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letthemkook · 19 days ago

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ROULETTE JEONJUNGKOOK

INSPIRED BY KAKERUGUI! (Three)

18+ SMUT WARNING *dubcon/noncon elements*

Themes: Obsession, high-stakes gambling, manipulation, power dynamics, psychological warfare, lust vs. control, dominance and submission

Genre: Dark romance, psychological thriller, drama

Warnings: Dubious consent, Power imbalance, Manipulation and coercion, Yandere behavior, Gambling addiction themes, SMUT / explicit sexual content, Emotional blackmail, Violence or threats (minor or implied, depending on tone)

“INTRO: You were the undefeated queen of the tables—calm, cunning, and untouchable. That was before Jeon Jungkook transferred in, smiling like sin and playing like the devil.”

taglist: @hkplushier @darkuni63 @vintagemoonsstuff @haneulreads

————

They say falling from the top is worse than never climbing at all.

You never believed it—until now.

Your desk used to sit near the windows, where natural light fell on your cards like a halo. Now, it’s tucked into the back row like a punishment. The gold tag that once marked you as Queen has been replaced with black: House Pet.

And everyone saw it happen.

You can feel their eyes. Their whispers. The shifting tides. The way the ones who used to kneel now smirk behind their hands. Hybe Academy is merciless, and it doesn’t take long for the first student to try stepping on you to climb.

He drops your books in the hallway. Laughs like it’s funny. The others join in.

But before you can pick them up, he’s there.

Jungkook.

He bends down slowly, collects each book with quiet precision, and straightens up with a gentle smile.

“You forgot these,” he says sweetly, and turns to the boy who mocked you.

The smile doesn’t fade.

But his tone drops. The mask drops.

For the first time, in public.

“Apologize.”

Silence.

The boy scoffs. “Why? She’s a—”

Jungkook moves so fast you almost miss it. A fist in the collar. A slammed locker. A gasping sound.

“I said,” Jungkook whispers, his face terrifyingly calm, “apologize.”

The boy stammers out something breathless and pitiful. Jungkook releases him like he was nothing. He fixes his sleeve, then turns back to you.

“I take care of my things,” he says. “Don’t I, little pet?”

Your breath catches in your throat.

This wasn’t punishment. This wasn’t debt.

It was possession.

⸻

That evening, you’re called to the east wing—his dorm suite.

You expect smugness. Arrogance. Gloating. But when he opens the door, he looks almost… tender.

“Come in,” he says. “You look tired. They were mean to you today.”

You step inside. The door locks behind you with a soft click.

His room is immaculate. Warm lighting. Stacks of cards and strategy books. Velvet curtains drawn. In the center: a chair beside a low table.

Your chest tightens.

“I told you,” he murmurs as he walks around you, voice brushing your skin. “This school likes cruelty. But I’m different.”

He lifts the collar slowly. “I don’t want to humiliate you.”

Then he smiles, eyes gleaming with something deeper. Something possessive.

“I want to own you.”

You feel yourself start to sweat.

And so it begins.

———-

At lunch, he sits with you. Feeds you a grape like it’s perfectly normal.

“You’re doing so well,” he says sweetly, brushing something imaginary from your cheek. “I knew you’d adjust fast.”

You clench your jaw, stabbing your salad with unnecessary force.

He leans closer. “You’re angry.”

“No shit,” you snap under your breath.

He only laughs.

Then he speaks, softer: “Just don’t lose your edge, pet. I like you sharp.”

You glare at him, and he hums in satisfaction like he’s just seen a piece of art exactly the way he imagined it.

Across the cafeteria, someone tries to snap a photo.

He sees it before you do.

Jungkook turns slowly. Tilts his head. Smiles.

And then, without breaking eye contact, he kisses your cheek.

The flash goes off. Students gasp. Someone drops their tray.

Your entire face burns.

“Oops,” he murmurs playfully. “Guess that’ll be on the student forum in five minutes.”

You shove his hand away, heart pounding.

He only chuckles and picks up his drink.

“Careful, pet,” he says. “You keep reacting like that, and people will think you actually like me.”

————

His private dorm is nothing like the underground chambers.

There are no velvet tables. No gold coins or hushed spectators. No rules taped to the wall.

The lights are low, warm. A gramophone plays something soft and classical. And in the center, not a table, but a chaise.

Jungkook shuts the door behind you, and the lock clicks loud in the stillness.

You stand stiff in the middle of the room, waiting for his usual sickly sweet voice. His teasing.

But when he speaks, it’s different this time.

“This room is off-record. No council rules. No student forum.”

Your spine stiffens. “Then why am I here?”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

“To learn.”

⸻

He sits down in a tall-backed chair across from the chaise, spreading his legs slightly, hands resting on the arms like a throne.

“Here, I teach you how to behave. How to listen. How to obey.”

You bristle. “I’m not playing a game with you. I’m not your dog.”

He smiles now—finally—and sets the collar in his lap. “No, you’re just mine.”

He taps the chair beside him.

“Sit.”

You don’t move.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “If I have to repeat myself again, it will become a punishment round.”

Your mouth goes dry.

You glance at the door.

He catches the look.

“Go ahead. Try to leave.

You don’t. Not because you’re scared of being stopped. But because a deep, sick part of you wants to know what he’ll do next.

Wants to see how far this goes.

Slowly… you sit.

“There,” he murmurs, brushing a finger under your chin. “That’s better.”

Your voice trembles. “What now?”

He smiles—sharp, indulgent.

“Now we play a different kind of game.”

—-

You sit stiffly at the edge of the chaise in his private lounge, still unsure whether this room is a punishment, a trap, or something worse: a test.

Jungkook sits across from you, one leg crossed, hands resting neatly on the arms of his chair like he was born to rule something. Someone. You.

“As I’ve said, there’s no council here,” he says calmly. “No rules. No fake rankings or reputation to hide behind. Just you… and me.”

He leans forward, eyes glittering.

“Lesson one: You don’t play for power. You’ll play for favor.”

You hate the way your heart jumps at that. Hate that it almost sounds gentle. You don’t speak.

He smiles anyway.

“I’m going to give you commands,” he continues. “Each one earns you a token. Five tokens, and you win.”

“Win what?” you ask, voice cold.

His lips curve. “Mercy.”

You grit your teeth.

“Command one,” he says softly. “Come here.”

You hesitate.

He doesn’t repeat it. He doesn’t have to.

The tension in the room says it for him.

Slowly, you rise from the chaise and take cautious steps toward him. You stop a foot away.

“Closer,” he murmurs.

You step forward. He’s still sitting, knees slightly apart, watching you like you’re something fragile and dangerous at once.

He lifts a small silver token from the side table and presses it into your hand.

“Good girl.”

Your breath catches.

⸻

Command Two.

“Sit.”

You blink. “Sit… where?”

He pats his lap.

Your jaw tightens, and you raise an eyebrow. “No way.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I could always make you, but you’re not gonna like what happens if it comes to that.”

You glance at the chaise. The locked door.

He’s not going to make you. That’s the trick. You have to choose it.

And somehow, that’s worse.

But your pride is already tattered, and something else—something deeper—is stirring beneath the anger. Something like fire.

So you move and begrudgingly sit on his lap. He lightly places a supportive hand on your hip.

Facing away from him, chin up, heart pounding.

Jungkook sets another token on your leg.

“Two,” he says quietly. “You’re catching on fast.”

⸻

Command Three.

“Lean back.”

Your stomach twists.

This is getting increasingly more intimate. More dangerous.

But he just waits. No pressure. No cruelty. Only that same unreadable calm.

You hesitate long enough to make him smile.

Then—carefully—you lean backwards and rest your head against the chair, your back pressing his chest.

He doesn’t move for a moment. Then, almost thoughtfully, he strokes your hair.

“See?” he whispers in your hair. “Obedience can feel good.”

The third token lands in your lap.

⸻

You don’t speak for the rest of the session.

But when he finally unlocks the door to let you go, his voice follows you out.

“Three out of five,” he says. “Not bad for a first night.”

You grip the tokens tight in your hand.

And wonder—terrified—what it says about you that part of you wants to earn the last two.

——-

The note arrives after midnight. No signature—just the scent of his cologne clinging to the parchment.

Come.

You’ve earned your reward.

—JJK

You sit on the edge of your bed for a long time, staring at it. The velvet collar lies folded in your drawer like it’s watching you, waiting to be picked up. You could ignore him. Tear the note. Lock your door.

But you don’t.

Because you already know what happens to people who ignore Jeon Jungkook. You’re one of those people. And now you’re his housepet.

⸻

When you arrive, he’s leaning against the doorframe, barefoot, damp hair falling into his eyes. Shirtless. Not seductive—just comfortable. Like he belongs in power and always has.

You step in carefully.

“I’m not staying long,” you say before he can speak.

He hums, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. “We’ll see.”

He gestures toward the bed. “Sit.”

“No,” you say, firmly. “I’m not in the mood for one of your games.”

He pauses.

Then smiles—just slightly. “Ah. That’s cute.”

Your fists clench. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” He walks to the nightstand, opens the top drawer, and pulls out… a ledger.

Your blood runs cold.

“That’s your class schedule,” he says casually, flipping pages. “Your debt balance. The names of every club you’re still in. Your dorm assignment. Your scholarship agreement… your mother’s file.”

He looks up. His eyes are cold now. Patient. Final.

You feel your hands form into fists.

“Jungkook. I don’t think you understand why exactly I’m here. This isn’t a stupid game for me!”

He smirks. “I don’t you think you understand. But that’s alright, I can help you.” You go silent after that.

“I can help you in a lot of ways, if you’re good. But disobey me again,” he says quietly, “and you won’t just lose the game. You’ll lose everything you’ve built.”

You take a step back. “You wouldn’t.”

He shrugs. “Won’t need to. You’ll come running back after the consequences hit.”

He closes the drawer softly.

“But if you’re smart… you’ll stay.”

You don’t move.

⸻

You should walk away.

But your mind is already racing—flashing through the names on your scholarship committee, the clubs that keep your résumé padded, the teacher who adores you enough to write a rec letter—all of it, under his thumb.

So you sit.

Not because you want to.

Because you don’t have a choice.

He smiles triumphantly. Like this was another match he had just won.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “I knew you’d come around.”

You flinch when he touches your jaw. He tilts your head back and leans in—not for a kiss, but to inhale you. Slowly. Deeply.

“Tonight,” he whispers, “I’m going to show you what obedience feels like.”

⸻

He pushes you down against the mattress, slow and deliberate, hands warm on your thighs.

His fingers press against the damp fabric of your underwear, and you jerk in his lap—body still unsure whether to run or melt into him.

You try not to react. Try not to make a sound.

He slides your underwear down slowly, as though he’s unwrapping something sacred. And when he sees you bare and trembling, his breath catches.

But when he pulls your panties all the way aside and drags his tongue over your clit with practiced hunger, your legs jerk.

“You’ve been so good for me,” he murmurs, stroking over the sensitive fabric slowly. “Obeying. Learning.”

He pauses, voice dipping lower. “You deserve your reward.”

You whimper. He keeps going.

And he smiles.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Be honest with me. Be good for me.”

Slow. Then faster.

You reach for his hair—then stop yourself.

He notices.

Grabs your hand and presses it to his head.

“Touch me,” he says, voice dark. “I want you to know who made you feel this way.”

Jungkook looks up to watch you. Calm. Certain. Like he owns the air in your lungs, the pulse in your throat.

You try to answer but it comes out as a breathless sound. Your fingers grip the front of his shirt, heart hammering against your ribs like a warning. But his touch is so slow. So firm. So measured.

“Shh,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. “No thoughts now. Just feel.”

He doesn’t rush.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip. “So wet already. You liked earning me, didn’t you?”

You shake your head instinctively, but your body betrays you again—shifting, arching slightly toward him.

He smiles.

“Liar.”

Then his mouth is on you again —warm, soft, devouring. His tongue swirls around your clit in slow circles, savoring every sound you make. When you gasp and try to close your legs, his arms slide under your thighs and lock you open.

“Be still,” he murmurs against your core, “and take your reward like a good pet.”

Your back arches when he sucks hard, your thighs trembling against his grip. His tongue is relentless—lapping, licking, teasing you with maddening control.

Then—without warning—two fingers slide inside you.

You choke on a cry.

“God, you’re tight,” he breathes, eyes flicking up to your face. “I could watch you break like this all night.”

He curls his fingers, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur. His mouth never stops, coaxing you, dragging you closer and closer until you’re sobbing into your hand, thighs shaking around his head.

And when you come, he doesn’t stop.

He keeps licking, keeps thrusting his fingers until your moans turn breathless, raw, almost painful.

Your hands scramble for his shoulders. “Jungkook, wait—”

“One more, baby,” he growls, voice darker now, teeth grazing your inner thigh. “One more. For me.”

You cry out when the second orgasm crashes over you, harder than the first—white-hot and dizzying. You’re trembling beneath him, panting, slick and ruined. And only then does he slow.

He kisses your thigh once. Then again. Reverent. Possessive.

“That’s four.”

He kisses the collar.

“One more to go.”

——

You wake up in his bed.

Not because you meant to fall asleep. Not because you trusted him.

But because your body betrayed you. Your limbs gave out after he forced you to feel things you weren’t ready for—didn’t want to enjoy. You remember the warmth of his mouth. The press of his tongue. The way he made you say his name when your body broke apart.

Now, you’re tangled in his sheets, still in the collar, your clothes slightly disheveled and your pride scattered somewhere between the door and the pillow.

He’s already awake. Sitting across from you, fully dressed now in a crisp white shirt, sipping coffee like he didn’t ruin you hours ago.

“You slept well,” he says, like it’s a compliment.

You sit up slowly. “Where’s the fifth token?”

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “You still want it?”

You grit your teeth. “Give it to me.”

He leans forward and opens a small velvet box on the table beside him. Inside: the final silver token.

“You want this?” he murmurs. “Then earn it.”

You don’t speak. Just stare at him.

His voice lowers. “Take off your shirt.”

You flinch.

“I thought this was about obedience,” you snap. “Not stripping.”

He smiles faintly. “Obedience is seeing how far you’ll go to please me.”

You don’t move.

He picks up the token, rolling it between two fingers.

“If you do this,” he says softly, “you win. You get the last token. You can cash them in, ask me for anything. A favor. Even a taste of freedom.”

Your pulse races. The chance to flip the board back in your favor. To take something from him.

You grip the hem of your shirt. Pause.

“Eyes on me,” he whispers.

You obey.

Slowly, you pull the shirt over your head, baring your chest to him.

He breathes in once. Deeply. Then sets the token in his lap.

“Come here,” he says.

You approach, unsure if you’re walking or floating.

He grabs your waist and pulls you into his lap, mouth dragging along your throat. He peppers kissing all around your collar bone and your neck, and suddenly flips you down onto the mattress.

Your legs are still trembling when he climbs up over you, licking his fingers like they’re honey-soaked.

“I should stop here,” Jungkook murmurs, voice low and teasing as he settles between your legs, your thighs still parted. “Let you catch your breath. Let you think.”

His eyes darken.

“But you don’t need to think, do you?”

You swallow hard. “Jungkook—”

He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “Shh.”

Then against your lips, soft and sickly sweet:

“..Get hard just looking at you pet, now be a good girl and let me use you.”

Your breath catches. He kisses you before you can respond—hot and deep, tongue claiming your mouth like he’s tasting you from the inside out. You whimper into him as his hand cups your throat, thumb pressing lightly under your jaw, just enough to keep you pliant.

You hate how much you need this.

Hate how your hips tilt up to meet him without hesitation.

Hate how your fingers grab at his back like you’ll fall apart if he doesn’t hold you down.

“Say it,” he pants against your lips. “Say you want me.”

You shake your head once—but then he drags his cock along your soaked folds, teasing your entrance without going in, and you gasp—loud, desperate.

“I—please—”

His smirk returns. “That’ll do.”

He sinks in slow. Thick. Stretching you until your eyes roll back. The pressure is so much, too much—but it’s exactly what your body begged for, traitor that it is.

“Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, bottoming out with a groan. “Fucking perfect. My tight fucking pet.”

You cling to him, barely able to breathe, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he holds himself still. Just watching your face twist. Watching you fall apart around him.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair from your damp forehead. “Tried so hard to beat me. And now you’re wrapped around my cock.”

He starts moving—slow, then hard. Each thrust deeper, rougher, more intentional. The bed creaks beneath you. The collar digs into your skin. And you can’t stop moaning, can’t stop begging, every breath a broken little plea.

“Touch yourself,” he orders, voice hoarse. “I want to watch you come again with me inside you.”

Your hand moves between your thighs, already soaked from his mouth, and as you circle your clit—he groans, eyes locked to the way you squeeze him.

“Fuck, yes. Just like that. God, baby, you drive me fucking insane.”

He thrusts faster now. Deeper. His mouth finds your shoulder, biting just enough to sting. Your body arches, chasing that edge again, and when it snaps—when you come with a choked cry, clenching around him—he loses control.

Jungkook slams into you once, twice more—then spills inside with a broken moan.

You’re still shaking when he collapses over you, lips brushing your cheek as he whispers, “Mine.”

He kisses your jaw. Your throat. Your collar.

And again, firmer this time—like a vow.

“Just mine.”

——-

note: SORRY THIS WAS ALSO LATE I’ve been so lazy omfg

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