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flutterguk · 1 month ago

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I LOVE THEM SO MUCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

04 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

“I don’t believe in love, petal. It’s a fucking lie, a trap for the fools. But this—this thing I feel for you—it's bigger, it's worse. It's like I need to breathe you in just to keep you going.”

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre — criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, lots of angst, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, angry!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, toxic!jungkook, consensual non consent, emotional vulnerability, trauma bonding, emotional connection, isolation and loneliness, intrusion, romantic gestures, domestic intimacy, fear, power dynamics, d/s dynamics, argument, confrontation, crying, cursing, rough sex, aggressive sexual acts, several non-detailed sexual scenes, spanking, hair pulling, bondage (use of ropes), making out, hickies/marking, bruising, multiple orgasms, fear, pain play, pain and pleasure play, solo female masturbation, masturbation using a teddy bear, degradation, oral sex (f. receiving), eating out, face riding, face sitting, fingering, clit stimulation, cum swallowing, tongue fucking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, dirty talk, praise kink, use of words like "slut" and "whore", body worship, breast play, nipple play and sucking, voyeurism, she gets chased by jungkook, elements of shame but she gets turned on by it, jungkook watches reader masturbate, slight cum and breath play, aftercare, kidnapping, mentions of physical harm

wc — 9.2k

a/n — lmafaosdh y'all are gonna hate me for this chapter ;((

series m. list | main m. list

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The air in your apartment was thick with your desperation; a wet sheen clung to your skin as you stepped out of the shower. The steam surrounding you after the hot shower, along with the smell of your floral shampoo.

Your body alive, every part of you pulsating just like your tingling pussy that had been wet constantly, an ache reminding you of the criminal that you swore off your life.

Every bodily reaction of yours occurred with the memory of Jungkook's touch, his rough hands and tongue, made you hate yourself more.

You tried a lot these past few weeks to forget about him, to move on, but every memory of him clung to you stubbornly, you couldn’t get rid of it. You couldn’t focus on studies, couldn’t do anything.

And with each day that need was burning further.

You wouldn’t ever beg for him, or so you told yourself. Yet today you needed release, needed to feel a fraction of how he made you feel.

The innocent girl in you is gone, in place, the temptation took over.

The towel wrapped around you felt suffocating; cheeks flushed from the barrier between you and the need in your core.

You stood in your bedroom, the room dark in the night. The only source of light was the single lamp on the table, giving a faint glow to the room.

The knowledge of what's gonna happen raised goosebumps all over your skin.

You let the towel drop slowly as it pooled at your feet. Your naked body was exposed in the empty room, nipples puckered instantly in the cool air, even the slightest air felt too much on your sensitive skin, and you squeezed your thighs together.

Your pussy dripping with arousal, slickness coating your inner thighs, body constantly craving the euphoric feeling only a certain man could give you

Tonight the silence was there, but you felt him, your body having a mind of its own to know his presence whenever he is near.

Jungkook. Your stalker.

He was watching you from the shadows—his presence undeniable, a dangerous heaviness that made your heart race, your clit throbbing.

Your eyes fell on the large teddy bear he’d given you a few weeks ago. It sat on your bed, being the only witness of your unraveling.

A gift from a monster.

You approached it, your breath hitching as you climbed onto the bed, the sheets dipping under your weight.

Your hand trembled as you reached for the teddy, pulling it to you, fur brushing against your naked skin, which felt like a tease that made you gasp.

You hugged it tightly, your breasts pressing against its softness, nipples grazed its fur, and instantly jolts of pleasure went through you, making you pant.

You dug your nose into the fur, and it felt like it carried a slight scent of him, or you didn’t know if you were going crazy imagining things—cigarettes as always and musk, your pussy clenched.

Your chest heaved as you laid the teddy down and straddled it with a huff, body going on its own, controlled by desire.

Your thighs spread wide, your heat settling against its plush belly, the fur brushing against your sensitive folds. The sensation was immediate and instant—a soft friction that made you moan.

You knew he was there, watching, and the thought felt like a challenge, you were trying to lure in the predator who'd haunted you.

You were the prey, calling him, tempting him enough to break his restraint.

Your hips started rocking slowly, experimentally, fur rubbing against your clit as your slickness soaked into the teddy, shame and embarrassment in the back of your mind, forgotten.

“Jungkook,” you whined, voice trembling as your eyes fluttered shut, giving in to your need.

Your movements grew bolder, hips grinding harder, and the fur was now fully slick with your arousal, providing the perfect friction for your throbbing clit.

Your moans grew louder along with your occasional gasps and whimpers, body trembling as you chased the pleasure.

Your breasts bounced with each thrust, nipples aching, needing stimulation and your hands clutched the teddy's fur as if it was his skin, the thought intensifying your pleasure, the teddy helping since you needed to hold onto something.

“Oh God… mmmhah,” you moaned shakily, voice high and desperate with agony as the ache increased, reminding you of his absence.

You imagined him taking you for the first time—eyes dark as he would plunge his thick, hard cock inside you, finally filling you and taking every bit of your sanity.

The thought pushed you closer, your hips started rocking faster and harder, moans now unrestrained and breathy.

“More, more, please, yes.” You sobbed, voice cracking, your nails dug further into the teddy, thighs trembling. The fact that the teddy didn’t tear under the force of your hold shocked you.

Your climax was close, tightening in your belly, head falling back, mouth parted in ecstasy, pussy pulsing harder as your brows were drawn together in pained pleasure.

You were very aware that you were taunting him, calling for him.

In the shadows Jungkook stood, body rigid, cigarette forgotten. His eyes were locked on you, cock hard and straining against his jeans.

The sight of you—naked, needy, fucking his gift—drove him close to a feral animal.

Your body a feast for his eyes, tits bouncing with hard nipples, pussy dripping and soaking the teddy given by him.

He was angry, so very angry; his blood was boiling.

And he was going to make you regret it.

His hand itched to grab you and spank you so hard that you’ll feel it for days, not being able to sit, and he was going to punish you in every unimaginable way possible.

He’d promised to stay away, to let you live, but you were breaking him, piece by piece, with every moan and rock of your hips.

That’s it.

“You little slut,” he snarled, his voice a dangerous rumble as he stormed inside the room, no longer holding back. His sudden presence shocked you enough to stop your movements.

He grabbed your hair, fisting it tightly, pulling your head back, the pain making tears well in your eyes as a scream tore from your throat.

Your eyes flew open, locking into him, few tears escaping, and even in that situation your pussy clenches at the sight of him after his absence for so long—tall, muscular, tattooed hand gripping your hair, his eyes wild with lust.

“My innocent petal,” he growled, face only a few inches away from you, his breath reeking of cigarettes and whiskey.

His hold on your hair not loosening, despite your winches and whimpers as he holds you in the lewd position, you straddling the teddy, arousal very much evident for him to observe.

“Acting like a needy whore, begging to be fucked. You think you can tease me like this? You think you can break me?”

Your breath hitched as hurt flashed through your eyes from his words, with desire, body trembling under his grip. You were exposed, vulnerable, arousal dripping down your thighs, tits heaving.

You hated him, hated yourself.

But the fire in his eyes and the way he gripped your hair so punishingly made you wetter; his words, even though degrading, made you angry, but also made you needy.

You had enough of this, his torment too much in your life.

You summoned every ounce of courage, your hand lashing out and slapping his face, the loud sound echoing in the room.

“Get out!” you screamed, voice raw as tears streamed down your face, body shaking with anger and something else you couldn’t name.

“Leave me alone!”

His head snapped to the side, jaw clenching, eyes darkening to a dangerous black. For a moment he was still, looking at you like a predator sizing up his prey, his anger palpable from where he stood.

Then he released you suddenly, shocking you as his gaze never left you.

You took the chance to quickly scramble off the bed, your naked body glistening with sweat and arousal and your heart pounded with fear.

You ran, bare feet hitting a floor. You ran far away from him, breaths coming out in sharp pants, your mind feeling hazy in fear and need.

The apartment was dark, all lights off, and you couldn’t even see where his presence was, and it increased your terror along with the arousal gathering in between your legs.

You felt exposed running like this in such a bare state, arousal dripping on the floor leaving a trail behind you making it easier for him to find you, and everything was too quiet; you couldn’t hear any noises or his movement that signaled that he was following you.

Your heart beats faster, yet the fear made your clit throb in the same rhythm as your heart.

You stumbled into the living room, body trembling. You glanced back, expecting him to be on you, but he wasn’t.

You knew you messed up this time, big time; you slapped him.

And he was so very angry; you messed with the monster, and he wouldn’t let you escape this time.

Soon you started to hear his heavy footsteps. He moved slowly, his presence a dark promise of what is about to occur, what he is going to do to you, and it made your heart race.

His eyes were intense, his lips curling into a sneer.

“Run all you want, baby,” he purred, voice mocking along with dripping anger, “you know you can’t escape me. You’re mine, and you know it.”

You tripped suddenly, foot catching on the rug, and you fell on your knees on the floor, your breasts bouncing at the process, a gasp falling from between your lips.

A lewd feast for his eyes with you being exposed and scared.

You whimpered as you looked up at the man who was unrecognizable now in anger, towering over you. He growled lowly, the sound primal and he slowly stepped towards you, approaching.

His cock was hard and aching, very much visible with the large bulge straining his jeans. His hands were clenched as he looked down at you, eyes never leaving you—your trembling form, glistening pussy, tits heaving for him only.

And he wanted to keep that sight memorized forever, your fear fueling his desire further.

“You think you can play me?” He said, his shadow now completely covering your form, almost heavily.

“You think you can spread your legs, moan my name, and I'll just break? You’re a fucking tease, and I’m done playing nice.”

You scrambled back, hands slipping on the floor, your heart pounding in fear, tears falling freely.

“It’s time to give you a good lesson for being such a naughty girl.” He coos at you, lips lifting into a slight smirk.

“Look at you, trembling naked and exposed for me, those nipples hard and your pussy dripping sultrily, leaving a trail all over the floor.”

His fingers gestured at your body, making you whimper and look away as you bit your own fist in shame and arousal, his words fueling you more.

“I bet if I spread those thighs of yours, I will find that tight cunt clenching for me, yeah?” He rasped.

You were scared, so scared, but your body betrayed you further and further with his words.

Craving the very monster, you feared

His presence was overwhelming—the smell of his cigarettes, sweat, and rage—surrounding you, making you dizzy.

You wanted to scream, to beg, but your voice was gone, your body under his claim on its own, and your slap had just ignited his growing anger further.

Your back hit the counter, no longer able to back away from him.

You were trapped.

And the knowledge made your heart beat out of your chest, you could see the satisfaction it gave him knowing you had nowhere to go, not being able to escape his wrath.

He crouched, hand reaching for you, his fingers grazing your ankle possessive and slow, like a slow anticipation before attacking fully.

You whimpered, body trembling as you squeezed your thighs together trying to stop the ache.

Your heart screamed for him to take you, to ruin you, even as your mind begged you to run. The tension was cracking between you heavily, his anger and your need mixing together.

And you knew the night was far from over.

You let out a cry, Jungkook didn’t waste any further time, and he picked you up in an instant in the air and threw you over his shoulder, knocking the breath off your chest from how fast it happened.

Your cries filled the quiet room, but he didn’t listen. His hold was tight but not bruising, enough to not give you any place to bulge or breathe.

Your naked body trembled, bare body resting on his shoulder, his hands gripping your ass just a little away from your pussy, and it was too much. Your heart pounded, wondering what he would do to you.

You were slapping and scratching his back, squirming, your body aching from the struggle as you gave up, finally tired.

“I hate you; just let me go!” You sobbed.

The words were like a knife, and they only fueled his rage even more, his grip tightening even more, anger palpable, and your pussy clenched.

Dripping slick right on his shirt, you writhed ashamed, but his animal growl told you otherwise and he started he walked in fast strides, reaching your bedroom.

He tossed you onto the bed; and you fell on the bed with a gasp, the impact caused your breasts to jiggle, his eyes fixed on them. He didn’t wait any longer before moving.

His hands were quick and rough as he pulled out a coarse rope from his pocket and pinned you down in bed with one hand, his strength knocking the breath out of your chest.

He pinned your wrists above your head, used the ropes to tie them to the headboard. The rope was tight, bruising your delicate skin, leaving red marks that stung with every movement.

Your chest heaved as your breath shook, hard nipples begging for attention that you both craved and feared.

Your legs were laid spread due to the force of his hold, pussy swollen under his gaze from the days of unfulfilled need, and it was slowly growing too much to bear.

You were utterly exposed, trapped, and vulnerable to go nowhere, and you felt like a toy that he could use and treat however he wanted, and the realization made your breath hitch in a mix of panic and anticipation.

Jungkook’s eyes roamed all over you with his dark eyes, you didn’t meet his eyes, whimpering as tears spilled on the sheets, and his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles twitched.

“You hate me?” He snarled, the gravel sound vibrated through the room, sending goosebumps all over your skin.

“You think you can say that and get away with it? You’re mine, petal, and you’ll fucking learn it sooner or later.”

His words were full of anger that wrapped around you in a thrilling way.

You whimpered pathetically, body squirming under his intense gaze. It felt like he was touching you and undoing you with his stare alone.

Your slick coated on your thighs was the shameful proof of how his dominance undid you.

He leaned down, breath hot against your neck, lips brushing against your skin, his ragged breaths showing just how affected he was by this as well.

His teeth sank in soon, hard, and the ache was sharp—a sudden burst of pain and pleasure that made you gasp out, “Ahh!”

Your body arches off the bed, wrists pulling against the rope.

He sucked the bitten spot, tongue lapping over the bruised flesh, leaving a deep purple hickey that throbbed along with your racing heart. His weight over you not giving you any space to move at all

He moved like he had all the time in the world, savoring his meal before he went all in on you. He moved to your collarbone, teeth grazing the flesh before he bites again, another mark forming under his mouth, and the sting, along with a dark pleasure, had you moaning.

“Jungkook, please,” you gasped, not knowing if you were begging for mercy or for him to keep going.

He didn’t stop, not paying attention to your words, lips trailing to your breasts, hands rough as he gripped a handful of your tit, cupping it before he squeezed hard enough to make you wince, your nipples hardening further on his palm.

“Nghhh… god,” you whimpered as he leaned down and bit the sensitive skin just above your areola, teeth sinking in, and you cried out a loud, broken sound. Your mind dizzy, not being able to catch up to the pain and the pleasure that he was igniting inside you.

Your body slowly being marked by his hickeys, a brand of his possession, as he soothed each bite and burn with his warm tongue, and the contrast of his roughness and tenderness had you gasping for air, not being able to breathe.

He moved to your other breast, making sure to lavish his attention everywhere. He left a trail of his marks everywhere along with your cleavage, each one a reminder of you being his.

Your chest now covered with red and purple bruises from him as he took his time marking you, while you breathed your whimpers of pain and need

His hand suddenly came down on your ass, delivering a sharp spank that caught you off guard with the pain, and the burn jolted you; your pussy clenched around nothing.

“Oh, fuck Jungkook!” you cried.

The curse slipping out of your mouth made Jungkook growl, hating such words in your sweet mouth. He gripped a handful of your ass and squeezed tightly, voicing his disapproval through actions.

“You like that, hmm?” He gruffed, “My innocent little girl, so fucking needy for a monster.”

Another spank, harder, and it was too much for you to bear; tears spilled as your sobs filled the room, hips bucking instinctively.

The pain was intense, but it melted into a throbbing pleasure that had your arousal drip onto the sheets, arousal pooling onto the sheets, your body trembling.

You sobbed, wrists tugging at the ropes, plush lips open at all times due to the sensation of pain and pleasure, and the sting on your wrists from the rope was adding to the sensory overload.

It felt like your body was alive on sensation only.

Jungkook’s eyes were feral as he got off you, his chest heaving as he saw how your pussy weeping for him, and it drove him a little over the edge of madness. His eyes locked on your face as you lay there panting, even though he hasn’t done anything yet.

He stripped, movements quick and desperate. His underwear went away next, and you gasp seeing him naked for the first time.

Your breath stopped.

His cock sprang free, massive and intimidating, you gripped the headboard, heart thudding that you had nowhere to escape but to take this monster of a man. The veins were pulsing, and the tip was leaking, glistening with precum.

You gasped, eyes widening, fear filling your chest at the sheer size of him and the huge power he held even by doing nothing.

You were seeing his tattoos in their bare beauty for the first time. His body a work of art from the tattoos and full of scars from his past—tattoos all over his chest and abs, hard muscles all over.

Oh God—he was a demon.

And you were his sacrifice.

Your pussy clenched at the thought of him inside you, and you gripped the headboard tighter, something to ground yourself.

He knelt between your legs, hands gripping your thighs and spread them as wide as they would go, you huffed at how exposed you felt, body stretched to its limits, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, leaving bruises that matched the hickeys he gave you.

“Untie me, please, ahh—”

His mouth lowered on your pussy, interrupting your words, and you screamed at the overwhelming feeling, tongue lapping at your clit with a hunger that almost felt violent.

His lips were restless and rough, sucking hard, teeth occasionally grazing your sensitive bud, and you saw stars behind your vision, having no control of your body as he made you feel sensations you didn’t know were possible.

Your hips bucked on his mouth, moans loud and desperate, body writhing under his assault.

“Fuck, my baby... you taste like heaven,” he grunted against your pussy.

Voice muffled, his tongue plunging inside you, fucking you with a rhythm that had you on the edge. His fingers soon joined his tongue, two at first stretching your virgin walls for what's about to come, and you were tight and resistant despite getting finger-fucked by him several times before.

The burn was intense but so fucking good.

He curled them, hitting a spot. “Oh! Mmh—please, Jungkook, it’s too much—” Your cries filled the room, your wrists pulling harder against the ropes, skin cutting in the process.

“I can’t—please!” You sobbed, body shaking as your climax started building.

He didn’t stop.

His tongue kept going, lips sucking your clit until you shattered all over his mouth, pussy gushing, your cries raw and broken.

He hummed satisfied against you but didn’t let up, drawing out every shudder and whimper, eyes locked on yours, dark and possessive, as he drinks in your release like it was his lifeline.

He needed it to survive.

You were now basically drooling all over the pillow, mind hazy and he pulls back, lips glistening, his chest heaving, and you could feel his cock twitch against your thigh.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, eyes burning with something beyond anger—obsession, need, something twisted.

“Say it, petal. Say you’re mine.”

You were panting, body trembling, mind confused with pleasure and fear as your lips moved automatically, submitting to him.

“I’m yours,” you whispered.

Your voice shook, heart pounding with your words, knowing it was true and also knowing it was your final undoing.

He growled, satisfied by your answer, his hands gentle now, a huge difference from his earlier roughness.

He untied your ropes, fingers brushing over your raw wrists, his touch soft and almost gentle as tears prick your eyes from his rare softness that is only directed towards you.

A whimper lodged in your throat when he placed a kiss against each of your wrists before he positioned himself between your legs.

His cock at your entrance, his tip teasing your soaked folds.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice a low rumble, his eyes locking on yours, searching for any sign of pain.

You nodded, breath hitching. Your body was tense but ready, pussy aching for him despite all the fear you experienced. You needed him so much.

He pushed in slowly at first, and the tip stretched you; the burn was so intense along with the sharp pain, enough to make you wince, nails digging into his shoulders.

He froze, jaw tight as his eyes looked at yours, soft with concern, a gentleness you’d never seen in him.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asked, his voice strained as well from the feel of your tight pussy wrapped around him, even though he isn’t fully in yet.

His hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing your skin.

“Yes,” you gasped, voice breaking as your body struggled to adjust.

“You are so tight for me, petal, wrapped around me like you were made for me.”

His rough words tightened you around him further, making him groan and he gripped your thigh, shushing you.

He lets you get used to it for a bit, being patient and surprising himself in the process because he doesn’t remember the last time he was even a little bit patient.

The pain soon eased into a strange, pleasurable feeling, and you whined, digging your face into his chest.

“Please, Jungkook….”

He groaned at your request, control fading and he plunged deep in one swift motion, cock filling you, and the stretch was overwhelming, your pussy clenching around him, getting full for the first time, blowing your mind until you felt dizzy.

“Ah hah… Oh God!” You screamed, biting down on his shoulder to keep yourself tethered from the pain.

He didn’t waste any more time as the bed shook, the headboard slammed against the wall from his powerful, relentless thrusts, each one driving him deeper inside you.

He hits spots inside you that you didn’t know existed, and you almost felt him inside your stomach.

His growls were feral, his eyes locked on where you were joined as he watched his cock disappear into your pussy, slick and glistening with your arousal.

“ohs” and “ahs” left your mouth, each noise weeping with each of his thrusts, noises uncontrollable, pleasure and pain mixing together, nails digging into his back leaving marks that only encouraged him to go faster, drilling inside you

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room along with your cries, creating an obscene music that you were sure the neighbors could hear, but you were too high on pleasure to quiet yourself.

“my perfect little girl taking my cock so well” He lashed out his words, hips puncturing each of his words inside you, making you cry further on his shoulder, his anger simmering and obsession consuming him further from the feel of your pussy, finally owning every part of you.

His eyes locked on your face, taking in all your pained and pleasured expressions, never getting enough, his control snapping whenever your eyes would roll at the back of your head whenever he hit that spot inside you.

“You drive me fucking insane, you know that? I want to ruin you, keep you, lock you away, and own this slutty cunt so that no one else can have you.”

You wailed, body arching as your orgasm started building again, body weak from all the highs it experienced.

“Jungkook, I'm—I'm going to come!” You let out an agony-filled scream, body shaking as the intensity overwhelmed you.

“Mm, you are close? Come for me then, petal.” He growls, thrusts growing quicker as his hands grip your ass, lifting you to meet his thrusts, balls slapping against your swollen pussy.

“Let me feel you, let me have you.”

His words burned you even more, and you shattered, orgasm ripping through you, pussy gushing around his cock, cries filling the room as your body convulsed.

He kept going, not giving you a break, thrusts relentless as he chased his own release, your pussy milking him.

You were overstimulated, body shaking with aftershocks, and the force of his thrusts started building your second orgasm before you even realized, throat aching from all the noises you let out.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” he groans, own voice breaking as his hips slam into you, cock pulsing and he comes, hot and thick release, filling you, his hands holding your hips, not letting you escape.

Your pussy clenched around him, drawing out every drop.

His release triggered yours, and you came again, for the third time tonight, cries broken body trembling and the overstimulation made you sob, tears falling when he slowed, his head dipped, tongue entering your mouth, kissing you, tasting you.

He swallowed your cries as his thrusts gentled, cock barely softened when he pulled out, giving you a break that he knew you needed more than anything. You winched at the emptiness, a surge of your release mixed with his dripped out of you.

The sight made his nostrils flare, wanting to fuck them back inside your gaping cunt, but he knew you already had too much.

Your pussy stretched enough for him, and it was visible before his eyes.

He could fuck you all night long if he wanted, but it was your first time, and he didn’t want to push you beyond your limits.

He collapsed beside you, breath ragged and he pulled you to his chest, his fingers rubbing your red wrists again almost like he felt guilty for hurting them, but there was also a sense of satisfaction in his chest that he was the one that marked you, made you feel pain and pleasure.

Something that only he was allowed to make you feel and no other man

The thought made his hands twitch with the need to kill someone that didn’t even exist.

He focused on you, still panting and drooling on his chest. He carried you to the shower, the water warm and soothing against your achy body.

His eyes were soft while he washed you, cleaning all the release, paying attention to your sore spots, a stark contrast to the monster who’d claimed you moments ago.

You were quiet, body exhausted, your heart heavy too tired to speak as you depended on him completely, letting him do whatever he wanted, being his personal doll.

He wrapped you in a towel once the bathing was over, picking you up in bridal style, not letting you walk or use any of your energy.

Your hand clutched his chest as he laid you back in bed, the soaked sheets changed by him, and the warmness of it made you purr unknowingly.

He stood there looking down at you, eyes unreadable, his expression intense as he looked at you like his possession, you looked up at him clutching the sheets to your breasts, your shyness consuming you once again even though he thoroughly saw and used every part of you.

Even parts that you didn’t know existed yourself

Your body feeling more his than your own

“What do you want from me?” you croaked, eyes searching his, needing answers, needing something to hold onto.

“Why are you doing this?”

His eyes turned dark and haunted at your question, jaw clenching. “I don’t know,” he said, voice raw with an emotion he didn’t understand.

“I don’t know what this is, but I just know that you—you’re mine. I need to have you, whether you want it or not.”

You swallowed, throat tight from his words, body still tingled from his touch, heart torn between fear and a need you hated yourself for not pushing away.

You curled into him when he laid beside you, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart meet the same rhythm as yours, his hand awkwardly resting on your waist, not used to such domestic acts.

But you knew.

His heart, the criminal's heart that was made of stone but one that, in its own broken way, beat for you only.

۶ৎ

The days following Jungkook’s claiming of you were delicate, something that stretched between obsession and something softer.

Something neither of you could name

Your apartment, once hollow and lonely with your presence, was now filled with a new rhythm—his footsteps, his voice, and the faint scent of cigarettes along with musk that lingered in your place permanently.

He was no longer just a shadow in your life; his darkness has folded into your light, something that didn’t belong together.

Yet they mended like they were meant to be.

The weight of his gaze was there constantly, and his frequent touches because he couldn’t stay without touching you even for a minute.

Along with all that, there were several unspoken questions that hung between you, but you didn’t dare bring them up, not wanting to ruin the normality you had with him.

Not wanting him to close the shell he let down for you, even if it hurts.

Your small apartment seemed to shift in order to accommodate him. Your couch, the same one that you treated him on several nights before, had gotten used to him.

It bore the imprint of his broad frame along with his leather jacket that was draped over its arm lazily, laying his claim all over your house in a way that even your place got used to.

The kitchen, where once you’d cooked alone in between study sessions, now carried the memory of him standing at the counter, tattooed hand clumsily chopping vegetables for a meal he insisted on making for you after you forgot to eat.

The sight of his broad frame and muscles flexing as he did something so domestic as cooking, you knew he never did for anyone, made your heart flutter.

Your bedroom with its pink sheets and light-colored walls was no longer just yours—his presence had claimed it, his scent almost permanent on your bed.

His shadow always lingering but now visible for you.

Jungkook was different now; edges still sharp, but there were still moments of vulnerability from him that caught you off guard.

He spoke more, his voice deep and gravelly, always filling the quietness of your life.

You knew that each of this was slowly cracking the stone wall of his heart.

And you were grateful.

By even getting pieces of him

۶ৎ

One evening as the sun dipped, you sat on the couch, knees tucked under you, a medical textbook forgotten on your lap.

Jungkook stood by the window, a cigarette burning between his fingers, smoke curling in the air when he exhaled. His body clad in a black tank top that showed off his hard, muscled body along with his tattoos, the sight making your thighs squeeze together unknowingly.

“Do you ever think about your parents?” He broke the silence, voice almost hesitant, as if the question came out against his will.

You saw the tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw clenched as he waited for your answer.

You swallowed, throat tight, his question brings back memories of your loss that never really left you.

“Every day,” you admitted breathily, voice barely there.

“They died when I was sixteen. Car accident. I… I used to think if I’d been with them, maybe I could’ve done something to save them—I don’t know, but I was at school studying for a stupid biology test.”

A whimper left your lips, fingers twisting the fabric of your sweater, helping you to ground yourself against the ache in your chest.

“It’s silly, but I still dream about them sometimes, like they never really left me… like they’re just in the next room, waiting for me.”

“It’s not silly,” he rasped before turning, dark eyes locked onto yours, intense, and for a moment it felt like it was just the two of you and the world disappeared.

Your pulse quickened at his authoritative tone and his need to comfort you, his own eyes holding the trauma of his past.

“Mine didn’t die,” he said bitterly, “they just didn’t want me. Left me on the streets when I was eight, said I was too much trouble. I learned fast that no one’s coming to save you. No one loves you unless you make them.”

He took another drag of his cigarette and looked back outside the window; his words were like a knife in your heart, cutting you further and further.

Oh, Jungkook…

Everyone in his life abandoned him, and that’s why he was here so hardened, so guarded that he stopped believing in life itself, and you realized just how alike both your stories are, yet different.

How he struggled all on his own with no one to lean into—you always thought that you suffered the most, but now hearing his story made you realize exactly how the universe always treated the ones who didn’t deserve it badly.

“I don’t know how to be soft, petal. I don’t know how to be what you need.” His words brought you out of your thoughts.

The nickname—petal—sent a shiver down your spine.

A reminder of how he saw you: fragile, delicate, yet something he couldn’t stop touching.

You stood, bare feet carrying you towards him, your heart pounding. You felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch as he looked directly in your eyes with intensity.

“I don’t need soft,” you crooned, hands shaking slightly. “I just need you to be you, Jungkook. The real you, not the monster you think you are.”

His jaw clenched as he stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” He growled, stepping closer. His presence was overwhelming for you despite seeing him almost every day now.

He was basically a wall of heat and muscle.

“I’m a criminal, a killer. I've got blood on my hands, and I'll never wash it off. You’re… you’re light, and I’m the dark that’ll destroy you.”

You reach out with your trembling hand, resting it on his hard chest; you can feel his warmth seeping off the fabric of his tank top. His heart pounded beneath your palm, always wild.

“Maybe I want it,” you whispered, voice small as your eyes searched his, shyness gone for the first time, eyes glistening slightly.

“Maybe I’m tired of being alone, of being the good girl who’s always scared. You make me feel alive, Jungkook, even when I'm terrified of you.”

He froze, breath ragged, and for a moment you thought he’d pull away, retreating to his usual nature.

But then his hands were on you, rough and desperate, cupping your face, fingers tracing your features.

His callouses against your soft skin, and you closed your eyes, leaning onto him, body constantly craving him and the rare gentleness he let out sometimes.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he muttered, gruffly, lips a few inches away from yours.

Your heart squeezed as tears spilled down your face from his vulnerability. You gripped his wrists, nuzzling on his palm, anchoring yourself to him, your cheeks warm.

“Then breathe me,” you whispered. “I’m here, Jungkook. I'm not running. Not anymore.”

A groan left his lips, pained, and he pressed his lips against yours, kissing you, not the hungry, devouring kind that he gave you before, but something softer and deeper, and it almost melted as deep in as your soul.

You not being used to it.

His lips were warm, tasting of smoke and whiskey as you both got the chance to explore each other without rushing anything, his tongue gentle while he explored your mouth, coaxing soft whimpers from you.

The room spun, the distant hum of the city fading until it was just him—his heat, his taste, his heartbeat against yours.

He pulled back, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours, your hand clutching his top.

“I don’t know how to do this.” He rasped, vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache. “I don’t know how to be close to someone without breaking them.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, dark strands soft and thick, his eyes falling closed with brows furrowed together, an act you found out that he loved with no words spoken, something that steadied him to reality.

“I’d rather be broken by you than whole with you.” Your voice shook as you finalized

He growls, a sound of frustration and need, pulls you into his arms tightly, almost suffocating you.

You buried your face in his chest, leaving tear stains onto the fabric, the steady thump of his heart comforting you.

His scent enveloped you like always, so uniquely him, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

۶ৎ

Over the next few days, he showed you pieces of himself, of a man shattered by the cruel world, and you knew how hard it was for him to even give those fragments.

He took you to his cabin in the forest, the same forest where he took you that day to give you the best day of your life. The air and environment here were very different than what you were used to. The air smelled of earth and wood, trees surrounding you everywhere.

His place was very different compared to yours, walls lined with shelves of some books and mostly several weapons. It lacked any furniture or accessories.

The place just seemed livable, but it was void of any life… something that suited Jungkook

A single bed sat in the corner; dark sheets rumpled from his restless nights. The fireplace was casting a warm glow over the room, and his smell was even heavy here, surrounding you with him in his own world.

He told you about his past, each word a wound laid bare for you to see, his voice low and halting.

“I was a kid when they left me,” his deep voice uttered, sitting on the cabin's porch, you beside him as you both looked at the night sky adorned with stars.

His leather jacket was slung over your shoulders because he knew how easily you get cold.

“didn’t even look back. I survived because I had to, because I learned to fight, to take what I needed. The streets don’t care about you—they’ll eat you alive if you let them.”

He lit a cigarette as you looked at him, admiring his rough beauty that was full of scars telling his story without any words.

“No one ever loved me, petal. Not my parents, not the gangs I ran with. I'm not built for it, and I cannot give it to anyone.”

Your knees draw up as you hug them, your body leaning against his shoulder, both of you hearing the chirp of crickets.

“I understand,” you said, softly, “my parents loved me, but they’re gone, and I’ve been alone ever since. We’re not so different, you and I. We both know what it is like to lose everything.”

His eyes met yours, dark and searching, and for a moment you saw the boy he’d been, the one who’d begged for love and found only betrayal.

Your heart hurt in a way you didn’t know was possible, heart bleeding for the young boy he had once been.

“You’re wrong,” he grunts, voice almost angry, “you’re still soft, still good. I'm… I'm a fucking mess, baby. I’m tainted with blood, and you—you’re the only thing keeping me from falling apart.”

You reached for his hand, fingers small against his, as his hand gripped yours tightly.

“Then let me hold you together.” Your voice trembled with emotion. “I don’t care if you’re a mess, Jungkook. I don’t care if you’re a criminal, a monster. I see you, and I'm not afraid.”

He pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around you as your legs circled his waist, his breath hot against your neck, leaving small, open-mouthed pecks that had you shivering with parted lips, your head falling back slightly.

Your breasts pressed against him, both your hearts racing together, connected.

“You should be afraid,” he murmured, lips brushing your earlobe before biting it making you moan.

“I could ruin you, petal. I could break you, and I wouldn’t even mean to.”

You pulled his face away from your neck and cupped his face, his skin warm, and you felt the tension in him. He was in a war between his need to protect you and his need to possess you.

“I’m not asking for soft Jungkook. I'm asking for you.” You croaked.

He kissed you hungrily, his fingers sliding under your shirt, tracing your soft skin before he undressed you with an urgency.

The porch creaked underneath you both as he made love to you under the starry night. The sounds of the forest mingle with your breathy moans and whimpers along with his occasional groans.

You melted into him, body against his hardness, your heart finally open to his darkness.

۶ৎ

In the days that followed, he did things for you—small acts that spoke louder than words.

He’d make your coffee just the way you liked it and making sure to serve it to you in your favorite pink mug, especially during your late-night study sessions.

He never stopped the habit of leaving you pink roses even though now he was very much into your life. He’d leave pink roses on your pillow every morning, the sweet smell reminding you of the days when he’d stalk you, how it terrified you yet excited you.

One night you fell asleep on the couch, your head in his lap, and he stayed didn’t move you away or remove himself, his fingers stroking your hair, touch awkward but meaningful in a way only for you.

He didn’t know how to cuddle, didn’t know how to be gentle, but he always tried, fingers trembling as he held you, his heart full of fear and want for you.

۶ৎ

“You’re making me soft,” he muttered one morning, standing in the kitchen, hair messy from sleep, only wearing underwear after a night of intense passion.

His body still adorned with your scratch and bite marks, something that happens when he drives you closer to madness with the pleasure and pain.

You blush and avert your gaze, focusing on stirring the sugar into your tea. The regular routine you both fell into gave you a peace you’d never known.

“Maybe you were always soft.” You teased with a small giggle, but your voice turned serious: “You probably just needed someone to see it.”

He scoffed, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something close to hope.

“Don’t get your expectations up, petal,” he said gruffly, stepping closer and pulling you to his chest with a yank, making you gasp as you held onto his bare chest. “I’m a bastard. Always will be.”

“And I’m still here,” you huffed, heart laid bare for him easily.

“So, deal with it.”

He laughed, a rare genuine sound that warmed the room, and he suddenly picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder, making you let out a scream as both your hearty laughs filled the air while he carried you back to the room.

You knew he was a criminal; he had blood on his hands, had no mercy, but you saw something beneath that.

You saw a man, the one who cared, who made you feel alive, who knew what you liked and disliked, memorized the small details of your life, and who would burn anything and anyone just to see you smile.

And you cherished it, every moment, every rose, and every awkward touch because it was him—your Jungkook.

Your home.

۶ৎ

The night was alive as you returned from a bike ride with Jungkook. Your heart a bubble of joy from the experience, the freedom that only he brought into your life.

His kisses, fierce and consuming, still clung to your lips along with the memory of his hands on your body that left you breathless, claiming you with all of him.

He’d promised to take you to classes tomorrow and to watch you sleep, his presence a twisted comfort you’d come to crave.

But then he’d said he had to leave for “work.” The word twisted something inside you.

It wasn’t unusual for him to sometimes leave to deal with something that he’d never mention to you, no matter how much you insisted, saying it’s better if you don’t know and saying you are too soft for it.

It wasn’t the promise of his return that unsettled you—it was something else, you couldn’t explain, as if the word carried a weight of something that you couldn’t fathom.

It didn’t happen before; you never felt like this before he left.

A chill settled in your bones, a bad feeling you couldn’t shake as you watched him ride away, the roar of his bike soon fading.

You stood outside your apartment for a minute as you hugged Jungkook’s hoodie tighter around you, oversized fabric swallowing your frame, smelling of his very presence.

Your fingers clutched the fabric, heart still racing from the ride, his touch, and the way he’d made you feel alive in a world that often felt too heavy.

Now that he was gone, that dread returned as you moved slowly, climbing the stairs to your apartment, bringing out your keys.

The moment you pushed open the door, the air suddenly felt heavy and wrong, like someone had invaded it. Your apartment, that was usually warm, was replaced by a stillness.

The scent hit you first—not Jungkook's familiar cigarettes or musk but something else, something like rust or blood.

Your pulse quickened in fear as you breathed shakily, gripping your hoodie closer, the fabric shielding you against the growing terror.

Your breath hitched as your eyes scanned all over the space, the couch, and your room.

Nothing was out of place—no overturned furniture or broken things—but the wrongness was very palpable, and it was making your skin crawl.

You took a small step forward, hands trembling as your fingers fumbled for the light switch, wanting to turn it on, but before you could reach it—a creak.

Your blood ran cold, body freezing, eyes fixed in the darkness, and you swore you heard a low, guttural chuckle, and it was enough to make your knees buckle in fear.

“Jungkook?” You whispered, hoping with all your might it was him, that he came back and didn’t leave you and was just playing a silly prank on you.

But the silence that followed was worse, and you knew deep in your gut that it wasn’t him.

This wasn’t his darkness, his twisted devotion.

This was something else, something that wanted to hurt you.

You backed away, your heart pounding, breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. Your mind screaming at you to run, call for help, but your feet remained still, frozen in fear and knowing that if you decided to run, it would worsen the situation.

The creak came again, closer now. Your scream lodged in your throat as a man stepped into the light.

He was enormous, towering over you. There was a big scar on his face that looked like a slash from a knife, his teeth crooked as he looked at you.

His lips curled into a smirk, revealing yellow teeth that sent a wave of nausea through you, stomach twisting as you stumbled back, hip hitting the couch.

“So Jungkook’s been preying on you, little girl,” he said voice dripping with malice and he took another step forward. “Guess his priorities changed, huh? He got himself all soft for a pretty little thing like you. But it's time to take his silly little pet away.”

His words stole the air from your lungs, body shaking beyond your will.

Your mouth opened, Jungkook’s name a desperate plea on your lips, a scream for the man who’d claimed you, who’d promised to protect you… one that you feared in the past but now you desperately needed it.

“No, please,” you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes as you shook your head. “Who are you—"

He laughed, a harsh sound that made your skin prickle with disgust. “Oh, how cute, you’re begging already,” he taunted, eyes raking over your frame.

“He’s got you all wrapped up, doesn’t he? But Jungkook’s not here, sweetheart, and I’m not as patient as he is.”

Your knees gave out, sinking onto the floor, hands scrambling to find something, anything, to defend yourself, but there was nothing—only the rug beneath your fingers, the door at an impossible distance.

Your tears fell as your chest heaved, trying to breathe against the terror paralyzing you further.

“Why?” You choked out, “What do you want? I don’t know anything, I swear. I—”

He crouched down, face level with yours, his breath making you want to throw up.

“I want Jungkook to hurt,” he said, voice venomous.

“He’d been like a thorn in my side too long, thinking he’s untouchable, hiding behind his little obsession with you. But you—you’re his weakness, aren’t you? Break you, and I break him.”

He laughed loudly, and your heart shattered, the realization falling over you. You were a weapon held against Jungkook, and the thought of him—dark eyes, his broken heart—being hurt because of you was unbearable.

“No,” you sobbed.

He lunged faster than you could react, his hand clamping over your mouth as you screamed beneath his hand.

“Shut up,” he snarled, his other hand gripping your arm, yanking you to your feet. Your body thrashed, screams muffled, but he was too strong, his strength bruising you.

He laughed, his fingers tightening.

“Fiery little thing,” he mocked, “Jungkook trained you well, didn’t he?”

You bit his hand hard, teeth sinking into his flesh, and he roared, releasing you, and you stumbled back vision blurring with tears, your mind set on getting to Jungkook, wanting him to come protect you like he has always done.

You turned to run, feet slipping as your hands finally reached the door, for freedom, for him.

But the man was faster, his arms wrapping around your waist, a sob of fear and pain escaping you as he backhanded you hard enough that it split your lips, blood dripped as the metallic taste filled your mouth.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls, your mouth opened for another scream, voice raw, body shaking as you fight with all you can, nails clawing at his arm, drawing blood.

But the man only laughed at your weak attempt, his hand reared back carrying something heavy, and before you know it, a sharp, blinding pain exploded in your head, consuming you.

Your vision blurred, the world fading as you fell on the floor.

Your last thought was of Jungkook—his promise, his obsession—and the hope that he’d find you before it was too late.

Everything went black, Jungkook’s name a whisper on your lips.

────

taglist: @wintaemoonjen @minewlove @chaelvrx @nanisblogg @slutology00 @kelsyx33 @furioustrashlover @jjeonjjk7 @kooever @svnbangtansworld @xcviis @asyr97 @ttanniett @bratzdaull @yunhoswrldddd @jeonzll @endlesslysassy @elmarimochi9513 @fangirl-coco-goddess @lisax-30 @moodytangerine @taetaecatboy @katwiththatrat @yikes-ukiyo @minimoninini @lachimolalajeon @flutterguk @snuglymalicioussea @nellbyy @l4yl44 @captainengineer-trixie @cristy-101 @universallywizardkoala @kookxin @mageprincess7 @satisfied18 @existentialzaddy @strawberryberrygirl @tranquilreign @honeybearmin @melooooosusupp @thvflowr @jimineepaboya @granataepfelchen @cherricherryy @tatamicc @minghaosimp @kooko009 @clrwonuu @withmuchluv-tannie

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flutterguk · 1 month ago

Text

👅👅👅👅

OO2. privacy is overrated

pairing: stalker!jungkook x stalker!reader

summary: OF creator, jungkook, loves showing off his assets to his supporters who pay to see his exclusive videos and photos—faceless. but fans wonder why he never has a girl on his videos and why he never interacts with any other girl. they don’t need to know, though, he’s been obsessed with the pretty girl who live streams on her own OF account and who he recognizes as his enemy’s ex-girlfriend. she doesn’t need to know he’s the one who tips her the most with the money he earns from his own OF account, and who loves watching her from a distance. as for him? he doesn’t need to know she stalks him, too.

warning for this chapter: small dirty comments

Jungkook recognized that cute little name. Just like how he knew who she was.

He smirked to himself as he got ready for bed, his computer connected to his TV and all set for his activities around this time.

He saw the live start already and you were conversing, too, because although you were a sex worker, you loved having random chats with your followers who loved watching you talk. Hell, half of the men and women still paid you because the majority only wanted company and you provided them that.

“Hi,” you softly greeted with that voice of yours that sent shivers up his spine.

His fingers clutched the bed sheets as he eyed your hands. Such pretty hands adorned with jewelry and small tattoos that screamed ‘you’.

You were fiddling with your tank top, teasing your viewers with your breasts that they all desperately wanted to see and wanted to taste. He, on the other hand, couldn’t help but keep his eyes on your new nails.

He felt satisfaction at seeing them since he had gifted you the money two days ago with a message that said: For your nails. He could already imagine your face (you were faceless, too) at seeing the amount of money he sent you. But he just wanted your nails so pretty and you were complaining that you needed to get them done. Only the best for you.

“I just finished eating,” you continued, soft music playing in the background. “Did you guys like the video I posted?”

Of course he loved it.

You were playing with your pretty pussy he loved so much. Your fingers were going in and out of it, filling your room with lewd noises he drooled over. He loved that video so much.

His fingers immediately moved across his computer to give you money. He sent you $200 with a message for today: your nails look pretty angel.

You smiled.

“My nails look pretty because of you,” you said, showing off your nails better on screen. “You like?”

‘Love’ he typed.

“You spoil me so much, maybe I’ll allow you to choose what I should do next live, hmm?” You hummed, leaning back a little to show off a small peak of skin from your tank top that rode up by your stomach. “You’d like that?”

Fuck, he’ll love that.

‘Maybe you riding that pink dildo? you haven’t ridden it in a while’ he typed.

He saw the way your chest slowly moved with the breaths you let out and the soft murmurs of your voice as you read his message.

“You just want to see me bouncing on the dildo while you imagine it’s you,” you giggled, getting close to the camera a bit. He recognized the necklaces on your neck. After all, you never took them off in high school. “But, I think it’s a great idea. I’ll do that next live and moan out whatever title you want: your name, sir, or daddy. Maybe a pet name you’ll like.”

‘For little ol me?’ He typed.

“You’re always sending me so much and spoiling me,” you said. “It’s my turn to give you a little something. You’d want that choice by the way?”

‘Yeah baby, next time moan out the name daddy while you take that dildo so well and imagine it’s my cock’ he typed.

Shit… was that too much?

He facepalmed. He came off too strong.

“Daddy, huh?” He heard the amusement in your voice. He could always recognize that tone and so many others. You were an open book to him. “Then expect it next time.”

As you chatted, he saw other men and women giving you more money than he did. Seeing it as a challenge, he sent you another $500, then another $600, and another $700.

You could only watch in awe. You really had to find out or do more for this man who watched you because the amount of money he sent you was admirable yet insane. And you were just talking this time. He went crazy when you did your nsfw lives.

“I have to go,” you softly said as the livestream came to its end. Your fingers waved at the screen.“Expect me tomorrow. And please come prepared. We’re gonna have a lot of fun together, hmm?”

Everyone almost agreed.

You giggled.

“Bye,” you waved.

‘See you tomorrow baby’ Jungkook typed before he logged off, his mind filled with thoughts of you.

And he wondered if you still did your eyebrows just like the last time he saw you. It’s been almost 7 years, he remembered, because he could still feel your touch.

Of course he knew you. Finding you wasn’t that hard when you revealed yourself by accidentally following him on your main account angelover. He was lucky enough to have accidentally swiped on your name on his notifications and he was left looking at your content like a lovestruck fool.

He recognized those hands. That’s what he recognized the most.

Because when you were in college, you grabbed his arm. You touched him and looked at him with eyes he swore could beg him to do anything. If you say jump, he’ll say how high. If you told him to get on the fucking ground and worship you, he’ll ask you which part of your body you want him to start on.

Jungkook stalked your account. Every follower and following. He saw that a burner account by the name user8023894 followed you and, surprisingly, him. He had smirked to himself at finding that account and knowing it was you, and he watched with satisfaction as that account appeared on his notifications.

Used8023894 commented: such a pretty cock, wish it could split me in half <3

Don’t tempt me baby, he thought to himself because he does not have a coding friend for no reason that could easily find your location.

“C’mon Namjoon please,” Jungkook whined the next morning after your livestream. “Just this once. Please. I’m not going to do anything wrong. She knows me.”

“Then why doesn’t she let you know where she lives?” Namjoon asked as he eyed the burner account on his computer.

“Because she doesn’t know she knows me,” Jungkook groaned, plopping back on the chair. “Please, man. I helped you with that one girl. I was literally your wingman. Come on. Help me find her. I need to show her how much I miss her.”

“Dirty whore,” Namjoon retorted with malice behind his words. “Fine! I’ll give you the address tomorrow. But I swear to God, you better not do anything illegal that will put me in jail.”

“Promise. You’re doing me a huge favor.”

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flutterguk · 1 month ago

Text

CAN WE GET A PT 2 PLSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

12 rounds │ jjk 18+

“Lose the fight, win me. That’s the deal.”

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: boxer jungkook, toxic but addicting, established couple

rating: 18+, smut

synopsis: He loses the fight. Unfairly. Publicly. And the only thing stopping him from snapping is her—barefoot on the balcony, refusing to be shut out. She doesn’t coddle him. Doesn’t flinch when he’s cold. She pushes back. And when the silence finally breaks, it turns into something they both understand better than words—heat, desperation, and a need to feel something real.

The crowd roars around you, but your eyes don’t leave him.

Jeon Jungkook. In the ring like he owns it—shirtless, sweat-slicked, muscles cut and coiled with every movement. His jaw is locked, knuckles already bloodied, and the way he moves is pure venom. Focused. Cold. Dangerous.

And yours.

You’re standing near the front row, VIP badge barely needed when everyone already knows who you are. Cameras flash your way, whispers trail behind your back—“That’s his girl.” “They’re so hot together.” “How the fuck does she pull him?”

You ignore them. You’re not here for the attention.

You’re here for him.

He hasn’t glanced at you once since the fight started. You don’t expect him to. That’s how he is when he’s locked in—ruthless, silent, unreadable. You fell in love with that part of him and hated it all the same.

But you know he felt you walk in. Felt your gaze when it landed on him. He always does.

You catch the way his shoulders roll back when the second round ends—his back glistening with sweat, muscles twitching beneath bronzed, tattooed skin. He’s a walking sculpture, wrapped in rage and breath and heat. The kind of body that’s earned—not gifted. The kind that could ruin you without even trying.

You’ve seen him like this before. Too many times. But it never gets old.

Jungkook in the ring is another version of him entirely. More vicious. More beautiful. Like a storm trapped in a body. That controlled fury in every punch, the precision in every dodge, the restraint that only you understand because you’ve seen what it looks like when he lets go.

“Finish him!” someone yells, and you catch the glint in Jungkook’s eye.

He’s tired. You can tell from the way his footwork staggers for half a second—no one else would notice it, but you do. He should’ve had this guy knocked out in the second round, but the ref was too slow on the break call, and the other guy got a cheap shot to the ribs.

Dirty hit.

You grit your teeth, arms crossed under your chest, diamond bracelet glinting under the arena lights. You look good tonight. Too good. Cropped jacket hugging your waist, heels tall enough to look down on half the men here. Your makeup’s untouched even after hours.

Jungkook always says you look like trouble. And that’s why he likes you.

And even though he’s locked in—throwing punches, tasting blood—you know he saw you. You know he saw the way your lips parted when he ducked under a hook. The way your hand wrapped tighter around the bar railing when he landed a left.

He fights like he knows you’re watching.

The bell dings for the final round.

He exhales, shoulders tight.

And even though he hasn’t looked at you once, his jaw ticks like he’s holding back everything he wants to say.

He knows this isn’t going to be clean. You both do.

You feel it the second the final bell rings.

And you know—before the ref even lifts the wrong hand—that it’s about to be bullshit.

The other guy’s arm is raised.

The crowd erupts in boos. Furious, stunned. It’s not even subtle. Everyone saw the illegal shot. Everyone saw Jungkook dominate the first four rounds. But the judges? The commission? Bought. Blind. Doesn’t matter.

Your heart drops.

Jungkook doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. His jaw is tight, lips parted, chest rising slow like he’s trying not to explode. Blood trickles from his brow, sweat carving paths down his torso. His taped fists hang at his sides, and for a full five seconds, he just stares at the ref.

Then he turns. And you’re already moving.

Security parts before you like instinct. You walk in heels like they’re made for the mat, your blazer hugging your waist, hair still perfect, not a drop of emotion on your face—except for what’s in your eyes. Fury. Devotion. Fire.

He sees you immediately.

And that’s when he finally breathes.

His gloves are already off, tossed to the side. Tape loose around his wrists, knuckles bruised and red. He walks straight into your space like a magnet, and before you can say anything, his hand catches your hip, dragging you in.

Your arms go around his neck like instinct. His body is hot and hard and shaking.

“Don’t say anything,” he mutters against your ear. His voice is low, dark. Controlled the way dynamite is controlled—right before the fuse is lit. “Not here.”

You nod, forehead pressed to his. “I’m not.”

His other arm wraps around your lower back and pulls you flush against him. It’s not soft. It’s not delicate. He holds you like a claim, like possession, like he wants every camera watching to see exactly where he finds peace. His scent hits you immediately—leather, sweat, the faint echo of his cologne, spiced and sharp and familiar.

“Fucking rigged,” he mutters, voice cracking with restraint.

You tilt your head and stare up at him. Even angry, he’s beautiful—his lip is split, his cheek swelling, but his eyes are dark and locked on yours like they haven’t seen anything else all night.

“You should’ve knocked him out,” you say quietly.

“I tried.” His jaw flexes. “Didn’t want to kill him.”

You smirk, just barely. “Pity.”

His lips twitch. The smallest hint of a smile—there and gone.

Then he leans down.

A quick kiss. Messy and sharp. His bottom lip tastes like blood. Yours smudge gloss onto his. It’s not sweet—it’s public. It’s loud. It’s a declaration. His hand slides down to your ass, gripping without shame as he pulls you tighter, and you feel his exhale shake against your mouth.

Let them all see.

He’s not hiding anything.

Reporters shout both your names. Cameras flash in waves. A mic’s shoved toward your face, and a voice slices through the noise.

“Y/N, thoughts on the decision tonight? Do you think Jeon Jungkook was robbed?”

You don’t break eye contact with him as you reach up and gently fix a strand of damp hair from his forehead. His hand stays wrapped around your waist like a cuff.

Then, to the cameras, your voice comes out steady and clear—

“Wasn’t a fair fight.” Your tone is cool. Confident. The exact opposite of the storm you’re holding down inside. “But that’s okay. We’re not done.”

Jungkook hums low in his throat like he agrees.

He lets go of your waist just long enough to lace your fingers together, holding your hand as he steps down off the mat. Security tries to hold back the press, but he doesn’t give them a choice—he walks you through the chaos like it’s his runway, like the world owes him a moment of silence.

You don't need to look at him to feel it. The shift.

He’s still holding your hand, but his grip has changed—firmer, tighter, a little too close to a fist. The crowd is screaming, cameras flashing, everyone clawing to get a glimpse of him. Of you. Of you two.

But Jungkook doesn’t care about the noise anymore.

He walks you out of the arena like he’s dragging a ghost behind him. Silent. Stormy. The win stolen right out from under him, and the only thing keeping him from knocking out someone on the way out is the weight of your hand in his.

He lets you in the limo first. His touch on your hip is automatic, firm, but there’s no softness in it now. No teasing squeeze. Just pressure.

The door shuts behind him with a hard thunk.

And he goes still.

The moment feels longer than it is. The silence isn’t peaceful—it’s thick. Suffocating. Like the air’s too heavy to breathe.

He sits across from you. Shirtless. Shoulders wide, bruised, skin glinting with the last remnants of sweat and blood. His jaw is locked, his brows drawn. The cut above his brow has stopped bleeding, but there’s still a smear on his cheekbone. You know he’ll refuse to get it cleaned up until the morning.

His phone buzzes. He checks it with a flick of his eyes. Then declines the call without a word.

You sit still.

Waiting.

Watching.

The engine hums beneath your feet, and outside, the crowd disappears. The tinted windows block out everything, but inside the car, the silence only gets louder.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer.

You try again. “That decision was bullshit.”

Still nothing.

You cross your legs, lean into the seat. “Cool. So you’re doing the sulking-in-silence thing tonight.”

He exhales through his nose. Slow. Measured. Controlled. That control scares you more than if he’d yelled.

You press your tongue to your cheek. “At least you looked good getting robbed.”

He finally moves—just his eyes. Sharp and dark, cutting across the seat to look at you like a warning.

You meet it head-on. “Don’t look at me like I’m the one who handed out the scorecard.”

“You don’t get it,” he mutters.

“I don’t get what?”

He leans forward, forearms on his knees, voice low and cold. “I worked for that fight. I fucking bled for that fight. And they gave it away like I was nothing.”

“You think looking good is enough to make that go away?” he says. It’s not cruel. But it’s sharp. Wounded.

“I don’t want to hear anything right now.” His jaw clenches.

You stare at him. “Guess I’m just for show, huh? Pretty thing to stand beside when you lose.”

“I didn’t lose.”

You pause. Quiet. “Then why do you sound like you did?”

His gaze flicks away. That’s the last thing he says.

He leans back, hands rubbing over his face once, then through his damp hair. The seat creaks under his weight. You watch him closely, waiting for him to break the silence.

But he doesn’t.

He shuts down completely.

The ride continues like that—heavy, wordless. The distance between you stretched by everything he’s not saying. You’re still in your heels, still in your perfect blazer, still looking like the girl every guy wants to steal. But he doesn’t reach for you.

Doesn’t even look.

You fold your arms and turn to the window.

Fine.

If he wants quiet—he’ll get it.

The elevator opens to the quiet luxury of the penthouse—glass, marble, soft lighting, the city glowing below like it has no idea the man standing in this hallway just got robbed of a win that bled months of preparation.

Jungkook walks in first. No word. No glance.

You follow behind, slower. He leaves the door open for you, but doesn’t wait. His duffle hits the floor with a dull thud, water bottle in hand before you’ve even unzipped your jacket. His back is to you when you step inside, and it stays that way.

You toe off your heels by the door, your body still humming from the adrenaline of the arena. But he doesn’t even look.

The silence follows you through the living room like a shadow. You sit on the edge of the couch, slowly undoing your blazer buttons, waiting—hoping—he says something first.

He doesn’t.

He twists the cap off the water bottle. Drinks like it’s a chore. His jaw tenses with every swallow, throat bobbing, chest rising and falling too quickly.

Still no words.

You exhale. “You’re really not gonna talk to me?”

He caps the bottle. Tosses it on the kitchen island. Then turns around—but his eyes don’t meet yours.

Your voice drops. “You’ve been quiet since we left. You gonna keep doing that all night?”

“Don’t,” he mutters, walking past you.

That’s all he says.

Don’t.

You stand slowly, arms crossed. “You don’t get to snap at me like I’m the one who made the call.”

He doesn’t even slow his steps. Just walks straight to the balcony, opens the glass door, and steps outside.

You blink. “Are you fucking serious?”

No response.

The door shuts behind him with a cold finality.

You stay frozen in the living room, lips parted in disbelief, hands curled at your sides.

He’s done this before—gone quiet when shit gets under his skin—but this? This feels different. Sharper. Like he’s not just mad about the loss. He’s mad about everything. The fight. The cameras. Himself. And maybe even you, though he won’t admit it.

You walk to the balcony door, stop just short of opening it. He’s out there with a cigarette between his fingers, leaning against the glass railing, the glow of the city painting his skin in soft gold and silver. Shirtless. Silent. Alone.

Smoke curls from his mouth as he exhales. His hair’s still damp. His knuckles are red and scraped raw. He presses the cigarette to his lips again, breathing in slow like he’s trying to stay sane.

You stare at him through the glass.

Your chest rises, falls. But you don’t go out there.

Not yet.

Because if he wants space, if he wants to stand out there and pretend like you didn’t ride for him all night, then fine. Let him.

You walk back to the couch, arms still crossed, jaw still tight, sitting down like you’re done talking until he starts.

And in the silence, the distance stretches like a fault line between you.

The cigarette’s almost done.

You watch from the couch, pretending not to care, but every time you look up, he's still out there. Still silent. Still leaning on the glass railing like the weight of the city might drag him over it.

And you’ve had enough.

You rise slowly. Quietly.

The balcony door opens with a soft click, and the air outside hits you—cool, sharp, but nothing compared to the chill in his silence. The wind brushes your skin. You walk barefoot onto the balcony, arms folded, steps deliberate, slow.

Jungkook doesn’t look at you. Not right away.

You stop beside him, close but not touching.

He exhales smoke without a word. The wind pushes his hair back from his face. His profile’s cut in moonlight—high cheekbones, the edge of a bruise on his jaw, lips still red from the fight, or from you. His chest rises, slow and tense.

You stand still.

The silence stretches between you, long and bitter.

And then you speak—softly, just above the wind.

“You gonna be quiet forever?”

His jaw clenches, cigarette between his fingers. “Depends.”

“On what?”

He flicks the ash over the edge. “On whether or not I say something I’ll regret.”

You look at him, long and level. “You already did.”

That makes him finally glance at you. A flash of guilt crosses his face, but it disappears just as fast. He drops the cigarette in the ashtray beside him and leans back against the glass, arms crossing loosely over his chest.

“I’m tired,” he mutters.

You nod once. “I know.”

“I’m angry.”

“I know that too.”

He looks at you now. Really looks. “Then why are you out here?”

Your lips twitch. “Because you always act like the world’s ending when you lose. Like I’m supposed to stand back and let you implode.”

“I’m not imploding.”

“You’re not talking.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

You pause. “Not with you. With you, silence is worse.”

He looks away again.

You hate how beautiful he looks like this—quiet and bruised, still burning. You can see the fight still living in his shoulders, in the way he breathes, like his lungs are too full of everything he didn’t get to say in the ring.

You step closer, slowly. Until your shoulder almost brushes his arm.

“You don’t have to talk,” you say softly. “But you don’t get to shut me out like I’m the problem.”

His eyes flick to yours. And for a second—just a second—you see it. The crack. The thing underneath all the silence.

He reaches out.

Fingers graze your wrist. Light. Hesitant.

Then firmer.

His hand wraps around your wrist, tugging gently until your front touches his side. His head dips toward you, forehead resting against your temple, his eyes closed like he’s just too tired to keep carrying all that weight by himself.

“I don’t know how to lose,” he whispers.

You press a hand to his chest. His skin is warm. His heart is pounding.

“You don’t have to,” you murmur back. “Not when I’m here.”

He doesn’t say anything.

But his hand slides to your waist.

Not tentative this time. Firm. Certain. The kind of touch that says he’s done pretending you’re not exactly what he needs.

He exhales into your neck—warm, shaky. “You wore that just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?”

You smirk, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I always dress for war.”

His fingers tighten, pulling you flush against him. Your chest meets the bare heat of his torso, and for a moment, you both just breathe—his nose grazing your cheek, your fingers curling into his shoulder. The bruises on his skin don’t scare you. If anything, they only make him feel more real. Less like a symbol. More like your man.

The one who bleeds, and breaks, and still tries to keep the world on his back.

He turns his face, mouth finding yours in the dark. And it’s slow this time. Not sharp. Not angry. Just deep. Needy. His lips part against yours like he’s tasting relief, like kissing you is the only thing that makes him feel like himself again.

He kisses you like he lost something out there and found it the second you walked onto the balcony.

Your hands tangle in his hair. His body presses you gently against the glass. You gasp softly into his mouth when his palm moves lower, finding the backs of your thighs, lifting—just enough to make your breath hitch.

“I need you inside,” you murmur, voice low. “Now.”

He doesn’t answer. Just takes your hand and pulls you in.

You follow him through the dark, quiet penthouse. No lights on. No music. Just your footsteps, your breathing, the sound of his body so close you can almost feel him without touching.

He stops in the middle of the living room.

Turns.

And kisses you again—harder this time.

Your back hits the couch. He leans over you, not breaking the kiss, hands roaming with more heat, more pressure. Like all the silence from earlier is pouring out now in the way he touches you. Desperate. Focused. Controlled in only the way he is when he’s about to lose it.

His mouth leaves yours to trail down your jaw. Your throat. Your collarbone. Every kiss is a vow. A bruise. A surrender.

You pull him closer.

Because this is what it always comes down to.

Not the fight.

Not the anger.

But this— The way he breathes when he’s on top of you. The way his body fits against yours like it’s home. The way he falls apart when you touch him like he’s not invincible.

And for once… he lets you hold him without flinching.

No more silence.

Only skin, and sighs, and everything he doesn’t know how to say in words.

Your back hits the couch cushions and his weight follows immediately—solid, heavy, demanding. His knee parts your legs without hesitation, and you open for him like muscle memory.

His mouth is back on yours, but different now. Gone is the slow burn. This is messier. Breathless. All tongue and teeth. He kisses like he’s punishing you for showing up. Like he’s mad it made him feel better.

Your head tilts back and you moan against his mouth. His hand wraps around your throat—not choking, just holding. Grounding. Possessive. His thumb brushes your jaw as his other hand pushes your dress up roughly, bunching the fabric around your hips.

“Fuck,” he growls into your mouth. “Look at you.”

You gasp when his palm slides up your inner thigh, fingers dragging, slow and firm, like he wants to take his time even though you both know he won’t. His touch is hot, calloused, and so familiar it makes your chest ache.

You grab his wrist, breath hitched. “Don’t tease.”

He smirks, but it’s darker now. “You don’t get to make demands.”

His fingers slip past the edge of your underwear, and you jolt, legs twitching. He grunts when he feels how wet you already are, dragging his fingers through you, slow at first—just enough to feel how badly you want it.

“Fuck, baby…” His voice is low, wrecked. “You like it when I’m angry?”

You stare up at him, lips parted, breathing hard. “You like pretending you’re still in control.”

That makes him snap.

He pulls your underwear down roughly, doesn’t even bother taking it off fully—just pushes it past your knees and spreads your thighs with both hands. You feel the heat of his breath as he looks at you, not touching, not yet.

“You’ve been testing me all night,” he mutters, sliding two fingers into you without warning.

You arch off the couch with a sharp gasp.

His fingers curl immediately, dragging against that spot you hate how fast he finds. His thumb presses down on your clit, slow circles that contrast the way he fucks you with his hand—deep, rough, unrelenting.

You grip the cushions, eyes fluttering. “Jungkook—”

“I said don’t talk,” he growls.

He leans in close, nose brushing your cheek. His breath is hot, his words even hotter.

“You sat through the whole fight looking like a fucking trophy. And now?” His fingers thrust harder, faster, obscene sounds filling the room. “Now you’re dripping for me. Soaked through and shaking.”

You moan, thighs closing around his hand. He forces them open again, pushing them down with his knee.

“Keep ‘em open,” he commands.

Your fingers slide up his back, nails dragging through the sweat and tension in his spine. He shudders from it, his mouth dropping to your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. You gasp again. His tongue soothes over it.

He groans low in your ear. “You want me to fuck you like I lost?”

You nod, dizzy. “Yes.”

“Like I hate everything but you?”

“Yes, Jungkook—fuck, yes.”

He pulls his fingers out, slick and shining, and you whimper at the loss. He pushes up onto his knees, breathing hard, undoing his sweatpants with one hand, eyes locked on your thighs like he’s about to destroy you.

When he pushes in, it’s fast and deep—too deep. You cry out, legs wrapping around him, nails digging into his biceps as he starts thrusting without mercy.

Every snap of his hips punches a sound out of your throat. He’s gritting his teeth, jaw clenched, eyes dark and fixed on the way your body gives under him.

“This what you wanted?” he pants, fucking into you hard enough to rock the couch. “Wanted to be the only thing I could feel after getting robbed?”

You nod, whimpering, trying to keep your voice from breaking.

“You are,” he snarls. “You fucking are.”

You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore—just sounds, gasps, curses, his name. His name, over and over.

He slips one arm under your back, dragging you up against his chest so you’re nearly sitting in his lap, your legs wrapped around him. His rhythm doesn’t slow. If anything, it gets rougher.

Skin on skin. Bruising, breathless. His hand on your ass, your nails in his neck, teeth grazing lips between ragged kisses.

He’s not being gentle. And you don’t want him to be.

This isn’t careful. It’s not sweet.

It’s two people breaking at the seams and using each other to survive it.

His forehead drops to yours. His breath is hot, shaky, lips brushing yours with every thrust.

“I need you,” he murmurs. It’s not rough. Not this time. Just honest. Raw. “I need you, baby. Stay with me.”

You kiss him like a promise. Like you’ll never go anywhere.

Your orgasm hits hard—fast and full-body. You shake, fingers clenching around him, crying out his name. And he follows, growling into your neck, burying himself inside you with one final thrust that leaves you both breathless.

The only sound left is the way you both breathe.

Then silence.

Warm. Spent. Wrapped around each other on the couch, skin damp and hearts pounding.

And for the first time all night— He’s not angry. He’s just holding you.

authors note: comment and lmk what u think!

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flutterguk · 1 month ago

Text

GOSHH I LOVE THEMMMM👅👅👅

CURRENT BOYFRIEND ⋆ JJK

the one where you're the ultimate little prankster and your boyfriend doesn't find you very funny

PAIRING toxic au [ rich ! jk x brat gf ! reader ]

GENRE fluff & smut i think [ mdni / 1.3k ]

CONTENT based on this ask, can be read as a standalone, oc does the 'my current bf' tiktok trend on jk and he does not likey, mutually possessive red flag couple btw, cursing, sexual language, brief overview of oc getting absolutely fawked raw at the end, yet another one of my couples makes a sex tape, is god trying to tell me something

A/N hello my angels… this is my formal apology for lying about the toxic 5 drop 😭 i'm saur sorry omfg but she's still on her way, i promise!!!! love you <3

you’re laying in your boyfriend’s bed after a long day, his body curled around you from behind, eyes closed and sleepy after a shower and a couple rounds. tiktok’s open on low volume, your phone resting against the pillow as you scroll aimlessly.

jungkook’s warm chest is pressed to your back, arm draped over your waist, face tucked into your neck like a big baby while he rests in your scent. every so often you giggle at a video you find particularly funny, lifting a hand to scratch his messy hair when he kisses your throat at the sound.

before you both decide to turn in, you take it upon yourself to initiate your little prank, oh so sneakily opening your camera app. “baby,” you whisper sweetly as you start the recording, “we’re gonna do this cute tiktok trend livi sent me.”

he just hums, doesn’t open his eyes. you lift a hand to pat his warm cheek, then tilt your head and kiss it. your eyes flick to the camera, nose scrunching at how hot you two look together.

but then you notice your nipple’s kinda poking out of your bra from when he lazily shoved it back up earlier after sucking on them for a little. oop. you adjust it slightly, aim the camera a bit higher, and keep the recording going.

“hiiii guys,” you bite your lip to stop from laughing at how stupid you sound, “today my current boyfriend and i are going to do the ‘guess what i’m thinking’ challenge-”

you feel him tense behind you before his eyes even open. in the reflection of the screen, his expression is puzzled, but then he blinks and realises you’re filming. so you quickly go into salvage mode, chucking the phone down on the blanket and pretending to struggle.

“oh, fuck.. i don’t- what, um, let me restart, sorry baby-”

jungkook shifts behind you, a frown now forming on his pretty face. “the fuck,” he mumbles, pulling back slightly. “what?”

you shake your head quickly. “baby, i accidentally- i don’t know what that was, uh... i think i saw something earlier… let me just-”

you reach for the phone, but he instanly covers it with his bigger hand. you glance down and see it’s still recording, very pleased and still trying to bite back a giggle.

“current boyfriend?” he repeats incredulously, moving to sit up properly now. the blanket slides down his big, yummy torso, and you almost bite your lip at the delicious sight before remembering the task at hand.

“baby, no, i didn’t- uh- i-” you pull your best fake stutter, and god, it even sounds fake to your ears... but somebody hand you your fucking oscar, because your boyfriend doesn’t seem to recognise that right now.

“current boyfriend.” he laughs under his breath. a low, dark kind of laugh, a delectable mixture of amusement and anger.

he reaches for the phone to delete the video, and that’s when you all but launch forward, grabbing it first and leaning back out of his reach. you’re just trying to keep it recording, but your furious man interprets the action as you attempting to hide your phone from him. and now, he’s fucking pissed.

his jaw locks. “y/n,” he says like he doesnt know your passcode and the passwords to all your socials. “give me your phone.”

you pout, shake your head, turn slightly away from him. you can feel him fuming behind you while you try not to laugh, the edge of the camera still catching his hard face as he glares.

he presses his chest to your back again and reaches for the phone once more causing you to squeal and switch hands, hanging it off the bed like a menace.

“no baby!!! you’re not going through my phone! i just misspoke-”

“i wasn’t even going to,” jungkook spits, scoffing as he grabs your bare stomach and easily drags you right back into his grasp. “but now i fucking am.”

he’s still cussing behind you while you wiggle and giggle like a lunatic, stretching as far as possible with your arm off the bed. he grabs your wrist and now you’re both wrestling, your ass grinding against his very much now-present dick through his briefs while you cling stubbornly to the device.

“give it to me,” he growls. “give me the phone before i fucking smash it, y/n.”

you can’t stop laughing. you know he’s mad - like mad mad - because even when you turn in a last ditch attempt to distraact him by smushing your lips together (which always works...) he barely lets your tongue slide into his mouth for half a second before pulling away. oh how rude.

he flips you onto your back with a scoff and snatches the phone from your hand like its a loaded gun. you grunt into the mattress as you flop over, hair a mess, bralette twisted and boob nearly out again.

he sits back against the headboard with the phone, about to scroll through it like a sexy psycho.

and you know there’s no fucking way you can get it back from him. his strength is fucked. and when he’s mad? unearthly fucked. so you try your final card… because if he deletes it, your entire struggle was for nothing!

“wait, baby!” you cry. “wait, tigerlily!!”

your boyfriend freezes instantly, thumb hovering over the X button before his head turns to you in confusion. you’ve had sex one thousand and fifty-seven times, and you’ve only used your safe word once before.

you exhale when you see the video still intact. “it was a prank, baby...” you say, voice soft as you crawl into his lap.

your bralette is still misaligned, giving him a full show, but you’re too focused on defusing the nuke in his hand. “don’t delete it, pleasee baby. i wanna watch it back. you were so sexy, my love...”

he just shakes his head at you slowly, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek while you gently pull the phone from his grip. once you see it’s still recording, you grin happily and climb over to prop it up against the bedside lamp so you’re both in frame.

then you mount his big, beefy body again, hands sliding up his warm chest. “or...” you whisper sultrily, leaning down to rub your nose against his pretty one, “we could take the video in a different direction?”

his hands come to your ass, gripping both cheeks over your little panties with those inky hands. he’s pulling you against his now half hard length - honestly, jungkook’s default state whenever you guys are in bed - and his eyes haven’t left yours. they’re still searching, still confirming whether or not he believes you.

you hum and brush your pouty lips down his jaw, letting them trail to his neck as your big bratty eyes flit to the camera. “can show them how good my current boyfriend fucks m—”

you don’t quite get to finish your sentence.

your forever boyfriend has you on your back instantly, panties torn off like wrapping paper, his black briefs shoved down just enough to reveal your forever cock.

you grin merrily through the hard fucking in missionary, through the getting flipped onto your tummy and both asscheeks spanked raw while drilled doggystyle, through the cumming twice on his dick before he makes you beg him for his load, punching your abused g-spot with every snap of his big hips.

when he barks at you to tell him who the fuck this pussy belongs to, you cry out his name with a capital J. when he orders you to tell him who the fuck he is - and because you are nothing if not a little brat - you cry out my fucking husband...

you relish in the loud grunt he lets out at your words, savour the hot cum he instantly paints your inner walls with, moan in dazed delight as your greedy pussy sucks up the reward she so desperately yearns for.

and best of all, the recording stays on for the entire thing.

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flutterguk · 1 month ago

Text

👅👅👅👅

OO1. pretty little mouth

pairing: stalker!jungkook x stalker!reader

warnings for this chapter: masturbation, dirty talk

Is it bad to have an obsession with a man who will never know who you are and will never have an idea?

You didn’t know the answer to that.

Your fingers were moving swiftly through the bundle of nerves between your legs as your eyes were casted on the man on the screen of your phone. He was jerking off, his tattooed hand moving up and down the thickness of his cock while he spewed such dirty words from the lips his tongue kept running over to wet them.

His neck, so pretty, was thrown back here and there, moans and gasps and whines escaping his lips while he let out breathless chuckles at reading the comments.

Is it bad to feel jealousy?

“God, you’re fucking filthy, aren’t you?” He chuckled before biting his lip, his lip ring glistening. “You love watching me stroke myself imagining you’re tasting my cock? Smearing my cum on your pretty lips?”

You shivered at hearing his words, your hand moving faster.

“And I bet you’re touching yourself like a dirty fucking slut, huh?” He breathed out, a small moan escaping his mouth. You hear the slick noises of his hand moving up and down; his pre-cum and spit as a substitute for the stupid lotion he used to use. “Yeah, baby, move those fingers. Imagine them as mine. Imagine my tongue tasting you.”

You let out a small muffled whine at his words.

“I’m gonna cum,” he whined so breathlessly. You moaned at how he sounded. “Yeah, baby, I'm gonna cum for you and you’re gonna be a good girl and cum for me, aren’t you? Begging me to breed you. Begging me to pound into you until my cum is spilling out of that pretty cunt of yours.”

The squelching of your fingers inside you got louder as you began to get closer.

His moaning got louder, his hips jerking up into his hand. “Cum for me, baby. Cum. I want to hear my name from that pretty little mouth of yours. Cum.”

You whined and moaned at feeling yourself clench around your fingers, finally climaxing at the same time as Jungkook did. Spurts of white escaped him as he groaned so softly it was almost as if he was breathing into your ear—you had your earbuds in so he basically was.

“That’s it, baby. Such a good girl for me, hmm?” He softly hummed. He chuckled as he read the comments. “Oh, you guys are so sweet, thank you.”

He spoke so softly in comparison to the way he was talking not even two minutes ago.

You looked at him. Looked at the way his lips tilted up in a smile at reading the comments that said between “wish you could be here with me instead“ and “wish you came inside me daddy”.

You smiled in amusement before you leaned over to wipe your hand away with a wipe.

You fixed yourself, heading towards the bathroom when you typed: “Missed your lives :( you always do your best” with money attached to the message. He deserved it.

As you did your business and washed your hands, you heard his small laughter. “I recognize that cute little username. I missed you as much as you missed my lives. You came with me, baby?”

Your heart stuttered.

Did he really recognize you?

No, no, he couldn’t have. Right…?

After all, you didn’t use your main account. You used some burner account so he wouldn’t know that you of all people watched him. You’d be embarrassed if he found out you were watching him. You heard from so many others he didn’t really interact with female OF creators and as a creator, you don’t think he’d be really happy if he knew you were an avid watcher that gave him money and complimented him like he was the only man alive.

You looked at your screen and typed again, just to really test it out. You hoped he did recognize you. Even if it were your burner account. Was that too parasocial of you?

“ofc i did, you have that effect on me <3”

He smiled almost immediately, leaning in closer while his free hand pinched his bottom lip.

“I’m happy to have that effect on you,” he softly said as he wiped himself clean. “It’s a bummer I don’t know what you look like. I just know I’ll immediately want to come on that face.”

You gulped.

He did read your message. He read your message.

“Holy shit,” you whispered to yourself.

You eyed the bottom half of his face considering he was faceless. He had never shown his entire face—the upper half since he had said he liked the secrecy and loved the mystery of his persona. His username—that you considered amusing—said it all: facelessjk.

“I spoil you guys so much, hmm?” He asked, leaning a bit closer so everyone could see his pecs and his abs poking out from out of screen. “Too much. My spoiled brats.”

Everyone commented even more. They all wanted his attention. Just his. Because this faceless guy was the epitome of attractive, handsome, and someone they could all fantasize about without feeling shame because he didn’t know who they were. They all yearned for him in a way they never yearned anybody. They all just wanted a small taste and they needed it.

You went back to bed and plopped on your back. You looked at your phone and eyed him. Eyed his smile. Will his eyes crinkle? Does he have any moles on the upper side of his face?

There was something so endearing about him that you wouldn’t find attractive in other men. If any other guy said the words he said, you’re pretty sure you would’ve cringed without a word and left. But, he was so good.

“Thank you for the love on the recent video by the way,” he grinned, taking a sip of his water. You watched the way his Adam’s apple moved with every gulp. “I’m hoping you guys had a lot of fun with that one. I might post some more videos next week. Will that be okay with you guys?”

Everyone almost agreed immediately.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll go live tomorrow, especially since a little someone mentioned they missed them. So, I’ll come back tomorrow. What do you guys want to see?”

Your heart fluttered again. Did he really remember your comment? No… maybe he remembered it because you gave him money and this was fanservice. But was it bad to think he remembered because he wanted to?

Your fingers immediately typed a message with another $100 tip: you haven’t used your fleshlight in a while :(

You mentally facepalmed. Was that too much? Was too cringe?

“My fleshlight?” He read with a small smirk. “Hmm… you’re right, I haven’t used it in a while. I’ll use it tomorrow. You want that, baby?”

Oh, yeah… you’re definitely gone. Just that word made your thighs clench subconsciously.

He chuckled as if he knew the effect he had on you.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” he muttered under his breath, already leaning over to turn off his camera. “Don’t miss me too much, yeah? Everyone of you. Come back to me.”

With an amused little laugh, he ended his live and you were left on your bed surrounded with silence.

You groaned.

“All this for one faceless man…”

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flutterguk · 1 month ago

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I HAVE A THING FOR MILITARY MENNN🤭

SCARS OF SURVIVAL ⭒ M. LIST

in a brutal zombie apocalypse, you are hardened by trauma, the scars of your past, and you clash into jungkook, an ex-military loner who hides his pain behind a guarded heart. Forced together to survive, your frequent fights and chemistry spark a dangerous, steamy connection. In the midst of battles, shocking twists, and raw emotion, will their forbidden love survive in this broken world, or will it lead to their ultimate downfall?

pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader

genre — zombie apocalypse au, dystopian world, survival, ex-military officer!jungkook, confident badass!reader, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, friends with benefits, pining, slowburn, one sided love, emotional unavailability, thriller, action and adventure, crime, smut, angst, fluff

warnings — 18+, several explicit sex scenes, mature themes, dark content, graphic violence, detailed gore scenes (zombie attacks, blood), physical and emotional abuse, PTSD, character death (major and minor), betrayal and deception, grief, abandonment, details of injury and pain, smoking and drinking alcohol, mental health themes, each chapter contains their individual warnings (reader discretion is advised due to the intense, dark and potentially triggering content)

taglist — [open]

m. list

────୨ৎ────

01 | to be released.

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flutterguk · 1 month ago

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i cantttt waittt for thiss one to comeee outtttt AHHHHHHH

BACK TO ME

▸ SUMMARY: OF creator, jungkook, loves showing off his assets to his supporters who pay to see his exclusive videos and photos—faceless. but fans wonder why he never has a girl on his videos and why he never interacts with any other girl. they don’t need to know, though, he’s been obsessed with the pretty girl who live streams on her own OF account and who he recognizes as his enemy’s ex-girlfriend. she doesn’t need to know he’s the one who tips her the most with the money he earns from his own OF account, and who loves watching her from a distance. as for him? he doesn’t need to know she stalks him, too.

▸ PAIRING: stalker!jungkook x stalker!reader

▸ GENRE: strangers to lovers, dark romance, that one lyric from house of balloons by the weeknd, angst, fluff, smut, i love my men yearning so expect that bc as much as i love reading smut i love the emotional aspect of getting closer, crack

▸ WARNING(S): dark romance that will include stalking, obsession, violence/blood, smut so pls… mdni (i will add warnings if said chapters will have smut), slow burn, jungkook will not be a red flag character (not a lot to the point it’s toxic), mc will be sassy and sweet simultaneously, talks of sexual assault (none that main characters will do BTW), this series will sometimes not be serious

▸ NOTE: wanted to create a dark romance series that won’t be too much. as someone who reads said books, i have an idea on what not to write and what to write. ahhh lowkey, im very excited to write mc as a stalker too taglist is open btw

▸ LOVERS PLAYLIST: house of balloons, the weeknd • entertainer, zayn • haunted, beyoncé • eres mia, romeo santos • my all, mariah carey • back to me, the marías • mind games, sickick • moth to a flame, swedish house mafia (w/ the weeknd) • el perdedor, maluma • lunch, billie eilish • skintight, ethan low, jimmy brown • oscar winning tears, raye

▸ STATUS: coming soon!

OO1. pretty little mouth

OO2. privacy is overrated

OO3. through the lense

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flutterguk · 1 month ago

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Pink Hearts & Black Clouds || jjk. — 02

Love me at my lowest, I’ll love you when you’re barely holding on

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.

But you must admit… behind that gruff exterior, there’s a side of him only you get to see—gentle, caring, and ready to spoil you in his own way. Everyone else may see him as the tough guy with a permanent scowl, but you know better. Jungkook’s heart? It’s all yours.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, college au, grunge!bf x bimbo!gf, angst, fluff & smut

↠ Word count : 7K

↠ Warnings : swearing, explicit sexual content, riding, oral (f receiving), breast play, intense makeout, multiple orgasms, pet names, dom!guk x sub!reader, praise kink, both of them have a very filthy mouth …

↠ A/n : Hi there ; here is chapter 2! It’s been so long so I both thank you for your patience and apologise for the delay. Chapter 2 takes more of a fun ride and gives you the perfect insight to how chaotic life is for our doll and Bakugo~ There is a scene that is inspired by the voting scene from Gossip Girl. I just felt that it really worked for the two of them :) Your feedback / comments are always appreciated. Thank you for giving my story a chance & happy reading 🦢.

↠ Song : ‘Closer’ by Jungkook / ‘Good for you’ by Selena G

❧ Chapter 02 : lace & chains

prev. || next || masterlist

Three days before voting day

You burst into Jungkook’s apartment like a whirlwind, carrying an armful of colourful flyers that threaten to spill onto the floor. Your oversized tote bag clinks as you toss it onto his couch, the sound of perfume samples and random trinkets filling the silence.

Jungkook, seated cross-legged on the couch in his usual black hoodie and shorts, barely glances up from his phone. His dark hair falls messily over his eyes, and his lip ring catches the dim light as he scrolls through his FYP on TikTok.

“I’ve decided,” you announce dramatically, your voice ringing through his apartment. “I’m running for president.”

The statement hangs in the air like a firework that hasn’t yet exploded. Jungkook’s eyes rise slowly from his magazine, his brow arching in disbelief.

“President of what?” he deadpans, leaning back into the cushions.

“Student president!” you exclaim, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You drop your flyers onto the coffee table with a flourish, scattering glitter and pastel-colored paper everywhere.

“Ms. Choi mentioned it today? Were you not listening?” You roll your eyes, taking off your cream bowknot coat.

Jungkook picks up one of the flyers, his tattooed fingers smudging the edge as he squints at it. The text is scrawled in a glittery font so loud it’s practically yelling: Vote for Me, Because I’m Cute! Beneath it is a selfie of you holding a puppy, your face framed by glitter stickers and cartoon hearts.

Whose puppy is that?

“These look like ads for a bake sale,” he says flatly, turning the flyer sideways like it might reveal a hidden agenda.

“They’re campaign flyers,” you correct, hands on your hips.

He gives you a pointed look, holding the flyer up. “It says, ‘Vote for me because I’m cute and I’ll listen to your problems.’”

“Exactly!” you chirp, sitting beside him and crossing your legs. “Who wouldn’t want a cute president?”

Jungkook stares at you, his expression unreadable. “So, you’re running to lead the entire cohort because you’re… cute?”

“And I’m kind,” you add, smiling sweetly.

Jungkook exhales, setting the flyer down like it’s too much for him to process. “You do realise this isn’t just a popularity contest, right? There’s actual work involved.”

“I know that,” you reply with a wave of your hand. “That’s why I have a plan. And guess what? You’re gonna be my campaign manager!”

His laugh is instant and sharp, the kind that makes your pout deepen. “Yeah, no. There’s no way I’m getting involved in this mess.”

“Why not?” you whine, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Because,” he says, shaking his head, “this is doomed from the start. And when it crashes and burns, I don’t want my name attached to it.”

You gasp dramatically, playing with your pearl necklace like he’s insulted your very soul. “I can’t believe you! You’re supposed to support me, not tear me down!”

“I’m trying to save you from yourself,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

But your determination is unshakable. “You’ll see, Koo. I’m going to win, and when I do, you’ll regret not being by my side from the start.”

“You genuinely serious about this?”

“I am! I already told Taehyung and Jimin, and they’re helping me with posters tomorrow!”

That makes him pause. “Taehyung and Jimin?”

“Yes.”

“They’re helping you run for student president?”

“Of course!”

“I regret making you all meet.” Jungkook gulps, rubbing his hands over his face. “This is just going to be a complete train wreck.”

“No, it’s not!” you argue, stomping your foot for emphasis. “I’m going to win, and then you’ll see. Everyone will love me as their president!”

“They already love you,” he says, exasperated.

“Exactly!” You beam, missing the sarcasm in his tone. “So you’re on board?”

He groans, now running his hand through his hair. “Fine. But only so I can stop you from embarrassing yourself too much.”

“Yay!” You jump onto the couch and throw your arms around him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, though his lips twitch into the faintest smile. “Now come here.”

Two days before voting day

The next day, Jungkook regrets everything.

You’re standing in the middle of campus with Taehyung and Jimin, holding up your new-and-improved campaign posters.

Well, “improved” is a stretch - Jungkook still thinks they look like ads for a daycare. Or was it a bake sale?

He stands stiffly in the middle of campus, hands stuffed into his black cargo pants as you, Taehyung, and Jimin flit around him like chaotic birds.

Taehyung is holding a stack of your revamped posters, and Jimin’s busy tying pink ribbons to the railings of the quad. And you? You’re smiling as though you’re the happiest person in the universe right now.

“Vote for Y/N: She’s cute, and she loves puppies!” Jimin reads aloud, snickering. “This is gold!”

“I do love puppies,” you say proudly, twirling a strand of hair.

Jungkook groans. “This is embarrassing.”

“Don’t be so grumpy, Koo,” Taehyung teases, snapping a picture of you holding up a sign. “You’re dating the future president. Show some pride.”

“Pride,” Jungkook repeats flatly, eyeing the glitter stuck to his hand. “Right.”

You tug on his arm, your lace-trimmed beige cardigan brushing against his tattooed sleeve. “Stop sulking and hand out some flyers!”

He doesn’t move. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because you love me,” you say with a wink.

Jungkook groans but walks over anyway, taking a stack of flyers from your hands. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Believe it, Daddy,” Taehyung teases, earning a glare from Jungkook.

“Shut up.”

Taehyung just laughs, holding up his phone to take more pictures of you posing with your flyers.

“Make sure you get my good side!” you call out, striking a pose.

“They’re all your good side,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, though no one hears him.

“Okay, next we need to practice my speech,” you say, clapping your hands together.

“Speech?” Jungkook repeats, already dreading it.

“Yeah, for the debate,” you explain, but not without sending a glare Jungkook’s way.

Obviously there was going to be a speech!

Jimin’s eyes light up. “Oh, now this I’ve gotta see.”

That Same Evening

Later that evening, you’re sprawled out on Jungkook’s couch, surrounded by ribbons and glitter glue as you design yet another poster.

Your lace-trimmed socks dangle off the edge of the couch, while Jungkook sits on the floor, leaning against the coffee table with his laptop. His silver chain necklace gleams under the dim light, a sharp contrast to the pastel chaos surrounding him.

Jungkook is drained.

You, on the other hand, are still buzzing with excitement as you recap your “successful” campaign efforts on the walk home.

“Everyone was so nice!” you gush. “They all said they’d vote for me!”

“Mhm,” Jungkook says, not pointing out that most of those people were just being polite. And because they wanted a homemade brownie…

“And did you see how cute that dog was? I can’t believe I got to pet it!”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“Obviously. Oh, and Jimin said he’d help me edit my speech later tonight!”

Jungkook groans. “Why do I feel like this is going to end in disaster?”

“It won’t,” you insist, grabbing his arm and flashing him a confident smile. “You’ll see, Koo. I’m going to be the best president ever!”

Jungkook sighs. He really doesn’t have the heart to tell you otherwise.

“Why do you want to do this, Doll?” he asks, glancing at you over the rim of his glasses.

“Because it’s fun, Bakugo” you reply, your voice muffled by the pen cap you’re holding in your mouth. “And because I’m going to win.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, though there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips. Your confidence deserved to be applauded.

You lean over, poking his cheek with a glittery finger. “You love it.”

He catches your wrist, his grip firm but gentle, and pulls your hand away. “I do love you. This? Not so much.��

Your eyes soften at his words, the teasing grin fading into something quieter. “You really do, don’t you?”

Just a few months ago, you couldn’t have imagined Jungkook looking you in the eyes and saying “I love you” with such steady, unshakable certainty.

He sighs, setting his laptop aside to look at you properly. “Yeah, I do. Even when you’re driving me insane with this campaign nonsense.”

You grin, leaning closer until your nose almost brushes his. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re the best campaign manager ever.”

“I’m not your campaign manager,” he grumbles, but his lips twitch into a smile when you kiss the corner of his mouth.

“You are! We need a team name,” you chirp, gazing off as you try and think of something. “Doll and Bakugo!”

The lace of your cardigan brushes against Jungkook’s heavy chain as you pull back, and for a moment, everything feels like it fits - your softness, his edge, the chaos you bring into his carefully ordered life.

“Lace and chains,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head, not exactly catching what Jungkook had said.

“Nothing.”

But the way he looks at you, with a mixture of exasperation and affection, says everything he can’t.

Voting Day Eve

The campus is filled with students, curiously walking around the hall examining the posters of all the class president candidates. Your station is right at the end, hard to miss due to all the pink.

You’re holding the poster in both hands, eyes wide with determination as you stand in front of Jungkook. “I can’t believe I’m actually running for president!”

Days later, the statement still hangs in the air like an uninvited guest. Jungkook stares at you, unblinking, while Taehyung and Jimin - because, of course, they’re here - exchange looks before bursting into laughter.

No one could believe this was actually happening.

“President? Of what?” Jungkook sarcastically asks, deadpan, voice full of that grunge skepticism that could level buildings.

“Of the whole class, obviously!” you announce, puffing out your chest like you’ve already won. “I’ve even got a - what’s it called - a manifesto!”

Taehyung’s practically chokes on his laughter. “You don’t even know what a manifesto is.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes Tae, I do! It’s, like, when you tell everyone what snacks you’ll bring to meetings and stuff.”

Jimin’s doubled over now, wheezing. “Snacks?!”

Jungkook’s still standing there, arms crossed, watching you like you’re an alien that just crash-landed in his life. “I still don’t get why you’re-. You can barely-” He stops himself, probably realising that anything he says will sound meaner than it’s meant to be.

“I can barely what?” You narrow your eyes at him, ready for a fight.

Jungkook sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can barely decide what to eat for breakfast without flipping a coin.”

“That’s called strategy,” you argue, pointing at him with your infamous glittery pink gel pen. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t benefit from me being in charge. I’d be the people’s president. Free parking for everyone!”

Taehyung raises his hand like a student in class. “There’s no paid parking on campus.”

“Then I’ll invent it! And then make it free again!” you declare triumphantly.

Jungkook groans, running a hand through his messy hair. “You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore.”

But your enthusiasm is unwavering. “Just you wait! I’m going to get elected and change this school forever.”

“What’s your slogan?” Jimin asks, still snickering.

You hold up your poster proudly. On it, in hot pink marker surrounded by glitter stickers, is your face in an unevenly drawn heart. Below it, the words: ‘She’s cute, so vote for her!’

Jungkook stares at the poster for a long moment, then looks back at you. “This is a joke, right?”

“It’s not a joke! Cute presidents are more approachable,” you explain, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what happens if you don’t win?” Taehyung teases.

You gasp, horrified. “I have to win. I’ve already planned my victory speech.”

“Let me guess,” Jungkook says flatly. “It’s just you saying, ‘Thank you for voting for me because I’m cute.’”

You blink at him, offended. “You think I’d be that shallow?”

“Yes,” all three of them say in unison.

You ignore them, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “Whatever. When I win, you’ll all be begging me for favours.”

“I can’t wait to see how this turns out,” Taehyung mutters, already texting someone.

Jungkook grabs the glitter-covered poster from your hands, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably presidential,” you correct, snatching it back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a campaign to run.”

Jungkook watches as you march off, shoulders square, your sparkly pen tucked behind your ear like a weapon. He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “I can’t believe I’m dating this lunatic.”

“Hey,” Jimin says, leaning closer. “Admit it. You’d vote for her.”

Jungkook scoffs. “I’ve never voted for anyone. A day like that is a day off for me.”

However, later that afternoon, when you’re texting him about poster designs and debate outfits, he replies:

‘You’re an idiot.’

But when he sees your reply - selfie of you holding a new poster that reads ‘Vote for me because my boyfriend’s hot!’ - he can’t help but laugh.

Okay, maybe voting wouldn’t hurt after all.

That Same Evening

You’re walking through the campus courtyard with Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin, your campaign flyers clutched in your hands. The sun has started to dip, and you’re all finally heading home after another long day of plastering your posters everywhere you could think of.

Nearby, a group of students sits in a semi-circle on the grass, casually chatting. At first, you’re too busy laughing at something Jimin said to pay attention, but their conversation drifts over, loud enough for all of you to hear.

“As cute and nice as Y/N is,” one of the students says, their tone hesitant, “I just feel like we need someone serious for student president. Someone who’ll actually get things done.”

Hearing your name, you slow your steps, glancing over curiously.

Another student chimes in, nodding. “Yeah, I mean, she’s sweet and all, but this isn’t just a popularity contest, right? We need someone with a real plan.”

Around them, a couple of others murmur their agreement.

Before you can fully process what’s being said, Jimin throws his arm around your shoulders, tugging you close with a grin. “Y/N! You know what we need to do? Get you a campaign mascot. Like a dog! Or a tiger. You’d look great standing next to a tiger. So fierce!”

You blink up at him, momentarily distracted. “A tiger? Where am I supposed to get a tiger, Jimin?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got connections,” he says, waving his hand dramatically. “Just trust me.”

While you’re occupied with Jimin’s theatrics, Taehyung leans closer to Jungkook, lowering his voice. “You heard that, right? I’ve been hearing stuff like that all day. A lot of people aren’t planning to vote for her. She’ll be crushed.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens as he glances back at the group of students. For a moment, his expression is unreadable. Then he lets out a low breath, shrugging. “Honestly, it might be for the best.”

Taehyung looks at him sharply. “What?”

“She doesn’t realise how much work this is going to be,” Jungkook says, his tone steady, almost detached. “She’s always in her own little world. I don’t think she understands what she’s getting into.”

Taehyung frowns but doesn’t argue. He knows Jungkook too well to push when he’s in one of his gruff moods. “Maybe,” he mutters, glancing back at you.

And there you are, smiling up at Jimin as he spins some absurd story about how he once met someone who owned a pet tiger. Your laughter rings out, light and carefree, completely oblivious to the conversation happening just feet away.

Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you for a moment too long. The corners of his mouth twitch, and something flickers in his eyes - an idea taking shape.

“Actually,” he begins, tone softening ever so slightly, “wait, never mind.”

Taehyung tilts his head, studying him. “You say somet, bro?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He’s already turning away, hands shoved into his pockets, a hint of determination in his stride.

Voting Day

The auditorium buzzes with anticipation as the student body crowds into the seats, the chatter growing louder with every passing second. You’re seated near the front, sandwiched between Jimin and Taehyung, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. Jungkook sits at the end of the row, his arms crossed as he leans back in his seat, his usual stoic expression betraying nothing.

The student council advisor steps up to the podium, clearing her throat as the microphone squeals. The noise quiets instantly, the crowd leaning forward in anticipation.

“Thank you all for joining us,” she begins, scanning the room. “After a record-breaking number of votes this year, it’s time to announce your new student president.”

You suck in a sharp breath, clutching Jimin’s arm in a death grip. “Oh my God, oh my God,” you whisper, your voice high-pitched and shaky.

“You’ve got this,” Jimin whispers back, patting your hand reassuringly. Taehyung gives you a thumbs-up, though his grin is teasing.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. He’s staring straight ahead, his jaw tight, his fingers drumming against his armrest.

The advisor opens an envelope, the sound of ripping paper echoing through the silent room. “And the winner, with a significant margin, is…” She pauses, glancing at the paper before smiling broadly. “Y/L/N Y/N!”

For a moment, the words don’t register. The room erupts into applause, some laughter, and you sit frozen, your mouth slightly open as your brain scrambles to catch up.

“Wait… what?” you squeak, turning to Jimin.

“You won, dummy!” Jimin yells over the cheers, shaking your shoulders excitedly.

“I… I won?” you repeat, still stunned.

Taehyung laughs, shoving you out of your seat. “Go! Get up there before they think you passed out!”

Your legs feel like jelly as you make your way to the stage, your heart pounding in your chest. The applause grows louder, and you spot a few familiar faces cheering for you from the crowd.

The cheers from the crowd fill the air, and the stage is lit with bright light. You stand confidently beaming as you clap along with everyone else, your heart racing in disbelief. Flowers are handed to you by random students, and your smile could light up the entire quad.

This is it - the moment you’ve worked so hard for - even though you didn’t expect it to actually happen. But now, standing on the stage in front of all your classmates, your heart is a mix of excitement and pure shock. You don’t know how it happened, but here you are. You’ve won.

The advisor hands you the microphone, her smile encouraging. You glance out at the sea of faces, your eyes wide and slightly panicked.

“Erm… hi?” you say nervously, your voice echoing through the room.

The crowd laughs, and you relax slightly, your trademark grin breaking through. “I honestly don’t know what to say. I didn’t think I’d win - like, at all. But, um, thank you? Thank you so much for believing in me. I promise to make this the most fun year ever!”

More cheers erupt, and you can’t help but laugh, the sound bright and genuine. You feel like you’re on top of the world.

From his seat, Jungkook watches you, his expression softening as you beam at the crowd. Taehyung leans closer to him, nudging him with his elbow.

“You didn’t think she’d pull it off, huh?”

Jungkook smirks faintly, his gaze never leaving you. “Guess I underestimated her.”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow, but before he can respond, Jimin pipes up from Jungkook’s other side. “You’re proud of her, aren’t you?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but the hint of a smile remains. “Shut up.”

On stage, you clutch the microphone tightly, your confidence growing with every second. “And to everyone who didn’t think I could do this - haha! Joke’s on you!”

The crowd laughs and claps, your infectious energy impossible to resist. As you step back from the podium, your eyes scan the audience until they land on Jungkook.

He’s sitting back, his expression calm but his eyes warm, the faintest tilt of his head acknowledging you. And for a brief moment, everything else fades away.

You grin at him, your heart swelling with joy.

As you wave to the crowd and enjoy the praise, you feel like the luckiest person on earth. You’re so focused on taking it all in that you don’t even notice Jungkook leaving his seat to stand off to the side, leaning against a pillar and watching you from a distance, arms crossed.

Jimin and Taehyung join him, but are engaged in their own conversation as Jungkook busies himself with his phone.

Taehyung leans over to Jimin, grinning like the little troublemaker he is. “Dude, I don’t get it. How the hell did she win? I thought she was just being her usual bubbly self, handing out flyers and acting cute… But look at her now.”

Jimin laughs, nodding. “Yeah, man, what’s up with that? I mean, she’s sweet, and all, but… I didn’t think people would actually vote for her.”

The two of them glance over at Jungkook, who’s still standing quietly, his face unreadable. Taehyung smirks, nudging him lightly. “What do you think, Kook? How did she even win? Who’s voting for her, really?”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, not bothering to look at them, but there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He stands there, arms crossed, silently watching you, who’s now trying to juggle the flowers while still looking out at the crowd with that infectious grin of yours.

Jimin tilts his head, eyeing him suspiciously. “Come on, Jungkook. You know you have some sort of opinion. Tell us, who voted for her?”

Taehyung adds, “We can’t be the only ones. Did she really have this big of a following?”

Jungkook finally speaks, his voice calm, as he looks at Taehyung and Jimin, not making any effort to hide the slight amusement in his eyes. “Me,” he says, his gaze still fixed on you, who’s now blowing kisses to the crowd.

Jimin blinks, confused. “Well duh, but what was that going to do?”

Taehyung on the other hand scoffs, failing to believe Jungkook actually voted. “Bro, did you seriously vote? That’s a first.”

Jungkook glances at him, his lips curling into a small but knowing smile. “Yeah, about 120 times.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, as Jimin and Taehyung exchange wide-eyed looks.

“Wait,” Taehyung starts, his tone of disbelief almost comical. “You really voted for her that many times? Dude, you’re joking.”

“No,” Jungkook responds, his voice laced with casual indifference. “Why would I fucking joke?”

Jimin can’t help but chuckle, looking over at Taehyung, who’s still in shock. “Wow, we had no idea. You’re soft for her, aren’t you?”

Jungkook shrugs nonchalantly. “She deserves it.”

The two of them fall silent for a moment, digesting what he’s just said.

Jungkook, the grungy, distant guy who typically didn’t care much for things like this, voted for you - his ditsy, but incredibly endearing girl - 120 times.

“She won because of you?” Taehyung asks, his voice almost in awe.

Jungkook finally shifts his gaze away from you and looks at the two of them. There’s still a quiet smirk on his face, but his tone is serious when he speaks again. “She’s the best choice. They need her.”

Jimin looks back at you on stage, a soft smile forming on his face. “Damn. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Jungkook’s eyes flick back to you as well, a subtle warmth in them that he doesn’t bother to hide this time. “Come on hyung, get over it.”

The two of them stand there, silently processing Jungkook’s revelation, while you continue to beam up at the crowd, completely oblivious to the conversation happening just a short distance away.

Your joy is contagious, and for the first time in a long while, Jungkook feels like he’s part of something bigger than himself. You make him feel that way, without even trying.

“Should we go congratulate her?” Taehyung asks with a grin, nudging Jimin, who looks lost in thought. “I mean, she’s our president now, right?”

Jimin laughs, shaking his head, still processing the revelation about Jungkook. “Yeah. Let’s go before she starts thanking everyone except us.”

As the two of them start to walk toward you, Jungkook stays behind, watching them for a second before his gaze drifts back to you.

When you finally make your way off the stage and into the crowd of friends and classmates congratulating you, your eyes lock with Jungkook’s. You smile at him, that soft, bright smile that always catches him off guard, and you laugh, still holding the flowers in your hands.

You’re quick to thrust your bouquets into the arms of Taehyung and Jimin, who both lean in to try and hug you, but you’re off and throwing yourself into your Bakugo’s arms.

“Jungkook, I don’t even know how I won! I don’t know what happened!” you exclaim with a cute laugh, clearly overwhelmed by everything happening around you.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you, his eyes softening with something unreadable. Finally, he pulls you in, engulfing you in his bulky arms.

Home.

“It was your daily speeches doll,” he whispers quietly, almost to himself. “You’re special.”

You beam back at him, your joy too big to contain. “Thanks, Koo! I couldn’t have done it without you!”

Jungkook says nothing, but the way he looks down at you, with the faintest smile on his lips, says it all.

For once, it’s clear: he’s always believed in you, even when you didn’t know it.

Later that evening, after the excitement has settled and the crowd has dispersed, you find yourself in Jungkook’s apartment again, sprawled on the couch with your victory flowers placed haphazardly on the coffee table.

Jungkook sits beside you, shirtless and looking hot as fuck as he flips through his phone.

You nudge his side with your elbow, catching his attention. “So, Kookie…” you start, drawing out the syllables in a singsong tone.

He raises a brow but doesn’t look away from his phone. “What now?”

“I won student president,” you remind him, grinning as you scoot closer.

“Did you? I didn’t notice,” he says dryly, still scrolling.

Back to his usual self it seems…

You pout, tugging on his sleeve. “That’s a big deal, you know.”

“Sure is.”

You lean in even closer, practically draping yourself over him. “Big enough for a reward, don’t you think?”

At that, he finally looks at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “A reward?”

You nod enthusiastically, your smile turning mischievous. “Yep. I worked so hard, and I think I deserve something for all my efforts.”

Jungkook smirks, his tongue running over his bottom lip in that way that always makes your stomach flip. “Oh, you think so?”

“I know so,” you declare, sitting up straighter and crossing your arms. “I handed out flyers, made speeches, posed for pictures. It was exhausting!”

You pout, knowing it will help you win your case.

He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. “And what kind of reward are you looking for, Miss President?”

You pretend to think for a moment, tapping your chin with your finger. “Hmm… Something meaningful. Something memorable. Something…” You trail off, leaning closer until your face is just inches from his. “Fun.”

Jungkook’s smirk widens, and he sets his phone down, finally giving you his full attention. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Unbelievably deserving of a reward,” you correct, grinning shamelessly.

He shakes his head, his hair falling into his eyes as he leans back against the couch. “Alright, Miss President. What do you want?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you slide onto his lap, straddling him, your hands resting on his shoulders. His hands instinctively settle on your hips, and his brows shoot up in surprise.

“This,” you say, your voice dropping to a softer, more playful tone. “This is my reward.”

You grind down on Jungkook, moving forward to rest your nose against his cheek.

Jungkook chuckles, low and warm, his grip tightening slightly. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” you admit, leaning in until your lips are a breath away from his. “But you like it.”

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, Jungkook closes the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss that sends shivers down your spine.

When you finally pull back, a satisfied smile on your face, you whisper, “Best reward ever.”

“But I’m not satisfied,” Jungkook says in a husky tone, playing with the hem of your short, silk nightgown. “I think I deserve a reward too.”

As Jungkook’s fingers continue to trace lazy patterns on your thigh, his voice drops further, laced with that teasing, husky tone that always makes your cheeks warm.

His lips brush slightly against your ear.

You pull back and blink up at your man, your glossy lips parting slightly in confusion. “Huh? But you’re not the class president, silly. I am!”

Jungkook pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes narrowing like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. And then he laughs - deep and low, the sound rumbling from his chest and vibrating against you.

A sound you’re not quite used to, but is your saving grace.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, shaking his head, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying his exasperation.

You pout, your perfectly glossed lips sticking out just enough to tempt him further. “I’m not wrong though,” you argue, tilting your head innocently.

“Mhm.” His grip on your waist tightens slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin as he leans closer, the warmth of his breath fanning against your cheek. “Still think I deserve something… presidential, don’t you think. You know, for being the best campaign manager?”

You stare at him for a second, trying to piece together what he meant before your face lights up. “Ohhh! You mean, like, a sticker or something? I think I have some in my bag! Wait here!”

Jungkook groans softly, the sound half-amused, half-defeated, as you attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. But he wasn’t going to let you go anywhere.

“Forget the sticker, doll,” he mutters, tugging you closer and pressing his lips firmly against yours once again.

Jungkook laughs softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your waist. “You’re lucky you’re- never mind.”

“You’re lucky I’m your president,” you quip, earning an eye roll and another kiss that leaves you both grinning like fools.

Jungkook pulls your closer, groaning. A deep, throaty sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Why don’t you remind me how lucky I am?”

Your fingers trail down his buff chest, teasingly slow, until they reach the waistband of his jeans. You toy with the button, glancing up at him through your lashes. “I think you already know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But if you need me to spell it out…”

Before you can finish, his hand shoots up, gripping your chin gently but firmly. “You’re such a tease,” he mutters, his gaze locked on yours. “Always pushing buttons, seeing how far you can go.”

A thrill runs through you at his words, your body responding instinctively as you nod, your lips parting slightly.

“Yes,” you breath, the single word laden with meaning.

That was all the encouragement he needed. In one swift motion, Jungkook flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him as his mouth crashed into yours.

The kiss is hungry, desperate, his tongue claiming yours as his hands roamed over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You moan into his mouth, arching into his touch, your hands fisting in his hair to pull him closer.

When he finally breaks the kiss, both of you are breathless, your chests rising and falling rapidly.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, lips trailing down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. “Class president. Always so perfect, aren’t you?”

Your head falls back against the couch cushions, a whimper escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your collarbone.

“Only for you,” you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Jungkook chuckles darkly, his hands sliding under your skirt to grip your thighs. “Is that so?” he asks, voice laced with amusement. “Then let’s see how much of a good girl you can be for me tonight.”

With that, he shifts lower, his lips following the path of his hands as he kisses along your inner thighs.

You squirm beneath him, the anticipation building as he teases you mercilessly, his breath hot against your skin. When his tongue finally finds its target, your back arches off the couch as a cry tears from your lips.

“J-Jungkook!” you moan, your hands clutching at the cushions as waves of pleasure wash over you.

“My love, I’ve missed this” Jungkook murmurs, voice thick with lust, his breath ghosting over your slick heat. “Missed my mouth all over this filthy cunt.”

Your fingers tangle in his dark hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp as you tighten your grip, hips arching in desperate search of contact. The need is maddening, your body trembling with want.

“Please… Koo,” you whine, your voice barely more than a whimper, every syllable laced with urgency. “Please, I need you.”

He hums against your thigh, the sound sending a jolt straight through your core. His gaze flickers up to you, hungry and impossibly tender. “I need you too,” he admits softly. “Need to taste you. Need to be inside you. Need to ruin you.”

Then, with infuriating patience, he drags the tip of his tongue along your folds - a featherlight stroke that leaves you shuddering. You writhe beneath him, chasing more, the teasing making your heart pound.

Jungkook groans low in his throat, clearly affected by the sight of you already in bliss.

“Baby, please… need more,” you whine, voice high and trembling, your body begging louder than words ever could.

And that is all it takes.

“Koo’s teased you long enough, hmm, doll?” he taunts, cupping your thighs and settling in deeper. “If it’s too much, you’ll tell me.”

Jungkook licks a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit, savouring every drop of you. His tongue lingers, his lips sealing around your cunt as he begins to truly devour you … hungry, reverent, insatiable.

He moans into you, the vibration making your toes curl. His mouth is everywhere - sucking, kissing, lapping - and when his tongue flicks over your swollen clit, you cry out his name like a prayer.

You rock your hips against his face, seeking more, always more, as he flattens his tongue against you and groans at the taste he’s been craving. His hands roam upward, brushing over your chest, thumbs circling your hardened nipples, sending sparks of sensation through your already trembling frame.

“Oh my god, Baby—please! I-I can’t—” You gasp, the first orgasm crashing into you hard and fast, your thighs clamping around his head.

But Jungkook doesn’t stop.

He already knows.

“Baby wants more?” he teases against your heat, voice muffled but devilish.

And despite the pressure, you find yourself nodding.

Jungkook is then licking you again… up and down, over and over… shameless, worshipful and like he’s starved for you.

You can barely breathe, pleasure building again far too soon, and all you can do is hold on as he pulls another climax from your trembling body, whispering your name between every lick like it’s the only word that’s ever mattered.

You whine, tears spilling from your eyes as you reach for your Koo to hold you.

“Not yet,” he says, voice rough with lust and desire. “We’re not done.”

Before you could protest, Jungkook is kissing you again, his hands roaming over your body as he guides you to sit up.

“Ride me,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You obey without hesitation, positioning yourself over him as he unbuckles his jeans, freeing his hard length.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, moaning at the sensation of being filled so completely. All while the tears continue to spill.

You love… you adore… you could die for the way this man fucks you.

Jungkook’s hands grip your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you begin to ride him, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

“That’s it,” he growls, his eyes locked on yours. “Take what you want, baby. Show me how much you’ve earned this.”

You whimper, pace increasing as the heat between you builds to an unbearable level. Jungkook’s hands move to your breasts, kneading and teasing as you grind down on him, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

“Look at you,” he rasps, his voice guttural and raw. “Riding me like you own me.” His words send a thrill through you, spurring you on as you pick up the pace, grinding down onto him with increasing urgency.

“You’re- you’re mine,” you manage to utter, grip tightening on Jungkook’s shoulders as you reach down to kiss him.

Jungkook, however, seems occupied with your urgency. And being his usual determined self, he cannot let you win.

His hands grab hold of your hips again, guiding your movements as he thrust up into you harshly, meeting you stroke for stroke.

The pleasure builds rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your core with each thrust. You feel it building, that sweet pressure threatening to break you apart, but you hold on, determined to make your handsome man come undone first.

“Koo, I—” you whine, your voice breaking as you feel yourself teetering on the edge.

You clench around him, drawing a strangled groan from his lips as his rhythm falters.

Leaning forward, you capture his mouth in a messy, passionate kiss, your tongues battling for dominance as you ride him harder, faster, chasing that peak together.

“Come for me,” he demands, tone firm but gentle. “Fall apart on my dick.”

It was all the permission you required.

With a cry, you come undone, your body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

Jungkook groans, the feeling of your sticky cum decorating him consuming him.

And before he can continue his usual post-orgasm shenanigans, you cut him off with a sharp roll of your hips, driving him over the edge.

His release hits him like a tidal wave, his body tensing as he spills inside you. He holds you through it, his groans muffling against your skin.

The sight of him cumming inside you, the feel of him pulsing within you, is all it takes to send you spiraling once again.

Another orgasm crashes over you, waves of ecstasy washing through your body as you clench around him, milking every last drop of pleasure Jungkook has to offer.

Both of you breathe heavily as you try to regain your senses. Jungkook’s arms immediately wrap tighter around you, holding you close as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice filled with satisfaction and pride. “You did so well, my princess.”

You smile faintly, your body still tingling from the second orgasm. “Does this mean I get a reward every time I win something?”

Jungkook chuckles, his grip on you tightening slightly. “If this is how you plan to collect, then maybe we should make more bets.”

You laugh softly, leaning into your boyfriend as the TV continues to flicker in the background, forgotten by both of you.

For now, all that matters is being lost in the heat of the moment and Jungkook’s promise of more nights like this.

—

And done! Hope you enjoyed 🫶🏻 I would appreciate feedback :)

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flutterguk · 1 month ago

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AHHHH I LOVEEE THEMMMM

wanna try out some freaky positions? | myg

plot | that time popstar!yn is on her tour's day two in paris, and fans are wondering if she's finally doing the most requested position of all time. the one that may require her bassist (and rumored boyfriend), yoongi.

w.c | 1980

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | fluff, humor, enemies to lovers, slow burn

note | i'm still calling it twitter

main masterlist | series masterlist

DAY 301: PARIS, FRANCE

It's everywhere. Predictions about your possible Juno position for your second performance night in Paris are all over social media before you even officially land in the said country. It didn’t help that you and your band members are active on social media, alluding that something is happening behind the scenes. There were also sightings of your close friend, another celebrity, who you knew was staying in France for his vacation. Your fans, who were already elated with the upcoming performance later tonight, flooded you with mentions on Twitter, which resulted in a short and unplanned Q and A.

You were in the middle of your rehearsal break when you finally got hold of your phone after posting that late IG story hours ago. Knowing how excited your fans are at the moment, you reinstalled your Twitter app just to have some interactions with them. It has been so long since you opened your account there, since you were avoiding seeing any tweets about your breakup from last year. You smiled as you typed in your tweet, along with a photo you prepared for today, swaying your feet as you sat at the edge of the stage.

While you have all of your focus on your phone, you didn't even notice Yoongi, who's sitting on one of the empty seats in the area where the VIP audience usually sits. He cannot help but smile while he sips his Americano, looking at you. He wondered what made you so giggly and smiley on your phone. Meanwhile, his phone kept on vibrating in his pocket, which made him reach for it. That’s when he got the answer to his curiosity. Notifications from your Twitter account popped up one after the other. He chuckled before clicking on the app to read more of your tweets.

You giggled at the friendly banter you had with one of your fans. Scrolling down the tag, you smiled even harder when you found an interesting question to reply to.

Yoongi had to laugh with that one. Hearing that, you turned your head up, finally seeing him sitting alone just a few feet down the stage. Your left eyebrow raised, wondering what made him laugh on his phone.

“Where are the others?” you asked all of a sudden, just to get his attention.

Your bassist looked up and met your gaze. “They went out for snacks. I got your coffee here.”

He points out the still-warm takeout coffee cup he has on the empty seat next to him. You smiled before reading yourself to jump from the stage rather than taking the stairs. Seeing that, Yoongi immediately stood up.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“I’ll jump,” you replied, already inching yourself at the edge.

He clicked his tongue while shaking his head, “No, just take the stairs.”

You pouted. “This is easier. I hate the stairs.”

“You might get hurt. Art and Cal will both kill me if I let you do that,” he said while walking towards you. He then stood just a few feet lower than you.

From your point of view, he looked nonchalant, yet he opened both his arms.

You squinted, “Are you gonna catch me?”

“Nope, I just like opening my arms at random times like this,” he scoffed.

You rolled your eyes. “And I like jumping from high places.”

He shook his head again before telling you sternly, “I don’t care. Just jump, diva.”

So you did. Even though you would have loved to continue the childish banter. And he did catch you, helping you carefully land your feet on the ground. Steadily and easily, he got you with one hand, holding you up against your back. Unconsciously, your face is almost buried in his neck, like you were magnets, they just connect instantly. Maybe it was because he still wore the familiar scent that makes butterflies stir in your stomach.

And maybe that’s why you didn’t pull away right away.

With how close you are, you can feel his heart beating almost at the same pace as yours. Fast and loud. Slowly pulling away, your eyes interlocked with each other. It was a heavy exchange of stares, anchored with something heart-fluttering that you two didn’t have to label anymore. A small smile tugged at your lips as you noticed his eyes moving down.

“Thank you,” you whispered before stepping back.

Yoongi followed behind you, trying not to put his heart over his beating chest. He sat in a seat apart next to you while you took a sip of the coffee. The much-needed caffeine helped you feel warmer and comfortable in your baby blue sweatshirt.

“You liked it?” he asked even though he already knew the answer.

“Yep, I needed that. Thank you,” you replied, putting down the cup. You turned to him. “Why are you here, by the way? You don’t want to explore the city in your free time? We’re only here for a few days.”

He shrugged, “I don’t know, I just had this gut feeling that you will do something reckless and I need to stick around.”

It was your turn to scoff, “Yoongi, just say you stayed behind for me. It’s okay.”

He looked at you, brows furrowed, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

And he didn’t even deny it, you thought to yourself.

As soon as everyone got back, the rehearsal resumed. This time, it was a dress rehearsal. So you had more time and room for errors and adjustments. While Art is talking with the band about something related to your time on stage, you take a quick scroll on your phone. You instantly took notice of a certain tweet getting a lot of attention. You laughed at it as it sparked something in your brain. You swiped up your finger on the app to see more tweets from your fans, but a notification from a verified account popped up. You turned around to see Yoongi raising his brows. You typed in your phone before giving it to your very pregnant assistant, Cal.

The fishbowl method.

That method is known to be Yoongi's greatest enemy. Whenever any staff member of your tour brings out that glass bowl that was filled with rolled papers, he just knows he will hear his name from that staff member’s tongue. And today is no different day.

It was during the second rehearsal break of the day when Cal came in holding the infamous transparent bowl.

“So, everyone, this is for the Juno performance. We need two people for tonight,” she said it like it’s gonna be something fun.

Although Yoongi literally had no idea why, everyone seemed to be excited upon hearing Cal’s instructions as they cheered, including you. Fred, who is happily married and permanently removed from choices for the Juno performance participants, sat along with you and your dancers. He was cheering too. For more variety, the fishbowl included the names of your band members and dancers.

“YN, will you do the honors of picking two names in our bowl of names?” Cal called you up.

“Okay, here we go. Drumroll, please,” you quipped, but Fred followed, running to his drums and playing them.

Knowing his fate, Yoongi was not surprised anymore when he heard his name after Noah’s. He is not even disappointed or frustrated. He just accepted and expected that the fishbowl method loves him. But what he did not expect was the reason for today’s fishbowl method. While you explained your plan for tonight’s Juno performance pose, Yoongi just shook his head with a smile as he was already used to your straightforward poses. He just didn’t expect that you could be this creative for positions.

“So, do you want to be at the back or the front?” Noah asked, which can sound strange without context.

Yoongi blinked, “What?”

He was obviously dumbfounded, making the others laugh. You tried not to laugh while you bit off your inner cheek.

“He means for the Eiffel Tower,” you explained, which didn’t really clarify anything for him.

Noah cuts in to help, “We are basically the tower itself, while YN is the centerpiece. She will bend forward, and we-” he clasped his hands together, “Are gonna high-five over her.”

“That’s your Juno position for tonight?!” Yoongi looked at him, then to you.

You nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah, the Eiffel Tower!”

When it finally registered in his head, everyone can see Yoongi’s shoulders deflating as he shakes his head with a smile. Just smiling over how stupid yet creative this whole thing is. His defeated stance made Fred and the dancers laugh.

“I swear, we should change that fishbowl method,” he muttered, pushing his hair back.

“I think the fishbowl likes you a lot,” you teased him.

“I don’t think it was just the fishbowl,” he replied, making you pause while you three walk to the heart-shaped center stage.

Noah, who did not hear that last line since he walked faster, snapped his fingers, “Catch up, lovers. Let’s do this test run for the Eiffel Tower. I’m honestly starting to feel like the third wheel here.”

He said the name sarcastically, which resulted to you rolling your eyes and Yoongi scratching the back of his neck. You get into the position. You have your sparkly mic in your right hand, singing the last line before the pose.

“Wanna try out some freaky position?”

The guys stood on your front and back. Noah was on the front, while Yoongi was behind you.

“Have you ever tried… this one?”

You bent forward as Yoongi and Noah high-fived over you, which instantly earned some whistling and cheers from your tour staff and dancers. You laughed, making you lose balance and accidentally grind against Yoongi. You only snapped out of it when he instinctively gripped your hips to steady you in place.

Noah, who saw this happen, gaped, “Oh my god, someone wash my eyes with holy water.”

Being the dramatic one, he threw up his hands and walked away in exaggerated disbelief. You and Yoongi, on the other hand, seemed to be in your own little world as you looked over your shoulder to look at him.

“Oops, sorry,” you said without really meaning it.

He raised an eyebrow, “Really?”

You shrugged, standing back up, “Eh.”

Noah groaned from afar, leaning on one of the big speakers near their instruments, “Where is the HR for this tour?! I need to report something!”

The joke made everyone laugh. Akio, being the second most dramatic one in the band, dramatically consoled Noah. You stifled a laugh, turning around in their direction.

“Oh my god, you’re making me look like I’m a problem here.” you fed into their little bit that was going on.

Your best friend accusedly pointed out his finger, “You are the problem, and so is Tower B over there.”

Mr. Tower B, who stood next to you, remained casual as he muttered, “I don’t mind what’s going on. I kinda liked the view.”

The subtle smugness in his statement got a loud reaction from everyone. Fred laughed. The dancers howled. Akio and Noah groaned. The rehearsals are getting a little messier so Art had to step in.

“Okay, everyone. Let’s go rehearse the performance from the top again,” he signalled the dancers to stand up before turning to you and Yoongi. “And less thrusting, this time.”

You gasped even though you knew he was just teasing you, “There was no thrusting! I accidentally ground against him, that’s very much different!”

Art gave you a look that said, “Uh-huh, sure.”

Yoongi remained unbothered, “Yeah, thrusting is different. It requires intent.”

With that unexpected remark, the room erupted with laughter. All while your eyes widened, feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Yoongi!” you scolded him through an embarrassed gritted grin.

He looked at you, nonchalant as he blinked innocently, “What? I was just explaining!”

SERIES TAGLIST

@busanbby-jjk @jimingirl95 @treacherqus @jajabro @marnz1990 @ktownshizzle @notarshia @m00njinnie @thelilbutifulthings @tarahardcore @livisdoingfine @jungshaking @eridanus-lynx @enthralled-bandit @goodnight-n-go-home @ronyiboniyy @jimeg629 @lveegsoi @madussthoughts @jalexad @ryryvna @kiki-zb @kam9404 @rtyuy1346

PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21 @marblemoonstones @butnotmontana @mar-lo-pap @ficluvr613 @senaqsstuff @stars4kooo

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flutterguk · 1 month ago

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02 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

“You think you can scream at me? Threaten me? You’re nothing. You hear me? A little girl playing hero, and now you’re all over my head; you’re my fucking obsession. I don’t do love or believe in anything related to it, but you—you’re in my head, and I can’t rip it out. It pisses me off, you know that? You’re too soft, too pure, and I want to break you. I want to hear you scream just to see if you’ll look at me with those innocent eyes again.”

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, argument, emotional vulnerability, crying and screaming, mentions of being scared, non-consensual undertones, solo masturbation, he steals her panties, panty sniffing, cock palming and fisting, he cums on her panties, voyeuristic and obsessive elements, possessiveness, rough making out, bruising/marking, oral sex (f. receiving), cunnilingus, rough handling, angry confessions, pussy inspection, eating out, fingering, clit sucking and stimulation, tongue fucking, face sitting, face riding, cum swallowing, hair fisting, clothed sex elements, dirty talk, praise kink, restriction, slight aftercare

wc — 5.4k

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

The damp night air clung to Jungkook, with the threat of rain, a cigarette between his lips, its burning tip the only light in the dark.

He was in front of your apartment, hand twitching towards the knob, a boundary he was about to break that he tried so hard not to. His obsession with you has turned into something monstrous, and it was eating at his insides, demanding more than just watching you from afar.

He couldn’t keep away, not from you, not from the feminine warmth of your apartment, so different from the coldness in his life.

Tonight, the pull was even stronger, dragging him to your door. His lock-picking ways were a skill from his past experience as he slipped inside, intruding your place like a thief.

The door clicked shut, and he stood in your living room, boots ruining the same rug that he had ruined that day with his blood, the rug fully tainted by him despite how much you tried to clean it.

The place took him back to the night when he last came here when you insisted on treating him—your apartment was like a cocoon to him, all soft pink. It was you, every inch of it. The lingering smell of you drove him crazy, so fragile that he could smash it with one hand.

He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But instead, he was here, drawn to it.

He moved through your space like a predator, fingers brushing over your belongings; each touch felt like a violation, yet his claim.

The couch squeaked as he sank onto it, still warm from where you'd sat earlier. He lit another cigarette, the lighter's snap loud in the stillness; he exhaled, the smoke souring the sweet air in your home.

His dark eyes scanned the room, memorizing every inch. Your life was laid bare here for him to see, every detail—your dreams, your fears, your innocence—laid out for him to devour.

His gaze fell on the laundry basket in the corner, almost hidden. His pulse quickened, a dark thrill twisting in his stomach. He crossed the room slowly and lifted the lid. There among your sweaters and tees was a pair of panties—pink, delicate with lace that made his jaw clench.

He picked them up, the fabric soft against his calloused fingers, and brought them to his face. Your scent hit him—musky sweet with a hint of your lotion so purely you it made his head spin.

His cock twitched, straining against his jeans, and he let out a low growl in the silence.

He returned to the couch and sank back down again with his thighs spread, the panties in his tight fist. The room felt smaller, the air thick with his own need, and his heart racing.

He unzipped his jeans slowly, fingers shaking slightly. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, tip already glistening with precum, veins pulsing and achingly hard.

He wrapped your panties around his length, the roughness of the lace sending shivers down his spine, he hissed at the sensation. His hand squeezed his cock, making him feel the throb of his arousal.

He dragged the fabric up harshly as it engulfed his entire cock, making him groan. He tipped his head back, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. It felt so damn good—your softness against his hardness, like you were touching him even if you’d hate him for it.

His hand moved slowly at first, savoring the moment even though he knew how wrong it was, that just caused his cock to harden even more. He didn’t give a single fuck about rules, when it came to you; he was a madman.

He twisted his wrist, letting the lace drag over the tip, the friction made his hips buck, a growl escaping his mouth, couch creaking from his movements. The panty was growing slick with precum dripping from his cock.

He imagined you—your eyes wide and innocent as your lips parted in shock, the way you’d gasp with a blush coating your cheeks if you saw him like this.

The thought made him harder, his grip tightening around his cock. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, voice rough, “you’d hate me, wouldn’t you? But you’d stare…. You’d fucking stare.”

His hand sped up, the panty sliding over his cock faster; the lace was both like a torment and bliss to him. He tugged, and the slight pain grounded him made him fume with pleasure.

His hips started thrusting. “Fuck yeah,” the sensation was more than he had ever felt in his life, just from your flimsy panties.

His chest heaved, and the room was filled with the smell of his arousal and your sweetness, with the hint of cigarette smoke that he was smoking earlier, and it was messing with his head.

“you’re in my head little girl” he snarled, “every fucking where. I can't stop.”

His hips started bucking harder as he pressed the panties to his nose again, inhaling your scent now mixed with his—the smell of your essence, so you—his tongue flicked out, tasting whatever slickness, you left, and he groaned at the taste.

His other hand gripped the couch, nails digging into the fabric, leaving marks in your couch.

He imagined you—on your knees, mouth on him, your innocence broken by his touch. Your tongue tracing the shape of him, whimpers vibrating against him. Your cheeks flushed as you’d look up at him, trusting and trembling, and it was too much. It broke him.

His orgasm hit hard, vision blurring. His hand froze, keeping the panties pressed against his cock tightly as he came in hot, thick spurts, soaking the fabric, ruining it, he bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. His cock was pulsing, and he stifled the moan that threatened to spill out. Your panty was a mess, stained with his cum, his shame, and his obsession.

The release was violent, and his body shuddered. He sat there, panting, cock still twitching. “You’re mine,” he rasped in the empty room

He slumped back, panting, cock hard again, not even close to being relieved, it was a pain only you can help with.

The room was quiet again, with only the distant hum of the city. He stared at the ceiling and felt the weight of what he’d done.

He wasn’t a good man. He didn’t do gentle, didn’t do kind. But you—you were a fire in his blood, and he hated you for it. Hated how your softness made him weak, how you threatened to crack the shell he’d built around him

He tucked himself back into his jeans, zipping up, shoving the panties into his pocket, a dirty secret he couldn’t leave behind. He stood, legs unsteady, and lit another cigarette. He took a drag, smoke burning his throat, helping his mind to get distracted, even just a little bit.

He moved to your bedroom door, pausing to look at your bed—the soft sheets tangled with a dent from where you’d slept. He pictured you there, body vulnerable and exposed, nightie riding up, and his fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.

“You’re too fucking delicate,” he muttered, voice angrily low, with a softness he couldn’t name. “This world will break you. I’d break you.”

The words were like a warning. He turned away and slipped out of your apartment, leaving the cigarette butt on your table, marking his claim and his promise to return.

۶ৎ

Your apartment felt suffocating, trapping you in a danger that you’d built yourself. The air in your home was mixed with cigarette smoke, a reminder of the stranger who’d invaded your world.

Your heart pounded loudly as you stood in the living room, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The signs were everywhere—cigarette butts on coffee table, a pink rose on the counter or sometimes you'd find them in other random places, the small dent on your bed indicating someone's presence there, and everything in your place reeked of a male and smoke. Someone was watching you, following you everywhere, unfolding your life.

The money—envelopes of cash had kept you grounded and saved you from debt—kept you silent, but tonight, it was too much; everything was too much all at once, and you were about to burst.

You gripped the cushion tightly as your voice came out shaky. “Who are you?” you screamed into the empty room. “What do you want? Just leave me alone! Stop this! Stop torturing me!” Your voice broke, a sob left your lips, and you sank down to your knees.

The room spun, and you knew it was your fault. You were a fool for not calling the police, for letting the money involve you to this. You tugged at your hair, the pain helping with frustration

The silence was loud, swallowed by your cries. Then—a creak, a noise in your bedroom. Your breath hitched, body freezing as a shadow moved, stepping from the darkness like a monster into the night, his presence in your place attracting everything to him.

Jungkook stood there, filling the room with threat. His leather jacket hung open. Showing the hardness of his chest, with the tattoos all over him. His hair was messed up, falling into his dark eyes, burning with an intensity, pinning you where you sat.

He didn’t belong here, in your world, but he stood there as if he owned it, as if you were the one intruding

You gasped, recognition hitting you. The man you’d saved—the one whose blood had soaked your rug, who haunted your dreams—was here, real, in your home.

Your heart raced, tears drying on your cheeks and you scrambled to your feet, legs shaking. “You,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the pounding in your ears, “it was you. All this time… it was you.”

Jungkook didn’t move. His eyes locked in yours, dark and unreadable, like they could swallow you whole. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, the smoke invading your space like it's used to it now.

“You shouldn’t have helped me that night,” he growled, the gravel sending a shiver down your spine. “You should’ve run, sweetheart. Should’ve locked your door and prayed I’d bleed out on the street.”

His words cut sharp and cold, you stumbled back, hips hitting the couch. Fear and anger twisted inside you, as you pointed a shaky finger at him.

“I’m calling the police.” Your voice quivered but gaining strength from the betrayal, “You’ve been in my home, touching my things, leaving your… filth everywhere! Why? Why are you doing this? I saved you! I saved your life, and this is how you repay me?” You rambled, fueled by your own anger.

His eyes flashed dangerously, making your stomach lurch, and in two long strides he was on you. He towered over you, blocking everything from your view with his large frame. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, slamming you against the wall.

The impact shook you as your lips parted in fear. His body was radiating heat and danger, his scent overwhelming—cigarettes, leather, something so wild and primal. His grip was bruising, fingers digging in, and you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled, face only a few inches away from yours, breath hot against your lips, anger palpable. “You think you can scream at me? Threaten me? You’re nothing. You hear me? A little girl playing hero, and now you’re all over my head; you’re my fucking obsession. I don’t do love or believe in anything related to it, but you—you’re in my head, and I can’t rip it out. It pisses me off, you know that? You’re too soft, too pure, and I want to break you. I want to hear you scream just to see if you’ll look at me with those innocent eyes again.”

His words hurt you, and you shook as tears spilled down your face again. His eyes followed them, something hungry flickering in them, he leaned forward, catching a teardrop with his tongue making you gasp, the act so obscene and dirty, like he was possessing you; even the tears you spilled, he wanted to own them.

It scared you, thrilled you in ways you couldn’t understand. “I shouldn’t have saved you,” you choked out, voice filled with regret. “I should’ve just let you die out there, let the street take you. You’re a monster, and I was stupid—stupid to think I could help someone like you!”

His grip tightened, fingers almost crushing your wrists, nostrils flaring from his anger, and he leaned closer nose brushing your cheek, lips so close you could feel their heat.

“Say that again!” he roared, his voice shaking you to the core. “Say it, you little brat! Tell me you regret it; tell me you hate me! Go on, scream it because I’ll make you feel every second of my anger.”

His eyes were wild, burning with a fury that wasn’t just at you but at himself as well, at the obsession that had chained him to you.

You sobbed, body shaking, but you couldn’t look away, caught in his intense gaze. His face was full of rage, yet beneath it there was something else—wounded pain that he cannot heal from. Your lips parted, but no words came out, only a whimper, a sound of defeat.

The air was full with tension, almost electric yet suffocating; the space between you blurred until it was just him taking over your senses, and nothing else existed except him—his scent, his fury, his presence.

His eyes dropped to your lips, and for a moment, time stopped. Then with a growl he crashed his mouth against yours, claiming you with a force that stole your breath. The kiss was hard and consuming, full of anger. His lips moving against yours in a rough and consuming way, yet full of need. His tongue pushes past and forces into your mouth, claiming you.

It was messy, his teeth grazing your lower lip, the sharp sting making you gasp, his mouth swallowing that noise, as the kiss deepened. He tasted of smoke and salt, and it was overwhelming, pulling you under even more.

You moaned, and he growled at the noise, gripping you harder, tongue exploring all over your mouth, tangling with yours, fighting your tongue for control even though it was very obvious he would win.

His stubble brushed against your chin, rough and grounding you. His lips moved in a punishing way, sucking your lower lip before diving back in your mouth for more.

You suddenly came back to your senses, and your hands pushed at his chest, fingers curling into his shirt, making noises of protest, but he was a solid wall full of muscle and rage, body pressing you harder against the wall.

The kiss slowed, but his tongue was still coaxing noises from you, high and needy. He stole your first-ever kiss, and you felt your knees getting weak just from the kiss alone. For years you have imagined what it would be like to get your first kiss after reading about them in your silly romance books and getting it for the first time, from a criminal made you want to cry and push him away, not from anger directed towards him but towards your own self for enjoying it and making you ache.

Your own body betrayed you, a heat between your legs, skin tingling where his hands gripped your hips, sliding down your arms with a possessiveness that made your knees weak.

You were a virgin, untouched, and the sensation was overwhelming, a wave of fear and want crashing into you. It was too much—the kiss and being touched like this, drowning you in sensations you didn’t know how to name. His hands were rough against your soft skin, and each of his touches felt like he was marking you as his.

You hated him, terrified of him, but your body arched into him, your breasts pressing against his hard chest, craving everything he was willing to give you.

His taste and his raw hunger clung to your tongue. Your heart was thundering in a wild rythm, each of your gasps now filled with the scent of him—cigarettes, musk, and also with his promise of ruin just from his kiss.

He pulled back, chest heaving, eyes dark with desire and hunger. His jaw was tight, hands still gripped your hips, bruising yet firm, as if he was steadying himself.

His cigarette had fallen in between both of your makeout, forgotten for once

“You’re mine,” he said, hoarsely, trembling with an emotion he couldn’t name himself. “You don’t get to run; you don’t get to hide. I'll tear this fucking world apart before I let you go.”

You panted, lips swollen, body alive in a way you didn’t know was possible. The wall was cool against your back, but you didn’t even feel it because of the heat his body was radiating; the air between you both filled with anger, fear, and something else that could destroy you both.

Slowly he sank onto his knees. The sight of him—Jungkook, the cold, merciless criminal, kneeling for you—made your head spin; it felt wrong, like a king bowing in front of you.

His hands slid up your thighs, their roughness scraping your soft skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You gasped, hands gripping the wall for support, nails scratching the wall.

“Tell me to stop.” He rasped, almost a plea, a desperation that you’d never heard from him, and he sounded like he was fighting himself.

His breath was hot against your inner thigh, lips hovering so close that you could feel them against your skin. “Say it, and I’ll walk away. I'll leave you alone.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out, throat tight, your mind a mess of fear, want, and something deeper, something that scared you.

His eyes met yours, searching and demanding, and for a second you saw something break in him—a flicker of vulnerability and a crack in the man who lived for himself alone.

Your silence was your answer, your surrender, and he saw it, gaze darkening, hands tightening on your hips until you let out a soft, trembling whine.

He didn’t wait any longer. With a low growl, he shoved your skirt up, the fabric bunching around your waist, baring your panty—white lace, a small piece that was your only barrier. His eyes locked on the wet patch on your panty from your arousal, the fabric clinging to your folds adorning the shape of your pussy, and he snarled.

He knew no matter how much you tried to resist him, push him away, or cry for him to let you go, your body said otherwise, always reacting to him like it had a mind of its own. He relished in that knowledge, knowing that he can control your body however way he likes.

He couldn’t wait any longer because he has spent way too long watching you from afar, wanting to consume you, and the hunger from such pent-up longing has turned into animal need.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tore them apart, the rip loud and final as he took away the only part that was covering your dignity. The scraps fell, and you were exposed, pussy bare, for his gaze.

You gasped instantly, trying to put your legs together, tears welling in your eyes from shame of being so exposed, but his hands held you open and in place, thumb pressing into the soft flesh of your hips. His hold rough and demanding, your strength nothing compared to him.

His eyes locked onto your bare core, jaw clenched as he saw your little clit hiding under the hood throbbing under his gaze, begging for touch.

Your hand covers your own face as you let out a soft sob, with embarrassment and shame, this is the first time someone is seeing you so bare and open.

Your pussy soft, pink, and glistening with arousal; a faint sheen coated your folds, proof of your want, and Jungkook groaned lowly, the sound making your breath hitch.

His eyes drank you in, almost inspecting you everywhere like a man who has never seen such beauty before, tracing every curve like he wanted to etch everything in his memory, and your arousal dripped more the longer he stared, pooling on the floor, shyness and fear turning you on even more.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “you’re so damn perfect. Look at you—wet, bare, just for me. Like you were made for me.”

His reaction lit something in you, and you moaned, “Oh God…” That made his eyes snap to yours, wild as his thumb brushed the sensitive skin near your folds, you mewled, and he cursed, pressing his forehead against your thigh, he was trying to hold himself together for your sake.

The sight of you so vulnerable seemed to break him, his breath uneven, hands shaking with want. Nothing in his life had given him so much satisfaction or adrenaline like this exact moment; nothing, not even killing men or feeling blood spill on his hands, can compare to the feeling of owning you like this.

Without wasting time, his mouth was on you in an instant, hot and urgent, lips closing over your clit, and the first suck was like lightning to you, never having experienced this before, and the pleasure was so sharp it hurt.

“Jungkook!” a keening cry filled the room. His tongue flicked against your clit, slow at first, then faster, a pace that was both precise and feral, like a man starving for something he’d never tasted.

The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, lips sucking and drawing out sensations you didn’t know your body could feel, your pussy sensitive and clit pulsing under his tongue.

Your thighs trembled, threatening to give out, his hands slid to your ass, gripping you tight, holding you spread for him.

“Gosh, ahmm, nghh.” You cried, letting out noises you didn’t even know you could make, your head spinning, eyes half-lidded.

He groaned, the vibration hitting you, you moaned louder, “Fuck, Jungkook, please,” not knowing whether you were begging him to stop or keep going, the curse slipping out—something that rarely happens due to your innocence.

His mouth was trying several experiments on your overstimulated pussy. His tongue circled your clit, teasing it, tormenting and then flattened it, lapping with slow strokes that made your thighs shake.

“You taste so fucking good. So sweet. Like you were made for me,” breath fanned against your pulsing heat. His words making you clench around nothing, as you forget about all your defenses.

Head falling back, your hand finding his hair as you clutched onto it. His tongue finally stopped abusing your clit and went to lapping at your entrance, tasting the slickness that gathered there, probing your entrance, tasting you.

You were embarrassingly wet, the sounds of his mouth against you—wet obscene—filling the room, mixing with your gasps and whimpers.

Your cheeks burned with shame and need, but you couldn’t push him away, not when his mouth felt like this. His tongue thrusting in and out in lewd motions like he wants to consume you entirely, and it was too much, almost breaking you

“Ahh, oh god, too much!” You hiccupped between your cries. He dove back, lips sealing over your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking quickly, and your vision blurred. “Jungkook, I can’t no—"

“Look at you.” He pulled back enough to speak, giving you a moment to breathe, his lips glistening with your arousal, some dripping on his chin, and the mess made you squirm, cheeks pinking. “Falling apart for me. You’re mine, you hear me? This pussy is mine. No one gets to see you like this. No one gets to taste you.”

His possessiveness sent a thrill through you, intoxicating, and you nodded, unable to form words as his fingers slid to your entrance.

He pushed one finger inside slowly, digit thick and rough against your untouched walls. You croaked out a sobbing gasp, never having had anything penetrate you before, and he cursed under his breath.

“So tight,” he murmured, voice thick with lust, “fuck, you’re going to ruin me, aren’t you? My little virgin, so perfect, so untouched. I’m going to break you, and you’re going to love it.”

He added a second finger, stretching you; the burn mingling with pleasure, your head dizzy. His lips returned to your clit, sucking in time with the thrust of his fingers, “Ah, ah, ohmm, Jungkook, hah!” You let out uncontrollable noises as his fingers curled inside you.

He scissored his fingers, searching and hitting the spot that made your legs shake, moans turning to cries, it felt like your body was a live wire that was only capable of feeling.

The room smelled of sex and cigarettes, mixing with your arousal, and it was overwhelming.

“Jungkook, please,” you croaked, throat aching from all the loud noises leaving you, hips bucking against his mouth as you chased the release, unknowingly tightening the coil further. “I can’t, I can’t—I’m going to—”

“Come for me, let me feel it, let me taste it,” he growled. “Come on my tongue, baby.”

His tongue and fingers fucked your pussy together, then back to your clit sucking and licking, repeating again and again until you broke, with his words which were your undoing. The climax hit, squirting your release until you saw stars beneath your vision.

“Jungkook!” You screamed, hands yanking at his hair, thighs clamping around his head, but he didn’t stop.

His tongue and fingers worked you through it, tongue lapping your release, drawing out every shudder until you were a trembling, a gasping mess, his fingers still lightly thrusting. Your pussy was achy and way too sensitive, even the lightest touch made you wince; your moans were now of pain mixed with slight pleasure.

“Please, no more.” You breathed as you slumped against the wall, legs weak, his mouth still on you as he kissed your swollen mound with a softness that made your heart ache, never receiving such a treatment from anyone

He pulled back, mouth soaked with you as his eyes burned into yours. He stood towering over you again and kissed you, deep and possessive, letting you taste your own release. You moaned into his mouth, hand clutching his shirt, twisting the fabric under your fist, holding onto the man who unraveled you.

“You’re mine,” he spoke gruffly, his voice almost broken, “don’t forget that.”

Your body was spent, mind still in a haze of pleasure and confusion. Your hands still clinging to the man who was both your savior and your stalker, who’d knelt for you and made you feel alive for the first time

The weight of everything and your orgasm—it was too much and your eyes fluttered shut, no longer having any energy to keep your eyes open or even move.

He didn’t let you fall, his strong arms holding you up. Your body safe in his arms, a fragile weight in Jungkook's arms. Your breath hitting his chest, his heart pounding from your proximity, not used to such tenderness.

He carried you towards your room. Each step felt like he was fighting against the urge to stay with you; he couldn't just leave you, not when you are so vulnerable like this. He wanted to claim you as his own.

Your head rested against his chest, your hair spilling on his arm, and your scent—with that floral lotion of yours and the smell so uniquely yours—clung to him, a drug that he needed even if it was dangerous.

Your warmth seeped into his skin, a huge contrast compared to the coldness of his world, and it terrified him because he craved it and wanted all of it and more.

۶ৎ

Your bedroom was soft like you, even in the dark. The smell of you even more evident now that he entered your bedroom, it always haunted him.

He laid you down with a gentleness he didn’t know he had, your body sinking in the mattress, skirt riding up enough to reveal the smoothness of your thigh.

Your lips parted in sleep, cheeks flushed with messy hair from the first orgasm of your life, and the sight of you made Jungkook's chest tighten with a sharp ache that felt like a knife was twisting inside his chest.

He knelt beside you, hands hovering but scared to touch you, afraid to ruin even though he knows he has already done it, your softness tainted by him.

He wondered how someone so innocent and alive could exist in this ugly world.

You were a flower, a delicate petal, and he will eventually rip you up, crushing you until the life snuffs out of you like it was nothing.

His fingers twitched, wanting to trace the curve of your cheek, to feel the warmth of your skin one last time, but he held back, even though he touched you and tasted you so intimately a few moments ago, his jaw clenching so tightly, it ached.

“You don’t belong with me,” he whispered voice ragged.

The words were like a confession: “You’re too fucking pure, too good, and I’ll break you, petal. I’ll crush you, and you’ll hate me for it.”

His eyes burned with an unknown sting he refused to acknowledge. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t weak. But you—you made him feel things he’d buried long ago, things he’d sworn off his life.

The memory of your cries, your body trembling under his touch, flashed through his mind, and he gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white.

He wanted to keep you, to lock you away in a cage of his own making, where no one else could touch you, a place where you’d be his alone. The thought was sweet yet deadly, and it made him glare with a possessiveness.

He leaned closer, his breath hitting your face, and pressed his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss. Your skin was impossibly soft, and he lingered, memorizing the feel of you, knowing it was the last time.

The weight of his decision settled heavily in his chest. He stood, his shadow falling over you like always.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking, “I can’t do this to you. I won't. You deserve someone who’ll hold you like you’re made of glass, not shatter you like I will.”

He backed away, each step making his chest ache as the distance grew between you two.

He paused at the door, turning back one last time. You were still asleep, oblivious to the war inside him, your chest rising and falling, your lips parted and swollen, and the sight of you—so small and trusting—made his jaw clench.

“I won’t come back,” he swore, the words painful but a promise, for the sake of you, for both of you, “I’ll stay away, even if it fucking kills me.”

He slipped out in the night, the door clicking shut behind him, his decision final. He lit a cigarette, and it tasted like regret, like you.

His enemies waited for him, revenge was calling for him, and he could no longer ignore that.

But you—you were something he’d carry; he cannot ever shake the obsession of you, and as the darkness closed around him as he entered the world of crime once again, he wasn’t sure that he’d ever be free from you.

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