Nation’s Sweetheart;; KTH

⋆. 𐙚 ˚yan!biker!Jungkook x vet!reader⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Just an idea I've had for a while, sorry for all the grammatical and structural errors, english is not my first language. anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ I think it would be such a cute grumpy x sunshine trope, but like he is a grouch around everyone else, but turns soft and loving only with the reader. And he's whipped. And I mean really, really whipped like he will do anything and everything for you, and I mean it. He's a yandere after all.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He's definitely the type of guy who lives by the words "I would let the world burn for her" and "she's the ray of sunshine in my life", while the reader, on the other hand, is a cutesy, cheerful, animal lover. You work in a vet clinic, and that's how you guys met.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Jungkook came in with his Doberman for a check-up. Immediately, he was drawn to your presence, your smile, and the soft way you handled Bam. He's smitten with the way you talked, walked, well, with your whole existence basically. He felt as though he was under some spell, as if the whole world stopped moving the moment you met.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Later that day, when he came home with a dopey smile on, he couldn't think of anything else but you. He decided then and there that you were his true soulmate and he had to make you his.  

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ By pure coincidence, you guys met again at the park that he visits with Bam for walks. You were sitting on a bench on a particularly sunny and beautiful day, wearing a cute white dress with little pink flowers on it and a baby pink cardigan to match. You were reading a book when suddenly a familiar Doberman approached you with a wagging tail. Right behind him was a jogging Jungkook who couldn't believe his eyes. It's you in your cute, coquettish little outfit with that dazzling smile and warm, glowing aura. He made a mental note to buy Bam extra treats for being such a good boy by finding you for his dad.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He was all smiles with you, despite looking so rugged and dangerous with all the tattoos and piercings, he acted so soft and gentle with you, as if afraid that you'd run away. You guys exchanged numbers, and he made you promise that you would go out soon.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ You guys text, finally set the time and place, and he picks you up in his car for the dinner date. You wore a long red dress, and he wondered how he would last all night without touching you when you looked this divine.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ You two had an amazing time together, you laughed, got to know each other more, and by the time the date was over and he drove you back home, you parted with him with a sweet kiss. Jungkook swore he'd heard wedding bells in his head and felt drunk despite not drinking anything.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ With how inpatient and invested Jungkook is, you guys start dating not long after (probably around the third date).

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He is all in in this relationship and I mean ALL IN as in getting you two custom helmets and jackets for his bike, visiting you at your lunch breaks at the clinic and either coming with a homemade lunch or taking you out, having you over at his place and letting you wear only his clothes there, texting you good morning and goodnight which makes him the first and last person you message everyday, buying you a cute pink set to go to the gym with him when in fact it's mostly either you watching him work out or him helping you with the exercises (honestly just looking for excuses to touch you), etc. 

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Jungkook is very big on pda, and he absolutely has to touch you in some way at all times. He loves to kiss you, and he's baffled how he could survive without you before. He swears he's never felt this much love for anyone in his entire life. He loves spooning you in bed, kissing your neck and breathing you in, or having you lie down on his chest completely, feeling your weight on him being the best reminder that you are here with him, safe in his arms and utterly and completely his.  

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He is very protective and easily triggered if anyone even dares to look your way for too long. He believes that only he gets to admire you and look at you freely (even tho he knows you're a beauty and unfortunately for him others see that too). He might or might not have threatened or beaten up a couple of guys who (by his standard) acted disrespectfully towards his relationship, but in his eyes, it's fine, as long as you'll never get to know. You would probably worry and get worked up, and he doesn't want that. Jungkook just wants to keep you safe, and what's safer than being with him?

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Despite his jealousy and possessiveness, he's the most caring, loving boyfriend ever, and he would probably rather cut himself open than let anyone or anything hurt you. Jungkook treats you like a princess, and whatever you ask of him, he's ready to deliver. You're hungry? Baby, a three-course meal is already on the table. You're feeling stressed and insecure? Let him cuddle you and pepper your face with kisses, telling you every little thing he loves about you. You're feeling sick? He's there to take care of you, cooking you soup and making sure you take your medicine. You wanna go shopping? He's already on his bike, ready to go with you, see you model all the clothes, and buy you whatever you like. You're the love of his life, his soulmate, future wife, and mother of his children and he would be damned if he ever let you slip through his fingers. You're it for him today, tomorrow, and forever.

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Let me know if u guys liked this headcanon with yandere biker! JK and if you want more! Till next time, then!

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

Link to General Masterlist !!

Texts with yandere! Jungkook

You prank him (gone wrong?!)

Fics

Onyx Tower (a preview)  

➵ Some might say you lived in an ivory tower, not having to worry about money or food or… any kind of decision, really. You were so lucky you never had to make decisions, they were made for you. Like the decision that you would be married off to your uncle-in-law after your aunt died. But all that changed when you were taken captive by the rival mafia gang, led by the dangerous yet mysterious Jeon Jungkook.

yandere au, mafia au, mature

The Play Date Trilogy (series) 

➵ Jungkook loves to play games with you… Hide and Seek, I Spy, Make Believe, but his favourite game of all is Tag, and once he’s caught you, you find it’s not so easy to escape…

yandere au, graphic murder, dubious consent

Sunkissed 

➵ Jungkook loves waking up to the view of your beautiful face, bathed in sunlight each morning. Based on the song ‘Sunkissed’ by khai dreams. 

So slowly a sunlit dream pulls me out of sleep, feel the morning through the blinds, I get to thinking ‘bout your sunkissed face and a quite place where I could give you all my time

soft yandere au, mention of kidnapping, stockholm syndrome 

Princess Peach 

➵ After Jungkook spends half the day ignoring you, he decides to make it up to you by teaching you how to play a game. But, once you win, what will be your prize? (hint: its jungkook’s undying love and affection!)

soft yandere au, mentions of kidnapping, stockholm syndrome

Hot-Spot Love 

➵ In which Jungkook is a photographer and you accidentally break his favourite camera. Luckily, the only thing he cherishes more than that damn camera happens to be you.

tooth-rotting fluff, angst if you squint, caring n protective boyfriend koo !

Expectation ≠ Reality 

➵ When you first met Jungkook, he was so kind, with wide eyes and a sweet smile, but soon enough he dragged you into a tumultuous marriage where you were barely allowed to draw breath on your own. But, when you meet Taehyung, the cute delivery boy with blond hair and a penchant for flirting, you start to wonder if you’ve found your second chance.

yandere au, dubious consent, manipulation

Sweets 

➵ In which Jungkook steals your lip balm and perfume instead of talking to you, you leave a post-it note with your number on it for the strange thief who only seems to take the most inexplicable items and has a strange sense of responsibility for your wellbeing, and the cute boy in your photography class with the fluffy hair and the oversized sweater keeps getting more and more endearing…

soft yandere! au, fluff, texting

Burnt

➵ in which you burn dinner and jungkook is obnoxiously in love

soft yandere! au, fluff, slight angst

Loving Is Easy

➵ For your first date, Jungkook wants to take you somewhere perfect. Unfortunately for you, he’s decided that for it to be ‘perfect’, it has to be a surprise…

soft yandere, fluff, first kisses

Still With You

➵ It’s simple. You’re a servant, he’s a prince. So when you become pregnant, you know you have to leave in order to protect his reputation. But he doesn’t seem to be able to let you go…

royalty au, obsessive behaviour, soft(ish) yandere

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."

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

࣪ ִֶָ☾. 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.

— heaven ღ

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: romance

warnings: yandere, allusions to kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, mentions of reader getting locked up, a tiny (👌) bit of angst, possessiveness, corruption kink, rough sex, choking, praise, humiliation, dirty talk, hair pulling, implied big!dick jk 💁‍♀️, he's a simp, creampie, some aftercare & lots of kisses, still messed up tho lmao I'm sorry <3

It never seemed heaven would be so dark. A room draped in shadows, the door carefully locked. Not even a glint of moonlight broke through the drawn curtains; complete isolation from the world down below.

Even if Jungkook turned on the lights, you wouldn't have been able to see much; not with your face pressed into the mattress rocking beneath your knees. The headboard banged against the wall rhythmically, the sound mingling with each slap of his balls against you, thrusts deep and hard, stretching you out to your limits.

You could feel his chest pressing down onto your back, skin warm and sweaty. His hand remained on your head, lips glued to your ear. The sounds spilling out of them made your head spin, drool seeping into the sheets by your open mouth.

"Always such a good girl for me," he whispered, hot and low. His fingers tangled in your hair, giving it a tender pull. "Fuck me back." His free hand squeezed your hip, encouraging you to move. "Come on, baby. Fuck me back."

Your pussy clenched, muffled whines growing louder. Mindlessly, your hips moved with Jungkook's guidance, numb to anything but the searing pleasure of his cock spearing through you.

"Yeah— fuuck—" the soft groans turned deeper, your little hole soaked and so fucking desperate; just the way he liked it. Just as desperate for him as he was for you.

He grit his teeth, trying to hold a little longer, abdomen tensing against you.

"I love you," he gasped, "tell me what you want, baby. I'll give you anything you want."

A hiss escaped him when he felt you tighten again, signaling that you knew exactly what he meant, and your pretty, little head was no less depraved than his own. That only spurred him on, made his hips snap against your ass faster, sloppier, sweat shining on his temple.

He wasn't expecting you to be coherent and provide an answer to his question; it was like he just wanted to establish dominance, mark his claim, driven by the sadistic instincts that flickered to life in him in the raw dark, like stars. Equally charming and destructive.

"Gonna," he breathed, the slaps of skin against skin harsh and relentless, "gonna come on my cock, you pathetic whore? You're so good for me. You know you're mine, only mine, and this little pussy knows it too. Always so fucking wet for me."

It seemed more like taunting than a simple reminder; he was trying to get under your skin. As if he didn't already make a home within your ribcage. As if he hasn't infested your bloodstream the first time he had kissed you. The filthy words messed with your mind, made your hole pulse around him harder with each thrust.

"Mm, fuck, fuck, ah, why so quiet tonight?" He moaned into your ear, gently slipping his hand around your neck. He gave it a firm squeeze, immediately getting one back on his cock, throbbing and slippery as it pounded into you. "Come all over me, kitten, don't hold back."

You whimpered, your thighs shaking under his, teeth biting into your lower lip, hard. Didn't he fuck your brains out in the last three months? There should have been no thoughts left there at all, and yet something seemed to be wrong, like some semblance of doubt was keeping you hostage tonight. Didn't he do a good job getting rid of that? Jaw tensing, he choked you harder, snapping his hips forward faster.

"I said be a good girl and come for me," he gritted.

He was desperately close himself, his cock hot and swollen, spurting precum as it rubbed against your walls.

"Fucking come for me," Jungkook groaned. "This was supposed to be a celebration. Stop holding back. Do you want me to bring you back down to the fucking basement?"

You gasped, but he could barely hear it over his ragged breathing; how tightly his veiny hand enveloped your frail neck didn't help. However, he could still feel you, especially on his sensitive cock.

"Oh... oh, fuck, are you—"

You quivered around it, so tight his movements stuttered, white spots dancing around his vision at the sensation.

"Did you just come? You want me to keep you like a fucking pet, baby? Oh god, yeah—"

A burst of warmth spilled inside you, your skin tingling and head fuzzy with the limited oxygen his grip on you provided. You shuddered under him, moaning as he fucked his cum deep into your abused cunt. You could feel him all the way in your stomach, his groans loud as kept twitching inside you. Oh, he liked this; how much he corrupted you, how hard you came at the thought of him owning you. He liked it, because he came hard as well, hand loosening around your throat as his hips stilled, last, few spurts of hot seed shooting into you.

You tried to catch your breath, soft kisses trailed along your shoulder slowly bringing you back down from your high. You felt warm, satiated, full; you felt Jungkook's lips quirking in a satisfied smile against your skin, too, his cheek resting on your neck.

"Good girl," he whispered. "So good. I love you."

"I love you," you sighed, eyes slipping shut.

Jungkook hummed.

"Finally got your voice back?" He brushed your hair to the side, exposing more of your skin, his lips pressing into your cheek. "Should I be concerned, baby? Do you want me to stay a little longer?"

You shook your head. Any other time, Jungkook would have cleaned you up, especially before going anywhere. Tonight, though, he wanted you just like this. Naked, in his bed, with his cum dripping out of you while you drifted off. You didn't seem to mind either, heartbeat and breathing steadying as he started getting dressed.

You were almost asleep by the time he crouched down by the bed, the touch of his lips on yours making you stir.

"You know this is just for show, right?"

His question was soft, eyebrows furrowed. No matter how strong, it looked like not even Jungkook could escape some monsters — something like doubt, something like fear. Everything only felt amplified when it came to you.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Promise."

Perhaps three months ago his words would have hurt; but there was no wound anymore, only scars, and his gentle fingers ghosting over them.

Your soft reply smoothed out the frantic, worried fabrics of his soul, the image of you lying there, in his room, glowing; surrounded by his scent and his sheets, so domestic. It was everything he ever needed. His sacred place.

He sighed, contented, pressing the next kiss onto your forehead.

"Good. Mm, then rest. Just stay here and look pretty, my love. I'll collect your ransom and be right back."

He brushed his knuckles along your flushed cheek, dark, hooded eyes boring into yours.

"Can I have another kiss for good luck?"

A pleased hum left him when you leaned in, lips pouty and swollen, ready to be kissed more and more, and how could he ever not want to do just that?

He held your face with an inked hand, and a black mask in the other.

Heaven was a pricey thing to uphold; the church would know. And not that Jungkook didn't already have enough to spoil you, but all angels were painted in gold, weren't they?

"Night, baby," he murmured lovingly.

His voice never led you astray, lulling you to sleep, helping you land safely in the arms of the mellow abyss behind your eyelids. He kissed both.

"Gonna be back real soon."

You didn't get to hear that promise, but he didn't mind. In a few hours, he'll be holding you in his arms. All angels were shimmering gold, to match the golden gates; his angel deserved the same.

In the end, there was nothing wrong with a man of faith collecting donations for the purposes of worship. Right?

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”

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?

Keep reading

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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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."