, a dark thrill coiling in his gut. He crossed the room, his boots silent on the hardwood, and lifted the lid. There, nestled among your soft sweaters and cotton tees, was a pair of panties—pink, delicate, with a faint lace trim that made his jaw clench. He lifted them, the fabric impossibly soft against his calloused fingers, and brought them to his face. Your scent hit him like a drug—warm, sweet, with a hint of your jasmine lotion and something uniquely you, something that made his blood roar. His cock twitched, straining against his jeans, and he groaned, low and guttural, the sound swallowed by the silence.

He returned to the couch, the panties clutched in one hand, his cigarette forgotten in the ashtray, its ember fading to ash. He sank back, his thighs spreading, his body taut with need. The room seemed to close in, the lavender air now thick with his own musk, the faint creak of the couch a rhythm to his racing pulse. He unzipped his jeans with a slow, deliberate motion, the sound obscene in the quiet. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening with precum, veins pulsing with the heat of his desire. He wrapped your panties around his length, the silk a stark contrast to his roughness, and hissed at the sensation—soft, cool, like a lover’s touch he’d never known.

His hand moved, slow at first, the lace catching on his calluses, sending shivers up his spine. He imagined you, your wide eyes, your trembling lips, the way you’d gasp if you saw him like this, defiling your innocence. The thought made him harder, his grip tightening, the panties sliding over his shaft with a friction that was both torment and ecstasy. His hips bucked, the couch creaking louder, the sound mingling with his ragged breaths. Your scent filled his lungs, jasmine and warmth, and he pressed the fabric to his nose again, inhaling deeply, his tongue darting out to taste the faintest trace of you. It was enough to unravel him.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice a low snarl, thick with need. “You’re in my head, little girl. You’re fucking everywhere.” The words were a confession, a curse, spat into the empty room as if you could hear him. His hand moved faster, the panties slick now with his precum, the silk catching on his piercings, tugging in a way that made him groan. His other hand gripped the couch, nails digging into the fabric, leaving crescent marks in the soft pink upholstery. He pictured you on your knees, your soft mouth around him, your innocence shattered by his touch. The image was too much, too vivid—your flushed cheeks, your whimpers, the way you’d look up at him, trusting, trembling.

His climax built like a storm, a pressure that made his vision blur. His hips jerked, his cock throbbing, and he bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, stifling the moan that threatened to spill out. “You’re mine,” he rasped, the words a vow, a threat, as he came, hot and thick, his cum spilling into the panties, soaking the delicate fabric. The release was violent, his body shuddering, his breath hitching in sharp, uneven gasps. He sat there, panting, his cock still twitching, the panties now a ruined testament to his obsession, stained with his desire, his shame.

He leaned back, his head tipping against the couch, the aftershocks of his orgasm mingling with a wave of self-loathing. The room was silent again, save for the faint drip of a faucet in your kitchen, the distant hum of the city beyond your walls. He stared at the ceiling, your ceiling, with its faint cracks and soft white paint, and felt the weight of what he’d done. He wasn’t a good man. He didn’t do soft, didn’t do kind. But you—you were a fire in his blood, a light in his darkness, and he hated you for it. Hated how your softness made him weak, how your existence threatened to unravel the cold, ruthless shell he’d built.

He tucked himself back into his jeans, the panties shoved into his pocket, a trophy he couldn’t leave behind. He stood, his legs unsteady, and lit another cigarette, the flame casting sharp shadows across his face. He took a drag, the smoke burning his throat, and exhaled, the haze curling around him like a lover’s embrace. He moved to your bedroom door, pausing to look at your bed—unmade, the lavender sheets tangled, a faint indent where you’d slept. He imagined you there, your body soft and vulnerable, your nightie riding up your thighs, and his fists clenched, his nails biting into his palms.

“You’re too fucking delicate,” he muttered, his voice low, laced with anger and something softer, something he refused to name. “This world’ll break you. I could break you.” The words were a warning, to you, to himself. He turned away, his boots heavy on the floor, and slipped out of your apartment, leaving behind the cigarette butt on your coffee table, its ash a silent claim, a promise of his return.

The night swallowed him, but your scent lingered on his skin, in his pocket, in his mind. He was a monster, and you were his prey, but the hunt was far from over.

The air in your apartment was thick, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in, trapping you in a cage of your own making. The faint scent of lavender from your candle mingled with the acrid tang of cigarette smoke, a lingering ghost of the intruder who’d invaded your sanctuary. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, a frantic bird desperate to escape, as you stood in the center of your living room, tears streaming down your cheeks, hot and relentless. The evidence was everywhere—cigarette butts on your coffee table, their charred ends like tiny accusations; a single pink rose on your counter, its petals too perfect, too deliberate; the faint indentation on your bed, smelling of musk and danger. Someone was watching you, knowing you, unraveling the fragile threads of your life. The money—envelopes of cash that had saved you from drowning in debt—had kept you silent, complicit, but tonight, the weight of it all crushed you.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms, the sharp sting grounding you as your voice tore from your throat, raw and trembling. “Who are you?” you screamed into the empty air, your words echoing off the pastel walls. “What do you want from me? Just leave me alone! Stop this—stop tormenting me!” Your voice cracked, a sob choking you as you sank to your knees, your glasses fogging with tears. The room spun, the soft glow of your fairy lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of fear and despair. You were a fool, a coward, for not calling the police, for letting the money tether you to this nightmare. Your hands shook as you clutched your hair, pulling at the roots, the pain a desperate anchor to reality.

The silence that followed was deafening, a void that swallowed your cries. Then, a creak—the soft groan of a floorboard in your bedroom. Your breath hitched, your body freezing as a shadow moved, deliberate and unhurried, emerging from the darkness like a predator stepping into the light. Jungkook stood there, his presence a storm, filling the room with an electric menace that made the air crackle. His black leather jacket was open, revealing the taut lines of his chest beneath a fitted shirt, his tattoos curling up his neck like dark promises. His dark hair was mussed, falling into his eyes, which burned with an intensity that pinned you in place, stripping you bare. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the ember glowing red, casting fleeting shadows across his sharp jaw. He didn’t belong here, in your soft, feminine world of lavender and lace, yet he stood as if he owned it, as if you were the intruder.

You gasped, recognition slamming into you like a freight train. The man you’d saved—the one whose blood had stained your rug, whose piercing gaze had haunted your dreams—was here, in your home, like a specter made flesh. Your heart stuttered, your tears drying on your cheeks as you scrambled to your feet, your legs wobbly beneath you. “You,” you whispered, your voice a fragile thread, barely audible over the pounding in your ears. “It was you. All this time… it was you.”

Jungkook didn’t move, his eyes locked on yours, dark and unreadable, like twin voids that could swallow you whole. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling from his lips in a lazy spiral, the scent sharp and invasive, tainting the air you breathed. “You shouldn’t have helped me that night,” he said, his voice low, a gravelly growl that vibrated through the room, sending a shiver down your spine. “You should’ve run, little girl. Should’ve locked your door and prayed I’d bleed out on the street.”

His words were a blade, slicing through your resolve, and you stumbled back, your hip brushing against the edge of your couch. Fear and anger warred within you, your hands trembling as you pointed a shaky finger at him. “I’m calling the police,” you said, your voice quivering but gaining strength, fueled by the betrayal burning in your chest. “You’ve been in my home, touching my things, leaving your… your filth everywhere! Why? Why are you doing this? I saved you! I saved your life, and this is how you repay me?”

His eyes flashed, a dangerous glint that made your stomach lurch. In two strides, he crossed the room, his boots heavy on the hardwood, the sound reverberating like a death knell. He loomed over you, his broad frame blocking the light, casting you in shadow. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as he slammed you against the wall, the impact jarring, the plaster cold against your back. His body was a furnace, radiating heat and danger, his scent overwhelming—cigarettes, leather, and something darker, primal. His grip was iron, bruising, his calloused fingers digging into your skin, and you whimpered, your glasses slipping down your nose.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips, tinged with nicotine and rage. “You think you can scream at me? Threaten me? You’re nothing, you hear me? A little girl playing hero, and now you’re in over your head. You’re my obsession, my fucking curse. I don’t believe in love, in fairy tales, but you—you’re in my head, clawing at me, and I can’t rip you out. It pisses me off, you know that? You’re too soft, too pure, and I want to break you, want to make you scream just to see if you’ll still look at me with those innocent eyes.”

His words were a storm, each one a lash against your heart, and you trembled, tears spilling anew, hot and stinging as they carved paths down your cheeks. His eyes followed them, a flicker of something—hunger, fascination—crossing his face, and it terrified you, thrilled you, in ways you couldn’t understand. “I shouldn’t have saved you,” you choked out, your voice breaking, raw with anger and regret. “I should’ve let you die out there, let the street take you. You’re a monster, and I was stupid—stupid to think I could help someone like you!”

His grip tightened, his fingers crushing your wrists, and he leaned closer, his nose brushing your cheek, his lips so close you could feel their heat. “Say that again,” he roared, his voice a thunderclap, shaking you to your core. “Say it, you little brat! Tell me you regret it, tell me you hate me! Go on, scream it, because I’ll burn it into your soul, make you feel every fucking second of my anger!” His eyes were wild, blazing with a fury that wasn’t just at you but at himself, at the world, at the obsession that had chained him to you.

You sobbed, your body shaking, but you couldn’t look away, couldn’t break free from the intensity of his gaze. His face was a mask of rage, but beneath it, there was something else—pain, raw and jagged, like a wound that wouldn’t heal. Your lips parted, but no words came, only a whimper, a sound of defeat and defiance. The air between you crackled, charged with a tension that was both electric and suffocating, the space shrinking until there was nothing but him—his heat, his scent, his fury.

His eyes dropped to your lips, and for a heartbeat, time stopped. Then, with a growl that was half-curse, half-prayer, he crashed his mouth against yours, the kiss brutal, consuming, a collision of anger and need. His lips were hard, demanding, his tongue forcing its way past your defenses, claiming you with a ferocity that stole your breath. You gasped, your hands pushing against his chest, but he was immovable, a mountain of muscle and rage, his body pressing against yours, pinning you to the wall. The taste of him was intoxicating—nicotine, salt, and something darker, like the edge of a blade. His teeth grazed your lip, a sharp sting that made you cry out, and he swallowed the sound, his kiss deepening, devouring.

Your body betrayed you, a heat blooming in your core, your skin tingling where his hands roamed, sliding down your arms, gripping your hips with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. You were a virgin, untouched, and the sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of want and fear crashing over you. His hands were rough, calloused, a stark contrast to your softness, and every touch felt like a brand, marking you as his. You hated him, feared him, but your body arched into him, craving the storm he unleashed.

He pulled back, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with a hunger that made your heart stutter. His cigarette had fallen, smoldering on the floor, forgotten in the chaos of his need. “You’re mine,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, trembling with an emotion he couldn’t name. “You don’t get to run, don’t get to hide. I’ll tear this fucking world apart before I let you go.”

You were shaking, your lips swollen, your glasses askew, your body alive with a fire you didn’t understand. The wall was cold against your back, his body a furnace against your front, and the world narrowed to the space between you, a battlefield of anger, fear, and something unspoken, something that could destroy you both.

The air between you was a live wire, crackling with a tension that burned hotter than the fear in your veins. Jungkook’s lips lingered on yours from the kiss that had shattered your defenses, his taste—bitter smoke, raw hunger—still coating your tongue. Your body trembled, pinned against the wall by the sheer weight of his presence, his broad shoulders blocking out the world, his inked arms caging you like a predator savoring its prey. Your heart thundered, a wild, erratic drumbeat, and your breath came in shallow gasps, each one laced with the scent of him—cigarettes, musk, and something darker, like the promise of ruin. You were a virgin, untouched by hands or lips, and the intensity of his touch was a tidal wave, drowning you in sensations you didn’t know how to name.

He pulled back, his chest heaving, his dark eyes molten with a storm of desire and conflict. His jaw was tight, the veins in his neck pulsing under his tattooed skin, and his hands, still gripping your hips, were bruisingly firm, as if he were anchoring himself to you. Slowly, deliberately, he sank to his knees before you, his leather jacket creaking, the sound sharp in the stifling silence of your apartment. The sight of him—Jungkook, the cold, ruthless criminal, kneeling for you—was a paradox that made your head spin. His hands slid up your thighs, rough calluses scraping against your soft skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your skirt bunched under his fingers, the fabric catching on his rings, and you gasped, your hands flying to the wall for support, nails digging into the plaster.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his voice a low, guttural plea, raw with an edge of desperation you’d never heard from him. His breath was hot against your inner thigh, his lips hovering so close you could feel the ghost of them on your skin. “Say it, and I’ll walk away. I’ll leave you alone.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat was tight, your mind a whirlwind of fear, want, and something deeper, something that terrified you. His eyes locked onto yours, searching, demanding, and in them, you saw a flicker of vulnerability—a crack in the armor of the man who lived for himself alone. Your silence was your surrender, and he saw it, his gaze darkening, his hands tightening on your hips until you whimpered, the sound high and trembling.

He didn’t wait for more. With a low growl, he shoved your skirt higher, the fabric pooling at your waist, exposing the delicate lace of your panties—white, innocent, a stark contrast to the darkness of his intent. His fingers hooked into the waistband, and with a sharp tug, he tore them apart, the sound of ripping fabric echoing like a gunshot in your ears. You gasped, your body jerking, but his hands held you firm, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your hips, grounding you even as your world tilted.

His mouth was on you in an instant, hot and unrelenting, his lips closing over your clit with a hunger that stole your breath. The first touch was a shock, a bolt of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, and you cried out, your voice breaking into a high, keening moan that filled the room. His tongue flicked against you, slow at first, then faster, a rhythm that was both precise and feral, like a man starving for something he’d never tasted. The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, his lips sucking gently, then harder, drawing out sensations you didn’t know your body could feel. Your thighs trembled, threatening to give out, but his hands slid to your ass, gripping you tightly, holding you open for him, his fingers digging into your flesh with a possessiveness that made your head spin.

“Fuck,” he groaned against you, the vibration of his voice sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through you. His breath was hot, ragged, fanning across your sensitive skin, and you felt the scrape of his stubble against your inner thighs, a delicious burn that grounded you in the moment. “You taste so fucking good. So sweet. Like you were made for me.”

His words were a blade, slicing through your defenses, and you moaned, your head falling back against the wall, your glasses slipping down your nose. Your hands found his hair, thick and soft, and you clutched at it, desperate for an anchor as he devoured you. His tongue circled your clit, teasing, tormenting, before plunging lower, lapping at your entrance, tasting the slickness that had gathered there. You were embarrassingly wet, the sounds of his mouth against you—wet, obscene—filling the room, mingling with your gasps and whimpers. Your cheeks burned with shame and need, but you couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull away, not when his mouth felt like salvation.

“Jungkook,” you whimpered, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer, a plea, a curse. Your voice was raw, trembling, and it seemed to ignite something in him. He growled, low and primal, his lips sealing over your clit again, sucking hard, his tongue flicking in a relentless rhythm that made your vision blur. His hands kneaded your ass, pulling you closer, deeper, as if he wanted to consume you entirely.

“Look at you,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal, his eyes wild and dark. “Falling apart for me. You’re mine, you hear me? No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to taste you.”

His possessiveness sent a thrill through you, dangerous and intoxicating, and you nodded, unable to form words, your breath hitching as his fingers slid to your entrance. He pushed one inside, slow and deliberate, his digit thick and rough against your untouched walls. You gasped, your pussy clenching around him, and he cursed under his breath, his forehead resting against your thigh for a moment, as if he were trying to steady himself.

“So tight,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me, aren’t you? Little virgin, so perfect, so untouched. I’m gonna break you, and you’re gonna love it.”

He added a second finger, stretching you, the slight burn mingling with pleasure so intense it made you dizzy. His lips returned to your clit, sucking in time with the thrust of his fingers, curling them inside you, hitting a spot that made your legs shake and your moans turn to sobs. Your body was a live wire, every nerve singing, every touch amplified. The room smelled of sex and cigarettes, of your arousal and his dominance, and it was heady, overwhelming, pulling you under.

“Jungkook, please,” you cried, your voice breaking, your hips bucking against his mouth, chasing the release that was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he growled, his voice a command, his lips vibrating against you. “Let me feel it. Let me taste it. Come on my tongue, baby.”

His words were your undoing. The coil snapped, and you shattered, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing, your moans turning to screams. Your hands yanked at his hair, your thighs clamping around his head, but he didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working you through it, drawing out every shudder, every pulse, until you were a trembling, gasping mess. Your glasses fogged, your vision spotting, and you slumped against the wall, your legs barely holding you up.

He didn’t let you fall. His hands gripped your hips, steadying you, his mouth still on you, softer now, kissing your swollen, sensitive flesh with a reverence that made your heart ache. He pulled back, his lips and chin slick, his eyes burning as they met yours. He stood, towering over you, and kissed you again, deep and possessive, letting you taste yourself on his tongue—sweet, tangy, intimate. You moaned into his mouth, your hands clutching his shirt, the fabric rough under your fingers, anchoring you to the man who’d unraveled you.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your lips, his voice raw, almost broken. “Don’t forget that.”

You slumped against him, your body spent, your mind a haze of pleasure and confusion. Your hands fisted in his shirt, clinging to the fabric of a man who was both your savior and your stalker, a murderer who’d knelt for you, who’d made you feel alive for the first time. The weight of it—of him—was too much, and as your eyes fluttered shut, you surrendered to the darkness, your body safe in his arms, your heart caught in his storm.

Your body was a fragile weight in Jungkook’s arms, your breath soft and even, a delicate rhythm against the chaos of his own heartbeat. He carried you through the dim glow of your apartment, each step a battle against the urge to stay, to claim you as his own. Your head rested against his chest, your hair spilling over his arm like silk, catching the faint moonlight that slipped through the lavender curtains. The scent of you—strawberries, chamomile, and something uniquely yours—clung to him, a drug that made his blood hum and his resolve fracture. Your warmth seeped into his skin, a stark contrast to the cold steel of his world, and it terrified him how much he craved it.

He reached your bedroom, the space a shrine to your softness: a pastel quilt draped over the bed, a small vase of daisies on the nightstand, their petals curling in the quiet dark. The air was heavy with the lingering fragrance of your floral lotion, a scent that had haunted him since the night he’d first invaded your space. He laid you down with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed, your body sinking into the mattress, the baby blue nightie riding up slightly to reveal the smooth curve of your thigh. Your lips parted in sleep, a faint flush still staining your cheeks, and Jungkook’s chest tightened, a visceral ache that felt like a blade twisting between his ribs.

He knelt beside the bed, his rough hands hovering over you, afraid to touch, afraid to taint. Your face was serene, your lashes casting delicate shadows across your skin, and he wondered how someone so alive, so full of light, could exist in a world as cruel as his. You were a wildflower blooming in a wasteland, and he was the storm that would tear you from the earth. His fingers twitched, yearning to trace the curve of your cheek, to feel the warmth of your skin one last time, but he held back, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

“You don’t belong with me,” he whispered, his voice a low, ragged thing, barely audible in the stillness. The words were a confession, a wound torn open. “You’re too fucking pure, too good. I’ll break you, petal. I’ll crush you, and you’ll hate me for it.”

His eyes burned, a foreign sting he refused to acknowledge. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t weak. But you—you made him feel things he’d buried long ago, things he’d sworn never to let surface. The memory of your cries, your body trembling under his touch, flashed through his mind, and he gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles white. He wanted to keep you, to lock you away in a cage of his own making, where no one else could touch you, where you’d be his alone. The thought was a poison, sweet and deadly, and it made his blood roar with a possessiveness that scared him.

He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over your face, and pressed his His lips brushed your forehead, a fleeting kiss, soft as a prayer, heavy as a vow. Your skin was warm, impossibly soft, and he lingered, memorizing the feel of you, knowing it was the last time. The weight of his decision settled in his chest like a stone, cold and unyielding. He stood, his shadow falling over you, a dark specter in your gentle world.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking, a fracture in his iron walls. “I can’t do this to you. I won’t. You deserve someone who’ll hold you like you’re glass, not shatter you like I will.”

He backed away, each step a tear in his soul, the distance between you growing with every heartbeat. The room seemed to close in, the walls whispering his failure, his cowardice. He paused at the door, turning back one last time. You were still asleep, oblivious to the war raging inside him, your chest rising and falling, a quiet promise of life he could never share. The sight of you—so small, so trusting—clawed at him, a silent accusation.

“I won’t come back,” he swore, the words a blade he drove into his own heart. “I’ll stay away, even if it fucking kills me.”

He slipped into the night, the door clicking shut behind him, a finality that echoed in his bones. The city swallowed him, its neon veins pulsing with the same restless energy that churned in his veins. He lit a cigarette, the flame flaring briefly before dying in the dark, the smoke curling around him like a lover’s caress. It tasted bitter, like regret, like you. He walked into the shadows, the ember glowing faintly, a lone beacon in the abyss. His enemies waited, his revenge a siren call he could no longer ignore. But you—you were the ghost he’d carry, the obsession he couldn’t shake, and as the night closed around him, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be free.

۶ৎ SUGAR AND SPICE —

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, stepping closer, cupping your face, his thumb parting your lips. “So shy, so sweet, and all mine.”

pairing: sugar daddy dom!taehyung x sub!femreader

genre: ceo!taehyung, college student!reader, age gap (19 years), slowburn, luxury lifestyle, sugar daddy x sugar baby, strangers to lovers, seoul setting, romance, erotica, smut, fluff, angst

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, power dynamics, emotional vulnerability, reassurance, insecurities, mentions of financial struggles, emotional bonding, tenderness, light mentions of argument, D/s dynamics, use of "sir", possessiveness, obsessive!taehyung, lingerie kink, multiple sex scenes, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f. receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, vaginal sex, missionary position, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation (use of terms like "slut," "whore"), orgasm control, creampie, unprotected sex, clit stimulation, breast play, nipple play, nipple sucking, unprotected sex, doggy style, eating out, face riding, face sitting, tongue fucking, clit sucking, pussy worship, making out, hickies/markings, body worship, mentions of visiting a sex toy shop, mentions of dildo, blindfolds and vibrators, vibrator use (f. receiving), crying (in pleasure), vibrator used to stimulate nipples, vaginal penetration with vibrator, multiple stimulations, mild somnophilia, morning sex, missionary position, light choking, restraint play (implied with silk ties), consensual power imbalance, hair pulling, cum swallowing, oral sex (m. receiving), cock sucking, face fucking, several aftercare scenes, softest aftercare

wc: 10.1k

masterlist

۶ৎ

In Seoul’s pulsating heart, where skyscrapers gleamed like blades against the sky and the Han River shimmered under a neon glow, Kim Taehyung reigned as a titan. At 40, he was the CEO of Vante Enterprises, a conglomerate that dominated luxury real estate and high-end fashion. His life was a masterpiece of ambition, each decision a calculated step toward greater power. Standing at 6’1”, Taehyung’s presence was commanding—broad shoulders filling out bespoke suits, a lean frame sculpted by discipline, and hands that could seal a multimillion-dollar deal or silence a room with a gesture. His jet-black hair, lightly threaded with silver, framed a face both strikingly handsome and intimidatingly stern, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. His deep brown eyes, often cold and piercing, held a storm of intensity, capable of unraveling secrets or freezing someone in place. His voice, a low, gravelly timbre, carried an authority that demanded obedience, whether he was negotiating with tycoons or dismissing an inept assistant.

Taehyung’s world was one of opulence, but it was a solitary empire. His penthouse, perched atop one of his own skyscrapers, was a study in modern elegance—polished marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Seoul’s glittering skyline, and minimalist furniture in stark blacks and ivories. The air was cool, the silence broken only by the faint hum of the city or the clink of ice in his whiskey glass. He had no family; his parents had passed a decade ago, and he was an only child. His relationships were fleeting, often transactional—women drawn to his wealth and charisma but deterred by his gruff demeanor and unrelenting standards. Taehyung was grumpy, his patience razor-thin, and his temper could flare at the smallest misstep. Employees tiptoed around him, rivals respected him, and the world saw him as untouchable. Yet, beneath the iron facade, there was a man who craved something real, a softness to balance the hardness of his existence, though he buried that longing deep.

Across the city, in a cramped dorm at Seoul National University, lived you—Y/N, a 21-year-old literature major with dreams as vast as the ocean but a life tethered by scarcity. Your dorm was a cozy chaos of secondhand books stacked precariously on shelves, fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling, and a worn-out laptop that groaned under the weight of your essays. Petite at 5’2”, you had a heart-shaped face that radiated innocence, with wide doe eyes framed by long lashes and soft, wavy hair often tied back with a pastel ribbon. Your wardrobe was a patchwork of thrifted sweaters, flowy skirts, and scuffed sneakers, a reflection of your tight budget. You were painfully shy, your cheeks flushing at the slightest attention, your voice soft and hesitant when speaking to strangers. But your heart was warm, your kindness drawing people in, even if you were too timid to notice.

Your life was a delicate balancing act. Raised in a small coastal town by a single mother who worked two jobs, you’d grown up knowing sacrifice. Scholarships and part-time jobs funded your education, but money was a constant worry. You worked as a barista at Bean & Blossom, a quaint café near campus, where you spent evenings steaming milk, serving pastries, and scribbling story ideas in a tattered notebook. Submissive by nature—not weak, but deferential—you avoided conflict and sought approval, finding comfort in structure. You dreamed of writing novels that would touch hearts, but you also longed for stability, for someone to ease your burdens. Romance was a distant fantasy; your inexperience and shyness made intimacy both thrilling and terrifying. You’d never had a boyfriend, and the thought of someone wanting you felt like a story from one of your books.

It was a crisp autumn evening, the air thick with the scent of falling leaves and the promise of winter. Bean & Blossom was quiet, its warm lights casting a golden glow over the wooden tables. You were behind the counter, wiping down the espresso machine, your pale blue apron slightly askew, a smudge of flour on your cheek from baking muffins. Your shift was nearing its end, your feet aching, your mind drifting to a looming essay. The bell above the door chimed, a sharp sound that snapped you out of your thoughts. You looked up, and your breath caught as Kim Taehyung walked in.

He was a vision of power, his presence filling the small café like a storm. His tailored black overcoat brushed against his calves, the fabric catching the light as he strode toward the counter. His expression was stern, his jaw tight, as if the world had already tested his patience. He’d been at a grueling meeting with investors, his mood soured by their demands, and needed a black coffee to keep him sharp. You froze, your hands trembling as you met his gaze. His eyes were intense, twin pools of dark amber that seemed to see through you, and you felt small, exposed. Your heart raced, your pulse a frantic drumbeat.

“G-Good evening, sir,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. Your cheeks flushed pink, and you ducked your head, fidgeting with your apron as if it could shield you from his intensity. “What can I get started for you?”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing his stoic face. Your nervousness was refreshing, a stark contrast to the calculated flattery he was used to. “Black coffee, no sugar,” he said, his voice deep and clipped. “Make it quick.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you replied, your voice trembling as you turned to the coffee machine. Your hands fumbled with the portafilter, nearly dropping it, and you cursed yourself for being so clumsy. The machine hissed as you tamped the grounds, your movements jerky under his gaze. Taehyung watched, his expression unreadable, his eyes lingering on your trembling hands, the flush creeping up your neck, and the way your lips parted as you focused.

As you prepared his coffee, you stole glances at him, your curiosity warring with your nerves. He was older, undeniably handsome, with an aura of power that made your stomach flutter. When you handed him the coffee, your fingers brushed his, the brief contact sending a jolt through you. You gasped, pulling back, your cheeks crimson.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone softer. He noticed the flour on your cheek and, without thinking, reached out to wipe it away with his thumb. His touch was warm, firm, and you froze, your eyes wide. He paused, realizing what he’d done, and withdrew his hand. “You had something on your face,” he muttered, clearing his throat.

“T-Thank you, sir,” you whispered, mortified, your body tingling from his touch. He nodded, paid with a crisp bill, and left, the bell chiming as the door closed. You stared after him, your heart pounding, your mind replaying the feel of his thumb.

Taehyung, in his chauffeured car, couldn’t shake your image—your wide eyes, trembling hands, soft flush. You were a breath of fresh air in his sterile world, and he wanted to see you again.

Taehyung became a regular at Bean & Blossom, arriving late, just before closing, when the café was nearly empty, and ordered the same black coffee. Each visit, he watched you with an intensity that made your knees weak, his eyes tracking your every move as you worked. You grew accustomed to his presence, though you remained a nervous wreck around him. Your shyness manifested in small ways—stuttering when you took his order, avoiding his gaze, calling him “sir” in a voice so soft it barely carried. The honorific amused him, his lips twitching with a rare, fleeting smile that made your heart skip.

One night, as you were closing up, he lingered longer than usual. The café was empty, the lights dimmed to a warm amber, and you were sweeping the floor, the soft swish of the broom the only sound. Taehyung sat at a corner table, his coffee untouched, his eyes fixed on you. “You’re always so nervous around me,” he said suddenly, his voice low and teasing, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Do I scare you?”

You froze, clutching the broom so tightly your knuckles whitened. Your heart raced, and you felt heat flood your face. “N-No, sir,” you lied, your voice trembling. “I-I just… you’re very… um, intimidating.”

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down your spine and made your core pulse with an unfamiliar heat. “Intimidating, huh? Most people say that.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze pinning you in place. “But you… you’re different. What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you said softly, barely meeting his eyes before looking down at the floor, your cheeks burning.

“Y/N,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like a caress. He stood, his movements fluid, and approached the counter, leaving a generous tip—far more than the coffee warranted. “See you tomorrow, Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying a promise that made your pulse quicken. The door chimed, and he was gone, leaving you clutching the broom, your mind a whirlwind of emotions.

That night, you lay in your dorm, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of your interactions with him. His voice, his eyes, the way he said your name—it all felt significant, like a thread pulling you toward something unknown. You were intimidated, yes, but also curious, drawn to the enigma that was Kim Taehyung.

He returned the next evening, and the one after that, each visit stretching longer. He started engaging you in small talk, asking about your studies, your favorite books, your dreams. His questions were simple, but his attention was anything but. He listened intently, his eyes never leaving your face, and you found yourself opening up, your shyness easing slightly with each conversation. You told him about your love for literature, your dream of writing novels, the stories you scribbled in your notebook. He, in turn, shared glimpses of his world—tales of high-stakes deals, travels to Paris and Tokyo, the pressure of running an empire. He never spoke of his loneliness, but you sensed it in the way his voice softened when he talked to you, in the way his eyes lingered on you as if you were a rare treasure.

One evening, as you were locking up, he made an offer that changed everything. The café was dark, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside. You were slipping on your coat, your scarf tangled in your nervous hands, when he spoke. “Y/N,” he said, his tone serious, almost reverent. “I’d like to take care of you.”

You blinked, confused, your scarf slipping to the floor. “T-Take care of me, sir?” Your voice was small, your heart pounding as you tried to process his words.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, and you caught the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and musk, rich and intoxicating. “You’re struggling, I can tell,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “School, work, money—it’s too much for someone like you. Let me help. I’ll pay for your tuition, your rent, anything you need. In return, you spend time with me. Be mine.”

Your heart stopped, your breath catching in your throat. You’d heard of arrangements like this—sugar daddies, sugar babies—but you never imagined it happening to you. The idea was both terrifying and thrilling, a lifeline wrapped in danger. “I-I don’t know, sir,” you stammered, your mind racing. “I’ve never… I mean, I’m not sure if I’m… good enough for that.”

He reached out, his hand gentle as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His touch was firm but not forceful, his thumb brushing lightly over your jaw. “You’re more than enough,” he said, his voice soft but resolute, a vow etched in every syllable. “I don’t want to pressure you, Y/N. Think about it. But know this—I see you. And I want you.”

You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, your eyes wide and glassy. He released you, stepping back, and gave you a small, almost tender smile. “Good night, Y/N,” he said, and then he was gone, the door chiming behind him.

That night, you tossed and turned, your mind a battlefield of fear and temptation. Taehyung was intimidating, a man who could command a room with a glance, but he was also kind to you, softer than you’d expected. The idea of being cared for, of not worrying about rent or tuition, was intoxicating. And deep down, you were drawn to him—his strength, his dominance, the way he made you feel safe despite your nerves. You imagined his hands on you, his voice praising you, and your body responded, your pussy growing wet, your clit throbbing with a need you didn’t fully understand.

The next evening, you gave him your answer. The café was quiet, the counter between you a fragile barrier. He stood there, his coat draped over his arm, his eyes locked on you as you spoke. “Okay, sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. “I’ll… I’ll be yours.”

His smile was triumphant, possessive, a predator claiming his prize. “Good girl,” he murmured, the words sending a thrill through you, your core pulsing with heat. He stepped closer, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips. “You won’t regret this, baby. I’ll take care of everything.”

That was the start of your relationship, a dynamic built on his dominance and your submission, his gruff exterior melting only for you. It was a dance of power and trust, and you were ready to step into his world.

Taehyung was true to his word, transforming your life with a speed that left you dizzy. Within days, your tuition was paid in full, your cramped dorm replaced with a sleek one-bedroom apartment near campus. The apartment was a dream—hardwood floors, a plush sofa, a kitchen with gleaming appliances, and a bedroom with a bed so soft it felt like sinking into a cloud. He filled your wardrobe with designer clothes—silky dresses, cashmere sweaters, delicate lingerie that made you blush when you tried it on. He gave you a black credit card with no limit, slipping it into your hand with a low, “Spoil yourself, baby. You’re mine, and I take care of what’s mine.”

He was lavish, almost excessive. He bought you first editions of your favorite books, their leather bindings smelling of history. He gifted you a rose-gold necklace with a tiny diamond pendant, clasping it around your neck himself, his fingers lingering on your skin. When he noticed your laptop lagging, he replaced it with a top-of-the-line model, complete with writing software you’d only dreamed of. He took you to restaurants where the menus had no prices, ordering for you with a confidence that made your heart flutter. He loved controlling the details—picking your outfits, planning your dates, guiding you with a firm hand that was both possessive and protective. But he was never cruel; his dominance was laced with care, his grumpiness softening when he saw your shy smile.

You, in turn, became his sanctuary. Around you, Taehyung’s stern demeanor melted, his sharp edges dulled by your presence. He’d pull you into his lap after a long day, his arms wrapping around you as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent—vanilla and jasmine, a fragrance he’d bought you. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” he’d murmur, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. You’d nod, your heart swelling at his praise, your body tingling at his touch. Your shyness never fully faded, but you grew comfortable with him, learning to trust his commands and revel in his attention.

Taehyung took you to a rooftop restaurant, a haven for Seoul’s elite. The table was set with candles and white roses, the skyline glittering below. You wore a red silk dress he’d chosen, the fabric clinging to your curves, the neckline revealing the tops of your breasts. His eyes darkened as he saw you, pulling out your chair, his hand brushing your lower back, sending shivers through you.

“You look stunning, baby,” he said, his voice husky, taking your hand. His thumb brushed your knuckles, and your nipples hardened, pressing against the dress. “T-Thank you, sir,” you murmured, blushing, your core throbbing.

He chuckled, leaning back. “Still so shy, huh?” His eyes flicked to your chest, smirking. “I like that. Makes me want to ruin you.”

You gasped, your thighs pressing together, wetness soaking your panties. “Taehyung,” you whispered, forgetting the honorific.

His grip tightened. “What was that, baby? You know what to call me.”

“S-Sir,” you corrected, trembling. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He smirked, sipping his wine. “Good girl. Eat. You’ll need your energy.”

The promise hung heavy. You picked at your scallops and risotto, anticipation coiling in your gut. Taehyung watched, his gaze predatory yet tender, sensing your arousal. After dessert—a rich chocolate torte—he led you to a private alcove overlooking the city. He draped his jacket over your shoulders, his hands on your hips, his breath warm against your ear.

“Look at that,” he murmured, his chest against your back. “All those lights, and you’re the only one I see.”

“Sir,” you whispered, leaning into him. “You make me feel so special.”

He turned you, cupping your cheek. “You are special, Y/N. You’re mine.” He kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue claiming you. You melted, your hands clutching his shirt, your pussy throbbing as his hardness pressed against you. “Let’s go home, baby,” he growled. “I’m not done with you.”

One Saturday, Taehyung took you shopping, a whirlwind of indulgence that left you dizzy. You started at a boutique on Gangnam’s fashion row, where he sat convencen a plush armchair, watching as you tried on dresses. Each one—a flowy chiffon, a fitted velvet, a daring satin—drew a nod or a smirk from him. “That one,” he’d say, pointing to a emerald-green gown that hugged your curves. “It’s perfect for you.” You blushed, twirling for him, your heart fluttering at his approval.

He bought everything you tried on, the saleswoman’s eyes widening at the total. “Sir, I don’t need all this,” you whispered, clutching his arm as you left, bags in tow.

He stopped, tilting your chin up. “You deserve it, baby,” he said, his voice firm. “I want you to feel beautiful. Besides, I like seeing you in things I choose.” His thumb brushed your lips, and you shivered, your nipples hardening under your sweater.

The day took an unexpected turn when he led you to a discreet shop tucked away in a quiet alley. The sign read “Velvet Desires,” and your heart raced as you realized it was a high-end sex toy boutique. Your cheeks burned, your shyness flaring, but Taehyung’s hand on your lower back was steady, guiding you inside.

The shop was elegant, with dim lighting, black velvet walls, and glass cases displaying toys—vibrators, dildos, silk restraints. You froze, overwhelmed, but Taehyung’s voice was calm. “Relax, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “I want to pick something for us. Something to make you feel good.”

You nodded, your voice caught in your throat. He led you to a case of vibrators, his eyes scanning the options. “What about this?” he asked, pointing to a sleek, rose-gold wand with multiple settings. “It’s versatile. I can use it on your clit, inside you… wherever you want.”

You blushed, your pussy throbbing at the thought. “I-I trust you, sir,” you whispered, barely audible.

He smirked, signaling the clerk to wrap it up. He also picked out a set of silk restraints, their deep burgundy color catching the light. “For when you’re feeling extra obedient,” he teased, making you squirm. The clerk rang up the purchase discreetly, and Taehyung paid with a card, his hand never leaving yours.

In the car, he pulled you close, his hand on your thigh. “Excited to try our new toys, baby?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

“Y-Yes, sir,” you admitted, your cheeks burning, your panties soaked.

“Good,” he said, kissing your temple. “Tonight, you’re all mine.”

Back at his penthouse, Taehyung’s demeanor shifted to commanding. The bedroom was vast, the king-sized bed draped in black silk, city lights casting a glow through the windows. He closed the door, his eyes dark with desire. “Strip,” he ordered, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his toned chest, his trousers hugging his thighs, his cock already straining.

You hesitated, shyness flaring. “S-Sir, I…” you started, clutching your dress.

His eyebrow arched. “Don’t make me ask twice, baby,” he said, his tone dangerous, sending a shiver through you.

You reached for the zipper, trembling as the silk pooled at your feet, leaving you in lacy black lingerie—a bra barely containing your breasts, lace teasing your hardened nipples, and soaked panties. Your skin prickled, your clit throbbing as he stared.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, stepping closer, cupping your face, his thumb parting your lips. “So shy, so sweet, and all mine.”

You whimpered, arching into him, your pussy dripping. He kissed you, slow and possessive, his tongue claiming you as his hands roamed. He unhooked your bra, groaning at your pink, puckered nipples. “Lie down,” he commanded, and you crawled onto the bed, the silk cool against your skin, your legs pressed together.

He parted your thighs, his hands firm. “Look at you,” he murmured, tracing your soaked panties. “Your pussy’s begging for my cock.” He slid them off, groaning at your glistening folds, your clit swollen. “So fucking wet,” he said, brushing a finger over your clit, making you moan.

Taehyung started slow, his fingers circling your clit, watching your reactions. “Such a pretty pussy,” he praised, slipping a finger inside, curling it to hit your g-spot. Your walls clenched, and he added another, stretching you gently. “So tight, so needy. All for me, right?”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you gasped, clutching the sheets as he pumped his fingers, his thumb brushing your clit. Your nipples ached, your pussy dripping as he worked you.

He leaned down, his tongue flicking your clit, and you cried out, your back arching. His mouth was relentless, sucking your clit, his fingers fucking you steadily. The wet sounds filled the room, mingling with your moans, and your orgasm built, intense and overwhelming. He added a third finger, the stretch burning deliciously, and sucked harder.

“Cum for me, baby,” he growled, his voice vibrating. “Let me feel you.”

You shattered, screaming his name, your pussy gushing as waves of pleasure crashed through you. He licked you through it, his fingers slowing, drawing out every aftershock until you were trembling, your clit throbbing.

He rose, shedding his clothes, revealing his toned chest, faint scars, and thick, veined cock, leaking precum. He positioned himself between your legs, his cock nudging your entrance. “Ready, baby?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Please, sir,” you whispered, trembling.

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, the stretch intense but delicious. You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as he groaned, his hands gripping your hips. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he said, his voice strained. “So perfect.”

His thrusts were deep, controlled, hitting spots that made you see stars. Your pussy was soaked, the wet sounds obscene. You moaned, your legs wrapping around him, pulling him deeper. His restraint slipped, his thrusts growing rougher, the bed creaking. “Take it, baby,” he snarled. “Take my cock like a good girl.”

You screamed, your nails raking his back as he pounded you, your breasts bouncing, nipples grazing his chest. Your second orgasm built, and he rubbed your clit, his fingers relentless. “Cum for me,” he growled, and you did, your pussy clenching, gushing as you screamed. He followed, spilling inside you, his cock pulsing, filling you with warmth.

Taehyung collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his chest heaving. “You were perfect, baby,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, his voice soft. He reached for a warm cloth, cleaning you gently, his hands tender as he wiped your thighs, careful around your sensitive folds. He checked for any discomfort, his fingers brushing your skin with care. “Feel okay?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, smiling shyly. “Just… wow.”

He chuckled, wrapping you in a blanket, pulling you against his chest. He stroked your hair, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. “My good girl,” he murmured, kissing your temple. He offered you water, holding the glass as you sipped, his arm steady around you. He whispered praises, telling you how beautiful you were, how much you meant to him, until you drifted off, safe in his embrace.

One morning, you woke to Taehung’s lips on your inner thigh, his breath warm. The room glowed with dawn’s light, the city waking beyond the windows. His hair was tousled, his eyes dark with desire, his muscles flexing as he held your thighs apart. “Good morning, baby,” he murmured, his tongue teasing your clit, sending a jolt through you.

“Sir,” you moaned, your hands tugging his hair as he sucked your clit, his lips closing around it. He slipped two fingers inside, curling them to hit your g-spot, and you gasped, your pussy throbbing.

He ate you out lazily, savoring your moans, his tongue circling your clit. “You taste so fucking good,” he growled, licking a long stripe up your slit. His fingers pumped, the wet sounds mingling with your gasps, and your orgasm coiled tight. He sucked harder, and you came, screaming, your pussy clenching around his fingers. He licked you through it, drawing out every aftershock.

He flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up. “Ass up, baby,” he ordered, his voice rough. You obeyed, your cheek against the pillow, your pussy dripping. He entered you from behind, his cock sliding in deep, filling you. “Fuck, I love this,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his thrusts slow but powerful.

He leaned over, his lips brushing your ear. “This pussy was made for my cock,” he murmured, his words sending shivers through you. His thrusts grew harder, faster, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles. “Cum again,” he ordered, and you did, your pussy gushing, screaming into the pillow. He followed, spilling inside you, his cock pulsing.

Taehyung pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as he kissed your shoulder. “You’re amazing, baby,” he murmured, his voice soft. He cleaned you with a warm cloth, his hands gentle, checking your skin for marks. He massaged your hips, easing any tension, and offered you juice, holding the glass as you drank. He tucked you against him, stroking your hair, whispering, “You make me so happy, Y/N.” He stayed until you fell asleep, his warmth a cocoon around you.

One rainy afternoon, you were curled up on the penthouse sofa, a book in your lap, the city blurred by rain. Taehyung came home early, his suit damp, his hair tousled. He smiled—a rare, genuine smile—and joined you, pulling you into his lap. “Hey, baby,” he said, his chin on your shoulder. “What’re you reading?”

You showed him the romance novel, and he chuckled, kissing your cheek. “My little dreamer,” he murmured. “Always lost in stories.”

“They’re better than reality sometimes,” you said shyly, blushing.

He tilted your chin up. “Not anymore. Your reality’s with me, and I’ll make it better than any book.” You smiled, kissing him softly, your hands in his hair. It was a quiet moment, but it spoke volumes—his love, your trust, the bond growing stronger.

That evening, Taehyung decided to use the toys from Velvet Desires. The bedroom was dimly lit, the silk sheets cool as he sat on the edge of the bed, the rose-gold vibrator in hand. “Strip for me, baby,” he ordered, his voice low, his eyes dark with anticipation.

You blushed, your hands trembling as you shed your dress, revealing a sheer pink lingerie set, your nipples visible, your panties damp. “Fuck, you’re a vision,” he growled, patting his thigh. “Come here.”

You straddled his lap, your pussy throbbing as he kissed you, his tongue possessive. He turned on the vibrator, the low hum filling the room, and pressed it to your nipple through the lace, making you gasp. “Feel good, baby?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Y-Yes, sir,” you moaned, your hips bucking as he moved the toy to your other nipple, the vibrations sending sparks through you. He slid your panties down, exposing your dripping folds, and pressed the vibrator to your clit, the sensation intense. You cried out, clutching his shoulders, your pussy clenching.

“Look at you, soaking for me,” he murmured, circling the toy around your clit, teasing your entrance. He slipped it inside, the vibrations pulsing through your walls, and you moaned, your hips rocking. He fucked you with the toy, his other hand pinching your nipples, his lips sucking your neck.

“Sir, please,” you begged, your orgasm building. He turned up the intensity, the toy buzzing harder, and rubbed your clit with his thumb. “Cum for me, baby,” he growled, and you did, screaming, your pussy gushing around the toy, your body shaking.

He wasn’t done. He shed his clothes, his cock hard and leaking, and entered you, the toy still buzzing against your clit. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his thrusts deep, the vibrations amplifying every sensation. He fucked you hard, the bed shaking, his hand gripping your throat lightly, his eyes locked on yours. “You’re mine,” he snarled, and you came again, your pussy clenching, triggering his release, his cock pulsing inside you.

Taehyung was meticulous, pulling you into his arms, kissing your forehead. “You were incredible, baby,” he murmured, cleaning you with a warm cloth, his hands gentle, checking for sensitivity. He massaged your thighs, easing any strain, and offered you tea, holding the cup as you sipped. He wrapped you in a plush robe, pulling you against his chest, stroking your hair. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, the rare admission making your heart swell. He stayed, humming softly, until you drifted off, his warmth a shield.

The love between you and Kim Taehyung was a living, breathing entity—a fierce, all-consuming force that wove itself into every facet of your existence. Taehyung was a man of iron, his gruff exterior and commanding presence a fortress that only you could breach. His deep brown eyes, often cold to the world, softened when they met yours, revealing a vulnerability he guarded fiercely. You were his counterpoint—a shy, gentle soul with a heart that radiated warmth, your doe eyes and soft, wavy hair a vision of innocence that disarmed him. Your relationship, rooted in a dynamic of dominance and submission, transcended its transactional origins, blossoming into a profound connection built on trust, vulnerability, and an unspoken vow to belong to each other eternally.

Taehyung’s love was not confined to the lavish gifts that reshaped your life, though they were a testament to his devotion. The diamonds that glittered on your neck—a choker with a teardrop pendant that caught the light like a captured star—the designer dresses that clung to your curves like a lover’s embrace, the first-class trips to Paris, Santorini, and Kyoto—these were symbols of his desire to see you shine, to elevate you to the pedestal he believed you deserved. He took pride in adorning you, his fingers lingering as he fastened a sapphire bracelet around your wrist, the cool metal a contrast to the warmth of his touch. “You’re my princess,” he’d murmur, his voice a low growl, his lips brushing the pulse point at your throat, feeling it quicken under his attention. “I want the world to know how precious you are.” Each gift was chosen with care, a reflection of his meticulous nature—whether it was a first-edition novel by your favorite author, its leather binding smelling of history, or a pair of Louboutin heels that made your steps feel like a waltz, he saw you as a canvas for beauty, and he was the artist.

But beyond the material, Taehyung gave you something infinitely more precious—his time, his attention, his heart. After a day of boardroom battles, his shoulders tense, his jaw tight with the weight of his empire, he’d come home to you, and the moment his eyes found yours, the world’s chaos fell away. You were his soft spot, the one who could coax a rare, genuine smile from him, even when a deal collapsed or a rival tested his patience. He’d pull you into his lap, his arms a fortress, and bury his face in your hair, inhaling the vanilla-jasmine scent that had become his sanctuary. “You’re my peace, baby,” he’d whisper, his voice rough with emotion, his hands stroking your back, memorizing the curve of your spine. In those moments, the grumpy, intimidating tycoon melted, leaving only Tae, the man who loved you with a ferocity that stole your breath.

You adored him with a devotion that was both quiet and bold, your shyness a delicate thread that wove through your every interaction. Even after months together, you’d blush at his compliments, your cheeks flushing a soft pink as you ducked your head, murmuring, “Thank you, sir.” But beneath that timidity was a growing confidence, a strength nurtured by his unwavering support. You learned to tease him, to push the boundaries of your dynamic in playful ways. In public, you’d call him “sir” with a subtle smirk, a secret code that made his eyes darken with desire, his hand tightening on yours. In private, you’d whisper “Tae” against his lips, the name a sacred intimacy reserved for your most tender moments. You’d surprise him by wearing the lingerie he’d chosen—a sheer black set that left your nipples visible, your curves accentuated—and watch his composure falter, his cock hardening as he growled, “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”

Your relationship was a dance of contrasts—his dominance and your submission, his grumpiness and your gentleness, his world of power and your world of dreams. It wasn’t perfect, and you both bore the scars of its challenges. Taehyung’s temper could flare, especially when work piled up or a business rival pushed too far. He’d snap, his voice sharp, his words cutting, and you’d feel the sting, your insecurities whispering that you weren’t enough for a man of his stature. “I’m sorry, baby,” he’d say later, his voice soft as he pulled you close, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You’re everything to me. Don’t ever doubt that.” You’d nod, your heart aching, and he’d kiss you, his lips gentle, his touch a vow to do better.

Your insecurities were a hurdle, the fear that you were too young, too inexperienced, too ordinary for someone like him. You’d lie awake some nights, the city lights filtering through your apartment’s windows, wondering if you were a fleeting obsession, a phase he’d outgrow. But Taehyung sensed these doubts, his intuition uncanny. One evening, after a quiet dinner at his penthouse, he caught you staring out the window, your expression distant. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked, his voice low, his hand resting on your knee, his thumb tracing circles.

You hesitated, your shyness making the words heavy. “I just… sometimes I wonder if I’m enough for you, sir,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “You’re Kim Taehyung. And I’m just… me.”

His eyes darkened, not with anger but with resolve. He stood, pulling you to your feet, his hands framing your face. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice firm, each word a hammer striking your doubts. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re mine. You’re the one I come home to, the one who makes this empty fucking world make sense. Don’t you ever think you’re less than that.” He kissed you, hard and possessive, his tongue claiming you, his hands gripping your hips, anchoring you to him. “I love you, Y/N,” he said, the words raw, unguarded, a rare vulnerability that made your heart soar. “And I’ll spend my life proving it.”

That night, he made love to you with a tenderness that left you trembling, his touches soft, his words a litany of praise. “You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his lips tracing the curve of your breast, sucking gently on a nipple until you gasped. “My beautiful girl.” He took his time, worshiping every inch of you, his fingers teasing your pussy until you were dripping, your clit throbbing under his touch. When he entered you, it was slow, deliberate, his cock filling you as he whispered, “You’re everything I need,” his thrusts deep, his eyes locked on yours until you both came, your bodies entwined, your hearts beating as one.

To deepen your bond, Taehyung planned a weekend getaway to Jeju Island, a surprise he sprang on you one Friday morning. “Pack a bag, baby,” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee in hand, his tailored shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of his toned chest. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

You blinked, still in your pajamas—a soft pink set he’d bought you—your hair a messy bun. “S-Sir, where are we going?” you asked, your shyness flaring at the suddenness, your fingers twisting the hem of your top.

He smirked, stepping closer to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending a shiver through you. “It’s a surprise. Just trust me.”

The private jet was a revelation, its plush interior a world away from your modest life. You sat beside him, your hand in his, your heart racing as you watched the clouds through the window, the sky a canvas of blues and whites. “This is too much, sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling with awe, your fingers tracing the leather armrest.

He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing your knuckles, the calloused pad a contrast to your softness. “Nothing’s too much for you,” he said, his eyes soft, a rare warmth in them. “I want you to feel special, because you are.”

The villa in Jeju was a dream—white stucco walls, glass doors opening to a private beach, the ocean a symphony of blues and greens. Taehyung was relaxed, his grumpiness absent as he pulled you onto the sand, his laughter rich and unguarded as you squealed at the cold waves lapping your feet. “Come here, baby,” he said, tugging you into his arms, kissing you as the sun set, the sky ablaze with pinks, oranges, and purples, the colors reflecting in his eyes.

That evening, in the villa’s master suite, he was playful, teasing you with featherlight touches until you were giggling, your shyness forgotten. “You’re so cute when you laugh,” he murmured, pinning you to the bed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He kissed you deeply, his hands roaming, and you felt the shift, the playful lover giving way to the dominant one. “But I think it’s time my good girl gets what she needs,” he growled, his voice sending a thrill through you, your pussy already wet, your clit pulsing with anticipation.

The bedroom was bathed in moonlight, the sliding doors open to let in the rhythmic crash of waves, the air salty and cool. Taehyung stripped you slowly, his hands deliberate as he peeled off your sundress, revealing a white lace lingerie set he’d packed—a bra that barely contained your breasts, the lace teasing your hardened nipples, and panties that clung to your damp folds. Your skin prickled under his gaze, your nipples aching, your pussy throbbing as he stepped back to admire you. “Fuck, you’re a vision,” he growled, his voice rough, his linen trousers straining against his hardening cock, the outline thick and promising.

He laid you on the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin, and kissed you, his tongue slow and possessive, tasting of the wine you’d shared at dinner. His hands roamed, cupping your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples through the lace, the friction making you moan. He unclasped your bra, his lips closing around a nipple, sucking hard, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud until you gasped, your hips bucking. “So sensitive,” he murmured, moving to your other nipple, his teeth grazing lightly, sending sparks of pleasure to your core.

He kissed a trail down your stomach, his hands spreading your thighs, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. He slid your panties off, groaning at the sight of your glistening folds, your clit swollen and begging for attention. “Look at this pretty pussy,” he said, his voice dripping with praise, his breath warm against your skin. “So wet for me, so fucking needy.” He licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, his tongue flat and broad, savoring your taste—sweet and musky, a flavor he’d never tire of. He flicked your clit, the touch light but electric, and you cried out, your hands clutching the sheets, your pussy clenching with need.

He ate you out with reverence, his tongue circling your clit in lazy, deliberate patterns, then dipping to tease your entrance, lapping up your arousal. His lips closed around your clit, sucking gently, then harder, the pressure making you moan, your hips rocking against his face. He slipped two fingers inside, curling them to hit your g-spot, the stretch delicious, your walls so tight they gripped him. “You taste so fucking good,” he growled, his eyes locking on yours, his pupils blown with desire as he sucked your clit, his fingers pumping in a steady rhythm. The wet sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the room, mingling with your gasps, the ocean’s roar a distant echo.

Your orgasm was building, a tight coil in your belly, and he sensed it, adding a third finger, the stretch burning slightly but oh so good, your pussy dripping onto the sheets. “Cum for me, baby,” he ordered, his voice vibrating against your clit, his tongue relentless, flicking and sucking in a rhythm that drove you wild. You shattered, screaming his name, your pussy gushing as waves of pleasure crashed through you, your body convulsing, your clit throbbing under his tongue. He licked you through it, his fingers slowing, drawing out every aftershock until you were trembling, oversensitive, your pussy still pulsing with the echoes of your climax.

He rose, shedding his clothes, his toned chest gleaming in the moonlight, faint scars adding to his rugged appeal. His trousers fell, revealing his cock—thick, veined, and leaking precum, the tip flushed an angry red, so hard it curved slightly upward. He positioned himself between your legs, his cock nudging your entrance, the heat of him making you whimper. “Ready, baby?” he asked, his voice soft, checking in despite the hunger in his eyes.

“Please, sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your eyes glassy with need, your pussy aching to be filled.

He entered you slowly, inch by agonizing inch, the stretch intense, your pussy clenching around him like a vice. You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders, the fullness overwhelming but delicious. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers bruising as his control frayed. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he said, his voice strained, his forehead resting against yours, sweat beading on his brow. “So fucking perfect.”

His thrusts were deep, controlled, each one hitting your g-spot, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Your pussy was soaked, the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out obscene, filling the room with a primal rhythm. You moaned, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper, your heels digging into his lower back. His restraint snapped, his thrusts growing rougher, his hips slamming into yours, the bed creaking, the headboard banging against the wall. “Take it, baby,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “Take my cock like the good girl you are.”

You screamed, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails, your pussy clenching as another orgasm built, faster and more intense. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, your nipples grazing his chest, sending sparks through you. He reached between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, rough circles, the pressure perfect. “Cum for me,” he growled, his voice a command, his thrusts relentless, his cock hitting every sensitive spot. You shattered, your pussy gushing around him, your scream echoing as your body shook, your clit pulsing under his fingers. He groaned, his thrusts faltering, and came, spilling inside you, his cock pulsing, filling you with warmth, his release so abundant it leaked out around him.

Taehyung collapsed beside you, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. He pulled you into his arms, his lips brushing your forehead, his voice soft as he murmured, “You were incredible, baby. So fucking perfect.” He reached for a warm cloth from the bedside table, cleaning you gently, his hands tender as he wiped your thighs, careful around your sensitive folds, checking for any discomfort. “Feel okay?” he asked, his eyes searching yours, a flicker of concern in their depths.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, smiling shyly, your body still humming with pleasure. “Just… perfect.”

He chuckled, wrapping you in a plush blanket, pulling you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your cheek. He stroked your hair, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back, untangling the damp strands with care. “My good girl,” he murmured, kissing your temple, his lips lingering. He offered you water, holding the glass as you sipped, his arm steady around you, ensuring you felt secure. He whispered praises, his voice a low rumble— “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. You make me feel alive.” He massaged your shoulders, easing any tension, his touch gentle but firm, and stayed with you, the sound of waves a lullaby as you drifted off, his warmth a cocoon, his presence a promise of safety.

One night, after a grueling day, you found Taehyung in his home office, papers scattered across his desk, his brow furrowed, his tie loosened. You knocked softly, holding a mug of chamomile tea, the steam curling in the air. “Sir, I thought you might need this,” you said, your voice shy, your bare feet silent on the hardwood as you set the mug down, your oversized sweater—his sweater—slipping off one shoulder.

He looked up, his expression softening, the storm in his eyes calming. “Come here, baby,” he said, patting his lap, his voice a low invitation. You settled against him, your head on his shoulder, your legs curled up, and he sighed, his arms wrapping around you, his chin resting on your hair. “You always know how to make my day better,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

You hesitated, your fingers twisting the hem of his sweater, your shyness making the words tremble. “Tae, I… I’m scared sometimes,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “That you’ll get tired of me. That I’m not enough for someone like you.”

He stiffened, his hand pausing on your back, then turned you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumbs brushing your skin. “Y/N, listen to me,” he said, his voice fierce, each word a vow. “You’re not just enough—you’re everything. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. You’re my home, my reason to keep going.” His eyes were raw, vulnerable, a window to the man beneath the tycoon, and you felt tears prick your own. “I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You kissed him, soft and desperate, your hands clutching his shirt, the fabric crumpling under your fingers. “I love you too, Tae,” you whispered, the words a sacred promise. He held you close, his lips brushing your forehead, his arms a shield, and you knew your love was unshakable, a beacon in the chaos of your worlds.

Inspired by the passion of Jeju, Taehyung decided to revisit the rose-gold vibrator one evening in the penthouse, a night charged with anticipation. The bedroom was dimly lit, the city lights casting a soft glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the black silk sheets shimmering under the amber light. Taehyung sat on the edge of the bed, the vibrator in hand, its sleek surface catching the light, his eyes dark with hunger, his tailored shirt unbuttoned to reveal his toned chest, his trousers hugging his thighs, his cock already half-hard.

“Strip for me, baby,” he ordered, his voice a low growl, rich with command, sending a shiver through you. You blushed, your hands trembling as you shed your silk robe, revealing a sheer red lingerie set—a bra that left your nipples visible, the lace teasing their hardened peaks, and panties that clung to your damp folds, the fabric dark with your arousal. Your skin prickled, your pussy throbbing, your clit pulsing as he stared, his gaze predatory, his cock now fully hard, straining against his trousers.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he growled, beckoning you to the bed, his hand patting the mattress beside him. You knelt before him, your thighs pressed together, your pussy dripping as he kissed you, his tongue possessive, claiming your mouth with a hunger that made you moan. He turned on the vibrator, the low hum filling the room, a promise of pleasure that made your core clench. He pressed it to your nipple through the lace, the vibrations sharp and intense, making you gasp, your back arching, your pussy leaking onto the sheets. “Feel good, baby?” he asked, his voice husky, his lips curving into a smirk as he moved to your other nipple, the vibrations sending sparks through you, your nipples aching, your clit throbbing with need.

He slid your panties down, tossing them aside, and groaned at the sight of your glistening folds, your clit swollen, your arousal dripping down your thighs. “So fucking wet for me,” he murmured, his voice dripping with praise, his fingers spreading your folds, exposing you fully. He pressed the vibrator to your clit, the sensation overwhelming, a jolt of pleasure that made you cry out, your hands clutching his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. He circled the toy around your clit, teasing your entrance, the vibrations pulsing through you, your pussy clenching with need.

“You look so pretty like this,” he growled, slipping the vibrator inside, the sleek toy sliding easily into your soaked pussy, the vibrations pulsing through your walls, making you moan, your hips rocking against it. He fucked you with the toy, slow and deliberate, his other hand pinching your nipples, twisting them just enough to make you whimper, his lips sucking your neck, leaving faint marks that claimed you as his. “Taking it so well, my good girl,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours, watching every moan, every shudder, drinking in your pleasure.

“Sir, please,” you begged, your voice thick with desperation, your orgasm building, a tight coil ready to snap. He turned up the intensity, the toy buzzing harder, the vibrations overwhelming, and rubbed your clit with his thumb, his touch rough and precise, the dual stimulation driving you wild. “Cum for me, baby,” he ordered, his voice a command, his lips brushing your ear. You shattered, screaming his name, your pussy gushing around the toy, your body shaking, your clit pulsing under his thumb, your orgasm so intense it left you breathless, your vision spotting.

He wasn’t done. He shed his clothes, his cock thick and hard, leaking precum, the veins prominent, the tip flushed. He entered you, the toy still buzzing against your clit, the sensation amplifying every thrust, his cock filling you completely, the stretch delicious. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers bruising as he fucked you, his thrusts deep and hard, the bed shaking, the headboard banging. He gripped your throat lightly, his touch possessive but careful, his eyes intense, locked on yours. “You’re mine,” he snarled, his voice rough, his cock hitting your g-spot with every stroke, the toy’s vibrations pushing you to the edge again.

You came, your pussy clenching, gushing around him, your scream hoarse, your body trembling uncontrollably. He groaned, his thrusts erratic, and came, his cock pulsing, filling you with his release, the warmth spreading inside you, leaking out around him. He turned off the toy, tossing it aside, and collapsed beside you, his chest heaving, his arms pulling you close.

Taehyung was meticulous, his touch tender as he kissed your forehead, his voice soft. “You were perfect, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing your sweat-dampened skin. He reached for a warm cloth, cleaning you gently, his hands careful as he wiped your thighs, your sensitive folds, checking for any discomfort, his fingers soothing. “Feel okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his eyes searching yours, a flicker of concern mingling with adoration.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, your voice soft, your body still humming. “Better than okay.”

He smiled, wrapping you in a plush robe, pulling you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your cheek. He stroked your hair, his fingers untangling the damp strands, tracing soothing patterns on your back. “My beautiful girl,” he murmured, kissing your temple, his lips lingering, his breath warm. He offered you tea, holding the cup as you sipped, his arm steady, ensuring you felt secure. He massaged your shoulders, his thumbs kneading out any tension, his touch gentle but firm, and whispered praises— “You’re everything to me, Y/N. My heart, my home.” He hummed a soft melody, his voice a lullaby, staying until you drifted off, his warmth a shield, his presence a vow of forever.

One crisp autumn night, Taehyung took you to the rooftop of his penthouse, a private oasis he’d transformed with fairy lights and a blanket strewn with pillows. The city sparkled below, the stars faint but visible, the air cool against your skin. You wore a cashmere sweater and a flowy skirt, your hair loose, catching the breeze. He pulled you onto the blanket, his arms around you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Look at that,” he murmured, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear. “All those lights, all those lives, and you’re the only one that matters to me.”

You turned, your eyes meeting his, your heart swelling. “Tae,” you whispered, your shyness fading in the intimacy of the moment. “How do you always know what to say?”

He smiled, a rare, boyish grin that made him look younger, softer. “Because it’s you,” he said, his hand cupping your cheek. “You make me want to be better, to be the man you deserve.” He kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue teasing yours, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer.

You talked for hours, sharing dreams—your novels, his legacy, a future together. “I want to build something with you,” he said, his voice earnest. “A life, a home, maybe even a family someday. If you want that.”

Your breath caught, tears prickling your eyes. “I do, Tae,” you said, your voice trembling. “I want everything with you.”

He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket, revealing a delicate ring—not an engagement ring, but a promise ring, a simple band with a tiny diamond. “This is my vow,” he said, slipping it onto your finger. “To love you, to protect you, to be yours, always.”

You kissed him, your heart full, the ring a tangible symbol of your bond. The night ended with you curled in his arms, the stars above a witness to your love, a love that would endure through every storm.

Back in the penthouse, the mood shifted, Taehyung’s dominance resurfacing. The bedroom was dark, the only light from the city below, the black silk sheets cool and inviting. He stood by the bed, his shirt discarded, his toned chest gleaming, his trousers low on his hips, his cock already hard. “On your knees, baby,” he ordered, his voice a velvet whip, sending a thrill through you.

You obeyed, sinking to your knees, your sheer black lingerie clinging to your curves, your nipples hard, your pussy wet. He stepped closer, his hand tangling in your hair, tilting your head back. “Look at me,” he said, his eyes dark, predatory. You met his gaze, your pussy throbbing, your clit pulsing with need.

He unzipped his trousers, freeing his cock—thick, veined, leaking precum, the sight making your mouth water. “Open,” he commanded, and you did, your lips parting, your tongue darting out. He guided his cock into your mouth, the taste salty and musky, the weight heavy on your tongue. “Good girl,” he growled, his hand guiding you, his hips thrusting gently, fucking your mouth with controlled precision.

You moaned, the vibrations making him groan, his fingers tightening in your hair. He pulled out, his cock glistening with your saliva, and lifted you to the bed, positioning you on all fours, your ass up, your pussy exposed. “So fucking pretty,” he murmured, his hands spreading your cheeks, his thumb brushing your soaked folds, teasing your clit. He entered you from behind, his cock sliding in deep, the stretch intense, your pussy clenching around him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his thrusts hard, the bed creaking. He spanked you lightly, the sting blooming into pleasure, your pussy gushing. “You like that, don’t you?” he growled, spanking you again, his cock hitting your g-spot, the wet sounds filling the room.

“Yes, sir,” you moaned, your voice breaking, your orgasm building. He reached around, rubbing your clit, his fingers rough, the pressure perfect. “Cum for me, slut,” he ordered, his voice rough, his thrusts relentless. You screamed, your pussy gushing, your body shaking, your clit pulsing under his fingers. He came, his cock pulsing, filling you with his release, the warmth spreading, leaking out around him.

Taehyung was gentle, pulling you into his arms, his lips kissing your shoulder, your neck, your forehead. “You were amazing, baby,” he murmured, his voice soft, his hands tender as he cleaned you with a warm cloth, wiping your thighs, your sensitive folds, checking for any soreness. “Feel okay?” he asked, his eyes soft, his fingers brushing your cheek.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, smiling, your body sated. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, his voice raw, pulling you against his chest, wrapping you in a blanket. He massaged your back, his thumbs kneading out any tension, his touch soothing. He offered you juice, holding the glass, his arm steady, and whispered, “You’re my everything, Y/N.” He hummed softly, his fingers tracing your spine, staying until you drifted off, his warmth a promise of forever.

Your love with Taehyung was a symphony, each note a moment of passion, vulnerability, and growth. His grumpiness, your insecurities, the challenges of your disparate worlds—they were the dissonant chords that made the melody richer. You faced them together, your bond a quiet strength that weathered every storm. He was your protector, your lover, your sugar daddy, but more than that, he was your partner, the man who saw you as his equal, his home.

As the months turned to years, you built a life together. You published your first novel, dedicated to him, and he stood beside you at the launch, his pride palpable, his hand on your lower back a silent vow. He expanded his empire, but made time for you, for quiet nights and grand adventures, for promises kept under starlit skies. The ring on your finger became an engagement ring, then a wedding band, each a symbol of a love that grew deeper, stronger, with every shared breath.

In the quiet moments, when the world was still, you’d lie in his arms, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under your cheek, and know that this—your love, your life together—was the story you’d always dreamed of writing. It was a love that endured, a flame that burned eternal, a tapestry of sugar and spice that would never fade.

TRAPPED - JJK

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1

you were trapped badly

you just couldn't understand where you messed up to have the Jeon jungkook obsessed with you. He was the type of guy no one wanted to mess with and you made sure to keep your distance and be practically invisible to just graduate peacefully.

oh how you wanted to laugh at that thought now

you were in your bed curled up, softly crying while clutching your phone which was blasting up with calls and texts from jungkook.

open the window pretty - 1:03 am

his text read. you closed your eyes shut tightly, a few tears escaping along the way. You knew you were playing with fire by not picking his calls up and not listening to him.

he was a monster

you still remember how he brutally beat up a guy for simply confessing to you. He almost killed him, if it wasn't for you crying and begging him to not do so.

And how could he just watch his baby cry over a stupid stupid boy?

of course he killed him.

but you don't know that.

slowly getting up from the bed you made your way towards the window and softly opened it-your phone still in your hand. Your eyes fell on the figure of jungkook leaning against his black sports car, his arms folded against his chest flexing his biceps. His eyes burning in anger looking directly at you; in contrast to his calm composure.

oh you were im trouble

you flinched when the phone in your hand started ringing and it was none other than him calling you while daring you to not pick up with his eyes.

picking up you couldn't utter a single word it was just your scared body, heavily breathing with a few tears escaping your eyes and dried up tears lingering on to your cheek, looking at him.

"you want a punishment that bad sweetheart?" his deep voice asked and you wanted nothing more than to slam the window shut and curl up in your bed praying he goes away.

"I- no" you pathetically stuttered and wished he heard you "I was asleep and didn't see your texts and calls- im sorry" you rushed to apologise after lying praying that he understands and leaves you alone.

"my baby was asleep, huh? sugar you can sleep all you want but at my place. I thought I had made myself clear"

"jungkook-" you sucked in a breath, his name tasting bitter on your tongue. how were you supposed to make him understand? "My parents won't ever allow that please"

"and you know i can make that no longer a problem"

this made your mind race at a hundred miles, what was he going to do? Was he going to-

"I'm giving you two choices, you either get your pretty little ass here or I'm gonna come up there and you know how that will end"

no no just no you felt like you could cry a river all over again, "please" you meekly let out while clutching your eyes tight

"so you want me to come get you" he nodded to himself and detached his leaned form from the car.

"no- l'm coming"

"that's like my good girl"

run, rabbit, run!

╰┈➤ synopsis — You're hunted down by a harrowing hybrid. He takes his time toying with his food. But in the end, he just wants to know how you taste.

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!wolf-hybrid!jungkook x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 2.3k

╰┈➤ content warning — yandere behavior, violence, blood, injury, predator/prey dynamics.

The woods lied to you. They led you astray and now you stand under the shadows of the moon; alone and stalked by a hungry animal.

You can hear its howl off in the distance, a roar rooted in anger. Blinding fury scares off all the other animals; birds fly away over the treetops and rodents run away into their hiding holes. You wish you could do the same. But this tyrannical terror keeps your feet frozen to the spot. You feel like you’re stuck in a painted picture, everything else around you moves so fast but you can’t seem to keep up. 

A shiver creeps up your spine, it feels like ten thousand tiny spiders are crawling around in your hair. You begin to break out in a cold sweat and tears trickle out the corner of your eyes. Your body is begging you to run, but your mind has been manipulated by fear. 

Another round of its howling starts up, you can hear it coming closer. Every footstep from the predator is almost deafening in your ears. It’s all you can focus on, the steady sound of its paws running rampant. The pounding feet against the forest floor is in tune with the sound of your heartbeat. Blood rushing up to your ears until all you can hear is your own fear intertwining with the wolf that watches.

The fog begins to clear away, almost as if it’s making way for the monster that owns these woods. Your vision is beginning to look less blurry. You try to search the darkness for any way out of the forest, but the trees all look the same and it’s clear that no man has walked these woods for centuries. You wish you hadn’t been so stubborn and listened to the townspeople instead. Their stories of a man-eating monster that roams the woods. So stupid and naive, you ignored their warnings and called them superstitions. Just fairy tales made up to keep their children inside the town. Now your last moment will be ruined with regret. That is, if it manages to catch you. 

You force yourself out of this frozen hold, battling your body that begs you to stay still and silent. You give into your instincts, the humanity in your heart that still has a sliver of hope that you could survive. You break out into a sprint and the woods run along with you, the scenery blurring as you speed up.

With heavy limbs and a barely beating heart, you put your all into your escape. It’s a struggle to breathe, every icy inhale you take burns your lungs and smoke billows out as breath. The night is falling fast and it’s clear that this will be the wolves’ advantage. His red eyes are made for the moonlight. No powerless prey has ever escaped him before and you’ll be no different.

You’re running down an incline when you realize you’ve already been caught. The dirt slides out underneath your feet and you’re falling over yourself before you can even understand what happened. 

Sticks and twigs scrape along your skin. Tearing up your flesh and producing purple bruises that swell. The wind is knocked out of you and you’re stuck staring up at the sky. Two shining stars twinkle down at you. The twin flames burn bright with intensity as they stare into your eyes. The stars are soulless. They're the epitome of evil set ablaze and only then do you realize that they aren’t stars at all, but rather dark eyes glaring down at you. 

Your first instinct is to try and crawl away but the beast beats you to it. It presses its paws against your shoulder and you can feel your muscles pulling themselves apart under pressure. Your collarbone is cracking and you struggle to not cry out in pain. The animal lowers itself as it lays almost all its weight on your chest. It sticks its muzzle up against the side of your throat. It bares its bloodied teeth as it lets out a pleased growl. The wolf rubs its head along the expanse of your neck in a scenting motion. Its rough fur rubs you raw, your skin screaming out in agony. Pretty pink scratches line your skin. Blood pools at the surface and mixes with the scarlet still staining the wolf’s fur. It’s obvious the wolf is a rabid beast. Layers of blood coat his black fur along with dirt and tiny twigs. 

The hybrid is rough in his scenting ritual. His claws threaten to tear open your skin, the tips of the nails drag up the side of your arm. He’s clumsy and chaotic, all this pent-up adrenaline begs to be banished. His animalistic instincts scream at him to complete the kill, but Jungkook doesn’t want you to die. His heart has hope that this time will be different. You aren’t fighting him, aren’t screaming or shouting in fear, you just stay still and wait for what he does next. You aren’t a threat to him and that’s why he shows you a silver of his humanity.

You can feel a change in the animal above you, The weight on your chest lessens and his scratchy fur no longer rubs up against your side. Instead, you feel soft skin against yours. A warmth emanates from the man that rests atop you. His head is still hidden in your shoulder so you can’t see his face. This sudden transformation is not a comforting one but instead scares you of what’s to come next. You try to swallow the terror stuck in your throat. But, the white hot hold of fear forces back your breath. Sobs and screams are silenced before they can tear their way out of you. 

Your heart hammers up against his. Each breath you two take pushes and pulls your chests in tandem. You both hug a heat that separates you from the rest of the woods. This closeness strikes you with a sudden sickness and you begin to panic, pushing yourself deeper into the dirt and into an early grave. The mad man only follows your movements, bringing his body down to drop almost the entirety of his weight on you. 

Jaw stretched open to show off all his scarlet incisors. He takes the time to drag the tips of his teeth up and down the tender part of your throat. Exposed skin that begs for his bite. Jungkook can feel you trembling from the inside out. He takes in every icy inhale of yours as if it’s his own. Matching your body’s breath until it winds down into a steady pattern. 

He could snap your neck with a slide of his hands. Crush your trachea under the force of his jaw. But, he chooses to be gentle (Or as gentle as a rabid bite can be). He’s tempted to know what you taste like between his teeth. He sticks his tongue out the slightest bit, sliding it across your skin to taste the terror. He laps at your throat like a hungry animal, sucking the shivers out of your skin.

A whimper escapes your mouth before you can notice. You have no control over your own senses at this point. Emotions overwhelmed and body so sensitive, you can only cry and plead not to be torn apart by the abomination. 

“Please– Please… don’t kill me.” You struggle through the simple words. Out of breath and barely squeaking out a syllable. It feels as if he’s torn your throat out already.  You can feel the metallic taste building up on your tongue. It hurts to talk and takes up all your courage to do so. You can’t even look him in the eyes while you beg for your life, a foolish mistake.

The monster of a man isn’t too happy with you ignoring his eyes. A little nip at your neck draws another cry out of you. Jungkook lets out a growl that could be mistaken with a whine. The authority in his voice grabs your attention.

Looking into his lonely eyes, you can’t help but see your own reflection in his irises. You look so broken and bare underneath his entirety. And when you run away from your reflection, what hidden eyes lie behind his hair are no different. His eyes have a burnt edge that’s buried in blood. His crimson skin is coated in a number of nameless lives. He’s the incarnation of Satan's son. Young and arrogant, he takes everything he wants and doesn’t care for the consequences. 

“I just wanna have some fun,” His words are warped into a whisper. “Play with me~” A low guttural growl that’s possessive and anything but playful. Although, a deep desire tangles itself into the three words. A hidden meaning makes it sound like he meant to say stay. Stay with me~ Jungkook is just so very lonely. The days bleed into each other and the only real fun he has is from the bloody cries he mangles out of men. He’s missing his mate yet a golden chance has been given to him. But betrayal runs red in his veins. His trust is tainted and he isn’t too sure that you’re the one. So he’ll play a little game and give you the choice. You submit to his lovesick ways; promising to be his pretty toy for futures to come, or the other outcome will be much more violent with a vainful fate. 

The harrowing hybrid then backs off your body. You’re finally giving some separate space that doesn’t feel so suffocating. The wolf only wanders so far, talking a few steps back to sit in front of you. You can see what shadows once hid, his bare body on full display. Blood runs down his back, tiny cuts cover his chest, he’s an animal through and through. The sight makes you sick and you avert your eyes to the forest floor. Your wandering gaze drags over the dirt, searching for a weapon of sorts. You’ll try to use this small chance to your advantage. 

You don’t fully understand why the wolf-man watches you. If he planned to kill you, then what is he waiting for? Did he expect a chase? Wanting to play with his food before he takes a bite. Trying to dangle a glimpse of hope in front of your eyes before your heart bleeds out. You feel so fucking frustrated. So hopeless in his hands, no way to win and no fair fate. He smiles down at your body sprawled out on the dirt. He can smell the sadness and anger rolling off you in waves. White-hot rage is running through your heart. Annoyed at yourself or being a fool and angry at the man that thinks of your life as a game. So much restless anger simmers underneath your skin that you could care less about what he wants. You sit up slowly, hands digging into the dirt and feet ready to run. 

As if the animal knows what you’re thinking it speaks with a growl, “Try it. Run away like a little rabbit. I’ll be there to hunt you down a hundred times.” The words roll off his tongue in a teasing tone. “I bet your blood would taste so good.” He tries to rile you up, raising a burning blush to your cheeks. “I’d tear your skin apart between my teeth. You’d be nothing but bones and blood once I’m bored of you.” He wishes you wouldn’t do this, but he understands you’ve already made your choice. 

You stand up and start into a sprint.  Running without any real purpose and an understanding of what will be your fate. Your death was destined from the moment you walked into the woods. Adrenaline and anger flow through your body. Your breath is broken and it hurts to take in the lungfuls of oxygen. Everything hurts but nothing compares to the hot hellfire that burns in your now broken leg. Jungkook jumped at the chance and caged your leg in his jaws. He clamps down on your calf and yanks you off your feet. You get whiplash when your head hits the ground. A wail of agony leaves your lips but it wastes away in the lonely woods. No one will save you and it’ll be a desolate death.

Jungkook drags you through the woods. He lets his anger show in the way he hauls your heavy body over the rocks and broken branches that litter the earth. His bite marks bruise your skin and leave blood to trail in your path. The scarlet sea that spills out of you serves as a warning to any other animals that dare to face the hybrid. The lost blood leaves a trail towards the cave he calls home. Your vision begins to grow darker as the stone walls slowly enclose around your eyesight. The forest is falling further away and your darker demise has almost arrived. Bones bury the dirt floor. Carcases and rotting red flesh stain the ceiling and are piled up to the darkest corners. What little light is left illuminates the lonely bones. Hollow skulls hold memories of a man’s last moments, jaws reaching wide in a scream and bite marks broken into the cranium. Your last tears hit the ground before you’re turnt over and onto your back.

Jungkook stares down at you once more. No smile pulls at his pink lips, only a hungry grin is planted upon his face. And when you look into his emotionless eyes, you have no doubt that he’ll devour you.

© cybsoo2 2024, all rights reserved

parasite

╰┈➤ synopsis — Jungkook swears the two of you are in love. Two hearts harbouring the same feeling for one another, but a blue screen always keeping you apart. However, an impromptu live steam reveals some interesting information that could finally destroy the distance.

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!jungkook x camgirl!reader

╰┈➤ word count — 2.5k

╰┈➤ content warning — mature themes, obsessive behavior, masturbation (m&f), semi-public masturbation, voyeurism (by eavesdropping), sexting, porn, he's delusional

“I can’t sleep.” Your voice is soft and sleep-laced. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about it.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Speaking to him like you’re confessing a secret. “I thought I could make it until Friday–”

Friday.  Jungkook’s favourite day. The one day of the week he can see you through the screen. He hates how much distance there is between you. His hands twitching to reach through the screen, body begging to pull you close. You always say how lonely the winters get, how cold it is in your room.

He could keep you warm.

And while his head knows that you’re just two strangers through a screen, his heart begs to differ. Because every time you come online, sit down in your chair and stare into the camera, you look into the lens like you can see him.

You’re looking at him like that right now. Looking into his eyes like you need him.

Jungkook knows just what you like. He knows how to heat you up– airy moans sounding through his headphones. And he knows how to cool you down– praising your performance and telling you how pretty you looked. But even though he knows you better than you know yourself, you bring out a part of Jungkook he didn’t know he had.

You destroy him. Tearing him to pieces and putting them back together again. Stretching him so thin he thinks he’ll snap, only to be let back like an elastic band.

He craves you like he can’t understand. Foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog, aching to sink his teeth into your skin. You’re all he thinks about, every day of the week until Friday– when he finally gets to speak his mind. It’s a short second of pleasure in a sea of pain, but you make it worth the while.

That’s why this stream is such a blessing. You answered his call and came to him when he needed it most. And it seems like you needed him too.

“I can’t stop thinking about–” You pause to bite your lip, a look of pain etched upon your face. “How much it hurts.”

It does look like it hurts. Your teary eyes are red-rimmed, as if you kept rubbing at them– trying to rid yourself of these intrusive thoughts. Your lips stand out to him too, bitten and bleeding just a bit. You’re quick to lick it away, almost like you could sense his staring.

Jungkook is in pain too. That string in his stomach is tightening by the second. It begins to burn and it hurts with the way he’s straining through his pants. His blue pajamas are growing a bit of a dark spot near the front. They’re too tight, so why even bother keeping them on?

“You won’t be mad at me right?” You’ve begun to rock yourself back and forth. The pillow in between your legs brings just a bit of relief. “I tried so hard to last till Friday– I really did. But then again, this could be like a little treat to the both of us.”

Your eyes remain fixed on the flood of new messages. Hands fisting the sheets tightly, you’re whole body tense because you refuse to go any further unless your viewers tell you to. All the responses scream at you, begging for you to continue, but you stay still.

Jungkook can’t take it any longer. His pants discarded on the floor, shirt somewhere he forgot. He palms himself through his boxers, hips jutting up to meet his hand. Arousal shoots through his skin and he’s staining himself a dark blue. If he can touch himself so carelessly, then don’t you deserve to as well?

kookiejar: keep going kookiejar: i know we both need it

Jungkook can see you reach your hand down slowly. Pushing past the waistband of your underwear and reaching that aching part of you.

From where you lie on your side, Jungkook can see everything. Your shirt is riding up, risen up along your stomach to reveal your bare skin. The cotton clings to you, you’ve already broken a sweat from the raging heat in your core.

The black panties you wear grow darker as you keep drowning in desire. They’ve gotten messy, lacy patterns sticking to your skin. The fabric creates too much distance, so you slowly slide them off. Now nothing separates you from the sin you’re so caught up in. A sheer wetness coating your thighs. You keep rubbing them together to get more friction, trapping your fingers in between your legs.

Your movements are lazy as you chase your lust. Tired and still sleepy, there’s no reason to rush into it. You slowly circle your clit, building up a tension that has you clenching around nothing. That aching need only rises as you slip your fingers down further. Pushing two fingers into your puffy, pink hole. You let out a groan at the sensation and Jungkook thinks he’ll go insane.

He’s a total mess. Warm and wet, he’s completely soaked through his shorts. The fabric begins to inch at his sensitive skin and his face contorts at the feeling. He peels them off, thighs trembling as they stick together.

His cock stands tall. Angry and red as pearly drops of pre-cum roll down the slide. He’s barely touched himself, only lazy strokes after desperately palming himself through his pants, but he can already feel himself tipping over the edge if he doesn’t slow down.

His insides are tied tight, abs tensing and hands shaking. His whole body feels as if it’s on fire. He grips onto the corner of his computer to hold himself still. Thumbs brushing against your hair through the screen. His eyes lock onto you, focused on watching you ride out your pleasure before he even thinks about his own.

You’re covering up all the pretty little sounds you make. Biting down on your fist as you try to fight off every moan that makes its way up your throat. All Jungkook can hear is the rusting sheets and your heavy breathing– hitching as you hit that sweet spot.

You’ve never been very vocal when you’re like this. None of those obnoxiously loud moans or phony cries of climax. You’re not like those porn stars of the week, fake and nothing but fictional. You’re real. That’s why Jungkook was so drawn to you. Your sweet sighs as your head arched back. The way you’d talk to the chat, always so worried if they were enjoying themselves or not, saying you wouldn’t finish unless they did first. And how you’d always end up breathless whenever you finally came undone. Jungkook knows how you act when you’re deep in desire, but this isn’t it.

kookiejar: what are you hiding from?

You scan over the chat as you lazily fuck yourself. Jungkook can see the reflection of his message in your iris. The bright blue words burnt into your retinas, they stay there for a second before you try to blink them away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” You say between heavy breathes. Still blissed out and struggling to think. “I couldn’t wait, and if we’re too loud, people could hear.” Your voice is a bit muffled, face hiding in your pillow in embarrassment.

kookiejar: all that matters is you and me kookiejar: don’t worry about anyone else

His blue words burn into the screen. They’re all you can see. 

Were you really so bad at concealing your emotions? Hiding your hesitation in between dirty  words and a dark room. You tried to cater to your fans while still enjoying the ecstasy, all without ever truly letting go. Yet, you can never outrun the eyes of anonymous. He sees right through your lies. He looks into your heart and knows what you really want. 

Perhaps letting go wouldn’t be so bad? To let yourself indulge in the dark night. To be truly tangled up in this heat. To have your fingers pushed up inside. Knuckle-deep and stroking at the softest parts of you. Reaching deeper and rubbing against that sweet spot– the one that has you arching your back and letting out a sweet sigh. 

Screw the neighbours and what they’ll say the next morning, you’ll deal with the consequences when they come. And even if you did have a bit of doubt in your mind, a notification from the chat eases all your worries.

user ‘kookiejar’ sent you $250

kookiejar: let yourself go

And you do just that. Sounds of pure pleasure play through Jungkook’s headphones: airy moans and heavy breathing– that creaky bed frame that you can’t afford to fix. You’re wrapped up in the bedsheets, baby blue colour that keeps getting darker. Blue turnt to black with how much you’re working yourself up. Wetness dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. You turn over slightly onto your stomach. Grinding down onto the mattress while your hand grabs a fistful of the sheets. Searching for something to hold on to as open mouthed moans muffle themselves into your pillow. 

Tonight is intimate. You could’ve chosen to be selfish– gotten off as the sun fell from the sky. Giving into your cravings and chasing the heat. A few minutes spent pulling at your clit, teasing yourself a little before and pumping them inside. You could’ve come undone in quiet, hiding it like a secret in the dark. But instead, you chose to come online.

You’re sharing all the secrets about yourself. Giving your viewers a voyeuristic look at the little details that make up your life. Small details that you should’ve been more careful to conceal. Because as you let your mind relax and your emotions take over, your muted moans make their way through the single white wall that separates you. 

Jungkook can barely make out the noises coming from the room right next to him. It’s all so muffled he has to stain himself to hear. His headphones lay abandoned on his bed. Computer tossed to the side and for the very first time, his eyes aren’t on you. Instead he stares at the white wall in front of him. Eyebrows furrowed as he tries to focus on what he can’t hear. Jungkook pushes himself closer to the wall, ear pressed up against it. No air leaves his lips, he’s completely quiet. All his attention on your hushed moans that sound through the wall. 

He can hear you. 

He can actually hear you– and not through a stupid screen or on replay in his memories, but right next door. It’s almost as if you’re right next to him, and Jungkook can’t help himself from imagining it. 

You two sitting on the same bed, not even an inch of distance between your bodies. You’re breaking a sweat, the moisture gathers at your hairline and drips down to your flushed cheeks. They’ve turnt red with how hot you’ve grown. 

With your warm body in reach, Jungkook can barely hold himself back. His once forgotten arousal has only been intensified. Back is the ache in his bones and he lets out a groan at the feeling. Jungkook lets out a small whine, sensitive to the cold air against his burning body. He left the lonely sheets in search of your voice and now he sits slumped against the wall. He wraps one hand around his cock, his needs have been neglected and he doesn’t know if he can ignore them any longer. 

He starts out slow, lazy strokes going down his dick, but it isn’t very long before he picks up the pace. His other hand tries to grip onto the wall. Jungkook’s mind is a mess and he needs something to steady himself with. Not only that, but with his palm pressed flat against the wall, it’s almost as if he could reach right through and take you in his arms. Just a single touch from you would be enough to push him over the edge. He’s close– and from what he can hear, you are too. 

Almost at your breaking point, you’re so desperate to cum it’s hard to hold back– but you do. Pulling your fingers away from your aching cunt, letting out a breathy whine as you do so. Biting down on your sticky fingers, you try to ignore the throbbing of your core. Your body begs for more, but you turnt to look into the lens instead. 

“Fuck– I’m so close.” You say through a muffled moan. “You are too, aren’t you?” You look at the camera in anticipation, waiting for a response with baited breath. 

Jungkook doesn’t even have to grab his headphones to hear your question, he can hear it right through the wall. A part of him jumps to answer you, the words threatening to tumble past his lips. But he clamps his hand down on his mouth and swallows back the sentence. He wouldn’t want to scare you after all. Instead, Jungkook is quick to snatch up the laptop laying open on his bed and type out a reply.

kookiejar: yes, please– i’m so close kookiejar: you make me insane when you make those pretty sounds

“You want me to keep going?” You ask the chat. Head rolling back as you reach back down. Slender fingers encircle your clit, rubbing at the sensitive spot. The feeling is so good it has you slipping out a soft moan. “Like when I make these sounds?” Your eyes flutter over to the chat once again. You ask the question almost teasingly. And even if you can’t see him, Jungkook can’t stop himself from frantically nodding his head yes. 

He types with trembling fingers. No doubt making a mess of his computer. Sticky hands traveling over the keys, begging you to keep doing what you’re doing His hand travels up to the tip of his cock. So slick it’s easy to start thumbing over his slit. The new sensation and noises of you doing the same has his eyes rolling back. His head lolls to the side, temple resting against the cold wall. Frantic eyes flicker to your form, still teasing at your clit as pretty sighs tumble past your pink lips. 

Jungkook’s almost there. A burning heat builds up in his stomach. It spreads through his body and reaches his crotch. He’s a second away from cumming and he wants you to do the same.

kookiejar: don’t stop

Eyes drifting amongst the dark, they find the light and focus on a single sentence. Don’t stop. 

“Okay–” You manage to say through a sigh. And with your face buried into the pillow and fingers rubbing against your bud, the string inside you finally snaps. As you reach your peak, you mumble out the remainder of your sentence. “Kookie…”

With his name on your lips and his hands thumbing at the tip, Jungkook can’t hold back any longer. He cums all over himself. A stickiness that covers his hand and the wall in between you. And instead of the screen that used to separate you, it’s the room that entraps you. A room with white walls and iron bars. One that he just has to figure out how to sneak into.

© cybsoo2 2025, all rights reserved

The More You Struggle, The Tighter I Hold

Synopsis: Jungkook has given you everything, so he doesn’t quite appreciate it when you choose a broke college boy over him.  Themes: chaebol yandere jungkook, rich brat reader, mind conditioning, manipulation, age gap, older jk, nsfw, smut, dubcon, crempie, pregnancy kink

Jungkook has spoiled you rotten for as long as he can remember—lavishing you with expensive gifts, funding your every whim, covering your wishlist without hesitation. Free trips abroad for you and your friends, extravagant dinner dates, even pulling strings to get you into your dream university when your grades didn’t quite meet the requirements. A simple call to the dean, a casual mention of your "relation," and suddenly, doors that should have remained closed swung wide open for you.

He has always been there, protecting you, guiding you, offering advice like a good older brother would. And for years, that’s exactly how you saw him—a doting, dependable presence, someone you could always rely on.

But Jungkook never wanted to be just seen as an older brother.

He wanted more.

Maybe it started the first time he met you, when your father brought you to one of his meetings with Jungkook’s grandfather. You were just ten years old then, a shy, quiet child clinging to the edges of the conversation while he, at sixteen, regarded you as the little sister he never had. Someone fragile, someone to protect.

At least, that’s what he thought his feelings were.

Until you turned seventeen.

That was when everything shifted. Your body began to change—your hips, your chest, the graceful curve of your waist.

Your innocence took on an unintentional allure, oblivious to how you moved, how your body would be pressed into him when you came running to hug him, how you smiled, or how your presence began to unearth something dark and possessive inside him.

That was when Jungkook stopped seeing you as his little sister. And started seeing you as something else entirely.

He saw you as a woman, a woman that should belong to him, rather than that of a younger sister, but you are oblivious to that fact. 

Jungkook’s help isn’t limited to just you—it extends to your entire family, ensuring their unwavering favor, shaping their perception of him as a saint, a savior, a blessing from heaven that they could never repay.

When his grandfather retired as chairman of the Jeon Conglomerate, Jungkook stepped into his rightful position, making sure that your family reaped the greatest benefits from his power.

But those benefits didn’t come without cost…

He had orchestrated everything. Pulled the right strings, made the right moves, and watched as your family’s company crumbled under carefully placed pressure—only for him to appear at just the right time with an outstretched hand and an offer too generous to refuse.

A lifeline. A godsend.

Your father and brother were given prestigious positions within his empire—roles they were woefully unqualified for, yet perfect for keeping them satisfied.

Jungkook knew your father had been embezzling funds from the Jeons for years, a rat biting the very hand that fed him. But Jungkook never stopped him. He never exposed him. Instead, he tolerated it, even allowed it, letting your father gorge himself on wealth that Jungkook could make back in mere minutes.

Because money has never been an issue to him,

It’s not what Jungkook wanted the most…

You are. 

Your family had been consumed by greed long ago, blind to the noose tightening around them as they dug their own graves.

And Jungkook?

He only watched in quiet amusement.

He had always known their sins would serve him one day. That when the time came, their insatiable hunger for wealth and status would tip the scales in his favor.

After all, they were nothing more than beggars dressed in wealth—always grasping for more, always willing to sell whatever was necessary for a place at the Jeon table.

Even you.

And why wouldn’t they? Everything they had—every luxury, every privilege—existed only because of him.

If not for Jungkook, your family would have sunk into bankruptcy long ago.

You were almost just like them—you couldn’t live without gold under your feet. The only difference was that you never took advantage of anyone, never used people for your own gain. 

You weren’t capable of something like that. 

In Jungkook's mind, a kind and innocent thing like you isn’t capable of such sin.

You were just... spoiled. If that was the right word for it. Born into wealth, raised in luxury, never knowing what it was like to beg for anything.

And Jungkook was fine with that.

More than fine.

Because once you became his, he planned on spoiling you even more.

For a long time, everything unfolded just as Jungkook had planned—until he received the most offensive news from you.

“Kookie, meet Hoseok. We’re in the same college department… he’s, um, my boyfriend.”

You introduced him shyly, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend’s slender frame.

Jungkook sat there, his glass of wine in hand, gaze locked onto the two of you. He looked at Hoseok from head to toe, trying to process what you had just said—as if hearing it aloud would somehow make it more real.

Here you are, standing beside a guy who looked like he had thrown himself together in five minutes—jeans, Converse, and a wrinkled T-shirt that was probably the first thing he grabbed from his small closet.

An attire that's entirely not suited to a luxurious dinner place like this

His nervous smile only made the contrast more jarring.

And then there’s Jungkook, in a perfectly tailored suit, polished shoes, a Patek Philippe watch on his wrist—an image of wealth and power that felt completely at odds with this moment.

“You never told me anything about this… guy, baby,” Jungkook finally spoke, his voice cold as he set his wineglass down.

Of course, you're twenty now. It's only natural that you’d have a boyfriend. But he never imagined it would be this soon, especially since he’d never seen you show any real interest in relationships.

He always thought your attention was his alone—that no unworthy man could ever steal it.

But it seems he was wrong.

In his mind, maybe he should’ve arranged your marriage with him sooner.

Hoseok stiffened at the way Jungkook called you baby, but he quickly shook off the thought. You’d told him before that Jungkook was like an older brother—maybe this was just how he spoke.

“Well, I always forget,” you said casually, taking a seat and gesturing for Hoseok to join you as you skimmed through the menu.

Jungkook only hummed in response, swirling the wine in his glass.

“U-uh, hi, sir,” Hoseok finally spoke up, his voice tentative, trying to break the tense silence.

You had warned him before coming in that Jungkook might come off as strong and intimidating, but that he was actually sweet underneath it all.

But nothing about Jungkook’s aura felt sweet to Hoseok.

Well—at least to you, Jungkook was sweet.

Jungkook certainly heard Hoseok’s attempt at a greeting. He even glanced at him briefly. But he didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, his attention remained fixed on you.

“Baby, do your parents already know about this?” His voice was calm, but there was something heavier beneath it, something unreadable.

You tensed for a second but quickly recovered. “Kookieeee, please don’t tell them. You know how they can be sometimes. I only told you because I knew you’d be happy for me,” you said with a sweet smile.

You were definitely wrong about that.

None of this made Jungkook happy. Not even a little.

But he chuckled softly, watching how you tried to act cute in front of him, hoping to convince him to keep your little secret.

"Fine,”

Hoseok sat there, feeling increasingly uncomfortable—the way Jungkook’s presence seemed to dominate the space, the way the dynamic between the two of you didn’t quite sit right with him.

This wasn’t how normal childhood friends act, even if you say that you're very close with Jungkook.

Still, he chose to remain silent. He wasn’t about to speak out of turn in front of a man who looked like he could crush him for even the smallest mistake.

Jungkook drained the last of his wine, then glanced at his wristwatch before rising from his seat.

“Well, you two have fun,” he said smoothly, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Order whatever you want.” He said as he handed you his black card.

“But Kook! I thought you had cleared your plans for tonight?” Confusion flickered across your face.

“Yeah, I know, baby. But you know how it is. I’m a busy man.”

That was a lie.

He had indeed cleared his schedule. This night was supposed to be just for the two of you. But Hoseok’s presence had ruined his appetite.

My driver will pick you up at eight,” he continued, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You know how your mom doesn’t like you coming home late.”

“Uhh, sir… I actually intend to bring her home myself—”

“Alright, baby?” Jungkook cut him off, his voice gentle but firm, like a parent dismissing a child.

The conversation was already over.

You hesitated for a second before nodding. “Okay…” you murmured, the slight sadness in your voice betraying the unspoken truth:

Jungkook didn’t like Hoseok for you.

And he never would.

And just like that, the night ended with you being picked up by one of Jungkook’s driver after you and hoseok finished eating dinner that jungkook had paid for.

Hoseok might not say it aloud, but he hated it…

Hated how Jungkook had effortlessly covered the bill when he could’ve just taken you somewhere he could afford.

It felt like a reminder—like a quiet way of putting him in his place.

And it didn’t help that you wouldn’t stop babbling about how good the food was.

“God, that steak was delicious! It tasted almost the same as the ones we had on our Europe trip…”

Hoseok only hummed in response, already annoyed, his fists clenching at his sides as the two of you stepped out of the restaurant. And there it was—a sleek black Mercedes waiting in front of the restaurant, Jungkook’s driver standing there to greet you.

“Good evening, Miss Y/N.”

You barely noticed Hoseok’s stiff posture beside you. “My driver’s here. Bye, Hoseok!” you chirped, flashing him a small smile before slipping inside the car without a second thought.

Hoseok stood there for a moment, watching as the car pulled away, his jaw tightening.

If that’s how Jungkook reacted, then what more if your parents found out you were dating him?

And though you had always been so kind to Hoseok, he couldn’t help but feel like he was beneath you—like he wasn’t someone worthy of standing by your side.

A week had passed since that dinner. The one where you introduced Hoseok to Jungkook like it was nothing, like it wouldn’t shift the earth beneath your feet.

You honestly thought things were going fine.

But Hoseok had been… gone.

Not in the literal sense—no, he was still enrolled, still somewhere in the city—but he hadn’t attended any of your shared classes, hadn’t shown up at the student publication office where the two of you spent almost every afternoon.

His name no longer popped up in your notifications, no missed calls, no good morning texts.

Just... silence.

A gaping void where he used to be.

You reached out to people, trying not to sound desperate.

But the responses were all the same:

"I don’t know." "Ask someone else." "We’re not getting involved in your drama."

Drama?

What drama?

Everything was going fine. Wasn’t it?

Something in you says that he's avoiding you, but you refuse to accept that, because everything was just fine. Instead, you convince yourself to believe that maybe something has just happened that doesn't concern you, perhaps a family emergency that he has to take care of.

But why is he not messaging you if that's the case? The longer the silence dragged on, the more it chipped away at your patience.

Until finally, you decided you’d had enough.

If he wasn’t going to face you at uni, then you’d confront him at his apartment. You need to get your answers to the questions that have been bugging your mind.

You didn’t bother texting. You didn’t even knock.

The spare key he’d given you months ago still worked.

The lights were off when you stepped inside. Your first impression was that he might not be home—you were halfway through calling his name, just to make sure he really wasn’t there, when you heard something from the bedroom—faint, but unmistakable.

A moan.

You stopped cold.

Your heart plummeted straight into your stomach.

No.

No, no, no.

You moved before you could think better of it, storming down the short hall toward his bedroom. The door was cracked open just enough.

You pushed it.

And instantly wished you hadn’t.

There he was.

Hoseok.

On top of someone, some girl you barely recognized from one of the campus orgs. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her nails digging into his back, both of them breathless, gasping, fucking like they had no care in the world until they felt your presence that caught them off guard.

You felt stupid—after all those days of searching for him, calling and worrying, wondering what could've happened to him, only to find him enjoying himself between some other girl's legs.

A strangled noise left your throat as you stumbled back a step. Your vision blurred for a second, and the ringing in your ears drowned out whatever garbled excuse the girl tried to throw on as she scrambled for a sheet.

Hoseok didn’t even flinch.

Didn’t even look guilty.

He didn’t bother covering up. Didn’t even look surprised anymore. Just annoyed.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, pulling away from the girl beneath him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You were frozen, the image of him and that girl still burned behind your eyelids.

“You stalking me now?” he scoffed, reaching for his jeans without shame. “God, I should’ve known you wouldn’t take the hint.”

“The hint?” your voice cracked. “You disappeared on me, Hoseok. You ignored my calls, ditched class—what the fuck was I supposed to think?”

He rolled his eyes, zipping his pants. “That it’s over. That’s what you should’ve thought.”

Your stomach dropped.

“But… you didn’t even—”

“Didn’t even what? Text you some sappy breakup message?” he sneered.

“Why would I waste my time on that? It’s not like we were anything serious.”

Your breath hitched, refusing to believe what he just said, though it was crystal clear.

"You told me you loved me!"

“Yeah, well,” he said, grabbing a shirt and carelessly pulling it over his head, “I say a lot of shit. Doesn’t mean I meant it.”

The girl behind him giggled under the covers, which only infuriated you further, and Hoseok didn’t even glance at her. His eyes were on you, and they weren’t kind like how it was before.

“Look,” he said, “That Jungkook guy? He opened my eyes, alright? You’re nothing but trouble. Ever since I got with you, my grades lowered, fuck, my scholarship's even hanging by a thread. My future is on the line. You dragged me into your chaos and I’m finally fucking done.”

You blinked back the sting in your eyes, confusion tightening in your chest. How was Jungkook even involved in this?

“No… Jungkook wouldn’t do that,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “He’s not like that.”

“Oh yeah?” Hoseok barked a bitter laugh, eyes blazing. “Well, he fucking did.”

“Go cry to your sugar daddy or whatever the hell he is to you. I’m done.”

You were speechless.

As much as you hated Hoseok for cheating on you, there was one person you blamed even more—Jeon Jungkook. The tears came before you could even begin to process it all, a sob breaking in your throat as the pain swallowed you whole. Hoseok didn’t spare you a second glance; he shoved you out of his dorm like you were nothing, slamming the door shut in your face.

You felt betrayed...

not just by Hoseok, but by Jungkook.

How could he sabotage the one relationship that meant the world to you? How could he be so cruel and manipulative, as if destroying what you had would somehow bring him any satisfaction?

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Jungkook had always been your angel, your protector. The thought of him being the one pulling the strings, the one who ruined you, didn’t make sense.

You wanted so badly to believe that Hoseok was just lashing out, making excuses for his betrayal. But no matter how tightly you clung to that hope, his words rang with a cruel kind of truth that you couldn’t ignore.

You didn’t even know how you got here.

After all the drama, the shouting, the betrayal—after all the tears you’d shed in Hoseok’s hallway just this afternoon—you should’ve been curled up in your bed, buried under blankets, trying to sleep the pain away.

But here you were.

At Jungkook’s building.

At his penthouse.

Driven by rage, betrayal, confusion, everything tightening in your chest until your body moved on its own.

You barely remembered how you got through the lobby. The security guard looked up from his desk and blinked in surprise, but when he saw your face, something in his demeanor softened.

“Miss,” he said gently, “You can go right up. He said you’re always welcome.”

Of course he did.

You hated how familiar this was—how the elevator doors opened to his private floor like the building itself was trained to welcome you. You hated that your trembling fingers still remembered the code. The moment the door swung open, his scent was already wrapping around you like a trap.

And you hated, most of all, that he looked happy to see you.

He was standing in the middle of his massive living room, wine glass in hand, dressed in a soft brown sweater and slacks, like the world hadn’t just been shattered around you.

His smile bloomed the moment your figure came into view.

“There you are,” Jungkook said, voice warm and slow, eyes twinkling as he opened his arms for you.

“Come here, angel. I was just thinking about y—”

Instead of a tight hug, all he got from you was a slap in his cheek.

The slap rang louder than you expected.

His cheek snapped to the side, skin blooming red where your palm struck him.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Just stood there with his face turned, lips slightly parted, as if you’d short-circuited something in him.

Silence.

Then slowly, his eyes returned to yours as his calm demeanor didn't change.

A slow smile curled at the corner of his mouth—too knowing, too soft, too smug.

“Ah,” Jungkook murmured, the hint of a chuckle in his voice. “So you found out.”

And that was the only confirmation you needed. It was all his doing. A part of you had already known it was him, but you needed to hear it from him, and he delivered.

Your throat tightened, but no tears came this time. You were all cried out.

“So you really did it,” you whispered. “You ruined us.”

Jungkook tilted his head as he eyed you intensely. “Ruined?” he echoed, like it was a foreign word.

He let out a breathy laugh, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek.

“No, baby. I didn’t ruin anything,” he said softly. “I just reminded him of what he already knew.”

You stared at him in disbelief

His eyes dropped to your swollen, puffy face—red-rimmed eyes and cracked lips. He stepped closer, not to console, but to admire.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he murmured, brushing a knuckle against your cheek.

You slapped his hand away.

He didn’t flinch.

“You had no right,” you snapped, voice trembling with restrained fury. “Hoseok and I—what we had, it was real. He loved me. We were—”

“He was weak,” Jungkook cut in smoothly, “and undeserving.”

“You don’t get to decide that!" You shouted at him as your face flushed red from anger.

“I do,” he said calmly, like he was explaining something to a child.

"Don’t you get it, Y/N? You belong to me. After everything I’ve done for you, for your family, and you still dared to choose him? I was being generous, patient, so fucking kind with you. But let me make one thing clear."

He steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he grips your chin a little too tightly, leaning in until his lips nearly graze your ear.

"I don’t share. No one touches what’s mine."

Your breath hitched, skin prickling where his words lingered against your ear. It all started to make sense—every sweet gesture, every moment he showed up exactly when you needed someone, the silent ways he looked at you like you were already his. His care had never been brotherly. Not even close. You had been so foolish, blind to the possessiveness hiding behind his soft smiles, mistaking his obsession for affection.

And now that the truth was out, there was no going back.

Your legs felt unsteady as you took a step back, but Jungkook didn’t let you get far. His hand slid from your chin to the side of your neck, gentle yet firm, anchoring you in place.

“You manipulated Hoseok,” you whispered, the realization choking out of you. “You wanted to ruin us.”

He didn’t even flinch. His thumb caressed the curve of your jaw, voice steady and low.

“No. I had to ruin him. Because he was in the way.” His smile curved, slow, and sinful. “He was holding onto something that never belonged to him in the first place.”

Jungkook, you used to know, the boy who used to laugh with you, protect you, was gone. In his place stood a man whose obsession clung to you like a vice, dark and suffocating.

He looks like he could kill in this moment, as you keep on throwing hurtful words at him

“You’re fucking insane! I don’t ever want to see you again! I swear to God, I’ll leave the country if that’s what it takes to get away from you!” you screamed, ripping his hand off your neck with every ounce of strength you had. He was too strong. It took force, and it hurt.

You see, Jungkook had always been patient. Painfully patient. If he hadn’t been, he would’ve taken you years ago.

But now? Now the thread had snapped. And the moment those words left your mouth, something inside him broke.

Leave?

You were going to leave him?

After everything he gave you? After everything he destroyed for you?

“No, baby. You’re not fucking leaving,” he said lowly, eyes dark as he stalked toward you like a predator. He gripped your arm hard, making you stumble back, his breath hot against your face.

“Let go! I’ll tell my father everything!”

He smirked. “Oh yeah? Want me to dial him for you?”

You tried to fight him, lashing out like a wild animal. The vase by the table shattered as your arm knocked into it, and you didn’t even think—you just grabbed a jagged shard and held it up, hand trembling, eyes wild.

“Stay the fuck away from me, you psycho!”

He stared at you with that maddening calm, like you were amusing. Like, your resistance was cute. And then he stepped forward with lethal grace.

He knew his flowering words and soft tone wouldn't work with you in this situation, you left him with no choice but to use a little bit of force in order to tame you.

“You really think I’d let you hurt yourself over something this stupid?”

In one swift movement, he twisted the shard from your fingers, faster than you could react. Before you could scream, his hand was in your hair, the other on your waist, and your head slammed into the wall with brutal force.

The last thing you heard was your name on his lips before everything faded to black

Your head throbbed painfully as consciousness slowly crept in. The ceiling above you was initially unfamiliar—until the soft fabric brushing against your skin, the scent of expensive cologne, and the dim glow of the city lights pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows reminded you exactly where you were.

You're still in his penthouse... in his bed.

You shifted, realizing you were wearing one of your pajama dresses. One you hadn’t worn in ages. One you hadn’t brought here.

A soft voice broke through the fog in your head.

“You’re awake,” Jungkook murmured beside you, his fingers gently stroking your hair, eyes filled with something unsettlingly tender. “You hit your head, baby. I had to take care of you.”

For a fleeting second, you saw him—the version of Jungkook you used to know. The kind smile. The boy who was always there. But you forced yourself to push that illusion away. That version of him is just an illusion, a facade to his true, dark intentions.

You scrambled off the bed in a panic, nearly tripping over yourself as you ran to the door. Locked. Every other exit—locked. No keypad, no handle you could pry open. You darted from one end of the penthouse to another, only to find nothing but dead ends.

“It’s no use,” Jungkook said calmly, standing from the bed, his hands tucked into his pockets as he watched you look for an exit.

“You’re staying here now. I’m not letting you run away from me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” you snapped, voice cracking with disbelief.

Then you saw it—all your designer clothes, your bags, your makeup, your shoes, tucked neatly in his walk-in closet like they belonged there.

Like you belonged here.

You spun to face him, breath short and broken.

“You moved my things…”

“I’ve been preparing this for a while,” he simply said as he slowly walked toward you.

“This is insane,” you whispered, eyes wide with disbelief, your voice trembling before it exploded into a scream. “My parents—they’ll come for me! You’re gonna pay for what you’re fucking doing!”

Jungkook chuckled low, dark, and slow, like he found your defiance amusing. He stepped closer, eyes gleaming with possessive fire as he tilted his head. “Come for you?” he echoed, voice almost mocking. “You mean your greedy parents who work for me now?”

He leaned in, voice dipping into a growl against your ear as he added, “Sweetheart, they’re the ones who sent all your things here. They were more than happy to hand you over to me."

And that’s when it hits you—you’re alone in here, with no one to run to. Even your parents betrayed you, their only daughter, all because they were too blinded by the money Jungkook has.

"No! This is impossible. My parents wouldn’t do that—Jungkook, please," you begged, falling to your knees as you wrapped your arms around his legs. At this point, you didn’t even know why you were begging him. Desperation? Hope? A final plea for the version of him you once knew?

But empathy was the last thing on his mind.

Instead, the sight of you, broken, pleading, lips trembling as you whispered his name, only turned him on.

There was something so intoxicating about having you like this, so helpless and pretty on your knees, as your plump lips were wet with your tears.

Sooner or later, he'd have you crying for something else.

"Shh, sweetheart," he cooed as he crouched down to meet your level, brushing your hair back with a gentleness that contradicted the madness in his gaze. "Stop crying. You’re going to learn to love it here. This is your home now."

Indeed, you had no choice but to stay in his penthouse for these past few weeks, trapped in his world with no way out. Your days blurred into one another, a monotonous loop of routines: a cold, solitary bath, forced meals, and endless hours spent staring at the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You waited for Jungkook’s return, your mind spiraling as the isolation ate away at your sanity.

The silence was maddening. The lack of human contact drove you to the edge, and desperation took hold.

You missed the life that you once had, partying and going out with friends, attending classes, and so on, so you tried to escape, of course.

The first time, you managed to hurt one of his security guards as you scrambled your way out, though it was of no use as there were too many of them.

The second time, you threatened to harm yourself with a kitchen knife if they didn’t let you out.

That was when Jungkook decided that enough was enough. He began working from home, his eyes always on you, keeping you under his watchful gaze, with every sharp tool that he thought you could use to hurt yourself are now hidden or moved away.

"Ahhh... please stop!" you pleaded as a harsh slap landed on your bum. You were bent over, turned around with your tummy pressed against his knees as he spanked you (if that makes sense).

"Fucking stubborn woman! What did I tell you about lying, huh?!" he growled, landing another slap to your ass. The dress you were wearing had ridden up, exposing your bare core—he hadn’t allowed you to wear any undergarments.

You didn’t know why, but your body had been so needy and hot these past few days. You’d been getting wet out of nowhere, so turned on that you ended up touching yourself in the bathroom whenever he wasn’t around—too embarrassed to let him see you like that.

And just like now, you were already soaked from the way his rough palms met your skin, each slap sending a sting of heat through your core, making you tremble with want.

It was humiliating… and unbearable.

But of course, Jungkook knew everything.

He’d been slipping aphrodisiacs into your meals every time he forced you to sit on his lap and eat like a baby. And yes—he knew how you secretly touched yourself, thanks to the hidden cameras planted all over the house. He got off on watching you fall apart when you thought he wasn’t looking, addicted to how lewd you’d become under his control.

“Dirty whore,” he sneered, fingers suddenly sliding down back and forth to your slick folds. “You’re even getting wet from this, huh?”

You shuddered instantly, a sharp moan ripping from your throat as his fingertips grazed your sensitive pussy lips before spreading it with his fingers, exposing just how soaked and desperate you truly were.

“Look at you,” Jungkook muttered, almost amused as he ran his fingers along your soaked slit, spreading the slickness just to watch you twitch. “Dripping all over my lap like a fucking slut. Getting off on being punished?”

You whimpered, face flushed with heat, your fingers curling into the fabric beneath you as his touch sent sparks down your spine. His voice was low and mocking, but it lit you up in the worst way.

“You act like you hate it,” he said, dipping one long finger inside you without warning, “but your cunt tells me the truth.”

A breathy moan escaped you, hips jerking as the digit curled deep inside. He moved slowly at first, dragging it out just to watch your body react. Then he added a second, scissoring them apart, stretching you as you gasped.

“Such a filthy little thing. Bet you’ve been dreaming of this, huh? My fingers inside you while you grind your pathetic pussy on the bathroom sink,” he hissed into your ear, his fingers now pumping with more force. “You like being watched, baby? Knew I’d see you eventually?”

You couldn’t even form words anymore—just broken moans and whines as your walls clenched around him.

Then came the third finger.

You cried out, your legs trembling as he stuffed you full, knuckles deep now, fucking you rough and slow, like he wanted to feel every desperate flutter inside you. The stretch burned and thrilled you at once, leaving you clawing at his thigh, right on the edge.

So close. You were right there. Vision hazy, thighs slick and shaking, pleasure curling so tight it hurt.

But then he stopped.

Just like that—everything halted. He pulled his fingers out, slow and wet, leaving your cunt clenching around nothing.

You gasped, back arching as if trying to chase the feeling, your body trembling with frustration.

“N-no—please!” you cried, writhing against him, your once stubborn self now long gone, like a passing rain as you begged “Please, Jungkook… don’t stop, please—I need it, I need you—anything!”

He held his slick fingers up to your lips, eyes dark with twisted satisfaction. “Anything?” he smirked. “Then beg like the needy little cumslut you are.”

Without hesitation, you nodded, eyes glassy, lips parting as you leaned in—desperation burning in your gut.

“Yes—please, Jungkook. I’ll be good. I swear. Just—please—”

But he didn’t wait for you to finish.

He pressed his fingers against your lips, the same ones slick with your arousal, and you moaned as you eagerly opened your mouth, sucking them in like they were his cock. Tongue swirling, lips sealing tight around each one, you cleaned them with such obedience it made his cock twitch beneath you.

His jaw clenched as he watched you, his breath shallow, eyes dark and gleaming.

Fuck.

The drug worked.

He knew it would, but seeing the result was another thing entirely.

There you were—his once defiant little brat—on your knees, brain fogged, drooling around his fingers like they were candy. Completely unaware. Completely his.

So sweetly fucked up that you didn’t even care anymore that you were locked in here. That he owned your body, your mind, your every breath.

And now, after all your pathetic little protests, you were begging him to touch you? To fuck you?

Thought you hated me, sweetheart. Thought you wanted to escape.

His cock throbbed at the thought—how far gone you were. How easy it had become to twist your desire into obedience.

And he wasn’t even close to done.

Jungkook slowly pulled his soaked fingers from your mouth, watching your tongue chase after them like you couldn’t stand to be without the taste.

“Good girl,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “You want to be fucked that badly, huh? You want to be ruined?”

You nodded, whimpering as you pressed your thighs together, slick leaking down the insides of your legs. “Yes—please, please—kookie"

That was all it took.

He gripped your hips with bruising force and dragged you down off his lap, flipping you over like a ragdoll onto the plush carpet. You barely had time to gasp before he was yanking his sweats down, cock already thick and hard, veins throbbing with anticipation.

“Then take it,” he growled, grabbing your thighs and spreading you open. “Take all of it, slut.”

He slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

Your back arched, a choked scream bursting from your lips as he buried himself to the hilt—stretching you so deep, so full, it knocked the air from your lungs. There was no time to adjust. He didn’t give you that luxury. His hips were already snapping into yours, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the walls as he fucked you raw.

“God, listen to you,” he hissed, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back. “Crying on my cock like you were made for this. And maybe you were, huh? Just a filthy little hole to fill up and break down.”

Your mind was gone—drugged, drunk off him, off the stretch and the heat and the possessive grip he had on your body. Your moans turned to sobs, pleasure slamming into you over and over, your nails clawing at the floor as he pounded into you without mercy.

“Gonna come?” he mocked, voice ragged, hips grinding against you with devastating precision. “You’re already close, aren’t you? Fucking pathetic. All it took was a few slaps, a little drug in your food, and now you’re creaming all over my cock like a whore.”

You could only moan his name in response—broken, needy, soaking him with every thrust. The coil in your gut tightened so violently you couldn’t breathe, your body ready to shatter.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear, his voice like poison and silk.

“Then come for me,” he whispered. “Let me feel this ruined cunt squeeze around me.”

And just like that—you snapped.

Your orgasm hit like lightning, legs trembling, walls clenching around him so tight it dragged a feral groan from his throat. He didn’t stop—riding you through it, fucking you harder, chasing his own high.

“Take it,” he grunted. “Take every fucking drop. Gonna put a baby in you, gonna make you round and full"

With one final thrust, he slammed deep, spilling inside you with a guttural moan, cock pulsing as he filled you full. Your body jerked, overstimulated and wrecked, tears sliding down your cheeks as you lay there trembling under him.

Breathless and used

And Jungkook—still buried deep inside you—grinned.

The room still smelled like sex.

Your body was limp in his arms, skin marked with his touch—red, bruised.

Jungkook hadn't let you move much after he’d fucked you into the floor. He'd simply gathered you into his lap, his cock still wet with your slick, and held you there, stroking your hair like you were the most precious thing he ever ruined.

“I think it’s time,” he murmured against your temple, voice soft. “You’ve been good lately.”

Your lashes fluttered as you looked up at him, dazed and exhausted. “Time… for what?”

“To go see your family.”

Your breath caught.

He chuckled. “Under my watch, of course. couldn't let you be naughty"

Jungkook knew he couldn’t keep you locked up forever. That would only risk bringing back your stubborn streak. No—rewarding you with a bit of freedom was the smarter move. After all, you were already too blind to see that any of this was wrong.

You should’ve felt uneasy or angry, like the first time he brought you here. But you didn’t.

Not anymore.

Now, you understood.

Jungkook was right. He did know what was best for you. You were wrong to think the man you once loved was gone. He wasn’t. He never left. He just needed to tame you—to show you who you truly belonged to.

“Thank you, Kookie,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around him, clinging to the only person who ever really saw you.

clearly pleased—finally seeing you with the man they had always wanted for you. It wasn’t just approval in their eyes anymore… it was pride. As if they, too, had finally earned their seat at the Jeon table.

You sat quietly beside Jungkook, his presence towering even in his silence. His hand rested on your thigh beneath the table, firm and possessive. Every so often, he’d squeeze—his palm sliding just a little higher, fingers teasing slow circles into your skin, right where it made you press your legs together.

And then he walked in.

Hoseok.

He wore an apron now, working as a server at the restaurant your parents had chosen. His eyes widened when he spotted you, tray in hand—probably shocked to see you after the messy breakup you had with him.

You should have felt mad that he was there—should’ve remembered how deeply you once loved Hoseok, loved him enough to choose him over Jungkook, again and again.

But you didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

Because now you knew. You remembered what Jungkook told you—what he made you see.

Hoseok had never loved you. Not really. He’d cheated on you. Lied. Gaslit you into thinking it was your fault.

Only… he hadn’t done it on his own. Jungkook had orchestrated it all—manipulated things behind the scenes to tear you away from him.

And you weren’t even mad about it anymore.

Because he’d been right all along.

You didn’t belong to Hoseok. You never did.

Jungkook squeezed your thigh again and leaned in close, his voice low but unmistakably proud.

“We’ve been trying for a baby,” he said loud enough for Hoseok to hear, tilting his head just so. “Finally setting a date for the wedding too.”

You blushed on cue, eyes falling to your lap, but you didn’t pull away when he kissed your cheek—didn’t protest when his arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you closer.

Hoseok’s mouth twitched like he wanted to say something, but then he nodded stiffly and focused on serving your family before he turned back to the kitchen, defeated.

Good.

Jungkook’s fingers traced idle circles on your hip, slow and smug.

“That’s right, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear.

“You’re mine. Always were”

The More You Struggle, The Tighter I Hold

Synopsis: Jungkook has given you everything, so he doesn’t quite appreciate it when you choose a broke college boy over him.  Themes: chaebol yandere jungkook, rich brat reader, mind conditioning, manipulation, age gap, older jk, nsfw, smut, dubcon, crempie, pregnancy kink

Jungkook has spoiled you rotten for as long as he can remember—lavishing you with expensive gifts, funding your every whim, covering your wishlist without hesitation. Free trips abroad for you and your friends, extravagant dinner dates, even pulling strings to get you into your dream university when your grades didn’t quite meet the requirements. A simple call to the dean, a casual mention of your "relation," and suddenly, doors that should have remained closed swung wide open for you.

He has always been there, protecting you, guiding you, offering advice like a good older brother would. And for years, that’s exactly how you saw him—a doting, dependable presence, someone you could always rely on.

But Jungkook never wanted to be just seen as an older brother.

He wanted more.

Maybe it started the first time he met you, when your father brought you to one of his meetings with Jungkook’s grandfather. You were just ten years old then, a shy, quiet child clinging to the edges of the conversation while he, at sixteen, regarded you as the little sister he never had. Someone fragile, someone to protect.

At least, that’s what he thought his feelings were.

Until you turned seventeen.

That was when everything shifted. Your body began to change—your hips, your chest, the graceful curve of your waist.

Your innocence took on an unintentional allure, oblivious to how you moved, how your body would be pressed into him when you came running to hug him, how you smiled, or how your presence began to unearth something dark and possessive inside him.

That was when Jungkook stopped seeing you as his little sister. And started seeing you as something else entirely.

He saw you as a woman, a woman that should belong to him, rather than that of a younger sister, but you are oblivious to that fact. 

Jungkook’s help isn’t limited to just you—it extends to your entire family, ensuring their unwavering favor, shaping their perception of him as a saint, a savior, a blessing from heaven that they could never repay.

When his grandfather retired as chairman of the Jeon Conglomerate, Jungkook stepped into his rightful position, making sure that your family reaped the greatest benefits from his power.

But those benefits didn’t come without cost…

He had orchestrated everything. Pulled the right strings, made the right moves, and watched as your family’s company crumbled under carefully placed pressure—only for him to appear at just the right time with an outstretched hand and an offer too generous to refuse.

A lifeline. A godsend.

Your father and brother were given prestigious positions within his empire—roles they were woefully unqualified for, yet perfect for keeping them satisfied.

Jungkook knew your father had been embezzling funds from the Jeons for years, a rat biting the very hand that fed him. But Jungkook never stopped him. He never exposed him. Instead, he tolerated it, even allowed it, letting your father gorge himself on wealth that Jungkook could make back in mere minutes.

Because money has never been an issue to him,

It’s not what Jungkook wanted the most…

You are. 

Your family had been consumed by greed long ago, blind to the noose tightening around them as they dug their own graves.

And Jungkook?

He only watched in quiet amusement.

He had always known their sins would serve him one day. That when the time came, their insatiable hunger for wealth and status would tip the scales in his favor.

After all, they were nothing more than beggars dressed in wealth—always grasping for more, always willing to sell whatever was necessary for a place at the Jeon table.

Even you.

And why wouldn’t they? Everything they had—every luxury, every privilege—existed only because of him.

If not for Jungkook, your family would have sunk into bankruptcy long ago.

You were almost just like them—you couldn’t live without gold under your feet. The only difference was that you never took advantage of anyone, never used people for your own gain. 

You weren’t capable of something like that. 

In Jungkook's mind, a kind and innocent thing like you isn’t capable of such sin.

You were just... spoiled. If that was the right word for it. Born into wealth, raised in luxury, never knowing what it was like to beg for anything.

And Jungkook was fine with that.

More than fine.

Because once you became his, he planned on spoiling you even more.

For a long time, everything unfolded just as Jungkook had planned—until he received the most offensive news from you.

“Kookie, meet Hoseok. We’re in the same college department… he’s, um, my boyfriend.”

You introduced him shyly, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend’s slender frame.

Jungkook sat there, his glass of wine in hand, gaze locked onto the two of you. He looked at Hoseok from head to toe, trying to process what you had just said—as if hearing it aloud would somehow make it more real.

Here you are, standing beside a guy who looked like he had thrown himself together in five minutes—jeans, Converse, and a wrinkled T-shirt that was probably the first thing he grabbed from his small closet.

An attire that's entirely not suited to a luxurious dinner place like this

His nervous smile only made the contrast more jarring.

And then there’s Jungkook, in a perfectly tailored suit, polished shoes, a Patek Philippe watch on his wrist—an image of wealth and power that felt completely at odds with this moment.

“You never told me anything about this… guy, baby,” Jungkook finally spoke, his voice cold as he set his wineglass down.

Of course, you're twenty now. It's only natural that you’d have a boyfriend. But he never imagined it would be this soon, especially since he’d never seen you show any real interest in relationships.

He always thought your attention was his alone—that no unworthy man could ever steal it.

But it seems he was wrong.

In his mind, maybe he should’ve arranged your marriage with him sooner.

Hoseok stiffened at the way Jungkook called you baby, but he quickly shook off the thought. You’d told him before that Jungkook was like an older brother—maybe this was just how he spoke.

“Well, I always forget,” you said casually, taking a seat and gesturing for Hoseok to join you as you skimmed through the menu.

Jungkook only hummed in response, swirling the wine in his glass.

“U-uh, hi, sir,” Hoseok finally spoke up, his voice tentative, trying to break the tense silence.

You had warned him before coming in that Jungkook might come off as strong and intimidating, but that he was actually sweet underneath it all.

But nothing about Jungkook’s aura felt sweet to Hoseok.

Well—at least to you, Jungkook was sweet.

Jungkook certainly heard Hoseok’s attempt at a greeting. He even glanced at him briefly. But he didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, his attention remained fixed on you.

“Baby, do your parents already know about this?” His voice was calm, but there was something heavier beneath it, something unreadable.

You tensed for a second but quickly recovered. “Kookieeee, please don’t tell them. You know how they can be sometimes. I only told you because I knew you’d be happy for me,” you said with a sweet smile.

You were definitely wrong about that.

None of this made Jungkook happy. Not even a little.

But he chuckled softly, watching how you tried to act cute in front of him, hoping to convince him to keep your little secret.

"Fine,”

Hoseok sat there, feeling increasingly uncomfortable—the way Jungkook’s presence seemed to dominate the space, the way the dynamic between the two of you didn’t quite sit right with him.

This wasn’t how normal childhood friends act, even if you say that you're very close with Jungkook.

Still, he chose to remain silent. He wasn’t about to speak out of turn in front of a man who looked like he could crush him for even the smallest mistake.

Jungkook drained the last of his wine, then glanced at his wristwatch before rising from his seat.

“Well, you two have fun,” he said smoothly, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Order whatever you want.” He said as he handed you his black card.

“But Kook! I thought you had cleared your plans for tonight?” Confusion flickered across your face.

“Yeah, I know, baby. But you know how it is. I’m a busy man.”

That was a lie.

He had indeed cleared his schedule. This night was supposed to be just for the two of you. But Hoseok’s presence had ruined his appetite.

My driver will pick you up at eight,” he continued, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You know how your mom doesn’t like you coming home late.”

“Uhh, sir… I actually intend to bring her home myself—”

“Alright, baby?” Jungkook cut him off, his voice gentle but firm, like a parent dismissing a child.

The conversation was already over.

You hesitated for a second before nodding. “Okay…” you murmured, the slight sadness in your voice betraying the unspoken truth:

Jungkook didn’t like Hoseok for you.

And he never would.

And just like that, the night ended with you being picked up by one of Jungkook’s driver after you and hoseok finished eating dinner that jungkook had paid for.

Hoseok might not say it aloud, but he hated it…

Hated how Jungkook had effortlessly covered the bill when he could’ve just taken you somewhere he could afford.

It felt like a reminder—like a quiet way of putting him in his place.

And it didn’t help that you wouldn’t stop babbling about how good the food was.

“God, that steak was delicious! It tasted almost the same as the ones we had on our Europe trip…”

Hoseok only hummed in response, already annoyed, his fists clenching at his sides as the two of you stepped out of the restaurant. And there it was—a sleek black Mercedes waiting in front of the restaurant, Jungkook’s driver standing there to greet you.

“Good evening, Miss Y/N.”

You barely noticed Hoseok’s stiff posture beside you. “My driver’s here. Bye, Hoseok!” you chirped, flashing him a small smile before slipping inside the car without a second thought.

Hoseok stood there for a moment, watching as the car pulled away, his jaw tightening.

If that’s how Jungkook reacted, then what more if your parents found out you were dating him?

And though you had always been so kind to Hoseok, he couldn’t help but feel like he was beneath you—like he wasn’t someone worthy of standing by your side.

A week had passed since that dinner. The one where you introduced Hoseok to Jungkook like it was nothing, like it wouldn’t shift the earth beneath your feet.

You honestly thought things were going fine.

But Hoseok had been… gone.

Not in the literal sense—no, he was still enrolled, still somewhere in the city—but he hadn’t attended any of your shared classes, hadn’t shown up at the student publication office where the two of you spent almost every afternoon.

His name no longer popped up in your notifications, no missed calls, no good morning texts.

Just... silence.

A gaping void where he used to be.

You reached out to people, trying not to sound desperate.

But the responses were all the same:

"I don’t know." "Ask someone else." "We’re not getting involved in your drama."

Drama?

What drama?

Everything was going fine. Wasn’t it?

Something in you says that he's avoiding you, but you refuse to accept that, because everything was just fine. Instead, you convince yourself to believe that maybe something has just happened that doesn't concern you, perhaps a family emergency that he has to take care of.

But why is he not messaging you if that's the case? The longer the silence dragged on, the more it chipped away at your patience.

Until finally, you decided you’d had enough.

If he wasn’t going to face you at uni, then you’d confront him at his apartment. You need to get your answers to the questions that have been bugging your mind.

You didn’t bother texting. You didn’t even knock.

The spare key he’d given you months ago still worked.

The lights were off when you stepped inside. Your first impression was that he might not be home—you were halfway through calling his name, just to make sure he really wasn’t there, when you heard something from the bedroom—faint, but unmistakable.

A moan.

You stopped cold.

Your heart plummeted straight into your stomach.

No.

No, no, no.

You moved before you could think better of it, storming down the short hall toward his bedroom. The door was cracked open just enough.

You pushed it.

And instantly wished you hadn’t.

There he was.

Hoseok.

On top of someone, some girl you barely recognized from one of the campus orgs. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her nails digging into his back, both of them breathless, gasping, fucking like they had no care in the world until they felt your presence that caught them off guard.

You felt stupid—after all those days of searching for him, calling and worrying, wondering what could've happened to him, only to find him enjoying himself between some other girl's legs.

A strangled noise left your throat as you stumbled back a step. Your vision blurred for a second, and the ringing in your ears drowned out whatever garbled excuse the girl tried to throw on as she scrambled for a sheet.

Hoseok didn’t even flinch.

Didn’t even look guilty.

He didn’t bother covering up. Didn’t even look surprised anymore. Just annoyed.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, pulling away from the girl beneath him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You were frozen, the image of him and that girl still burned behind your eyelids.

“You stalking me now?” he scoffed, reaching for his jeans without shame. “God, I should’ve known you wouldn’t take the hint.”

“The hint?” your voice cracked. “You disappeared on me, Hoseok. You ignored my calls, ditched class—what the fuck was I supposed to think?”

He rolled his eyes, zipping his pants. “That it’s over. That’s what you should’ve thought.”

Your stomach dropped.

“But… you didn’t even—”

“Didn’t even what? Text you some sappy breakup message?” he sneered.

“Why would I waste my time on that? It’s not like we were anything serious.”

Your breath hitched, refusing to believe what he just said, though it was crystal clear.

"You told me you loved me!"

“Yeah, well,” he said, grabbing a shirt and carelessly pulling it over his head, “I say a lot of shit. Doesn’t mean I meant it.”

The girl behind him giggled under the covers, which only infuriated you further, and Hoseok didn’t even glance at her. His eyes were on you, and they weren’t kind like how it was before.

“Look,” he said, “That Jungkook guy? He opened my eyes, alright? You’re nothing but trouble. Ever since I got with you, my grades lowered, fuck, my scholarship's even hanging by a thread. My future is on the line. You dragged me into your chaos and I’m finally fucking done.”

You blinked back the sting in your eyes, confusion tightening in your chest. How was Jungkook even involved in this?

“No… Jungkook wouldn’t do that,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “He’s not like that.”

“Oh yeah?” Hoseok barked a bitter laugh, eyes blazing. “Well, he fucking did.”

“Go cry to your sugar daddy or whatever the hell he is to you. I’m done.”

You were speechless.

As much as you hated Hoseok for cheating on you, there was one person you blamed even more—Jeon Jungkook. The tears came before you could even begin to process it all, a sob breaking in your throat as the pain swallowed you whole. Hoseok didn’t spare you a second glance; he shoved you out of his dorm like you were nothing, slamming the door shut in your face.

You felt betrayed...

not just by Hoseok, but by Jungkook.

How could he sabotage the one relationship that meant the world to you? How could he be so cruel and manipulative, as if destroying what you had would somehow bring him any satisfaction?

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Jungkook had always been your angel, your protector. The thought of him being the one pulling the strings, the one who ruined you, didn’t make sense.

You wanted so badly to believe that Hoseok was just lashing out, making excuses for his betrayal. But no matter how tightly you clung to that hope, his words rang with a cruel kind of truth that you couldn’t ignore.

You didn’t even know how you got here.

After all the drama, the shouting, the betrayal—after all the tears you’d shed in Hoseok’s hallway just this afternoon—you should’ve been curled up in your bed, buried under blankets, trying to sleep the pain away.

But here you were.

At Jungkook’s building.

At his penthouse.

Driven by rage, betrayal, confusion, everything tightening in your chest until your body moved on its own.

You barely remembered how you got through the lobby. The security guard looked up from his desk and blinked in surprise, but when he saw your face, something in his demeanor softened.

“Miss,” he said gently, “You can go right up. He said you’re always welcome.”

Of course he did.

You hated how familiar this was—how the elevator doors opened to his private floor like the building itself was trained to welcome you. You hated that your trembling fingers still remembered the code. The moment the door swung open, his scent was already wrapping around you like a trap.

And you hated, most of all, that he looked happy to see you.

He was standing in the middle of his massive living room, wine glass in hand, dressed in a soft brown sweater and slacks, like the world hadn’t just been shattered around you.

His smile bloomed the moment your figure came into view.

“There you are,” Jungkook said, voice warm and slow, eyes twinkling as he opened his arms for you.

“Come here, angel. I was just thinking about y—”

Instead of a tight hug, all he got from you was a slap in his cheek.

The slap rang louder than you expected.

His cheek snapped to the side, skin blooming red where your palm struck him.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Just stood there with his face turned, lips slightly parted, as if you’d short-circuited something in him.

Silence.

Then slowly, his eyes returned to yours as his calm demeanor didn't change.

A slow smile curled at the corner of his mouth—too knowing, too soft, too smug.

“Ah,” Jungkook murmured, the hint of a chuckle in his voice. “So you found out.”

And that was the only confirmation you needed. It was all his doing. A part of you had already known it was him, but you needed to hear it from him, and he delivered.

Your throat tightened, but no tears came this time. You were all cried out.

“So you really did it,” you whispered. “You ruined us.”

Jungkook tilted his head as he eyed you intensely. “Ruined?” he echoed, like it was a foreign word.

He let out a breathy laugh, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek.

“No, baby. I didn’t ruin anything,” he said softly. “I just reminded him of what he already knew.”

You stared at him in disbelief

His eyes dropped to your swollen, puffy face—red-rimmed eyes and cracked lips. He stepped closer, not to console, but to admire.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he murmured, brushing a knuckle against your cheek.

You slapped his hand away.

He didn’t flinch.

“You had no right,” you snapped, voice trembling with restrained fury. “Hoseok and I—what we had, it was real. He loved me. We were—”

“He was weak,” Jungkook cut in smoothly, “and undeserving.”

“You don’t get to decide that!" You shouted at him as your face flushed red from anger.

“I do,” he said calmly, like he was explaining something to a child.

"Don’t you get it, Y/N? You belong to me. After everything I’ve done for you, for your family, and you still dared to choose him? I was being generous, patient, so fucking kind with you. But let me make one thing clear."

He steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he grips your chin a little too tightly, leaning in until his lips nearly graze your ear.

"I don’t share. No one touches what’s mine."

Your breath hitched, skin prickling where his words lingered against your ear. It all started to make sense—every sweet gesture, every moment he showed up exactly when you needed someone, the silent ways he looked at you like you were already his. His care had never been brotherly. Not even close. You had been so foolish, blind to the possessiveness hiding behind his soft smiles, mistaking his obsession for affection.

And now that the truth was out, there was no going back.

Your legs felt unsteady as you took a step back, but Jungkook didn’t let you get far. His hand slid from your chin to the side of your neck, gentle yet firm, anchoring you in place.

“You manipulated Hoseok,” you whispered, the realization choking out of you. “You wanted to ruin us.”

He didn’t even flinch. His thumb caressed the curve of your jaw, voice steady and low.

“No. I had to ruin him. Because he was in the way.” His smile curved, slow, and sinful. “He was holding onto something that never belonged to him in the first place.”

Jungkook, you used to know, the boy who used to laugh with you, protect you, was gone. In his place stood a man whose obsession clung to you like a vice, dark and suffocating.

He looks like he could kill in this moment, as you keep on throwing hurtful words at him

“You’re fucking insane! I don’t ever want to see you again! I swear to God, I’ll leave the country if that’s what it takes to get away from you!” you screamed, ripping his hand off your neck with every ounce of strength you had. He was too strong. It took force, and it hurt.

You see, Jungkook had always been patient. Painfully patient. If he hadn’t been, he would’ve taken you years ago.

But now? Now the thread had snapped. And the moment those words left your mouth, something inside him broke.

Leave?

You were going to leave him?

After everything he gave you? After everything he destroyed for you?

“No, baby. You’re not fucking leaving,” he said lowly, eyes dark as he stalked toward you like a predator. He gripped your arm hard, making you stumble back, his breath hot against your face.

“Let go! I’ll tell my father everything!”

He smirked. “Oh yeah? Want me to dial him for you?”

You tried to fight him, lashing out like a wild animal. The vase by the table shattered as your arm knocked into it, and you didn’t even think—you just grabbed a jagged shard and held it up, hand trembling, eyes wild.

“Stay the fuck away from me, you psycho!”

He stared at you with that maddening calm, like you were amusing. Like, your resistance was cute. And then he stepped forward with lethal grace.

He knew his flowering words and soft tone wouldn't work with you in this situation, you left him with no choice but to use a little bit of force in order to tame you.

“You really think I’d let you hurt yourself over something this stupid?”

In one swift movement, he twisted the shard from your fingers, faster than you could react. Before you could scream, his hand was in your hair, the other on your waist, and your head slammed into the wall with brutal force.

The last thing you heard was your name on his lips before everything faded to black

Your head throbbed painfully as consciousness slowly crept in. The ceiling above you was initially unfamiliar—until the soft fabric brushing against your skin, the scent of expensive cologne, and the dim glow of the city lights pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows reminded you exactly where you were.

You're still in his penthouse... in his bed.

You shifted, realizing you were wearing one of your pajama dresses. One you hadn’t worn in ages. One you hadn’t brought here.

A soft voice broke through the fog in your head.

“You’re awake,” Jungkook murmured beside you, his fingers gently stroking your hair, eyes filled with something unsettlingly tender. “You hit your head, baby. I had to take care of you.”

For a fleeting second, you saw him—the version of Jungkook you used to know. The kind smile. The boy who was always there. But you forced yourself to push that illusion away. That version of him is just an illusion, a facade to his true, dark intentions.

You scrambled off the bed in a panic, nearly tripping over yourself as you ran to the door. Locked. Every other exit—locked. No keypad, no handle you could pry open. You darted from one end of the penthouse to another, only to find nothing but dead ends.

“It’s no use,” Jungkook said calmly, standing from the bed, his hands tucked into his pockets as he watched you look for an exit.

“You’re staying here now. I’m not letting you run away from me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” you snapped, voice cracking with disbelief.

Then you saw it—all your designer clothes, your bags, your makeup, your shoes, tucked neatly in his walk-in closet like they belonged there.

Like you belonged here.

You spun to face him, breath short and broken.

“You moved my things…”

“I’ve been preparing this for a while,” he simply said as he slowly walked toward you.

“This is insane,” you whispered, eyes wide with disbelief, your voice trembling before it exploded into a scream. “My parents—they’ll come for me! You’re gonna pay for what you’re fucking doing!”

Jungkook chuckled low, dark, and slow, like he found your defiance amusing. He stepped closer, eyes gleaming with possessive fire as he tilted his head. “Come for you?” he echoed, voice almost mocking. “You mean your greedy parents who work for me now?”

He leaned in, voice dipping into a growl against your ear as he added, “Sweetheart, they’re the ones who sent all your things here. They were more than happy to hand you over to me."

And that’s when it hits you—you’re alone in here, with no one to run to. Even your parents betrayed you, their only daughter, all because they were too blinded by the money Jungkook has.

"No! This is impossible. My parents wouldn’t do that—Jungkook, please," you begged, falling to your knees as you wrapped your arms around his legs. At this point, you didn’t even know why you were begging him. Desperation? Hope? A final plea for the version of him you once knew?

But empathy was the last thing on his mind.

Instead, the sight of you, broken, pleading, lips trembling as you whispered his name, only turned him on.

There was something so intoxicating about having you like this, so helpless and pretty on your knees, as your plump lips were wet with your tears.

Sooner or later, he'd have you crying for something else.

"Shh, sweetheart," he cooed as he crouched down to meet your level, brushing your hair back with a gentleness that contradicted the madness in his gaze. "Stop crying. You’re going to learn to love it here. This is your home now."

Indeed, you had no choice but to stay in his penthouse for these past few weeks, trapped in his world with no way out. Your days blurred into one another, a monotonous loop of routines: a cold, solitary bath, forced meals, and endless hours spent staring at the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You waited for Jungkook’s return, your mind spiraling as the isolation ate away at your sanity.

The silence was maddening. The lack of human contact drove you to the edge, and desperation took hold.

You missed the life that you once had, partying and going out with friends, attending classes, and so on, so you tried to escape, of course.

The first time, you managed to hurt one of his security guards as you scrambled your way out, though it was of no use as there were too many of them.

The second time, you threatened to harm yourself with a kitchen knife if they didn’t let you out.

That was when Jungkook decided that enough was enough. He began working from home, his eyes always on you, keeping you under his watchful gaze, with every sharp tool that he thought you could use to hurt yourself are now hidden or moved away.

"Ahhh... please stop!" you pleaded as a harsh slap landed on your bum. You were bent over, turned around with your tummy pressed against his knees as he spanked you (if that makes sense).

"Fucking stubborn woman! What did I tell you about lying, huh?!" he growled, landing another slap to your ass. The dress you were wearing had ridden up, exposing your bare core—he hadn’t allowed you to wear any undergarments.

You didn’t know why, but your body had been so needy and hot these past few days. You’d been getting wet out of nowhere, so turned on that you ended up touching yourself in the bathroom whenever he wasn’t around—too embarrassed to let him see you like that.

And just like now, you were already soaked from the way his rough palms met your skin, each slap sending a sting of heat through your core, making you tremble with want.

It was humiliating… and unbearable.

But of course, Jungkook knew everything.

He’d been slipping aphrodisiacs into your meals every time he forced you to sit on his lap and eat like a baby. And yes—he knew how you secretly touched yourself, thanks to the hidden cameras planted all over the house. He got off on watching you fall apart when you thought he wasn’t looking, addicted to how lewd you’d become under his control.

“Dirty whore,” he sneered, fingers suddenly sliding down back and forth to your slick folds. “You’re even getting wet from this, huh?”

You shuddered instantly, a sharp moan ripping from your throat as his fingertips grazed your sensitive pussy lips before spreading it with his fingers, exposing just how soaked and desperate you truly were.

“Look at you,” Jungkook muttered, almost amused as he ran his fingers along your soaked slit, spreading the slickness just to watch you twitch. “Dripping all over my lap like a fucking slut. Getting off on being punished?”

You whimpered, face flushed with heat, your fingers curling into the fabric beneath you as his touch sent sparks down your spine. His voice was low and mocking, but it lit you up in the worst way.

“You act like you hate it,” he said, dipping one long finger inside you without warning, “but your cunt tells me the truth.”

A breathy moan escaped you, hips jerking as the digit curled deep inside. He moved slowly at first, dragging it out just to watch your body react. Then he added a second, scissoring them apart, stretching you as you gasped.

“Such a filthy little thing. Bet you’ve been dreaming of this, huh? My fingers inside you while you grind your pathetic pussy on the bathroom sink,” he hissed into your ear, his fingers now pumping with more force. “You like being watched, baby? Knew I’d see you eventually?”

You couldn’t even form words anymore—just broken moans and whines as your walls clenched around him.

Then came the third finger.

You cried out, your legs trembling as he stuffed you full, knuckles deep now, fucking you rough and slow, like he wanted to feel every desperate flutter inside you. The stretch burned and thrilled you at once, leaving you clawing at his thigh, right on the edge.

So close. You were right there. Vision hazy, thighs slick and shaking, pleasure curling so tight it hurt.

But then he stopped.

Just like that—everything halted. He pulled his fingers out, slow and wet, leaving your cunt clenching around nothing.

You gasped, back arching as if trying to chase the feeling, your body trembling with frustration.

“N-no—please!” you cried, writhing against him, your once stubborn self now long gone, like a passing rain as you begged “Please, Jungkook… don’t stop, please—I need it, I need you—anything!”

He held his slick fingers up to your lips, eyes dark with twisted satisfaction. “Anything?” he smirked. “Then beg like the needy little cumslut you are.”

Without hesitation, you nodded, eyes glassy, lips parting as you leaned in—desperation burning in your gut.

“Yes—please, Jungkook. I’ll be good. I swear. Just—please—”

But he didn’t wait for you to finish.

He pressed his fingers against your lips, the same ones slick with your arousal, and you moaned as you eagerly opened your mouth, sucking them in like they were his cock. Tongue swirling, lips sealing tight around each one, you cleaned them with such obedience it made his cock twitch beneath you.

His jaw clenched as he watched you, his breath shallow, eyes dark and gleaming.

Fuck.

The drug worked.

He knew it would, but seeing the result was another thing entirely.

There you were—his once defiant little brat—on your knees, brain fogged, drooling around his fingers like they were candy. Completely unaware. Completely his.

So sweetly fucked up that you didn’t even care anymore that you were locked in here. That he owned your body, your mind, your every breath.

And now, after all your pathetic little protests, you were begging him to touch you? To fuck you?

Thought you hated me, sweetheart. Thought you wanted to escape.

His cock throbbed at the thought—how far gone you were. How easy it had become to twist your desire into obedience.

And he wasn’t even close to done.

Jungkook slowly pulled his soaked fingers from your mouth, watching your tongue chase after them like you couldn’t stand to be without the taste.

“Good girl,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “You want to be fucked that badly, huh? You want to be ruined?”

You nodded, whimpering as you pressed your thighs together, slick leaking down the insides of your legs. “Yes—please, please—kookie"

That was all it took.

He gripped your hips with bruising force and dragged you down off his lap, flipping you over like a ragdoll onto the plush carpet. You barely had time to gasp before he was yanking his sweats down, cock already thick and hard, veins throbbing with anticipation.

“Then take it,” he growled, grabbing your thighs and spreading you open. “Take all of it, slut.”

He slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

Your back arched, a choked scream bursting from your lips as he buried himself to the hilt—stretching you so deep, so full, it knocked the air from your lungs. There was no time to adjust. He didn’t give you that luxury. His hips were already snapping into yours, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the walls as he fucked you raw.

“God, listen to you,” he hissed, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back. “Crying on my cock like you were made for this. And maybe you were, huh? Just a filthy little hole to fill up and break down.”

Your mind was gone—drugged, drunk off him, off the stretch and the heat and the possessive grip he had on your body. Your moans turned to sobs, pleasure slamming into you over and over, your nails clawing at the floor as he pounded into you without mercy.

“Gonna come?” he mocked, voice ragged, hips grinding against you with devastating precision. “You’re already close, aren’t you? Fucking pathetic. All it took was a few slaps, a little drug in your food, and now you’re creaming all over my cock like a whore.”

You could only moan his name in response—broken, needy, soaking him with every thrust. The coil in your gut tightened so violently you couldn’t breathe, your body ready to shatter.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear, his voice like poison and silk.

“Then come for me,” he whispered. “Let me feel this ruined cunt squeeze around me.”

And just like that—you snapped.

Your orgasm hit like lightning, legs trembling, walls clenching around him so tight it dragged a feral groan from his throat. He didn’t stop—riding you through it, fucking you harder, chasing his own high.

“Take it,” he grunted. “Take every fucking drop. Gonna put a baby in you, gonna make you round and full"

With one final thrust, he slammed deep, spilling inside you with a guttural moan, cock pulsing as he filled you full. Your body jerked, overstimulated and wrecked, tears sliding down your cheeks as you lay there trembling under him.

Breathless and used

And Jungkook—still buried deep inside you—grinned.

The room still smelled like sex.

Your body was limp in his arms, skin marked with his touch—red, bruised.

Jungkook hadn't let you move much after he’d fucked you into the floor. He'd simply gathered you into his lap, his cock still wet with your slick, and held you there, stroking your hair like you were the most precious thing he ever ruined.

“I think it’s time,” he murmured against your temple, voice soft. “You’ve been good lately.”

Your lashes fluttered as you looked up at him, dazed and exhausted. “Time… for what?”

“To go see your family.”

Your breath caught.

He chuckled. “Under my watch, of course. couldn't let you be naughty"

Jungkook knew he couldn’t keep you locked up forever. That would only risk bringing back your stubborn streak. No—rewarding you with a bit of freedom was the smarter move. After all, you were already too blind to see that any of this was wrong.

You should’ve felt uneasy or angry, like the first time he brought you here. But you didn’t.

Not anymore.

Now, you understood.

Jungkook was right. He did know what was best for you. You were wrong to think the man you once loved was gone. He wasn’t. He never left. He just needed to tame you—to show you who you truly belonged to.

“Thank you, Kookie,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around him, clinging to the only person who ever really saw you.

clearly pleased—finally seeing you with the man they had always wanted for you. It wasn’t just approval in their eyes anymore… it was pride. As if they, too, had finally earned their seat at the Jeon table.

You sat quietly beside Jungkook, his presence towering even in his silence. His hand rested on your thigh beneath the table, firm and possessive. Every so often, he’d squeeze—his palm sliding just a little higher, fingers teasing slow circles into your skin, right where it made you press your legs together.

And then he walked in.

Hoseok.

He wore an apron now, working as a server at the restaurant your parents had chosen. His eyes widened when he spotted you, tray in hand—probably shocked to see you after the messy breakup you had with him.

You should have felt mad that he was there—should’ve remembered how deeply you once loved Hoseok, loved him enough to choose him over Jungkook, again and again.

But you didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

Because now you knew. You remembered what Jungkook told you—what he made you see.

Hoseok had never loved you. Not really. He’d cheated on you. Lied. Gaslit you into thinking it was your fault.

Only… he hadn’t done it on his own. Jungkook had orchestrated it all—manipulated things behind the scenes to tear you away from him.

And you weren’t even mad about it anymore.

Because he’d been right all along.

You didn’t belong to Hoseok. You never did.

Jungkook squeezed your thigh again and leaned in close, his voice low but unmistakably proud.

“We’ve been trying for a baby,” he said loud enough for Hoseok to hear, tilting his head just so. “Finally setting a date for the wedding too.”

You blushed on cue, eyes falling to your lap, but you didn’t pull away when he kissed your cheek—didn’t protest when his arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you closer.

Hoseok’s mouth twitched like he wanted to say something, but then he nodded stiffly and focused on serving your family before he turned back to the kitchen, defeated.

Good.

Jungkook’s fingers traced idle circles on your hip, slow and smug.

“That’s right, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear.

“You’re mine. Always were”

neighbours, lovesick & infatuation.

jungkook x y/n

had you explained your current situation to anyone in your life, they would surely call you insane. they would ask you to move out or even call the police. they would question both your sanity and actions, muddle your feelings for illness whilst labelling you as crazy. instead, you sat and you stared. stared back at the man who lived in the apartment building opposite your own, who would sit quietly in his bedroom chair openly observing you.

you couldn’t tell anyone else, not really, because you too were at fault. you would sit, on your bed, sometimes pretending not to notice and other times giving him a show. a dance between two complete and utter strangers, not a single word discussed.

two individuals enamoured by one another. observing, with land, air and glass separating them; so why did he feel so familiar? why did your mind race at the thought of evening come, knowing your carefully planned routine would begin? brain hazy and eyes lidded, you’d come home to watch the tattooed boy across the street and he too, would do the same.

—————

being an office worker was the bane of your existence. despite feeling like a walking, misogynistic trope straight out of a film, it was unfortunately a truth to your life. you would wake up early, put on your makeup and pretty skirt, heels high and hair do only to be disregarded and dismissed with every opportunity.

you were better than everyone on that team. you knew it, they knew it - but being the only woman meant they weren’t willing to acknowledge it. you would work long hours, often overtime as your colleagues would shamelessly pile their documents on your desk, only to come home exhausted and upset.

that was the first time you saw him. the man across the street.

a day like every other, returning home with pained feet and tear streaked skin. they had been particularly rude to you, with you returning home two hours later than expected as they all went out to celebrate their new branch opening. you were quiet, to an unspeakable fault, but why did they have to take advantage of it? you wanted to be noticed, you wanted someone to see you for once beyond it all.

you entered your room, blinds drawn as quiet sniffles filled the silence. the only perk was the incredible pay, which allowed for such a beautiful apartment overlooking the city.

jungkook, across the road, was in a similar predicament. he, too, felt overworked and exhausted. with the recent merger at his company undergoing, his business had doubled overnight. suddenly, the weight and expectations of what felt like the world now rested upon his shoulders.

with an apartment that felt too cold to bare at times; he trudged to his room, sighing loudly as tattooed hands ran over his face. he didn’t know what he needed, simply knew that he needed it badly, finding himself perching on the seat that faced his window. the blinds were drawn and he exhaled again, eyes flickering over the skyline unimpressed before they fell onto something much more interesting. you.

his eyebrows furrowed. people usually kept their bedroom blinds closed, although he felt his brain contradict as he too sat before an open window. his brain silenced within seconds once his eyes set on your face.

you were crying, yes, but your lips were puffy. cheeks full and eyes screwed shut as you pulled pins out of your up do, heels scattered around the room and chest heaving. he watched you, almost comically, fall onto your bed whilst sniffling. he couldn’t hear you and yet he swore his heart was beating so loud that had he strained enough, he would hear small little whimpers. he couldn’t look away.

he was insane, he was genuinely insane. what was this sickening feeling gripping his brain? he felt like a pubescent boy looking at a woman for the first time, but these emotions were beyond him. the mere sight of you was overheating his body, and he was alarmed to say the least. he screwed his eyes shut before opening them again, but you remained in your position and as did he. he began loosening his tie, and before he could think any further, he began slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

after a few more minutes, you rose. slow puffs of air left you as you regained some composure, sniffling whilst wiping the black mascara from your cheeks. you looked a mess, a juxtaposition to the effort you put in every single morning.

you found yourself sauntering around your room, picking up a set of pyjamas and slowly readying yourself to have a shower. you picked up one heel, walking to the other which sat next to the window, raising your back to stand up straight with it in your hand when you finally saw.

jungkook.

he stood. watching. eyes wide, not in embarrassment of being caught, but an almost childlike curiosity. you flinched, slightly, in shock that someone was so openly watching you.

your first instinct was to cower, to shut the blinds and move away immediately. you, however, did not.

you found yourself stood there. unmoving. gaze connected to the doe eyed man, observing him as he observed you. it was odd, to be so open with a stranger. it fought against every moral and social understanding you both undoubtedly shared.

you roamed over every inch of him, lips parted and nose still sniffling. black, thick hair styled messily on his head - he had been running his hands through it, that much was clear to you considering the way it stuck at one side. his lips parted and bitten red, his nose scrunched slightly and his eyes. his eyes wide and curious, understanding and confused all at once.

jungkook stared at you, too, your appearance mimicking his. for a woman who had been crying so helplessly moments ago, he truly had been rooted to his spot at the mere sight of you. what was happening, what was he feeling and why was it gripping the ridges of his brain like a vice?

after what felt like eons of merely staring at each other, both unmoving, he made the first move. he had loosened his tie earlier and it now sat pooled at his feet. he moved, slowly unbuttoning his shirt further whilst staring at you.

it was then you noticed the look of exhaustion on his face, the way his chest heaved in what could only be a deep sigh. milky skin revealed to you as he perched, thighs resting wide and shoulders slouched, arms resting on the chair. your move, he wanted to say.

your insides were burning. was this really happening? a greek adonis with his shirt half opened, legs wide, slouched in his seat watching you?

your fingers fumbled with your own outfit, your silk blouse untucked from the tight pencil skirt and beginning to unbutton. jungkook watched as the material slowly fell from your body, his mouth watering and eyes narrowing.

your hair followed, the final pins releasing perfectly blown out hair that sat perched on your chest, reddened eyes sparkling as they modestly hid you away from his prying eyes. you laid on your bed that faced him, arms under your face, all pencil skirt and sheer tights.

you both spent hours looking at one another that night, not a single word spared, but a cocktail mix of tension, passion and comfort shared. a man you had never met, the stranger from across the street, your neighbour in the sister building to your own - why did he feel safe?

jungkook watched as you slowly fell into sleep, makeup still smeared on your face and your body still partially hidden away from his eyes. in the span of a single night, you had stolen something deep inside of him with no intention of its return. in a single night, you became his, but more importantly - he had become yours.

—————

this little scenario continued on for months, first happening every now and then before becoming frequent. now, you found yourself unable to sleep at night without your eyes locked on the bambi eyed man from across the street.

always scantily dressed, the two of you would perch after work, weekends, and holidays. he in his chair, you resting on your bed. you would wake up, and he would no longer be there, but the warmth between your legs would serve as a reminder of his presence.

you couldn’t tell anyone, not your friends nor the very few coworkers you enjoyed. no one would understand, no one would encourage such behaviour, they’d call you insane or a creep. they’d call him worse, you were sure but you didn’t care. he was yours, in a weird way. he belonged to you. you belonged to him too.

jungkook, too, was fairing no different. he found himself working harder at work; pushing himself to the point of exhaustion just so he would finish and come home at the same time as you. weeks of deduction had confirmed to him that you finished work, usually, at 8 - awfully late for an office job, but as a CEO, he often worked longer hours. his employees were in awe at how much work he took on, but none could be privy to the dirty secret as to why.

he would sit in his chair, trousers hung low on his waist with his tie and shirt discarded, hands running through his hair as he simply watched you. he yearned to know your name, what you sounded like, would you be comfortable cm’s apart from him or would you cower shyly the way you did at the beginning? he was enamoured.

for the first time in years, he felt genuine comfort. it was ridiculous and made no sense, to the extent in which he knew this would damage both his reputation and career had anyone found out. you were his little secret, and he yours - he couldn’t help wanting more.

you both had reached a fever pitch, you couldn’t return to what once was. you had each other now, and even though this was only the beginning, it was a fact understood between you that this could not end.

————

“enough. you’re always holed up in that apartment, you’re young and you’re sexy - it’s time you let the world see it too.” your friend, yejin, grumbled whilst pulling things out of your wardrobe.

you huffed, dressed in your pretty underwear and silk robe. the blinds were closed today. you couldn’t bring yourself to open them whilst you had company.

“i want to stay at home and relax. that fucking job stresses me out enough, i don’t want to get drunk and then spend sunday healing.”

she rolled her eyes. “too bad. you’re wearing this.”

you felt the dress fall onto your stomach, looking down at it with a sigh.

“seriously, y/n. i’m worried about you, okay?” yejin sighed, turning around to properly face you before sitting next to you on the bed. “they treat you horribly and then you hole up inside, you haven’t come out in months.”

“i’m fine.” you shook your head. how do you explain that your pretty neighbour from down the street ogles at you for hours and it relieves your body of every inch of stress? not quite as easy as one would think.

she groaned, loudly before grabbing your arms lovingly. “for me. please.”

she had such a way about her that you simply couldn’t say no. you match her groan before walking into your bathroom, getting ready just as she wished.

one hour of getting ready and another pregaming, you were finally ready to go. a few of your other friends were joining, all bouncing around your apartment with various drinks as you waited on your ubers.

you found yourself shimmying in, already slightly tipsy with giggles in a too short dress and heels that were much too high. you cramped against the window, letting the breeze hit you as you rest your head on the car door, the car beginning to move.

as the driver drove down your street, you noticed a car approaching on the opposite side of small driveway that separated the two apartment complexes. your brain was hazy as you watched sleek black metal slide by, your eyes peering to the driver.

your breath hitched.

eye contact, no longer than a few seconds but enough to cement a drumming in both your chest and between your legs. jungkook driving by slowly, his eyes trailing over your features up close, drinking every curve and ridge as though his life depended on it.

you couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, the moment passing by before you could really do anything, two cars going in opposite directions; but he was all you could think about. all you wanted. fuck.

the rest of the night was spent nursing drinks, dancing and resting, eyes shut and open wide, doing everything you could possibly do to rid the image of his lip ring. seeing it up close allowed it to catch the light, and you could have sworn he looked like every sin personified.

you felt stupid, as you stood at the bar whilst your friends danced. your back to them as you swirled your straw in your drink, your brain only growing hazier by the second with the thought of him. he had this effect on you, but did he even care? maybe you really were insane, acting so needy over a man whose name you had never even heard - a man who may potentially not want you the way you yearned for him.

shame trickled into your spine as realisation hit you like a truck, a bucket of ice trickling down every inch of you. what were you doing? you wanted to go home, you wanted to close the blinds. he didn’t want you. of course he didn’t, if he had; he would have found his way to you. hazy mind and dizzy brain, you turned around, mood suddenly sour, wanting nothing more than to just leave.

you faced a black shirt.

your eyebrows furrowed at the sight. broad chest and wide shoulders, clad in a black shirt messily tucked into trouser slacks. a suit that looked much too expensive for the club you were currently in, with hands caging you into the bar on either side. those tattoos, so familiar - they felt like home.

your breath hitched as you found yourself wetting your lips, shifting from foot to foot, slowly allowing your eyes to shift upwards. chest to neck. neck to jaw. jaw to lips. lips to doe eyes.

for a moment, silence.

jungkook exhaled deeply, his chest constructing against his shirt as he caged you closer to the bar, finding himself pushing you back into it with each and every step he took towards you. seeing you in that uber, for no more than a few seconds, had drove him insane. he found his brain short circuiting, his mouth parted and his cock thrumming. his, pretty girl, all dressed up before his very eyes.

your friends in the uber were chatting loudly, and he had heard momentarily the end of a sentence, something to do with flonk, a word jungkook registered as the name of hobi’s new club. he had been begging him to come check it out for weeks now, but how could he give up a night of you in the name of too loud music and drinks? though you did not share the same sentiments, he couldn’t help but turn the car around and finally take his close friend on the offer.

he had watched you, like he was accustomed to, from the privacy of his private table alongside his 6 friends. they sat upstairs, overseeing the club, though his eyes remained on you. unable to join conversation, he watched as you danced, lips parted and hands around your various friends. you seemed dazed, mind far away and confused. you needed home, he understood. you needed him, dark eyes staring you down and giving you the comfort you so desperately craved in order to relax.

he watched as you separated from your group, turned towards the bar. he watched as your eyebrows furrowed and a look of shame washed over you and it chilled him to the bone. he found his feet walking towards you, and his hands reaching towards the metal surrounding your body before he could stop himself. he had enough of watching. it was time to act.

you stared up at him, mouth slightly agape and breath hitching. he found himself stepping even closer, your bodies beginning to press against one another.

“fuck.” he whispered, so quietly he wasn’t sure he had even said it. you heard.

the haziness grew stronger, your eyes drooping in a sense of comfort but your body contorting in pure fire. you could feel him against you, your heart beating loudly and your core pulsating.

“you were just gonna leave me, baby?” he found himself asking, his head pressing against yours. “would have waited for you. would have waited all night.”

you found yourself whimpering, almost pathetically as you pressed further into him, your hands sliding to his chest.

“w-wanted to come home.” you closed your eyes.

“yeah? come home to me? can’t sleep without me, hm?”

his words were sin. you didn’t even know each other’s names but you were both enamoured. breathing each other in as though you were parched and finally sipping water. his arms moved from the bar to around your waist, pulling you in until you were now fully pressed entirely into him.

he nudged your nose with his own. “what are you doing to me?”

you opened your eyes, breaths mingling from how close you were. what was he doing to you?

“my head…i can’t think.” you whined, so overwhelmed with hands slowly trailing upwards. you wanted to run your hands through his hair.

he was here, finally here and you couldn’t stop yourself.

jungkook groaned once one of your delicate fingers finally sought refuge in his head, his mouth slowly trailing downwards to your neck. he began placing pepper kisses, slight and airy as though he was hardly there, breathing in your scent like you were his personal brand of heroin.

“don’t need to think, baby. i’m here.” he promised.

you nodded. you didn’t want to.

you both remained clutched onto one another, too close to be deemed strangers and yet, really, that was what you were.

the slick between your legs was growing with every second, slow whines leaving your lips as jungkook pressed kisses on your neck. harsher with each kiss, a promise etched into each one.

he was no better. he had already fisted his cock to the thought of you this morning, and now with the tangible feeling of you in his arms, his body pulsated without warning.

“i don’t even know your name.” you exhaled, half moan, half sigh.

“jungkook.” he whispered against your neck through kisses, seeking your sweet spot. “what’s your name, baby?”

“y/n.”

he closed his eyes, groaning quietly. “even your name tastes sweet.”

had you known his voice sounded like this, or his touch, or his mouth - god, you wouldn’t have stayed away. you would have broke glass, and closed the distance in any way possible. how could you ever get enough.

you gripped his hair slightly, pushing him up enough to look at you. “i w-want you.” you admitted, suddenly riddled with the remaining anxiety from earlier.

“i was yours from that first night, y/n.” he stared, fingers raising your chin. “my brain doesn’t fucking work unless it’s occupied with you, can’t work, can’t sleep. can’t rest till i see you sleeping nice and safe.”

his words left you a whimpering mess. he wanted you just as much as you wanted him, and that was a sickening revelation. were you both as insane as each other? enabling the no doubt disturbing nature of your relationship?

“you make me feel so good, jungkook.” you murmured, brain hazy with want. “make me feel safe.”

“good baby. that’s what i want. you’re mine, and i’m yours. gonna make sure you feel like that, always.”

“please.” you nodded.

he lifted your chin again, unable to stop himself. he wanted to devour you whole. he wanted to transfer the electrify that was burning through his veins to show you the true extent of his words. his brain felt lovesick, and the more you watched one another, the more he never wanted to get better. your eyes drooped, falling onto his mouth, him mirroring you. with hitched breaths and shaking hands, he finally pressed his lips to yours.

Dare | yandere!jjk

▎ sfw ▎ xtremity; 1 ▎ pairing: jjk x female reader ▎ word count: 1.6k 

Y/N kisses Jungkook for a dare, but he takes it seriously.

“I dare you to kiss Jungkook.”

You laugh dismissively at the comment, putting a strand of your hair behind your ear,

“Seriously, Taehyung? Why would I do that?”

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Bunny Boy (JJK x Reader)☁️⚠️🔪(💜)🔞 Part 2

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, Yandere!AU, Stalker!AU, questionable romance, smut, Oneshot

Warnings: (oh boy) Stalking, Obsession, Yandere themes, cute Koo but aggressive, he ready to fight, graphic description of violence, blood, very twisted JK, oblivious! Reader, kinda Stockholm-syndrome Reader?, soft romantic lovemaking, body worship, Dom! Jungkook, Sub! Reader, Handjob (fem. receiving), oral (fem. receiving), protected sex because even with your mind scrambled up in a frying pan we still wrap it before tapping it y’all hear me STDs ain’t cute Susan

Summary: It all started with a hello kitty charm.

A/N:(IMPORTANT) I’d like to note here that I do not condone nor romanticize any of the things depicted in this. This is purely fictional, and only to be seen as a work of art, not as a depiction of real life relationships. For short: if he a creep, kick his balls, don’t kiss. Thank you.

Part 1 || Part 2

The nurse opened the door, and past her dashed the young man in Question, a total opposite of what he looked like the night he’d found you. His clothing was disheveled, eyes and nose red, his hair a mess as he immediately fell onto your chest, crying so hard his shoulders shook, nurse watching him with sympathizing eyes. This didn’t make sense. Why did you feel your body tense up at his touch, when he was so upset?

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