lemon ꨄ︎

its jjk, its lemon 🫦

[lemonjjk]

lemonjjk's masterlist⋅⋆🍋────

18+ content ahead

hello, im lemon and i write jungkook x reader stories + imagines ♡

i post Patreon exclusive stories, meaning the first scene will be shared here (usually 2k words) and the rest will be on my Patreon

i also post completely free stories, depending on much free time i have

free stories ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Project Perfect • In The Dark

patreon stories ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Professor Jungkook: part 1 · part 2 • Bad Boys Bring Heaven To You: part 1 · part 2 • Dirty Dancing After Dark • Bad Boys Leave Marks: part 1 · part 2 • His Dark Obsession • Pose For His Camera • Double Trouble • Bad Boys Give Bad Ideas • His Dancer • Needy Boyfriend • Please, Noona • Boy Next Door • Under His Control • Little Jealousy • Mafia's Queen • Revenge Love • Daddy's Playroom • My Hot Senior: part 1 · part 2 · part 3 · part 4 · part 5 • Mechanic Oppa: part 1 · part 2 · part 3 • Daddy's Present: part 1 · part 2 • His Angel: part 1 · part 2 • Falling in Bed: part 1 • My Mafia Husband: part 1 • Assassins With Benefit: part 1 • Daddy's Slut: part 1 • Workplace Dominance: part 1 • Biker Husband: part 1 • Sex Contract: part 1 • Brat Tamer: part 1 • Daddy's Girl: part 1 • lose control: part 1

If you have a problem with my content, I've already explained everything here. If you still wish to have a problem with me, sorry to let you know I simply do not care.

[lemonjjk]

lose control🔞 Jungkook x Y/N

genre: dom idol Jungkook, sub plus size y/n, daddy kink, rough sex, dark romance.

Jungkook is a very possessive man so when he sees you getting a little too close to Namjoon, he has to make sure you know who owns your body and your pleasure. Right there in his studio so he can record your moans. But the real fun starts when he loses control.

tags: dominant Jungkook, jealous Jungkook, plus size reader, cute reader, domestic intimacy, established relationship, Jungkook fucks you on the dinner table, pussy plug, Jungkook's fuck you in his studio and records your moans, rough making out, titty slapping, nipple pinching, rough fingering, manhandling, pussy spanking, daddy kink, Jungkook has a HUGE cock, sensitive reader, full nelson sex position, semi public sex, unprotected sex, Jungkook says the filthiest things, Jungkook calls you good girl, princess, my cockslut, you squirt so much you start spasming, hickeys, Jungkook takes his cum from your pussy and feeds you, Jungkook plugs his cum in your pussy, Jungkook princess carries you to his car.

total words: 5.1k

this snippet: 2k words

(this snippet contains first scene where jungkook gets jealous and fucks you in his studio and plugs his cum in your pussy. )

[requested by Patron]

The morning light was too bright, cutting across your kitchen table where you were trying to sip your coffee in peace. Jungkook’s shadow fell over you before you even heard him, his presence like a shift in the atmosphere. He didn’t say good morning. His hands slid under your sleep shirt, palms hot and possessive on your bare waist, hiking the fabric up as he bent you back over the wooden surface. Your coffee cup rattled in its saucer.

“Daddy’s got a long day planned for his baby,” he murmured against your mouth, his kiss deep and tasting of mint and something darker. His fingers found your heavy breasts, squeezing the soft weight of them, thumbs rubbing over your nipples until they were tight, pebbled points against his palms. You whimpered into his mouth, a sound he swallowed greedily.

His hand slid down, over the soft curve of your belly, his touch worshipful and claiming all at once. He pushed your sleep shorts and panties down your thighs just enough, his fingers slipping through your folds, finding you already wet for him. “Always so ready for me,” he growled, low and satisfied. “Even first thing in the morning. My greedy little cockslut.”

He didn’t bother undressing. He just unzipped his jeans, freed his cock—already thick and hard—and pushed into you in one slow, inexorable slide. You gasped, your back arching off the cool table. He fucked you like that, slow and deep, each thrust a deliberate claim, his hands groping and kneading your breasts, your stomach, your hips. His eyes were dark, locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure on your face.

“Gonna fill this pretty pussy up,” he promised, his voice rough. “Keep it warm for me all day. Think you can do that? Think you can walk around Hybe with my cum inside you, dripping out of you, remembering who you belong to?”

You were close already, his pace maddeningly slow, the stretch of him exquisite. “Daddy…please…”

“Please what?” he taunted, pinching a nipple, making you cry out. “Come on my cock? Go ahead. Squirt all over it. Let me feel you.”

You did, with a broken sob, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure ripped through you, wetness soaking his jeans and the table beneath you. He followed immediately after, his rhythm stuttering into a final, deep grind as he emptied himself inside you, groaning your name like a curse. He stayed buried in you for a long moment, catching his breath against your neck, biting lightly at the skin.

When he pulled out, you felt the immediate, empty ache, the trickle of his release. He reached for something from his pocket—a small, sleek silicone plug. He coated it with the mess between your thighs and pressed it into you, your sensitive walls clenching around the foreign object. “There,” he said, wiping his fingers on your thigh. “Keep it warm. Don’t you dare let it fall out.”

You squirmed, the plug settling deep, a constant, lewd reminder. “Jungkook…why are you being so…we’re going to see your friends.”

He grabbed your jaw, his grip firm, tilting your face up to his. His eyes were blazing. “So you remember,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. He leaned down and bit your lower lip, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to sting, to claim. “So you remember who this sweet cunt belongs to. Who gets to hear you moan. Who gets to fill you up. Me.”

He slapped your breast once, a sharp, stinging smack that made you yelp, then he gently tugged your shirt back down, smoothing the fabric over your curves. He helped you up, your legs shaky. “Now get dressed, princess. We’re going.”

Hybe was a maze of clean lines and quiet hustle. Jungkook kept you close, his arm a heavy band around your waist, his body a shield between you and the world. You knew why. You’d seen the comments on obscure forums, the vile speculation about any woman seen near them. He wasn’t embarrassed of you—the way he devoured you with his eyes every chance he got proved that. He was terrified for you. The thought of that hate being directed at your softness made him murderous. So he kept you tucked away, a cherished secret, which sometimes made you ache with a stupid, insecure loneliness. But then he’d come home, his control shattered, and fuck you until you were sobbing his name, painting his skin with your squirt, your body so full of him you could taste it. That’s how you knew. It wasn’t a sweet love. It was a dark, all-consuming possession.

He deposited you in a common area with a soft kiss to your temple. “Be good. I have to work. I won’t be long.”

You found Namjoon in one of the smaller lounges, a book of poetry already open on the table between two cups of tea. Your friendship with him was easy, born from a shared, quiet passion for words. He never looked at you with anything but warm respect. Today, you were deep in discussion about the symbolism in a particular poem, your heads bent close over the text, your voices low. You were laughing at one of his dry observations when you felt the temperature drop.

Jungkook stood in the doorway. He wasn’t smiling. His expression was cold, closed off, his jaw tight. “Y/N. Come with me.”

Your heart sank. “Is everything okay?”

“Now.”

You shot Namjoon an apologetic look. He just nodded slowly, his eyes wary. You followed Jungkook’s stiff back down the hall to his personal studio. The moment the soundproof door shut behind you, the atmosphere crackled with violent tension.

He didn’t speak. He walked to his studio chair, sat down, and pulled you onto his lap, your back to his chest. His arms were like steel bands around you.

“Jungkook, what—”

His hands went to the hem of your top, yanking it down in one harsh motion, taking your bra with it. Your breasts spilled free into the cool air of the studio. Then his hand came down on the soft swell of one.

Smack.

The sound was loud in the quiet room. You jolted, a gasp trapped in your throat.

Smack. On the other one.

“Daddy…what are you doing?” you whispered, trying to twist to look at him.

He bit the junction of your neck and shoulder, hard enough to bruise, silencing you. “You were awfully close to Namjoon,” he growled into your skin, his hands now kneading the flesh he’d reddened. “His face was right there. Smiling at my girl.”

“We were just talking about poems,” you pleaded, trying to keep your voice down, horrified at the thought of someone hearing.

“I don’t give a fuck.” His hand slid down your belly, under your skirt. He hooked his fingers in your panties and ripped them off you. The cool air hit your plugged pussy, and you clenched around it instinctively. He saw it, his eyes darkening. He brought his hand down on your exposed folds.

Spank.

You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper to stop the scream. The pain was sharp, layered over the deep-seated ache of the plug, a confusing burst of sensation.

Jungkook’s breath hitched in anger. “Trying to hide your sounds from me?” He reached forward with one hand, and you heard a familiar click. The recording light on his interface console glowed red. “Let’s fix that. I’m going to record every moan, every scream, every wet little sound this perfect pussy makes. So I can listen to it whenever I want. Because I own it. I own all of you.”

Humiliation and a treacherous spike of arousal washed through you. “Daddy, please…behave,” you whimpered, trying for sweetness, for control you didn’t have.

It backfired. He groaned, a feral sound, and latched his mouth onto your neck, sucking a brutal hickey into your skin while his fingers found your nipples. He pinched them, hard, then pulled, stretching the sensitive peaks until tears welled in your eyes. A ragged moan finally escaped you, echoing slightly in the studio room, captured by the mic.

“That’s it,” he panted against your wet skin. “Let them all hear how my baby sounds for me.” He spread your legs wide with his hands, his grip on your plush thighs bruising. With his other hand, he found the base of the plug and pulled it slowly from your clutching heat. A gush of his earlier release leaked out onto his jeans, the scent filling the space between you.

He didn’t wait. He freed his cock from his pants—massive, thick, and already painfully hard—and notched the head at your dripping entrance. Then he shifted his grip, locking his hands under your knees and behind your neck, holding you open in a brutal, exposed full nelson. You were completely at his mercy.

“Remember this,” he commanded, his voice cold as ice even as his body burned against yours. “Remember who fucks you like this. Who ruins you. It doesn’t matter if he’s my brother. You don’t get that close. You don’t smile like that for anyone else. You’re mine.”

And he slammed up into you.

The scream that tore from your throat was raw, unfiltered, recorded for eternity. He was so deep, so impossibly big, the head of his cock battering your cervix with every brutal thrust. The wet, squelching noises from your joined bodies were obscenely loud. You could feel your own slickness soaking through his jeans, coating your thighs.

“My pretty fucking princess,” he snarled, his composure shattering into pure filth as he fucked up into you. “Taking my cock like you were made for it. Look at this fat pussy, swallowing me whole. Gonna be sore tomorrow. Gonna feel me for days.” He licked a stripe up your neck, biting at your earlobe. “And when we get home, I’m not going easy on you. I’m gonna bend you over every piece of furniture we own. Gonna fuck this jealous ache out of my system and into yours until you can’t even remember Namjoon’s fucking name.”

You were babbling, half-sobs, half-pleas. “Daddy! Daddy, it’s too much…I’m gonna—!”

“Do it,” he demanded, pounding into you, his pace relentless. “Squirt on my cock. Show me what you do for me. Do it now.”

The command, the overwhelming stretch, the dirty, possessive words sent you over the edge violently. Your vision whited out as you came, a torrent of release gushing out of you with such force your entire body spasmed, legs kicking weakly in his grip. You screamed, a continuous, shattered sound as the waves of pleasure-pain rolled through you, your pussy milking his cock uncontrollably.

It triggered his own climax. With a final, ground-shaking roar of your name, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his hot release flooding your depths, mixing with your own. He held you there, impaled and shaking, for what felt like an eternity, both of you panting ragged breaths into the silent studio.

Slowly, he let your legs down, his grip gentle now. He pulled out, and a rush of combined fluids spilled onto the leather chair. You were boneless, whimpering. He turned you on his lap to face him, your tear-streaked face meeting his intense, sated gaze.

He didn’t speak. He leaned forward and scooped two fingers into your messy, gaping pussy, gathering a mix of his cum and your slick. He brought them to your lips. “Open.”

You obeyed, eyes fluttering shut as he pushed his fingers into your mouth. You tasted yourself, salty and sweet, and him, musky and familiar. He fucked your mouth gently with his fingers until you’d cleaned them, then pulled them out with a wet pop.

He reached for the plug, still slick from before, and pushed it back inside your well-used hole, groaning at the tight clench. “Keep the rest warm,” he ordered, his voice hoarse. “This greedy pussy doesn’t get to waste a single drop. I’m not done with you.”

Then his demeanor shifted again, into something terrifyingly tender. He bent his head and kissed each of your heavy, sore breasts, his tongue swirling around your abused nipples. He kissed the soft swell of your belly, nuzzling into you. He fixed your clothes with careful hands, wiping your thighs clean with a tissue before pulling your panties back up (the torn ones discarded) and smoothing your dress down.

He stood, lifting you easily in his arms, a princess carry that made you bury your face in his neck. He smelled of sweat, sex, and Jungkook. He carried you out of the studio, past curious glances in the hallway that he ignored, all the way to the private parking garage and into the passenger seat of his car. He buckled you in, kissed your forehead with a shocking softness, and got in the driver’s seat, starting the engine.

The ride home was silent, but the promise in the air was thick and dark. The plug in your pussy kept you achingly aware. You were his. In every dirty, possessive, terrifying way. And the day was young.

(full version contains jungkook taking you home, bounding you with ropes, fucking you in front of the mirror all night long until you pass out and still fucking you in your sleep.

tags for full version: rough makeout, bondage, ropes, Jungkook finger fucks your mouth, strong Jungkook, jealous Jungkook, extremely possessive Jungkook, face fucking, cum marking, deep throating, Jungkook covers you in his cum basically, tits biting, nipple clamps, almost fisting, you start drooling and hiccupping from pleasure, breeding kink, Jungkook calls you his wife, doggy style, mirror sex, ass spanking, hair pulling, body marking, Jungkook writes his name on your belly above your womb, cum inflation, body worship, body licking, daddy kink, husband kink, you pass out, you wake up to Jungkook still fucking you, looong marathon sex, oversensitive pussy, pussy licking, body kissing, aftercare.)

read full here

[lemonjjk]

Daddy's Girl 🔞 Jungkook x Y/N

genre: dom idol Jungkook, virgin plus size y/n, rough possessive sex, ownership kink

You thought being RM’s stylist was as close to Jungkook as you can get but when your “friends” make fun of your body, Jungkook shows you how much and how rough his love is for his prettiest girl by taking your virginity right there. And then taking you home to enjoy his birthday “cake”.

tags: protective Jungkook, jealous Jungkook, shy reader, insecure reader, reader has asshole friends, rough making out, titty play, nipple biting, rough fingering, manhandling, pussy spanking, daddy kink, rough sex, Jungkook has a HUGE cock, standing sex, semi public sex, unprotected sex, Jungkook says the filthiest things, Jungkook calls you good girl, princess, my cockslut, multiple squirting, cunnilingus, you squirt on Jungkook's face, Jungkook fucks your pussy with his tongue, Jungkook takes your panties, Jungkook kisses you in front of your asshole friends and BTS, Jungkook princess carries you to his car

words: 4.6k

this snippet: 2k words

(this snippet shows your so-called friends being assholes, Jungkook being jealous and protective over you, taking your virginity, fucking you rough then carrying you home)

[Requested by Patron]

You’d been working as a stylist for RM for a month, and you still felt like you were going to trip over your own feet every time you walked into the HYBE building. Namjoon was kind, patient, and always had a way of making you feel like you belonged. But lately, you’d started noticing something else—a heavy, burning feeling on the back of your neck whenever you laughed with him. Every time you glanced around, you’d only catch Jungkook’s dark eyes flickering away, his face blank. No way, you told yourself. Impossible.

Today was different. Today was Jungkook’s birthday.

You’d spent an hour picking out the perfect red dress—something that hugged your curves but still looked professional. You wanted to look good for him, even if he’d never see you as more than the new stylist.

During a break, you were in the shared styling lounge, fixing a sequin top, when Mina, one of the other stylists you considered a friend, eyed you up and down.

“Why are you so dressed up?” she asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

Your cheeks warmed. “It’s Jungkook’s birthday. I just wanted to… look nice.”

Mina blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. The other makeup artists nearby turned, their smiles turning cruel.

“Look nice?” Mina repeated, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “For Jungkook? Sweetie, be serious.”

One of the others chimed in, giggling. “Yeah, I mean, he’s Jeon Jungkook. He’s not into… you know.” Her eyes traveled over your body meaningfully.

Your heart squeezed. “What do you mean?”

Mina sighed, like she was explaining something obvious to a child. “He’s not into fat girls. You’ll need to lose weight if you want him to even look in your direction.”

The room erupted in soft, tittering laughter. It felt like a physical slap. You mumbled something about needing air and bolted, their laughter chasing you down the hall. You didn’t see Jungkook leaning against the wall just around the corner, his phone hanging limp in his hand, his knuckles white.

You pushed into the women’s bathroom, locking yourself in and going to the farthest corner, and let the tears fall hot and fast onto your hands. You were so stupid. Of course they were right. You were just some chubby nobody with a stupid crush on a global superstar.

The bathroom door creaked open. You froze, holding your breath.

“Y/N?” A deep, familiar voice. Jungkook’s.

You quickly wiped your face. “T-This is the women’s room,” you stammered, your voice shaky.

He didn’t leave. You heard his footsteps, steady and deliberate, coming closer. You turned to the door, thinking you could slip out, but he was right there, filling the way out. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were blazing.

“Jungkook, I—”

He stepped forward, forcing you back until the cold edge of the sink basin pressed into your lower back. He caged you in, his hands planted on the marble on either side of you. His body was so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, smell his clean, masculine scent mixed with faint cologne.

“Do you like me?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

The question was so direct it stole your breath. The cruel laughter echoed in your head. You let out a bitter, wet laugh. “How could someone like me like someone like you? I’m just… chubby. Average. You’re you.”

His jaw tightened. He moved one hand to grip your chin, his fingers firm but not painful. “I didn’t ask how you feel about yourself,” he growled, his eyes searching yours. “I asked what you feel about me.”

The intensity in his gaze was terrifying. You felt small, exposed. “Y-Yes,” you whispered, the admission feeling like a surrender. “I’m sorry, I’ll just go—”

He didn’t let you finish. His mouth crashed down on yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It was hard, possessive, and desperate. His lips moved against yours with a bruising pressure, and when you gasped in shock, he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. The kiss was deep, sloppy, and so overwhelming your knees buckled. He caught you, his arm snaking around your waist to haul you tighter against him.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot on your wet lips. “Then why,” he demanded, his voice a dark rumble, “did you always laugh with Namjoon-hyung?”

“T-To be polite!” you stuttered, your brain short-circuiting from the kiss.

His eyes flashed with something dangerous. “You’re not allowed to be polite to anyone but me,” he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Not my brother. And certainly not those asshole friends of yours.”

Then he was kissing you again, and this time you kissed him back. Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping the hard muscle there as his tongue explored your mouth. One of his big hands slid down your side, over the curve of your hip, and then up to cup your breast through your dress. You moaned into his mouth, a high, needy sound.

He broke the kiss, panting. “Fuck, your voice,” he groaned, his thumb rubbing your nipple through the fabric. “Sounds angelic.” His eyes raked over you, dark with hunger. “And you look too fucking good in this dress.”

Before you could process his words, his hands were at the straps of your dress. He pushed them down your shoulders, the red fabric pooling at your waist. The cool air hit your skin, and you instinctively tried to cover your chest with your arms.

He caught your wrists in one strong hand and pinned them above your head against the mirror. “Look at me,” he ordered. When your wide eyes met his, he continued, “You never hide from me. Ever. This,” he said, his gaze dropping to your breasts, spilling from your bra, “is mine to see.”

He ducked his head and took a nipple into his mouth through the lace of your bra. You cried out, arching into him. The sensation was electric—the hot suction, the rough flick of his tongue. Then he bit down, gently at first, then with more pressure. A sharp, pleasurable pain made you gasp.

“Daddy…” you whimpered, the word slipping out before you could think.

He stilled for a second, then a wicked grin spread across his face. “Yeah,” he breathed against your skin. “That’s right. Call me that.”

He lavished attention on your other breast, sucking and biting until you were a writhing, moaning mess against the sink. His free hand wandered down your belly, over the soft curve, and slipped between your legs. He rubbed his palm firmly over your clothed pussy, and you jerked.

“J-Jungkook… Daddy… we can’t, we’re in public,” you pleaded, even as your hips pushed against his hand.

He chuckled, the sound dark and promising. “Then I’m gonna make you scream so loud everybody knows this pretty pussy is already taken.”

With a sharp tug, he ripped your panties aside. The sound of the fabric tearing echoed in the tiled room. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and more turned on than you’d ever been in your life.

He brought his fingers to your entrance, circling it. “So fucking wet for me already,” he murmured, impressed. He pushed one thick finger inside you, and you cried out, your head falling back. It was a stretch—you were untouched—but the burn was sweet. “So tight,” he growled, working his finger in deeper. He added a second finger, stretching you further, scissoring them. The friction was incredible.

“Please,” you sobbed, not even sure what you were asking for.

He spanked your pussy lightly with his other hand, the sting making you clench around his fingers. “Greedy girl,” he taunted, twisting his fingers and rubbing that magical spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

You were close, teetering on the edge, when he pulled his fingers out. You whined at the loss. You heard the rustle of clothing, the unmistakable sound of a zipper, and then he was guiding his cock to your soaked entrance. You looked down and your eyes widened. It was huge, thick and veiny, the tip glistening with pre-cum.

“It’s… it’s too big,” you breathed, fear and desire warring inside you.

He smirked, all cocky confidence. “It’s perfect for you. Now say it. Who do you belong to?”

“D-Daddy,” you whispered.

“Good girl.”

In one swift, powerful motion, he gripped your thighs and lifted you. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he positioned himself and then sank you down onto his cock.

You screamed. It was a searing, splitting pain as he breached your virginity, stretching you wider than you thought possible. He didn’t stop until he was fully sheathed inside you, his hips flush against yours. You trembled, overwhelmed by the feeling of being so utterly filled.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Your cunt is perfect. So fucking tight around daddy’s cock. I’m gonna shape it just for me.”

He started to move, bouncing you on his cock, using his grip on your ass to control the pace. The initial pain melted into a deep, throbbing pleasure. Each time he thrust up, he hit that spot perfectly. You were moaning uncontrollably, a constant stream of “daddy, daddy, daddy” falling from your lips.

He sucked on your neck, leaving marks, then captured your bouncing breast in his mouth again, biting your nipple as he fucked up into you.

“That’s it, take it, princess,” he grunted, his own breathing becoming ragged. “My good little cockslut. Gonna make you squirt all over daddy’s cock.”

His words pushed you over the edge. A powerful orgasm ripped through you, your pussy clamping down on him in rhythmic pulses. You screamed, and a gush of warm fluid soaked where you were joined.

“Yes! Fuck, just like that,” he shouted, his thrusts becoming erratic. He drove into you three more times, deep and hard, before stilling with a guttural groan. You felt him pulse inside you, filling you with his cum.

For a moment, you both just breathed heavily, tangled together. Then he slowly pulled out, lowering your shaky legs to the floor. You would have collapsed if he hadn’t held you.

He got down on his knees in front of you, his hands spreading your thighs. Before you could ask what he was doing, he buried his face between your thick thighs.

You shrieked, your hands flying to his hair. His tongue was relentless, lapping up your combined release before zeroing in on your oversensitive clit. He fucked you with his tongue, deep and fast, then sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked.

Another orgasm built, faster and even more intense than the first. You pulled his hair, sobbing, begging him to stop because it was too much.

He looked up, his chin glistening. “Squirt for me again. Do it.”

And you did. With a broken cry, you came, drenching his face in your release. He drank it down, smirking up at you with a filthy, satisfied look.

“Love your taste,” he said huskily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood up, pulled a small square of black silk from his pocket—your ruined panties—and tucked them away.

“Hey! Those were my favorite,” you pouted weakly, trying to straighten your dress.

He kissed you, slow and deep, tasting of you and him. “I’ll buy you a hundred more,” he promised against your lips. He fixed your dress with surprising gentleness, wiping the smudged makeup from under your eyes with his thumb.

When he took your hand to lead you out, you panicked. “Jungkook, wait! You can’t be seen with me like this…”

His face darkened. Without a word, he bent and scooped you up into a princess carry. You squealed, hiding your face in his neck as he pushed the bathroom door open.

You were met with the entire BTS members loitering in the hallway, clearly having been waiting. Jin wolf-whistled. Namjoon shook his head with a knowing smile. “Took you long enough,” Yoongi deadpanned.

Jungkook just smirked, holding you closer. As he walked down the hall, you passed Mina and the other stylists, their faces pale with shock.

He stopped right in front of them. “Pack your bags,” he said, his voice cold and flat. “You’re done here. I don’t allow anyone to talk to my girlfriend like that.”

Then he looked down at you, his eyes softening, and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. My girlfriend. The words made your heart soar.

He carried you all the way to the parking garage, to his sleek black car. He opened the passenger door and gently deposited you in the seat. As he leaned over to buckle your seatbelt, his hand brushed over your still-throbbing pussy through your dress.

You gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He grinned, that same cocky, shameless grin, and nipped at your bottom lip. “What?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a sinful whisper. “I’m not done eating my birthday cake yet.”

(full version contains Jungkook taking you home, feeding you, getting jealous and teaching you how to suck his cock, fucking you in front of the mirror and then morning sex.

tags for full version: Jungkook cooks you food and feeds you with his face, jealous Jungkook, obsessive Jungkook, face fucking, Jungkook teaches you how to suck his cock, deep throating, Jungkook cums down your throat, Jungkook fucks your tits, he's basically a possessive downbad man here, breeding kink, Jungkook calls you his wife, doggy style, mirror sex, titty slapping, ass spanking, hair pulling, so many hickeys, morning sex, you wear Jungkook's shirt and he goes crazy, getting fucked on the dining table, missionary position, Jungkook loves playing with your tits, Jungkook plugs your cum filled pussy with your panties.)

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[lemonjjk]

Brat Tamer 🔞 Jungkook x Y/N

genre: older CEO jungkook, rich bratty y/n, dark romance, enemies to lovers, dubcon

When you made the mistake of pissing off your dad’s boss, CEO Jeon Jungkook, you’re forced to become his intern, or a glorified fucktoy for the dominant man to use and fuck on every surface. You hate him and you hate the power he has over you but what you hate more is how much your body loves to be pleasured by the man two decades older than you.

tags: dubious consent, under the desk blowjob, Jungkook teases your pussy with his shoe, Jungkook cums on your face, ass spanking, titty spanking, pussy spanking, desk fucking, fucking against the window, so much squirting, Jungkook is rough with you, you cry because he makes you squirt so much, dirty making out, huge age difference (25 years), using belt to tie your hands, Jungkook calls you so many pet names and degrading names, daddy kink, Jungkook loves fucking you so deep his cock hits your womb, jungkook likes rough messy sex, dirty talk, jungkook has a HUGE cock.

total words: 4.8k

this snippet: 2.5k words

(this snippet contains first scene where jungkook fucks your mouth under his desk, spanks your ass and fucks on his desk and against the window)

[requested by Patron]

You slammed your brand new, cherry-red sports car into the back of a sleek, black sedan with a sickening crunch of metal and shattering plastic. Your airbag punched you in the face, the smell of burnt rubber and deployed airbag powder filling your nose. Fuck.

You stumbled out, already pissed. This was going to be such a hassle. The driver of the sedan was already out, leaning against his ruined bumper, arms crossed. And… oh.

He was older, your dad’s age for sure, but hot. Salt-and-pepper hair, a sharp jawline, and tattoos snaking down his forearms from where he’d rolled up his sleeves. He looked expensive and pissed.

“You gonna apologize, princess?” His voice was deep, a low rumble that shouldn’t have made your stomach flip. “You just cost me my car and a multi-million dollar deal I was on my way to close.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing glass off your designer top. The adrenaline made you brave and stupid. “Ugh, relax. My dad’s lawyers will handle it. Just shut your uncultured mouth and wait for the cops.”

His dark eyes narrowed, and a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face. He didn’t say another word, just watched you with an intensity that felt like a physical touch until the police arrived.

You were still riding the high of being a brat when your dad called later. “Sweetheart! Amazing news! My boss, Mr. Jeon, wants to meet you. He’s heard about you and might have an internship at the firm!”

Your heart leapt. Finally. A foot in the door of your dad’s obscenely successful investment firm. This was your ticket to real, self-made wealth, not just daddy’s allowance. You dressed in your most powerful, innocent-looking blouse and skirt, and headed downtown.

The office was all cold glass and sharp angles. Your dad beamed, leading you into a corner office with a breathtaking view. And there, behind a desk the size of a small boat, was him.

The man from the crash. Leaning back in his chair, looking at you like a wolf who’d just found a lamb wandering into his den.

“Ah, Mr. Park. And this must be your daughter,” he said, his voice smooth as silk now. “Y/N. We’ve… met.”

Your dad looked confused but happy. “You have? Oh, that’s wonderful!”

“It was memorable,” Mr. Jeon—Jungkook—said, his eyes never leaving yours. “In fact, I was so impressed, I’d like to offer her a personal internship. Starting today. Here in my office.”

Your dad was practically gushing with gratitude. “That’s incredible! Honey, isn’t that incredible?”

You forced a smile, your blood running cold. “Actually, I—”

Before you could finish, Jungkook was on his feet, coming around the desk. He put a friendly arm around your stiff shoulders, his hand squeezing just a bit too hard. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a whisper only you could hear. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something dark—wrapped around you.

“You refuse, and I blacklist your father from every company in this city by sunrise,” he murmured, the words a pleasant hum. “That penthouse, those cars, that closet full of pretty things? Gone. Poof. Be a good girl and smile.”

You felt the color drain from your face. You looked at your dad’s proud, oblivious smile. “I… I’d be delighted,” you heard yourself say, the words tasting like ash.

Your dad left with a wave, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The second it closed, the pleasant mask vanished from Jungkook’s face.

Smack.

A sharp, stinging pain erupted on your ass cheek through your skirt. You yelped, jumping forward.

“That’s for calling my mouth uncultured,” he said, his smirk back. “We’re going to work on your manners, little girl.”

“You’re a fucking pervert,” you spat, rubbing your ass, your fear morphing into fury.

“Tsk. Language.” He walked back to his massive desk and sat down. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, his gaze predatory. “Get under the desk.”

You barked out a laugh. “You’re insane. I’m not doing that.”

He sighed, as if you were a toddler refusing to eat your vegetables. “Y/N. You know what happens if you don’t do what I ask. Do you really want to explain to Daddy why he’s unemployed tomorrow?”

The threat was a cold knife in your gut. You hated him. You hated this. With a glare that could melt steel, you got on your hands and knees. The plush office carpet was soft against your knees as you crawled into the cramped, dark space under his desk. It smelled like leather, wood polish, and him.

You heard the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt buckle, and then his slacks and boxers were down around his ankles. His cock sprung out, and your mouth went dry.

It was huge. Thick, long, and already hard, veins running along the length. It looked heavy. The angry, red tip was already leaking. A traitorous pulse throbbed between your own legs, wetness instantly soaking your panties. No, no, no.

“See something you like, brat?” he taunted. “Put your pretty mouth on it. Just lick it for now. Show me you’re sorry.”

“I’m not sorry,” you muttered, but you were leaning forward. You told yourself it was just to get this over with. You stuck your tongue out and gave a kittenish, defiant lick along the underside, from base to tip.

He groaned above you. “Good girl. Now suck the head. Be a good little cockslut for daddy.”

The ‘daddy’ made you flinch, but another treacherous throb answered from your pussy. You hated him. You wrapped your lips around the broad head, tasting his pre-cum, salty and bitter.

“Deeper,” he commanded, his voice rough.

You took more, the stretch of your lips already intense. As you bobbed your head slightly, you felt his polished leather shoe nudge your inner thigh. You tried to clamp your legs shut, but there was no room. He pushed insistently, the toe of his shoe finding the heat of your pussy through your skirt and damp panties. He started rubbing slow, firm circles right over your clit.

“Mmph!” you protested around his cock, but it came out as a muffled groan. The pressure was maddening. You tried to pull your hips away, but he followed, the relentless rubbing combined with the weight of his cock on your tongue sending dizzying sparks through you.

“Your pussy’s dripping, isn’t it, you little whore?” he grunted, pushing his hips up, forcing his cock deeper into your mouth. You gagged, tears springing to your eyes. “Bet you love this. Bet you’ve always been a needy brat who needed a firm hand.”

There was a knock at the office door. You froze, panic seizing you.

“Come in,” Jungkook called, his voice perfectly calm. His foot never stopped its torturous circles.

The door opened. High heels clicked on the floor. “Mr. Jeon, the Henderson files you requested,” a woman’s professional voice said.

“Just set them on the desk. Thank you,” Jungkook said smoothly.

You were paralyzed, his cock still lodged in your throat, his foot grinding against your soaked panties. You could see the assistant’s shoes pause by the desk. You heard the rustle of papers. Oh god, she’s right there.

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No, that’s all. Close the door on your way out.”

The heels clicked again. The door shut. The second it did, Jungkook’s calm vanished. He grabbed the back of your head with a rough hand and fucked up into your mouth, hard and fast, making you choke and splutter.

“Gonna cum, darling,” he growled. “Gonna paint that pretty, bratty face.”

He pulled his cock from your mouth with a wet pop. You barely had time to gasp for air before hot, thick ropes of cum splashed across your cheeks, your lips, your forehead. It was warm and smelled musky, utterly degrading. You squeezed your eyes shut.

He tucked himself away and you scrambled out from under the desk, cum streaking your face, fury and humiliation burning through you.

“You disgusting, fucking animal!” you shrieked, wiping at your face with the back of your hand.

He was up in a flash. “Still not learning, are we?” In one swift motion, he bent you over the smooth, cold surface of his desk, pressing your cheek against the wood. Smack! Another hard spank landed on your ass.

“Get off me!” you yelled, trying to push back.

He shoved your head down harder. With his other hand, he yanked your skirt up and your panties down to your thighs. The cool air hit your wet pussy. Smack! Smack! Smack! Three more sharp, stinging slaps landed on your bare ass, the sound echoing in the quiet office.

“Look at this,” he mocked, a finger sliding easily through your soaked folds. “Your pussy is fucking weeping. Such a liar. You love being put in your place.”

“I hate you!” you cried, but it was a moan, your hips pushing back against his hand involuntarily.

He spanked your pussy directly, a sharp, shocking slap on your swollen lips. You screamed, a bolt of pure, electric pleasure-pain shooting through you.

“Such a noisy little fucktoy,” he chuckled, pushing two fingers inside you without warning. You gasped, arching off the desk. He fingered you ruthlessly, curling them, scissoring them. “Gonna make you scream louder.”

He pulled his fingers out, slick with your arousal. You heard the sound of a zipper, the rustle of his clothes. Then you felt it—the broad, insistent pressure of his cockhead at your entrance.

“No, wait, it’s too big, it won’t—ahhh!” Your protest dissolved into a shattered scream as he shoved into you with one brutal thrust, spearing you open in a blinding rush of pain and fullness. It burned, stretching you impossibly wide.

“Daddy will make it fit,” he grunted in your ear, his body blanketing yours. “And you’re gonna take every inch, you bratty cumslut.”

He didn’t wait for you to adjust. He pulled back and slammed home again, knocking the breath from your lungs. He set a punishing, deep rhythm, each thrust jolting you forward on the desk, your breasts rubbing against the polished wood. He spanked your ass in time with his thrusts.

“Daddy! Daddy, please, slower!” you begged, the words torn from you, your fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick desk.

“You don’t tell me how to fuck you,” he growled, wrapping a hand in your hair and pulling your head back. His pace became more frantic, more brutal. You felt a coil tightening deep in your belly, a terrifying pressure building despite yourself.

“I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Squirt for me,” he ordered, his voice guttural. “Squirt all over daddy’s floor, you dirty girl.”

With a final, grinding thrust, the coil snapped. A gush of liquid heat burst from you, soaking your thighs, dripping onto the expensive carpet with a audible patter. You screamed, your body convulsing, the pleasure so intense it bordered on agony.

Before you could even come down, he was pulling out. You were a boneless, trembling mess. He flipped you around to face him, your back against the desk. You saw the dark hunger in his eyes, the sweat on his temple.

“Not done with you,” he panted. He yanked his belt free from his slacks in one smooth motion. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrists, pulled them behind your back, and wrapped the leather tightly around them, buckling it securely. You were trapped.

“Let me go!”

He ignored you, hooking an arm around your waist and dragging you, stumbling and bound, away from the desk. He walked you towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. He pressed you against the cool glass, your breath fogging it up.

“Look down there,” he whispered hotly against your ear, his hard cock pressing into your ass. “All those people. They could look up anytime. See this old man disciplining a spoiled little slut who can’t behave.”

“You’re a monster,” you sobbed, but you were pushing your ass back against him.

He spun you to face him again. His hands came up, groping your breasts through your blouse. “So fucking perfect for a brat,” he murmured before his mouth crashed down on yours.

It wasn’t a kiss; it was a claiming. He licked into your mouth, tasting himself on your lips, sucking on your tongue. It was filthy and wet and you couldn’t help but kiss him back, moaning into his mouth. One of his hands slid down, fingers digging into your bare ass cheek.

He turned you back to face the window, lifted you slightly, and guided his cock back to your dripping, stretched entrance. He pushed in slowly this time, the slow, burning fill making you whimper.

“Please… Jungkook…”

“What did you call me?” he said, his voice dangerously soft. He pulled almost all the way out.

“D-Daddy…” you corrected quickly, fear and desire mixing into a toxic cocktail.

“That’s right.” He slammed back in, making you cry out. He set a deep, rolling rhythm, his hands roaming over your body, spanking your tits through your clothes, squeezing them roughly. “Can you feel it, darling? Can you feel daddy’s cock hitting your womb?”

You could. Each deep drive felt like it was rearranging your insides, a delicious, overwhelming fullness. “Yes! Daddy, yes!”

“Daddy’s gonna fill that space up,” he grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic, harder. “Gonna pump my sperm so deep into my little fucktoy. Gonna own this bratty pussy.”

You were babbling, a mix of curses, pleas, and his name. Another orgasm was tearing through you, even bigger than the first. You felt the gush before you even registered it, a hot flood soaking both of you, running down your legs. You screamed, your vision whiting out, your body seizing so hard you thought you’d break. Your knees buckled, but he held you up, fucking you through it, his own groans turning into a ragged roar.

With a final, shuddering thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his hips jerking as he came. You felt the hot pulses of his cum deep inside you, filling you up just like he promised. A weak, oversensitive sob escaped your lips.

He stayed there for a long moment, his forehead against your shoulder, both of you panting against the glass. Slowly, he pulled out, a mixture of your fluids and his dripping down your thighs. He turned you around, your wrists still bound, and looked at your wrecked face—smudged mascara, flushed skin, cum long dried and new tears. He chuckled, low and satisfied, using his thumb to wipe a tear from your cheek.

“There we go,” he murmured, his voice back to that dangerous silk. “All broken in. And it only took one afternoon.” He leaned in, his lips brushing yours. “We’re going to have so much fun, darling.”

(full version contains jungkook taking you to a private club where he demands you strip for him and you tease him by dancing sexily

tags for full version: strip club, Jungkook demands you strip for him, jungkook makes you put in a vibrating dildo, tits slapping, pussy slapping, nipple clamps, clit clamp, Jungkook rubs your pussy against the pole, full nelson position, double penetration with a dildo, breeding kink, Jungkook fucks you until you have a belly bulge, mirror sex, pulling your hair, biting and hickeys, making you ride his cock, nipple sucking, titty play, soooooo much squirting you pass out, sweet ending.)

read full here

[lemonjjk]

Sex Contract 🔞 Jungkook x Y/N

genre: idol!jungkook, virgin!reader, rough sex, jungkook is lowkey a sex fiend, marathon sex.

You agreed to accompany your friend to a BTS concert that you had no interest in, not knowing you’ll lose your virginity to Jungkook’s fat cock backstage and he’ll ruin your untouched pussy by bending you in many filthy positions all night long. 

tags: experienced jungkook, inexperienced reader, jungkook is cocky, dominant, rough and possessive, bratty sensitive virgin reader, jungkook has a HUGE cock, nipple play, titty worshipping, jungkook likes rough messy sex, jungkook has a filthy mouth, breeding kink, pussy slapping, corruption kink, dumbification, degradation, praise kink, jungkook calls you soooo many petnames (both sweet and kinky), he’s gonna make that cock fit in your virgin pussy, fingering, multiple orgasms, creampie, size kink, doggy position, you won't stop leaking cum so jungkook shoves his tie in your wet gaping pussy.

total words: 5.8k

this snippet: 2.5k words

(this snippet shows first scene where jungkook fingers your tight pussy and takes your virginity backstage)

[requested by Patron]

The stadium was a fucking nightmare. You’d rather be anywhere else—curled in bed with pizza grease on your chin, rewatching your favorite show for the third time this week. But no. Your friend Mina, who’d won these impossible tickets, had come down with a stomach bug, and your other friend, Soojin, refused to go alone. So here you were, hours from home, getting elbowed in the ribs by a sea of screaming strangers because Soojin wanted to be in the pit, “where the magic happens.”

You loved your friends, you really did. But right now, you loved the idea of your quiet apartment more. The music was loud, the pyrotechnics were blinding, and the crowd’s energy was a physical, sweaty force pushing you around. You knew BTS were good—Soojin never shut up about them—but you’d never been interested in stanning anyone. It felt like too much work.

Except.

There was one.

He kept catching your eye. He had an arm sleeved in intricate tattoos, a detail you found inexplicably, instantly hot. His face was sweet, almost boyish, but the way he moved… fuck. It was pure, undiluted sex appeal. Hips rolling, sweat making his white tank top cling to every cut and plane of his torso. He was performing near your side of the stage, and every time his gaze swept over the crowd, it felt like it snagged on you.

“That’s Jungkook!” Soojin screamed in your ear over the music, pointing. “Main vocalist! Main dancer! Golden Maknae! My future husband!”

You just nodded, your eyes locked with his for a beat too long before another explosion of fireworks made you flinch and look away. But you felt it. A weird, hot twist low in your belly. Every time you glanced back, he seemed to be looking right at you, a smirk playing on his lips even as he belted out a high note.

The concert finally ended in a shower of glitter and deafening cheers. Your ears were ringing, your feet ached, and you were drenched in a mixture of your sweat and other people’s. Freedom was so close you could taste it.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” you said, tugging Soojin’s arm toward the nearest exit.

But before you could make it five steps, two people in crisp, black staff uniforms blocked your path. A man and a woman, with polite, professional smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.

“Excuse me, miss?” the woman said, her voice calm amidst the post-concert chaos. “Could we have a word with you?”

Your heart jumped into your throat. “Me? Why?”

Soojin’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god. What did you do?”

“Nothing!” you hissed. You looked at the staff members. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem at all,” the man assured you. “Just a private conversation. If you could come with us?”

Panic flirted with curiosity. You looked at Soojin. “It’s fine. I’ll catch up with you outside.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, looking between you and the staff.

“Yeah. Go ahead. I’ll text you.”

You followed the two staff members through a maze of backstage corridors, away from the departing crowd. The noise faded, replaced by the hum of industrial lighting and your own nervous heartbeat. They led you to a plain door and opened it, gesturing for you to enter.

Inside was a small, sterile-looking room. A man in an expensive-looking suit stood next to a table where another man was arranging some documents. The suited man stepped forward.

“Good evening. I’m Mr. Park, Jeon Jungkook’s manager.” He gestured to the documents. “The artist saw you in the audience and would like to extend an invitation for some… personal time this evening, if you’re willing.”

You blinked. A laugh bubbled up in your chest. This had to be a prank. Some weird fan-experience thing Soojin had secretly signed you up for.

“Personal time,” you repeated flatly.

“Yes. All your travel and accommodation expenses would be covered, of course. And you would need to sign this non-disclosure agreement.” He slid a folder toward you.

You stared at it, then at his serious face. This was insane. You were about to say no, to walk out and find Soojin and laugh about this later.

Then you saw him.

A face peeked through a small, high window in the door—a door you hadn’t even noticed on the other side of the room. It was him. Jungkook. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours. That same hot, twisting feeling from the concert ignited in your belly, lower this time, pooling between your thighs. His gaze was a physical touch.

Mr. Park noticed your distraction and followed your look. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod toward the window.

Swallowing hard, you opened the folder. It was a standard NDA, full of legal jargon about confidentiality and financial penalties. Behind it was another document. You flipped it open and your breath hitched.

It was a medical report. Jeon Jungkook. Date of birth: September 1, 1997. Blood type: A. A list of vaccinations. And a recent, clean STD panel.

Your face flushed. “What… what is this for?”

Mr. Park cleared his throat. “All necessary… medications will be taken care of.”

“Medications?” you asked, confusion warring with the heat spreading through your body.

The door with the window opened suddenly, and Jungkook stepped inside. He’d changed out of his stage clothes into simple black jeans and a tight grey t-shirt that showed off every muscle of his chest and arms. His tattoos were on full display. He looked even bigger up close, his presence filling the small room.

“He means Plan B,” Jungkook said, his voice lower, rougher than it sounded on stage. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes devouring you. “Morning-after pill.”

The two suited men didn’t even flinch. Mr. Park just adjusted his cufflinks.

Your mouth went dry. “Why?” The word came out a whisper. You knew what Plan B was. You knew what his implication meant.

Jungkook pushed off the doorframe and took a step toward you. The room seemed to shrink as all the other people left, leaving you two alone. “Because I like to do it raw.”

A full-body shiver wracked you at his crude, direct words. The heat between your legs throbbed in response, even as your brain screamed in protest.

“That’s… incredibly presumptuous,” you managed, finding a shred of your usual sass. “And rude.”

A slow, predatory smirk spread across his face. He closed the distance between you in two strides. You had to tilt your head back to look up at him. He smelled like sweat, cologne, and something uniquely male. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, and his whisper was a low growl that went straight to your core.

“Presumptuous? You spent two hours dancing those perfect little tits of yours right in my line of sight. You think I didn’t see? You think I could look at anything else?” His hand came up, not touching you, but hovering near your hip. “You distracted me, baby. Made me mess up a step. Now I owe you a punishment for that.”

His words were outrageous, arrogant. You should shove him away. But your hands, which came up to press against his solid chest, didn’t push. They flexed against the hard muscle under the soft cotton. You liked how big he felt. You liked the danger in his eyes.

“I wasn’t dancing for you,” you breathed, the protest weak even to your own ears.

He just chuckled, a dark, promising sound. Jungkook’s smirk didn’t fade. He took your hand, his fingers lacing through yours with a possessiveness that made you gasp, and led you out of the sterile room, down another hallway to a different door. This one opened into what looked like a lavish green room—plush couches, a low table with drinks, soft lighting.

He didn’t give you time to look around. As soon as the door clicked shut, he spun you and pushed you back against it, his body caging you in. His hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“Gonna kiss you now,” he stated, no question in his tone.

And then his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t sweet or tentative. It was hungry and demanding, all lips and teeth and tongue. He kissed like he performed—with complete, devastating focus. You moaned into his mouth, your hands flying up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He tasted like mint and something addictive.

One of his hands slid down from your face, over your throat, your collarbone, to palm your breast through your thin concert t-shirt. He groaned against your lips.

“Fuck, they’re perfect. Knew they would be.” He squeezed, his thumb finding your nipple and rubbing it into a hard peak. The fabric was suddenly too much. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, and yanked your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside. Your bra followed a second later.

The cool air hit your skin, followed instantly by the heat of his gaze. He looked at your bare breasts like he was starving.

“Pretty,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he dipped his head and took one nipple into his mouth.

You cried out, your head thumping back against the door. His mouth was hot and wet, his tongue lashing and circling your peak before he sucked hard, drawing the sensitive flesh deep. It was a direct line of pleasure to your clit, which pulsed achingly in your soaked panties.

“Loved how these bounced,” he growled, switching to your other breast, biting the nipple gently before soothing it with his tongue. “Every time you jumped. Fucking hypnotic.”

“J-Jungkook—” you panted.

He pulled back, his lips glistening. “You better not bounce these perfect tits for anyone else, you hear me?” His voice was low, deadly serious. He slapped your inner thigh, the sharp sting making you jolt and gasp. “They’re mine to look at now. My girl’s tits.”

The possessiveness, the sheer audacity, should have pissed you off. Instead, your pussy clenched, wetness soaking through your panties. You were dizzy with it.

He dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands hooking into the waistband of your jeans and panties. In one rough move, he shoved them down your legs. You stepped out of them, completely bare now except for your socks. He stared at your pussy, his eyes wide and dark with lust.

“Fuck,” he breathed. He ran a single finger through your soaked folds, collecting your slick. He held it up, showing you the glistening evidence. “Look at this. So fucking wet for me already. Greedy little cunt, isn’t it?”

You moaned, humiliated and unbearably turned on. He rubbed your clit in slow, firm circles, watching your face contort.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please what, darling?”

“Just… be gentle,” you whispered, the confession tumbling out. “It’s… it’s my first time.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest. He surged up from his knees, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss. This one was fiercer, wilder. He bit your lower lip, sucking on it.

“Gentle?” he rasped against your lips. “No, baby. I’m gonna ruin this perfect, tight little cunt for anyone else. Gonna wreck it. Make it so only my cock fits.” He kissed you again, swallowing your gasp. “You understand? This pussy belongs to me now.”

You tried to muster a bicker, a protest, but his fingers were back between your legs, sliding through your slickness before he gave your clit a sharp, stinging slap.

You yelped, jumping in his arms. Pleasure-pain shot through you.

“See?” he cooed, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “So greedy. It’s leaking just ‘cause I slapped it.” He pushed one finger inside you, and you both groaned at the same time.

The stretch was immediate, intense. You were so tight.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his forehead dropping to yours as he worked his finger in deeper, curling it. “So fucking tight. Virgin pussy.” He added a second finger, the burn making you cry out. “Shh, baby, take it. Gotta get you ready for my cock. It’s so much bigger than this.”

He fingered you ruthlessly, scissoring and curling his fingers, rubbing that spot inside that made you see stars. His other hand groped your breast, pinching your nipple.

“Gonna make you cum on my fingers first,” he promised, his voice husky in your ear. “Wanna feel that pretty cunt clamp down.”

You were babbling, nonsensical pleas and moans falling from your lips as he drove you higher. The coil in your belly tightened, snapped.

“Jungkook! I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Cum,” he ordered. “Cum on my fingers, little whore. Show me how bad you wanted this.”

Your orgasm ripped through you, violent and shocking. You screamed, your body convulsing around his invading fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. You went limp against the door, supported only by his arm around your waist.

He pulled his fingers out, shiny with your release, and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a loud, obscene pop. His eyes rolled back in pleasure.

“So sweet,” he groaned. “Fuck, I can’t wait.”

He picked you up like you weighed nothing, carrying you to the large, leather couch in the middle of the room. He laid you on your stomach, then dragged your hips up until you were on your knees, ass in the air, face pressed into the cool leather.

“Perfect,” he muttered behind you. You heard the rustle of clothing, the sound of his zipper.

You tried to look back, but a firm hand on the back of your neck kept you down. “Stay.”

Then his fingers were back at your entrance, now three of them, pushing inside your still-fluttering, oversensitive channel. You whimpered into the couch.

“Gotta stretch you more, love. My cock’s a monster.” He fucked you with his fingers, rough and fast, the wet sounds filthy in the quiet room. “Gonna fill this cunt up ‘til you’re dripping with me.”

He pulled his fingers out. Then you felt it—the thick, heavy head of his cock slapping against your soaked folds. You gasped. It felt huge. Hot and velvety-hard.

He rubbed it up and down your slit, coating himself in your arousal, teasing your clit with the broad tip.

“Look at it,” he said, his voice strained. You managed to crane your neck just enough to see over your shoulder.

Your eyes nearly rolled back at the sight. His cock was… massive. Long, thick, veined, and an angry red at the tip. It looked obscene nestled against your small body. It was a fucking weapon.

“It’s not gonna fit,” you breathed, panic lacing the arousal.

“It’ll fit,” he promised darkly. “I’ll make it fit.”

He positioned himself, the blunt head pressing insistently against your tight entrance. He pushed forward, just an inch.

You cried out at the burn, the unbelievable stretch. It was too much.

“Shh, baby, just breathe,” he soothed, but his voice was tight with his own restraint. He pushed another inch, his grip on your hips bruising. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Squeezing me so good.”

He kept going, a slow, relentless invasion that stole the air from your lungs. You were so full, stretched wider than you thought possible. Tears leaked from your eyes, mixing with the drool on the couch from your open-mouthed pants.

When he finally bottomed out, his hips flush against your ass, you both froze. He was buried to the hilt inside you. You could feel every throbbing inch of him.

“Fuck,” he choked out. “You took it all. My good girl.” He leaned over you, his chest plastered to your back, his mouth by your ear. “Now I’m gonna ruin you.”

He pulled back slowly, then slammed back in.

You saw white.

A scream tore from your throat as he set a brutal, punishing pace from the very first thrust. There was no gentle warm-up. This was claiming. Each snap of his hips drove him impossibly deep, hitting spots inside you that made your toes curl and your vision blur.

The rough leather of the couch rubbed against your hard nipples with every thrust, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through you. He noticed, pinching one between his fingers and twisting.

“Look at your slutty body,” he grunted, his own breath coming in ragged gasps. “Nipples hard, pussy gushing… loving every second of having your virginity taken by a stranger.” He punctuated his words with harder thrusts. “But I’m not a stranger anymore, am I? I own this cunt now. Say it.”

You couldn’t speak. You were sobbing, a continuous stream of “ah, ah, ah!” with each powerful drive of his cock.

“Say it!” he demanded, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back.

“You own it!” you wailed, the submission tearing from you. “You own my pussy!”

“Damn right I do.”

His pace became frenzied, the slapping sound of skin on skin, the wet squelch of your overstimulated cunt taking his massive cock filling the room. The coil inside you was building again, tighter, more intense than the first time.

“J-Jungkook… I feel… I’m gonna—”

“Squirt for me,” he ordered, his voice guttural. “Soak my cock. Let me feel it.”

The command tipped you over the edge. Your second orgasm wasn’t a wave; it was an explosion. A gush of liquid heat erupted from you as he hammered into your G-spot, soaking his cock, his balls, the couch beneath you. Your body spasmed violently around him, milking his length, and the sensation pushed him over the edge too.

With a final, deep roar, he buried himself as far as he could go and came. You felt the hot, thick pulses of his cum flooding your deepest parts, marking you from the inside. He kept thrusting through it, fucking his seed deeper, until he finally collapsed over you, spent.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your combined panting and the wet drip of fluids.

He slowly pulled out, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, the oversensitive ache. You felt a hot trickle start to escape your used hole.

Before you could move, you felt him shift behind you. Then something soft and silky was pressed against your entrance.

You weakly looked back over your shoulder.

Jungkook was on his knees behind you, his cock still semi-hard and glistening with your mixed fluids. In his hands was his black silk tie he got from somewhere. He was folding it into a thick pad.

With a cocky smile that made your heart stutter even in your exhausted state, he pressed the folded tie against your leaking entrance and pushed.

You gasped as the material slid inside, stuffing you, plugging you up.

“Can’t have you leaking all over my car seats,” he said, his voice rough but satisfied. He gave the end of the tie a little pat against your swollen clit, making you jump. “Our night’s far from over, darling.”

(full version contains jungkook fucking you in his car and taking you to his place to breed you until your belly is bloated then clean you out)

tags for full version: daddy kink, you call jungkook daddy and Jungkook plays with your tits for being a good girl, clit pinching, getting drunk on squirting so much, car sex, missionary position, getting fucked you scream in Jungkook's car and get it all wet and dirty, breeding kink, Jungkook carries you inside his penthouse while you're hanging on his cock, balcony sex, belly bulge, filling you with so much cum your belly bloats, marathon sex, squirting so hard you spasm, mirror sex, very wet and messy, shower sex, titty fucking, Jungkook cleans out his cum from your pussy by spanking you and eating you out, cunnilingus, you squirt on his face.

read full here

[lemonjjk]

Biker Husband 🔞 Jungkook x Y/N

genre: CEO!jungkook, biker!jungkook, cold!y/n, coparenting, outdoor sex

Jungkook is your daughter’s father and nothing more. But when he sees you going on dates, his jealousy flares up and he shows you who can actually make you squirt. You claim this doesn’t change anything but when he shows up on his bike… well, you’ve always been weak for him on his beloved bike.

tags: jealous jungkook, childhood rivals to lovers to exes (sorta), angry sex, against the car sex, rough sex, degradation, possessive behavior, dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), squirting, creampie (external), unresolved sexual tension, power dynamics, biting, marking, hickies, spanking, size difference, clothed sex (partial), unprotected sex, breeding kink, crying during sex, motorcycle sex, body worship, kissing and making out, nipple play, fingering, cunnilingus, hair pulling, praise kink, dirty talk, creampie (inside), breeding kink, possessive Jungkook, bratty reader, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise mixed with degradation, desperate Jungkook, possessive Jungkook, he presses on your belly as he fucks you, romantic gestures, kinda emotional at the end, hopeful ending.

total words: 5.4k

this snippet: 2.5k words

(this snippet shows first scene where you go a date, jungkook finds you, gets jealous and fucks you against his car on the road in public)

[requested by Patron]

The late afternoon sun was painting the expensive street in front of Jungkook’s penthouse a hazy gold, but it did nothing to warm the chill in your chest. You parked your sensible sedan behind his stupidly sleek black sports car, the one you’d always teased him about being a mid-life crisis on wheels, even though he’d bought it at twenty-five. Now, at thirty, he still drove it, a reminder of the reckless boy he’d been… and the distant man he’d become.

Your daughter, Soojin, unbuckled herself with the practiced ease of a kid who did this twice a week. “Appa’s house!” she chirped, her little backpack already slung over her shoulder.

“Yes, baby. For the weekend,” you said, forcing brightness into your voice. “You have your bunny?”

She nodded, holding up the well-loved stuffed animal. “And my sparkly markers for the project!”

“Perfect.” You got out, helping her down, your hand in hers as you walked the short path to the imposing glass-and-steel front door. Before you could even ring the bell, it swung open.

Jeon Jungkook stood there, not in a suit for once, but in faded black jeans and a tight grey henley that stretched across his chest and biceps. His hair was a little messy, like he’d been running his hands through it. He looked less like the untouchable CEO of Jeon Holdings and more like the boy who used to race his motorcycle down backroads with you clinging to his back, screaming with laughter.

“My princess!” he grinned, his whole face transforming as he crouched down. Soojin launched herself into his arms, and he caught her effortlessly, swinging her up. She giggled, pressing a loud kiss to his cheek.

“Appa! Did you make waffles?”

“With extra whipped cream and sprinkles, just like you ordered, ma’am,” he said, his voice softening in a way you hadn’t heard directed at you in years. He set her down gently. “Go on in, the table’s all set. TV’s on your cartoons.”

She scampered inside with a happy wave, leaving the two of you in the heavy silence of the doorway.

Jungkook straightened up, his eyes finding yours. The easy warmth faded, replaced by a guarded, intense look. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, the picture of casual grace that somehow felt like a challenge. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You crossed your arms. “Her overnight bag is in the car. Allergy meds are in the front pocket, just in case. She already had her bath.”

“I remember the routine, Y/N,” he said, a hint of dryness in his tone.

“Just making sure. Your ‘routine’ used to be board meetings that ran until midnight.”

He flinched, just a tiny tightening around his eyes. He looked past you at your car. “You’re not staying for a coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot. The expensive beans you like.”

The offer hung there, loaded. Staying for coffee used to mean staying for breakfast, which meant staying for a lazy morning in bed, his hands mapping your skin under the sheets. Now it just felt like a trap.

“Can’t,” you said, your voice clipped. “I have plans.”

His gaze sharpened, scanning your outfit—the off-the-shoulder dress, the one that hugged your curves, the subtle shine of lip gloss you’d applied in the car. It was a step up from your usual drop-off leggings and hoodie. “Plans?”

“Yes, Jungkook. Plans. Grown-up plans that don’t involve you.” You turned on your heel, the dismissal clear.

“Y/N.” His voice stopped you, quieter now.

You didn’t turn back. “What?”

A pause. You could feel his eyes burning into your back. “Drive safe.”

You gave a curt nod and got into your car. In the rearview mirror, as you pulled away, you saw him still standing in the doorway, a tall, solitary figure watching until you turned the corner and disappeared. The familiar ache, a mix of old love and fresh resentment, twisted in your gut.

The date was, in a word, pathetic.

Jong-su was nice enough. A dentist with a good practice, pleasant smile, talked about his investment portfolio over salmon en papillote. It was your fifth date with him because he was safe. Boring, but safe. He didn’t look at you like he wanted to devour you and then put you back together. He didn’t make your heart race with a single smoldering glance. He was… fine.

Which is why you’d reluctantly agreed to go back to his perfectly sterile, beige apartment after the restaurant. You thought, maybe, the physical connection could spark something. It didn’t.

It was fifteen minutes of awkward fumbling on his stiff leather sofa. His kisses were sloppy, his hands clumsy as he pushed up your sweater. He got himself off quickly, grunting into your neck, his fingers pinching your nipple with no rhythm. He barely touched you between your legs, a few rushed rubs over your panties before he was spent and rolling off you, already talking about an early tee time.

You felt used, empty, and stupid. Lying there with your jeans around your ankles and cold leather sticking to your thighs, you mourned not for Jong-su, but for the times when sex was a marathon, not a pit stop. When it left you breathless and boneless, covered in sweat and bite marks, not just vaguely irritated and sticky.

“I should go,” you said, your voice flat as you shoved your clothes back into place.

“Oh. Okay. Text me?” Jong-su called from the kitchen, already rinsing a glass.

You didn’t answer. You just walked out, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that echoed in the empty hallway. The night air was cool on your flushed face as you stepped out of the apartment building, fumbling in your purse for your keys, humiliation and anger a hot coal in your chest.

That’s when you saw it.

The sleek, black monster of a car was idling at the curb, its headlights off. Leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, was Jungkook.

Every bit of simmering frustration from the terrible date ignited into white-hot rage. You stomped across the sidewalk, heels clicking furiously. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He didn’t even look surprised. His eyes, dark and unreadable in the low light from a streetlamp, traveled over you, taking in your disheveled hair, the smudged lip gloss, the angry set of your jaw. “Nice night for a walk,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

“Don’t you dare. How could you leave Soojin alone? Is she in that death trap? Jeon Jungkook, I swear to god—”

“She’s asleep. In her bed. At our house,” he cut in, his voice losing its cool edge. “She forgot her art project, the big glittery one about the family tree. We went back to get it. She was so proud of it, she made me look at every single glued-on sequin. Then she fell asleep mid-sentence on the couch.” His gaze hardened. “You weren’t home. So I put her to bed and came to find you.”

The logic did nothing to douse your fury. It just redirected it. “You’re keeping tabs on me now? Is that what this is? The rich, successful CEO is so afraid of losing his… what? His random, insignificant baby mama?” The words were meant to wound, and you saw them land, a flash of pain in his eyes before they shuttered again.

He pushed off the car, taking a step toward you. You caught the faint scent of his cologne, the one you’d bought him years ago, mixed with the night air. “You were never random,” he growled, the possessiveness in his voice so familiar it made your traitorous body thrum. “You know you were never fucking random, so don’t say that shit.”

“Clearly I wasn’t important enough,” you shot back, backing up a step, but he closed the distance. “Not more important than the company, the board meetings, the late nights, the fucking shareholders.”

He was quiet for a moment, the only sound the low rumble of his car’s engine. His eyes dropped to the base of your throat, then back up. “So. You’re going on dates now.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. “Yes. I am. What, did you think I’d just stay frozen in time, waiting for you to remember you had a wife?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “With him?” He jerked his chin toward the apartment building. “I saw him when he brought you home. Your standards have really plummeted, darling.”

The old endearment, used as a weapon, stung. “At least he’s present during dinner! At least he doesn’t cancel because a fucking merger in Tokyo is more exciting than his family!”

The jealousy and self-loathing you’d wanted to provoke finally broke through his controlled mask. His jaw tightened. “Did he even make you come?”

The question, so crude and direct, stole the air from your lungs. Your silence was all the answer he needed.

A savage sort of satisfaction flashed in his eyes, mixed with a desperate anger. “He didn’t, did he? He fucked you in his boring apartment and didn’t even bother to make it good for you.” He took your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “I always made you come. Every single time. Even when we were late, even when we were tired, I always made sure you were shaking before I even thought about my own dick. Didn’t I?”

His touch was electric, sending a jolt straight to your core. You hated it. You hated him. You hated that your body still reacted to him like it was wired directly to his. “That doesn’t matter anymore,” you whispered, trying to pull away.

“It matters to me.” His voice dropped, low and rough, full of a need that mirrored the one suddenly pulsing between your own legs. “I can be better than him. I am better than him. Let me show you.”

“You’re pathetic,” you hissed, but you’d stopped pulling your wrist away. “Needy and possessive. You don’t get to fuck me just because you’re jealous.”

“Watch me,” he breathed, and then he was moving.

In one fluid motion, he spun you around, your back now to his chest. He walked you the two steps to the cold, sleek hood of his car and bent you over it. The metal was shocking against your palms. “Jungkook, stop—”

He didn’t stop. One hand splayed on your lower back, holding you down. The other shoved your dress up around your waist. The night air hit your bare thighs. He’d seen—of course he’d seen—that you weren’t wearing the sensible cotton panties from this afternoon. You were wearing lace. Black lace. For the date.

A low growl vibrated from his chest. “Fucking lace. For him.” There was a sharp rip, and the fragile fabric gave way. He tore your panties clean off, tossing the ruined scrap aside. His fingers were on you then, sliding through your folds, and he let out a groan that was pure male triumph. “You’re soaked. Dripping for me. And you just let that bastard touch you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. You heard the rasp of his zipper, the rustle of clothing, and then the blunt, insistent pressure of his cock, nudging against you. He was already hard, thick and demanding.

“You’re not putting that in me,” you spat, even as your hips betrayed you, pushing back against him.

“Too late, love.” With a single, powerful thrust, he was inside, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke.

A choked cry was torn from your throat. It was too much, too fast, too deep. He felt bigger than you remembered, stretching you exquisitely, filling the awful emptiness from just minutes before. He didn’t move for a second, letting you feel every inch of him, his body draped over yours, his lips at your ear.

“Tell me he didn’t feel like this,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “Tell me his pathetic little dick didn’t reach here, where you need me.” He pulled back almost all the way and slammed home again, making the car rock slightly.

You couldn’t speak. Pleasure, sharp and blinding, was already coiling tight in your belly. You braced your hands on the hood, the engine’s heat seeping through the metal, a contrast to the cool night on your back.

“That’s what I thought,” he snarled, setting a ruthless, pounding rhythm. Each thrust drove you harder into the car, your breasts aching against the unyielding surface. “You’re still mine. This tight, perfect cunt is still mine. You can go on a hundred dates, Y/N. It won’t change that. They’ll never fuck you like I do.”

“Fuck you,” you moaned, the fight leaving your voice, replaced by sheer, overwhelmed sensation.

“That’s the idea, baby.” One of his hands left your hip, snaking around to roughly palm your breast through your dress and bra, pinching your nipple until you yelped. “Missed these. You got even sexier after having our kid. Fuller. So fucking perfect.”

His dirty talk, the crude ownership in his words, was like gasoline on the fire in your blood. You were melting, the anger dissolving into pure, animal need. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, his ragged breaths, your own helpless whimpers, filled the quiet street.

“Call me Oppa,” he demanded, his pace becoming erratic, harder, deeper.

A spark of your earlier defiance returned. You said it mockingly, dripping with sarcasm. “Whatever you say… Oppa.”

He let out a feral sound, his hand coming down in a sharp smack on your ass cheek. The sting made you cry out, clenching around him wildly. “Say it like you mean it. Like you used to when you’d come on my cock begging for more.”

But you wouldn’t give him that. Not anymore. You bit your lip, holding back the words, even as your body surrendered completely to his. The coil was wound impossibly tight, a spring about to snap. His fingers found your clit, rubbing rough, frantic circles.

“Gonna come for me,” he grunted, his thrusts becoming brutal, punishing. “Gonna squirt all over my car, show me what I’ve been missing. Do it. Now.”

The command, the relentless pressure of his fingers and his cock, broke you. The orgasm ripped through you with a violence that stole your vision. A guttural scream tore from your throat as you convulsed, a hot rush of liquid spilling out of you, soaking his thighs, dripping onto the pavement below with an audible patter. The intensity was so overwhelming, a white-noise static filled your ears, your limbs turning to jelly. For a second, the world went dark at the edges.

Jungkook swore, his rhythm shattering. He held himself deep as you pulsed around him, his own groan long and satisfied. At the last second, he pulled out. Hot stripes of his release painted your ass and lower back, marking you. “Not gonna put a baby in you,” he panted, collapsing over you for a moment, his weight heavy and familiar, “until we sort this shit out.”

The haze of the orgasm receded, replaced by cold, crashing reality. What the hell had you just done? On a public street, over his car, like some cheap hookup.

You shoved him off you, your legs trembling violently as you stood. You yanked your dress down, the wetness between your thighs a humiliating reminder. You turned to face him, his jeans still undone, his cock glistening in the dim light, a smug, spent expression on his handsome, infuriating face.

You scoffed, the sound brittle. “That,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the mess, at him, at the whole scene, “is never happening again.”

You snatched your keys from where they’d fallen on the ground, didn’t even bother looking for the torn remnants of your panties. You wobbled to your car, got in, and slammed the door. As you pulled away, your hands shaking on the wheel, you saw him in the rearview mirror, still standing by his car, watching you leave again.

(full version contains jungkook coming to woo you on his bike, worshipping your body and fucking you on the bike while talking about knocking you up)

read full here

[lemonjjk]

Workplace Dominance 🔞 Jungkook x Y/N

genre: mean dom!jungkook, bratty sub!y/n, office sex, kinda hate fucking

You’re the leader, the one who is in control. But when your junior, Jeon Jungkook, pushes you down on the conference room table and praises your work as his cock opens your wet greedy pussy, you realize it’s more fun to give up control. But not so easily, you have to be a brat about it. Good thing Jungkook knows just how to tame brats.

tags: office au, conference table sex, rough fucking, nerd!jungkook, team leader!reader, power dynamics, boss/subordinate, rough fingering, spanking, squirting, degradation, praise kink, dirty talk, aftercare, size difference, jungkook is HUNG and reader’s pussy is tight, unprotected sex, creampie, biting, marking, hair pulling, throat grabbing, mirror sex, car sex, forced orgasm, brat taming, pussy spanking, jungkook ties your hand with his belt, daddy kink, doggy style, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cum play, aftercare, cuddling, jungkook calls you good girl, cumslut, fucktoy, crying from too many orgasms.

total words: 7.5k

this snippet: 3k words

(this snippet contains first scene where you fight with jungkook in the conference you and he spanks you and fucks you right there)

[requested by Patron]

The air in the conference room still felt thick with failure. Hours had bled away since the meeting ended, the angry echoes of upper management’s words bouncing around the empty space. You sat slumped in your chair at the head of the long, polished table, head in your hands, trying to breathe through the tight knot of panic and rage in your chest. It wasn’t fair. Your team had worked their asses off, given everything they had with the shitty resources corporate kept cutting, and still you’d been dressed down like some intern who’d spilled coffee on a report. The sense of helpless failure was a sour taste in your mouth.

The soft click of the door opening was like a match striking in the quiet. Your head snapped up, ready to unleash the fury simmering inside you on whoever was stupid enough to disturb your wallowing.

But the words died on your lips.

It was Jeon Jungkook.

He stood just inside the doorway, the dying sun from the floor-to-ceiling windows casting a long, stark shadow behind him. He’d been assigned to your team two months ago, and in that time, he’d said maybe fifty words total. He was quiet, always looking at his shoes or his screen through those black-framed glasses, never meeting your eyes. It drove you fucking insane. You needed fighters, people with passion and thick skin, not some meek, soft-spoken kid who flinched when you raised your voice. But you knew it wasn’t his fault. Swallowing the bitter pill of your anger, you forced your voice to be level.

“What are you doing here, Jungkook? Everyone’s gone home.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks, his gaze finally lifting from the floor to land somewhere near your shoulder. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft, gentle even.

The condescension in that simple question was like a spark to gasoline. Irritation flared hot and immediate. “I’m fine,” you bit out, the words sharp. “You can leave.”

He didn’t move. “You don’t seem fine.”

“I said get out.” Your voice was a low, dangerous growl.

He stayed quiet for a long moment, then he did something unexpected. He walked forward, his steps measured and silent on the plush carpet. You were still sitting, so you had to tilt your head back to look at him. And fuck, you’d never really looked before. He was big. Not just tall, but broad-shouldered, the crisp white dress shirt he wore stretched tight over what were clearly solid muscles. His shadow fell over you, blocking the last of the sunlight, and suddenly the room felt smaller, hotter.

He stopped right in front of your chair, looking down. His eyes, usually hidden behind glass and lowered lashes, were now fixed directly on yours. They were dark, intense, and held none of the shyness you were used to. You gulped, your throat dry.

“That’s no way to talk to your teammate,” he said, his voice still quiet, but it had lost its soft edge. It was flat. Firm.

Indignation burned through the shock. You shot to your feet, intending to shove him back, to reclaim your space. “Know your position, Jeon. I’m your team lead—”

Your hands landed on his chest. It was like pushing against a wall. Solid, unyielding. You just ended up pressing your palms against the hard planes of his pectorals, feeling the heat of him through the cotton. He didn’t budge an inch. You tried to step back, to put distance between you, but his hand snapped out faster than you could blink, wrapping around your wrist. His grip was firm, not painful, but absolutely inescapable.

“Apologize,” he said, his gaze never wavering.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in your throat. “Apologize? To you? Get your hand off me.”

He didn’t let go. Instead, he used his hold on your wrist to turn you, walking you backwards until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of the long conference table. He crowded into your space, his body caging you against the polished wood. The scent of his cologne, something clean and subtly spicy, filled your senses.

“Just because other people were assholes to you in that meeting,” he murmured, his face now close to yours, “doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole to me.”

There was something in his demeanor, in the complete shift from the quiet, nerdy junior to this… this person who radiated a calm, absolute control, that made your heart hammer against your ribs. It wasn’t fear. It was a reckless, dizzying thrill. The angry, abrasive part of you wanted to push him, to see how far this went. The submissive, craving part you kept locked deep down purred in anticipation.

You tilted your chin up, a bratty, mocking smile on your lips. “Or what, Jungkook? You’ll tattle to HR? Write me a strongly worded email? You’re just a quiet little mouse. Scuttle back to your cubicle.”

He watched you, his expression unchanging. A faint, amused smile touched his lips. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was condescending, knowing. “Look at you,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “All bark. Desperate for someone to put you in your place, aren’t you? All that bluster because you’re just a needy little thing who didn’t get her pat on the head today.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. It was too close to the truth, stated so bluntly, so meanly. The humiliation was hot and sharp, but it twisted into something else deep in your gut. Anger, yes, but a wild, desperate curiosity. You acted on impulse, surging forward to crush your lips against his to shut him up.

It was a hard, clumsy kiss, all frustration and defiance. And he… didn’t kiss back. He just stood there, letting you press against him, his lips unmoving under yours. You pulled back, breathless, and saw that same infuriating amusement in his dark eyes.

Enraged, you kissed him again, this time biting his lower lip hard enough to taste the faint metallic tang of blood.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t touch you. He remained utterly calm, a statue you were trying and failing to provoke.

Then he leaned down. Not to kiss you, but to bring his mouth to your ear. His breath was warm against your skin, and you shivered violently. “You had your chance,” he whispered, the words a soft, dark promise. “Now it’s my turn.”

He paused, waiting. Your mind screamed at you to shove him away, to knee him in the groin, to run. But your body was frozen, a traitorous pulse throbbing between your legs. That curious, subby part of you was wide awake now, thrumming with excitement. You didn’t stop him.

In one swift, powerful motion, his hands went to your waist and he hauled you up, sitting you on the edge of the conference table with a thud. Files scattered. Then his hands were framing your face, and he finally kissed you.

It was nothing like your frantic, angry attempts. This was hard, deliberate, and ruthlessly skilled. His lips moved over yours with possessive force, his tongue demanding entry and taking it. You moaned into his mouth, your hands flying up to tangle in his hair, dislodging his glasses. They clattered to the table, forgotten. One of his hands slid down from your face, over your throat, to cup your breast through your blouse and blazer. He squeezed hard, making you gasp against his mouth.

“So fucking mouthy,” he muttered, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw to your neck. “Such a brat.” He bit down on the tendon where your neck met your shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to make you cry out and to surely leave a mark. The sharp sting made your back arch, pushing your chest into his hand.

His other hand slid under your blazer and blouse, finding the clasp of your bra at your back. With a deft flick, it came undone. He shoved the material up, your breasts spilling free. He palmed one, his thumb rubbing rough circles over your nipple until it peaked into a hard, aching point. He dipped his head, taking the other into his hot mouth, sucking and biting until you were writhing on the table, a steady stream of moans and “oh god”s falling from your lips.

“Jungkook—” you panted.

Smack!

The sound was loud in the quiet room. A sharp, stinging slap landed on your outer thigh, right through your pencil skirt. The pain was bright and shocking, mixing with the pleasure from his mouth on your breast in a dizzying cocktail.

“Did I say you could speak?” he asked, pulling back to look at you. His lips were swollen, his eyes dark with lust, but his expression was still that infuriatingly calm mask of control.

You glared at him, the brattiness surging back through the haze of pleasure. “Fuck you.”

A slow smirk spread across his face. He turned you roughly, manhandling you until you were on your hands and knees on the conference table, facing the window overlooking the darkening city. He stood behind you.

The cool, polished wood of the table pressed against your forearms as you braced yourself. Your skirt was rucked up around your waist, and you could feel the air-conditioned chill on the backs of your thighs. Jungkook’s hands smoothed over your ass, a possessive, appreciative gesture that made your breath hitch.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice a low, mean purr right behind you. “Bent over the table like you belong here. All that fire, just to end up presenting this pretty little ass.” He gave one cheek a rough squeeze, making you jolt. “You’re a mess, darling. A bratty, desperate mess.”

“I am not—” you started, but your protest was cut off by another sharp slap. This one landed directly on your right ass cheek, the sound cracking through the room. A gasp tore from your throat, the sting radiating deep, mixing with the throbbing heat building between your legs.

“You are,” he insisted, his hand rubbing the spot he’d just hit. “And you love it. Don’t you? You love that someone finally sees through all your bullshit.” Another slap, on the other side this time. You whimpered, pushing back against his hand almost instinctively. “See? Your body knows. It’s begging for it.”

His hands went to the waistband of your skirt, and with a few efficient tugs, he had the zipper down and the garment shoved down to pool around your knees. The cool air hit your soaked panties, and you flinched.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, a hint of that cocky amusement returning. He hooked his fingers in the sides of your lace panties. “Look at this. Soaked through for me already, you little cockslut.” With a brutal, thrilling rip, he tore the delicate fabric apart and let the remnants fall. He spread your legs wider with his knee, the position exposing you completely. “And this pretty, dripping pussy. It’s fucking glistening.”

You buried your face in your arms, humiliation and arousal burning through you in equal measure. You felt his thumb, rough and deliberate, slide through your folds, collecting the wetness.

“Deny it now,” he challenged, bringing his thumb up to your line of sight. It shone in the low light. “Go on. Tell me you’re not wet for your quiet little junior. Tell me you don’t want this.”

You couldn’t. The words wouldn’t form. All you could do was moan as he brought that wet thumb back down and circled your clit, once, twice, a cruel, teasing touch.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured.

Then his fingers were gone. For a second, there was nothing, just the agonizing empty feeling and the sound of his belt buckle clinking. But before you could process it, two of his fingers were suddenly pushing inside you, deep and without any preamble.

You cried out, back arching. He was rough, his fingers curling and scissoring, stretching you open. “Tight,” he grunted, his other hand coming down to hold your hip in a bruising grip. “So fucking tight for someone with such a big mouth.” He pumped his fingers in and out, the wet, filthy sound echoing in the quiet room. He added a third finger, and the stretch bordered on painful, but it was drowned out by the intense, coiling pleasure.

“J-Jungkook… please…” you babbled, no longer sure what you were begging for.

“Please what, love?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft as he finger-fucked you with relentless, deep strokes. He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth at your ear. “Use your words. Tell me what this greedy cunt needs.”

“I… I can’t—”

He bit the shell of your ear, hard. “Yes, you can. Or I stop.”

The threat of him stopping was worse than anything. “More,” you gasped. “Harder, please, fuck…”

“Good girl,” he praised, and the words went straight to your core, making you clench around his fingers. He rewarded you by picking up his pace, his fingers driving into you with brutal efficiency, his palm slapping against your clit with every thrust. The stimulation was everywhere, overwhelming. You were panting, drooling a little on the table, completely mindless with need.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a guttural growl. “You’re gonna squirt all over my fingers and this expensive fucking table. Do it. Now.”

His thumb pressed down on your clit, rubbing tight, harsh circles. The combined assault was too much. Your vision whited out. A scream was ripped from your throat as you came, your body convulsing, a gush of hot liquid rushing out of you as he kept fingering you through it, milking every last spasm. Your legs shook violently, and you would have collapsed if he wasn’t holding you up.

As the waves subsided, leaving you trembling and boneless, he slowly pulled his fingers out. He turned you onto your back on the table, the wood cold against your heated skin. Your blazer and torn blouse were still half-on, your breasts exposed and heaving. He looked down at you, his gaze dark and satisfied. He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, his eyes locked on yours.

“Fucking delicious,” he said, his voice rough.

He leaned down then, and kissed you. It was shockingly gentle compared to everything else—soft, slow sweeps of his tongue that tasted like you and him. You kissed him back weakly, your body still buzzing.

“You did so good,” he murmured against your lips, his hand coming up to brush sweat-damp hair from your forehead. “Took my fingers so well. Such a good girl for me.” His words were a balm, validation washing over you more effectively than any corporate praise ever had. “They’re assholes. You’re brilliant. They don’t deserve you.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but they weren’t from pain. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer for another kiss.

He broke it after a moment, a smirk playing on his lips. “Now,” he said, straightening up. “I’m gonna fuck you. Gonna fuck this perfect, squirting little cunt until you forget your own name. Until all you know is my cock.”

He pulled his shirt off in one swift motion, tossing it aside. Your mouth went dry. You’d felt how big he was, but seeing him was different. His torso was all hard lines and defined muscle, covered in a tapestry of dark, intricate tattoos that snaked over his shoulders and down his arms. He was breathtakingly powerful. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his slacks, pushing them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock.

You moaned, the sound raw and needy. He was huge. Thick and long, already fully hard and leaking at the tip. You reached for yourself, your fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing frantic circles.

“Look at you,” he chuckled, stroking himself slowly as he watched you. “My little cumslut, already playing with herself, trying to get ready for me.” He pushed your hand away. “Uh-uh. I’ll get you ready.”

He climbed onto the table, kneeling between your legs. He pushed them wider, hooking them over his shoulders. Then he leaned down, his mouth finding your breasts again. He sucked one nipple deep into his mouth, his tongue lashing it, while his fingers found your entrance again. Two fingers slid in easily now, soaked from your previous orgasm. He worked them in and out, scissoring them, preparing you.

“You’re still so tight,” he groaned against your skin, biting the underside of your breast, leaving a dark mark. “Gonna have to stretch this tiny pussy open. Gonna make it fit me.”

He added a third finger, and you cried out, the stretch intense even after your climax. He finger-fucked you slowly, deeply, crooking his fingers to hit that spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Please,” you begged, bucking your hips against his hand. “Please, Jungkook, I need it, I need you—”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he said, withdrawing his fingers.

He positioned himself at your entrance, the broad head of his cock pressing against you. He looked into your eyes, his own burning with a possessive fire. “This is mine now,” he stated, and it wasn’t a question. Then he pushed in.

The stretch was immense, breathtaking. You screamed, your nails digging into his tattooed shoulders as he filled you inch by inexorable inch. He didn’t stop until he was fully sheathed, his hips flush against yours, your bodies joined completely. You felt impossibly full, stretched to your limit.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his composure cracking for the first time. “You’re so fucking tight. Like a vice.” He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, dropping his forehead to yours. His breath was hot and ragged.

Then he pulled back almost all the way and slammed back in.

You saw white. The force of it drove the air from your lungs. He set a punishing pace from the start, each thrust deep and hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, mingling with your choked sobs and moans. The table groaned beneath you with the force of it.

“That’s it,” he grunted, his voice strained with effort. “Take it. Take all of it, you brat. This what you wanted? Huh? This what you needed?” He leaned down to capture your nipple between his teeth, biting and tugging as he fucked into you. The dual sensation was maddening.

You were incoherent, a babbling mess of “yes” and “more” and his name. Your hands scrambled for purchase on the smooth table. He sat back on his heels, pulling you with him so you were straddling his lap, his cock spearing you even deeper in this new angle. The change made you scream, the head of his cock hitting a spot so deep and sensitive you thought you might break.

“Ride me,” he ordered, his hands on your hips guiding you. “Show me how much you love this dick.”

You moved, bouncing on him clumsily at first, then finding a rhythm. He helped you, lifting you and slamming you back down onto him. His hands were everywhere—gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises, pinching and twisting your nipples until you cried out, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in harsh, demanding circles.

“You’re gonna come again,” he commanded into your ear, his voice a rough, dirty whisper. “You’re gonna squirt all over my cock. Do it. Soak me. Let me feel it.”

His words, his touch, the relentless drag of his cock inside you—it was too much. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami, violent and all-consuming. You screamed, your body seizing as a second, stronger rush of liquid gushed out of you, drenching both of you and the table beneath. Your vision tunneled, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. You clenched around him like a fist, milking him, and with a final, brutal thrust, he followed you over the edge.

His groan was raw and animalistic as he came, his hips stuttering against yours. You felt the hot, pulsing rush of his cum flooding you, deep inside, marking you. He held you tight against him as he emptied himself, his face buried in your neck, biting down on the skin there as he rode out his climax.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and his, the smell of sex and sweat heavy in the air. Slowly, gently, he pulled out of you. A mixture of your release and his trickled down your thighs. You were a wreck—sweat-slicked, covered in bite marks and bruises, trembling with aftershocks.

He got off the table first, his movements slow. He found a box of tissues from a side cabinet and came back to you. With surprising tenderness, he cleaned you up, wiping the mess from your inner thighs and stomach. He helped you sit up, your legs feeling like jelly. He pulled your ruined blouse closed as best he could and smoothed your hair.

Then he kissed you. It was soft, almost chaste. “Good girl,” he whispered again.

He stepped back and began dressing with an eerie calm, pulling up his boxers and slacks, buckling his belt, slipping his shirt back on. He found his glasses on the floor and put them on. In moments, he looked like the Jeon Jungkook from two hours ago—the quiet, unassuming junior. Only his kiss-swollen lips and the faint sheen of sweat on his brow gave him away.

You slid off the table, your legs barely holding you. You straightened your skirt, your hands shaking.

He watched you, his expression unreadable behind the glasses.

“This,” you said, your voice hoarse from screaming. “This doesn’t happen again.”

He didn’t answer. He just looked at you, a dark, knowing glint in his eyes that promised this was far from over. Then he turned and walked out of the conference room, leaving you alone in the wreckage, the scent of him and sex clinging to your skin.

(the full version contains you trying to rile jungkook and he takes you to his place, spanks you as punishment, fucks you doggy style and in front of the mirror until you're almost passing out from squirting so much)

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[lemonjjk]

Daddy's Slut 🔞 Jungkook x Y/N

genre: exhibitionism, daddy!jungkook, slutty!y/n, filthy sex, free use

What started as teasing the mystery man across your apartment quickly turned into you rubbing your pussy in front of your floor-to-ceiling window. Then that man, Jungkook, comes over and shows you how Daddy takes care of desperate girls. But you’re still not done teasing him so you bring out your toys and he ruins your pussy so good you’ll forget who owns it.

tags: exhibitionism, voyeurism, teasing sexual tension, shirtless jungkook, jungkook is HUNG, bending over in panties, tit slip, mutual masturbation, public masturbation, squirting, rough sex, daddy kink, degradation, praise, dirty talk, jungkook calls you whore, cockslut, darling, fucktoy, biting, bruising, marking, hair pulling, spanking, pussy slapping, ass slapping, face fucking, throat fucking, swallowing his cum, creampie, breeding kink, size difference, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, crying during sex, begging, brat taming, punishment, balcony sex, shower sex, sleep sex, cock warming, plugged with cum, exhibitionist reader, shameless reader, bratty reader, dominant jungkook, possessive jungkook, animalistic sex, free use, dildo use, double penetration (toy and cock), jungkook fucks you so rough in this one.

total words: 4.5k

this snippet: 2k words

(this snippet shows the first scene where you and jungkook are teasing each other through your window and one day he comes over and fucks you like you've been begging for so long)

The new apartment was insane. Like, actually insane. You’d sold a kidney, or at least it felt like it, for this place with its stupidly high ceilings and walls that were basically just giant windows from floor to ceiling. The view of the city was killer, but on the first night, as you were unpacking a box of plates, your eyes drifted across the courtyard to the identical building opposite yours.

And there he was.

Shirtless. Cooking something in a pan. The muscles in his back and shoulders shifted under a tapestry of tattoos that coiled down one arm and across his pecs. He had dark hair, a little long on top, and when he turned to grab something, his eyes caught yours through the glass. He didn’t look startled. He just lifted a hand in a lazy wave, a small smirk playing on his lips.

You waved back, feeling a little stupid, standing there holding a “Live, Laugh, Love” plate your mom had given you.

That was the start.

It became a weird, silent game. You’d be making coffee in the morning, and you’d see him lifting weights, sweat making his skin glisten. He’d be on a work call in the evening, and you’d catch him glancing over as you danced around your living room to some dumb pop song. It was all just glances and smirks and waves. No words. Just windows.

Then came the towel incident.

It was a Saturday morning. You’d just showered, hair wrapped in a towel, body in another. You padded out into the living area, heading for the kitchen, completely forgetting that last night you’d opened the curtains wide to let the moonlight in. You felt a prickle on your skin, that feeling of being watched. You turned your head slowly.

He was there. Standing by his own window, a glass of water in his hand. His eyes weren’t on your face. They were dragging down the length of you, from your damp hair, over the towel knotted just above your breasts, down to where it ended mid-thigh. His gaze was so hot, so deliberate, you felt it like a physical touch. A flush of heat bloomed low in your stomach, a sudden, shocking pulse between your legs. You forced yourself to keep walking, your back to him, feeling his stare burning into your back, imagining it sliding over the curve of your ass under the terrycloth. You poured your coffee with shaky hands, the entire time hyper-aware of his presence across the void.

The game escalated.

A few days later, you saw him walking around his apartment in nothing but low-slung grey boxers. The defined V of his hips leading down to a very noticeable bulge. You pretended to read a book, peeking over the top.

Another time, you “accidentally” dropped a pen and bent over right in front of the window to pick it up, knowing you were only wearing a thin camisole and a pair of tiny lace panties. You took your sweet time, arching your back just so. When you straightened up and glanced over, he was standing stock still, his hand palming himself through his sweatpants, his jaw tight.

The hottest one was when you were wearing a loose tank top with no bra, reaching for a high shelf. The movement made your breast slip completely out of the neckline. You gasped, fumbling to tuck it back in, and your eyes flew to his window. He’d seen. He was leaning against his kitchen counter, one hand slowly, blatantly rubbing the thick outline of his cock through his sweats, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t look away. You bit your lip, let your hand drift down to your own stomach, before turning away, your heart hammering.

You were both driving each other crazy. You’d lie in bed at night, your fingers slipping into your panties, thinking about his tattoos, his smirk, the way his hand had gripped himself. You were wet all the time.

It came to a head on a Friday night. You were tipsy on a glass of red wine, feeling bold and restless. The lights in your apartment were low. His were on. You saw him moving around, shirtless again. A reckless, slutty idea took hold.

You walked to your big, plush sofa, positioned right in front of the main window. You lay down on your back, your head propped on the armrest, facing him. You took a slow sip of your wine, then let your free hand drift up your body. You cupped your breast over your thin t-shirt, squeezing lightly, your thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened into a peak visible through the fabric.

You saw him stop dead in the middle of his living room. He put down the glass he was holding. His eyes were dark, unblinking.

Emboldened, your hand slid down, over your stomach, to the waistband of your sleep shorts. You rubbed your palm over the clothed mound of your pussy, applying pressure. You arched your back a little, biting your lip as you watched him.

His hand went to the waistband of his own shorts. He pushed them down just enough to free his cock. Your breath hitched. It was… fuck. It was huge. Long, thick, already fully hard, the head flushed dark. He wrapped his fist around it, giving it one slow, punishing stroke.

That was all the permission you needed. A switch flipped inside you. You were done teasing. You hooked your thumbs into your shorts and panties and shoved them down your legs, kicking them off somewhere onto the floor. Your pussy was exposed to the cool air—and to him. You grabbed a thick velvet cushion from the sofa, shoved it between your thighs, and without breaking eye contact, you lowered yourself onto it.

You started riding the cushion, grinding your clit against the rough texture, your wetness immediately soaking into the fabric. You were acting like a total slut, and you fucking loved it. You pulled your t-shirt up, freeing your breasts, letting them bounce with every roll of your hips. You closed your eyes, lost in the sensation, the image of him stroking that massive cock burned into your mind. You were getting close, so close, your moans starting to escape your lips—

The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent.

Your eyes flew open. You froze, mid-grind. You looked across the courtyard.

His apartment was empty.

Holy shit.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You scrambled off the cushion, your legs wobbly, and grabbed the silk robe you’d left on a chair, tying it hastily around your naked, dripping body. You padded to the door, peering through the peephole.

It was him.

You opened the door a crack.

He was even more imposing up close. Taller. Broader. The tattoos were more detailed, more brutal. His eyes were black pools of heat and intent. He smelled like clean sweat and something darker, spicier.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a low, rough rumble. “I’m Jungkook.”

“Y/N,” you managed to squeak out.

He didn’t wait. He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and kicked it shut behind him with a final-sounding thud. Then his hands were on your face, cradling it roughly, and his mouth was on yours.

The kiss wasn’t sweet. His tongue plunged into your mouth, claiming it, tasting the wine on your lips. You moaned into him, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. He tasted like sin and mint. He broke the kiss as suddenly as he started it, his eyes raking over the robe.

“All this time,” he growled. “Every fucking day. Teasing me. Driving me out of my mind.”

With one sharp tug, he undid the belt of your robe and yanked it open, letting it fall to the floor. You stood there, completely naked, exposed under the harsh entryway light.

“Look at you,” he sneered, his gaze hot and possessive as it swept over your body. “A little exhibitionist slut. Couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, could you?”

Before you could answer, he bent, grabbed you by the waist, and threw you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. You yelped, the blood rushing to your head as he carried you effortlessly into the living room, right to the scene of your crime—the sofa in front of the giant window. He dumped you unceremoniously onto the cushions, on your back.

He stood over you, looking down at your spread legs, at your glistening, swollen pussy. “You made a mess on my cushion, you fucking tease?” he asked, though his eyes were on your core.

“It’s… it’s my cushion,” you breathed out, trying for sass but it came out as a whimper.

He smirked, a cruel, beautiful twist of his lips. “Not anymore.”

Then his hand came down. Not a caress. A sharp, stinging slap right against your wet pussy lips.

You screamed. The pain was bright and shocking, followed instantly by a wave of intense pleasure that made your back arch off the couch.

“Scream louder,” Jungkook commanded, his voice dripping with dominance. “Let the whole building know what a cockslut lives here.” He slapped you again, smack, right on your clit this time.

You cried out, your hips bucking uncontrollably. “Fuck! Daddy!”

The word just fell out of you. His eyes flared with dark satisfaction.

“That’s right,” he purred, delivering another slap, then rubbing his palm roughly over the throbbing nub. “You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you? Showing off your pretty tits and your greedy little pussy. Making Daddy’s cock ache every night.” He slid two fingers inside you without warning, curling them. “So fucking wet. All for me. You were dreaming of this, weren’t you? Dreaming of Daddy splitting you open on his big cock.”

“Yes! Yes, Daddy, please!” you babbled, humping his hand shamelessly. The combination of the slapping, the dirty talk, and his fingers inside you was too much. A coil snapped deep in your belly. “I’m gonna—!”

He pulled his fingers out and slapped your clit again, hard. “Cum. Now.”

The command, the sharp sting, tipped you over the edge. A gush of liquid heat erupted from you, soaking the sofa cushion beneath you with a force that shocked you. You squirted, hard, your vision whiting out for a second as you screamed, your body convulsing.

Jungkook watched, mesmerized, as you trembled and gushed. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at that. My little slut can squirt. Such a good girl for Daddy.”

You were panting, boneless, but he wasn’t done. While you were still twitching through the aftershocks, he flipped you over onto your stomach with brutal efficiency. He pulled your hips up until you were on your knees, ass in the air, face pressed into the velvet of the sofa, your body angled towards the window.

“Look,” he growled in your ear, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “Look out there. Anyone could be watching. Anyone could see your slutty little body getting used.” He positioned himself behind you, the broad, slick head of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance. “They’d see this perfect ass bouncing on my dick. They’d see how well you take it.”

He didn’t push in slowly. He owned you. With one powerful thrust of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt inside you.

You screamed again, a raw, ragged sound torn from your throat. He was massive. Thick and long, stretching you wider than you’d ever been stretched, filling you up in a way that bordered on painful. “Oh god! Daddy, it’s too big!”

“It’s not too big,” he grunted, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making you see stars. “It’s perfect for you. This cunt was made for me. Say it.”

“It was—ah!—made for you!” you sobbed, taking his punishing rhythm.

“Damn right,” he snarled, setting a brutal pace, each thrust jolting you forward. His hand came down on your ass with a loud crack. “This is for bending over in your panties.” Smack. “This is for letting your tit pop out.” Smack. “This is for riding that fucking cushion while I watched.” He punctuated each word with a thrust and a slap until your ass and pussy were on fire.

You were babbling nonsense, tears of overwhelmed pleasure streaking your face. “Fuck me, Daddy! Own this pussy! It’s yours!”

“Mine,” he growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic, deeper. One of his hands snaked around your hip and found your swollen, oversensitive clit. He rubbed rough, tight circles, and you felt another orgasm building, even bigger than the first. “You gonna squirt for Daddy again? Gonna make another mess?”

You could only nod, moaning as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.

“Do it,” he commanded, pinching your clit.

You shattered. Another torrent of release burst from you as he fucked you through it, his cock pistoning into your convulsing channel. You were screaming, trembling violently, completely out of control.

Just as the last waves were subsiding, he pulled out of your dripping pussy with a wet sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness.

Before you could process it, he was dragging you off the couch by your hair—not hard enough to hurt badly, but enough to make you yelp and follow. He sat on the edge of the sofa and pulled you between his knees. His cock was glistening with your juices, rock-hard and angry red.

“Open,” he ordered, tapping his cockhead against your lips.

You opened your mouth obediently, and he shoved himself inside, fucking your face with the same ruthless pace he’d fucked your pussy. You gagged, tears springing to your eyes again as he hit the back of your throat.

“Take it, cumslut,” he grunted, his hands fisting in your hair. “Swallow every drop. You wanted my cock? Here it is.”

He thrust deep once, twice, three more times, and then with a guttural roar, he came. Hot, bitter spurts flooded your throat. You swallowed frantically, some of it dribbling down your chin as he held you there, milking himself dry into your mouth.

When he finally pulled out, you were a wreck—used, covered in sweat and spit and cum, trembling.

He looked down at you, his chest heaving, a smug, filthy smirk on his face. He used his thumb to wipe the stray cum from your chin and pushed it back into your mouth. “Clean Daddy up.”

You sucked his thumb clean, whining around it. When he pulled it out, you found your voice, small and wrecked. “Why… why didn’t Daddy cum inside my pussy?”

Jungkook leaned down, his face inches from yours. He kissed you again, deep and dirty, sucking on your tongue before pulling back. His eyes were dark with promise. “Because you haven’t been good enough yet.” He traced your swollen lips. “You’ve been a bratty little exhibitionist slut. You need to earn Daddy’s sperm deep in that tight little cunt. Understand?”

You nodded, shivering with a mix of exhaustion and renewed, desperate arousal.

(full version contains you wanting jungkook to cum in your pussy so you tease him by using a dildo but then he fucks you alongside it and breeds you)

read full here

[lemonjjk]

Assassins With Benefit 🔞 Jungkook x Y/N

genre: enemies to lovers, cocky!jungkook, topper!y/n, rough sex

Emotions have no place in this academy where assassins are made and you’re the top of the class. But when you’re tasked to tutor Jungkook, your childhood enemy, hands-on fighting quickly turns to rough sex. And after that he ignores you. Fine, two can play at this. But then he’s worrying for you and making you look in the mirror as he fucks and maybe, just maybe, there might be emotions involved.

tags: academic rivals, assassin school AU, sexual tension, rough sex, hate sex, biting, marking, hickeys, bruises, hair pulling, dirty talk, degradation, praise, training room sex, size difference, jungkook is HUNG, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cunnilingus, jungkook fucks you so hard you pass out, mirror sex, public risk, breast play, nipple play, clit play, fingering, library sexual tension, dom/sub undertones, power struggle, aftercare, angst, smut with feelings, breeding kink, stomach bulge, jungkook fucks you soooo deep, standing sex, cowgirl position, doggy style, manhandling, spanking, clit slapping, pussy slapping, rough kissing, tongue sucking, spit swapping, groping, size kink, jungkook calls you whore, darling, love, cockslut, fucktoy, kitten, brat, and sweetheart, unresolved tension.

total words: 5k

this snippet: 2.5k words

(this snippet contains first part where you're tutoring jungkook, you two start practicing fighting and you end up riding jungkook before he fucks you standing up)

The air in the Headmaster’s office always smelled like old paper and metal. You stood at attention, trying not to smirk as the stern-faced man behind the massive oak desk laid out your new, temporary hell.

“Jeon Jungkook is failing Advanced Poisons and Political Strategy,” the Headmaster stated, his voice flat. “If he fails, he doesn’t graduate. You are at the top of that class. You will tutor him. Three times a week. Starting today.”

You couldn’t help it. A slow, smug smile spread across your lips. Jungkook. The bane of your existence since you were both snot-nosed kids throwing rocks at each other over the fence that separated your family’s compounds. The same Jungkook who’d tripped you during hand-to-hand combat finals last semester, who stole your designated throwing knives from the armory just to piss you off, whose arrogant, cocky smirk you dreamed of wiping off his face with your fist.

“Understood, sir,” you said, the picture of obedient perfection. “I’ll ensure he… comprehends the material.”

The Headmaster dismissed you with a wave. As you left the office, the smile turned into a full-blown grin. This was going to be fucking delicious.

You found him in the training gym, because of course he was. He was shirtless, sweat glistening on the defined planes of his chest and abs as he pummeled a heavy bag with a series of vicious kicks. His dark hair was damp, sticking to his forehead. He moved with a lethal, graceful power that was annoying as hell because you had to admit, even just to yourself, that he was good. The best, maybe, in pure physical combat. But you were smarter. And now, you had the upper hand.

“Hey, dog,” you called out, leaning against the doorframe.

He didn’t stop immediately, delivering one final, thunderous kick that made the chains rattle. He turned, chest heaving, those stupidly pretty brown eyes narrowing when he saw you. “What do you want, brat? Come to spy? Your little friends in Intel send you?”

“Better,” you purred, walking closer. “I’m your new tutor. Headmaster’s orders. Seems you’re too dumb to pass Poisons and Strategy on your own.”

His smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of genuine irritation. “The hell I am. I don’t need a tutor.”

“Your forty-two percent grade average says otherwise,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Unless you want to be the only one in our year stuck here as a glorified janitor while the rest of us get our assignments, you’ll meet me in Library Annex B in one hour. Don’t be late. I hate waiting.”

You turned on your heel, savoring the stunned silence behind you. You’d barely taken two steps before his voice, low and dripping with challenge, stopped you.

“Fine. But if you think I’m gonna sit there and listen to you drone on, you’re dumber than you look.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “Oh, you’ll listen. Or I’ll tell the entire academy how Jeon Jungkook cried when he couldn’t identify ricin from rat poison.”

You left him fuming, the victory sweet on your tongue.

An hour later, he slouched into the secluded annex, dropping his bag on the table with a thud. He’d thrown on a black tee, but he still looked like trouble.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, sinking into the chair opposite you.

“Charming as ever,” you said, opening the heavy textbook. “We’re starting with antidote synthesis and their corresponding political applications. Page two-seventeen.”

The next forty-five minutes were a masterclass in mutual antagonism.

“No, you idiot, you don’t administer the emetic after the neurotoxin has bonded to the synapses, it’s useless!”

“Why not? Clean out the system either way.”

“That’s not how it works! Are you even reading the text?”

“Your voice is distracting.”

“My voice? Maybe if you focused less on being a pain in my ass—”

“Your ass is plenty distracting, too.”

You slammed the book shut. “That’s it. We’re doing practical application. Hand-to-hand. Maybe knocking some sense into you will help.”

He was up in an instant, a predatory gleam in his eye. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

The private training room was empty, mats covering the floor. You both toed off your shoes.

“No weapons,” you stated. “Pure technique. First to pin for a ten-count wins.”

“You’re on.”

You circled each other, the air crackling with the familiar, hateful tension that always existed between you. He moved first, lunging with a speed that was deceptive for his size. You sidestepped, sweeping a leg at his ankles. He jumped, grabbed your arm, and used your momentum to try and flip you. You twisted, breaking his grip, and landed a sharp elbow to his ribs.

He grunted, but didn’t back off. “Not bad, kitten.”

“Shut up, dog.”

It was a brutal, beautiful dance. Block, parry, strike. You were more technical, using leverage and precision. He was raw power and relentless aggression. You got him in an arm lock; he powered out of it, his back pressing flush against your front for a searing second before you shoved him away.

The close contact sent a weird jolt through you. You ignored it.

Minutes later, you saw an opening. As he went for a grab, you ducked under his arm, intending to get behind him. He anticipated it, spinning at the same time. Instead of ending up behind him, you crashed into him.

His hands came up to steady you, gripping your hips. Your hands were splayed against his solid chest. You were nose-to-nose, chest to chest, breathing hard. The heat of him was overwhelming. You could smell his sweat, his skin, something uniquely Jungkook that you hated that you knew so well.

Your eyes locked. Your breath hitched. Your heart was hammering, and not just from the fight.

His gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second.

You jerked back as if burned. “What the hell was that? Trying to distract me?”

He let go of you like you were hot coal, running a hand through his hair. He scoffed, looking away. “You wish. You’re always distracting. With your… everything.”

The vulnerability in his tone, so unlike him, made you pause. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing.” He turned to walk away, towards his bag.

Something snapped inside you. All the years of competition, of bickering, of this weird, itchy feeling you got when he was near. “No, you said something. Say it to my face, you coward.”

He whirled around. “I said you’re distracting! Always have been! With your smart mouth and your stubbornness and the way you look at me like you want to kill me half the time and…” He trailed off, jaw clenched.

“And what?” you pressed, stepping closer.

“And nothing. Forget it.”

He went to leave again. You saw red. All rational thought, all assassin’s discipline, vanished. With a growl, you launched yourself at him, tackling him around the waist. You both went down onto the mats in a tangle of limbs.

Before he could throw you off, you grabbed his face and crushed your lips against his.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a collision. Hard, desperate, and messy. He froze for a shocked second beneath you. Then a low groan vibrated from his throat into yours, and his hands came up to fist in your hair, kissing you back with a ferocity that stole the air from your lungs.

His tongue demanded entry and you granted it, a war of dominance playing out with lips and teeth. You bit his lower lip; he sucked on your tongue. It was wet, and rough, and perfect. You ground your hips down against the hard ridge you could feel in his sweatpants, and he bucked up against you with a ragged moan.

He rolled you over, pinning you beneath him, his weight deliciously heavy. He broke the kiss, breathing harshly, his eyes dark and blazing with something you’d never seen before. “You little—”

You didn’t let him finish. You pulled him back down, kissing him again, your hands roaming over his back, digging into his shoulders.

His hands weren’t idle. One slid down from your hair, over your neck, squeezing your breast through your training top. You arched into his touch with a gasp. He palmed you roughly, his thumb finding your nipple and pinching it through the fabric. A sharp bolt of pleasure-pain made you cry out into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips. He yanked the collar of your top down, exposing your bra. He didn’t bother with the clasp, just shoved the cup aside and took your nipple into his hot mouth. He sucked hard, his tongue flicking the peak, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

“J-Jungkook…” you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same rough treatment. His free hand slid down your stomach, over your leggings, and cupped you between your legs. You were soaked, the fabric already damp. He rubbed the heel of his hand against your clit, making you jerk and moan loudly.

“Always so fucking loud,” he breathed, lifting his head to look at you. His lips were swollen, his eyes glazed. “Always making noise, driving me crazy.”

“You love it,” you panted, reaching down to palm him through his sweats. He was huge, thick, and straining against the confines. You squeezed, and he threw his head back with a guttural groan.

“Fuck, yes…” He looked down at you, a wicked, cocky smirk returning to his face. “See what you do to me? You’re a fucking cockslut, you know that? Parading around, thinking you’re better than me.”

“You’re the one who’s hard just from fighting me, you needy dog,” you shot back, rubbing him harder.

He growled, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your leggings and your underwear, dragging them down your thighs in one rough motion. The cool air hit your wetness, making you shiver.

He didn’t waste time. He shifted down your body, pushing your thighs apart with his shoulders. His breath ghosted over your bare pussy.

“What are you—” your question was cut off as his mouth descended on you.

He didn’t start slow. He licked a broad, firm stripe from your entrance to your clit, then sealed his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucked.

“OH GOD!” you screamed, your back bowing off the mat. Your hands flew back to his hair, holding on for dear life.

He ate you out like a man starved. His tongue was relentless, licking, thrusting, circling. He added fingers, pushing two inside you with no preamble, curling them just right. The sounds were obscene—wet, sloppy sucking noises, your ragged moans, his own hungry groans vibrating against your sensitive flesh.

“Taste so fucking good, darling,” he mumbled, his words muffled against you. “Always wondered. Knew you’d be sweet.”

You were babbling, a stream of “yes” and “right there” and “fuck, Jungkook.” The coil in your belly tightened impossibly fast, fueled by years of pent-up tension and the shocking skill of his mouth.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, sucking your clit hard and pumping his fingers deep. “Cum on my face, my good girl. Show me.”

That did it. With a broken scream, you shattered. Pleasure exploded through you, white-hot and blinding. Your hips jerked uncontrollably as you gushed against his mouth, a hot rush of release that had him groaning and lapping at you eagerly until you were twitching from oversensitivity.

You lay there, boneless and panting, vision swimming. He crawled back up your body, his face glistening with your arousal. He looked utterly debauched and triumphant. He fumbled with the drawstring of his sweats, freeing his cock.

Your eyes widened. You’d felt it, but seeing it was different. It was thick, veiny, and impressively long, the tip flushed and leaking. He gave himself a few rough strokes, smearing pre-cum.

“Think you can take it, brat?” he smirked, his voice rough. “All of it? Or is my little know-it-all tutor all talk?”

The challenge in his eyes reignited your fire. Still trembling from your orgasm, you pushed at his chest. He let you, rolling onto his back. You straddled him, your soaked pussy hovering over the head of his cock.

“You’re the one who’s all talk, Jeon,” you breathed, and slowly, slowly, sank down onto him.

It was a stretch, a delicious, burning fullness that made you see stars. You took him inch by agonizing inch, both of you groaning in unison. When you were fully seated, he was buried to the hilt inside you. You felt impossibly full, stretched to your limit.

“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he gritted out, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “So fucking perfect.”

You began to move, riding him slowly at first, rolling your hips. The angle was deep, hitting spots that made your toes curl. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and picked up the pace.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his thumbs digging into your flesh. “Ride my cock, you perfect fucktoy. Use me just like you wanted to.”

You moaned, the dirty words going straight to your core. You bounced on him harder, the slapping sound of skin on skin filling the room. Your tits bounced with each movement; he sat up slightly to capture one nipple in his mouth again, sucking and biting.

The change in angle made him hit even deeper. You cried out, your rhythm faltering.

“My turn,” he grunted. In a fluid, powerful motion, he flipped you onto your back again without ever slipping out. He hooked your legs over his arms, spreading you wide, and started fucking you in earnest.

This was nothing like the slow ride. This was brutal, pounding, mind-numbing. Each thrust drove the air from your lungs. He was everywhere—his smell, his sweat dripping onto you, his groans in your ear.

“You feel that?” he panted, hammering into you. “That’s my cock, love. All for you. This smart, bratty, perfect cunt is mine now.”

“Yours,” you sobbed, overwhelmed. “Jungkook, please…”

“Please what?” He slammed into you, making you squeal. “Please what, my little cumslut?”

“Harder! Please, harder!”

He obliged, his pace becoming punishing. One hand left your leg to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back so he could bite and suck a bruising claim onto your throat. The sharp pain mixed with the pleasure, sending you spiraling higher.

His other hand found your clit, rubbing rough, fast circles. “Gonna make you squirt again,” he promised darkly. “Gonna make you fucking drown me. You’re so wet for me, dripping all over my cock.”

The dual assault was too much. The pressure built again, even more intense than before. You were babbling nonsense, chanting his name.

“Cum with me,” he demanded, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Now!”

His words tipped you over the edge. Your second orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave. This time, it wasn't just a rush of wetness—you gushed around his cock, a flood of release that soaked both of you and the mat beneath. The intensity was so overwhelming, so violent in its pleasure, that your vision tunneled, the sounds of his groans and your own screams fading into a distant roar as the world went blissfully, utterly black.

(the full version contains you and jungkook avoiding each other which leads him to fucking you in front of the mirror to prove you have feelins for him and talking about knocking you up)

read full here

[lemonjjk]

Little Jealousy 🔞 Jungkook x Y/N

genre: exes to lovers, ceo!jungkook, worker!fem!y/n, elevator sex

You have to play chaperon for CEO Jungkook, your asshole ex who ghosted you. You try to be professional but its hard when he’s a jealous possessive bastard who fucks you in the elevator. But he’s not the one in control, no, it's you who can always bring the prideful CEO to his knees.

tags: extremely possessive jungkook, car sex, elevator sex, hotel room sex, unprotected sex, creampie, possessive behavior, jealousy, dirty talk, degradation, praise, squirting, overstimulation, size difference, cunnilingus, blowjob, choking on his cock, rough sex, face-fucking, groping, biting, bratty reader, shameless jungkook, power struggle, you ride jungkook’s oversensitive cock to punish him, confessions, spanking, teasing, multiple orgasms, semi-public sex, getting fucking by jungkook while you’re on phone, cuddling, emotional at the end.

total words: 4.8k

this snippet: 2k words

(this snippet shows the first scene where jungkook gets jealous and fucks you in the elevator)

The walk through the polished corporate atrium feels like a death march. Your heels click a furious rhythm on the marble, a stark contrast to the easy laughter of your team up ahead. And him. Jeon Jungkook. Your ex. The one who ghosted you two years ago after a six-month whirlwind that left you gutted. Now he’s here, the golden-boy CEO of Jeon Innovations, here to negotiate a merger that could make or break your company. And you, the VP of Operations, have been told to be his personal liaison.

He’s dressed in a suit that probably costs more than your car, charcoal grey, tailored to perfection across his stupidly broad shoulders and tapered down to his narrow waist. He’s listening to your boss, a faint, polite smile on his lips, but his eyes—those dark, knowing eyes—keep flicking back to you, trailing down your body in the fitted pencil skirt and silk blouse you’d chosen specifically to project don’t-fuck-with-me authority. It’s not working. On him, it’s having the opposite effect.

“...and Y/N will be your point of contact for the duration,” your boss is saying, clapping a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “She’ll get you settled at the hotel, arrange any transport, whatever you need.”

Jungkook turns fully to you, the polite mask slipping for a fraction of a second. The look he gives you isn’t professional. It’s a slow, heated drag from your eyes to your mouth, down to the notch of your blouse, and back up. It’s pure, undiluted hunger. “Is that so?” he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates right through the floor and up your spine. “I’m in excellent hands, then.”

You force a tight smile. “Of course, Mr. Jeon. My pleasure.” The lie tastes like ash.

The group disperses, and you turn to your assistant, Minho. Sweet, perpetually rumpled Minho who brings you coffee and remembers your sister’s birthday. “Okay, his itinerary is in the folder. The car will be waiting in the private garage, level B2. Suite is already prepped at the Grand.”

Minho nods, leaning in to hear you better over the ambient noise. He’s always in your space, but it’s harmless, brotherly. He reaches out and plucks a stray bit of lint from your cheek. “You’ve got a little… there. All good.”

You give him a genuine, tired smile. “Thanks, Minho.”

You feel the weight of a stare burning into the side of your head. You don’t need to look to know it’s Jungkook. His presence is a physical pressure against your skin.

“Shall we?” his voice comes from right behind you, too close. You jump slightly. He’s already there, his cologne—something spicy and expensive—wrapping around you.

Without a word, you lead him to the executive elevator, the silent, mirrored box that goes directly to the private garages. The doors slide shut, sealing you in with him. The tension is so thick you could choke on it.

You press ‘B2’. He doesn’t move to the other side of the car. He stays right behind you, his heat radiating against your back.

The elevator starts its descent. Two floors down, it jolts violently and stops with a grinding clunk. The lights flicker. You gasp, your hand flying out to brace against the wall. “What the hell?”

“Hmm. Technical difficulty,” Jungkook murmurs, his voice devoid of surprise.

Panic, cold and sharp, lances through you. “We’re stuck?”

Before you can hit the emergency button, a large, warm hand wraps around your wrist, pinning it gently but firmly to the mirrored wall beside your head. His body crowds into yours from behind, his chest flush against your back, his mouth near your ear.

“Who was he?” Jungkook’s voice is no longer a murmur. It’s a dark, possessive demand.

“What? Who? Jungkook, let go, we need to call for help—”

“The man. Touching your face. Leaning into your space. Who. Is. He.” His other hand settles on your hip, his fingers digging in through the fabric of your skirt.

Realization dawns, cold and furious. The jolt. The convenient failure. “You did this. You fucking planned this.”

He doesn’t deny it. His lips brush the shell of your ear. “Answer the question, darling. Or we’ll be trapped in here just like this for a very, very long time.”

Rage, white-hot and liberating, surges through you. You wrench your hand free and spin around, slapping him across the face. The crack echoes in the small space. “How dare you! You disappear for two years, you ghost me, and now you pull this childish, manipulative shit? You think you can just waltz back in and—”

Your words are cut off by his mouth.

It’s not a gentle kiss, it never was with him. His lips are demanding, hot, and skilled, swallowing your outrage. His hands come up to frame your face, holding you still as he licks into your mouth, tasting you, reclaiming you. The flavor of him—mint, coffee, and pure, unadulterated Jungkook—unlocks a vault of memory in your gut. Your body remembers what your mind is screaming to forget.

You shove against his chest. “Stop! Get off!”

He breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes black with need. “No.” The word is final. He looks at you, and for the first time, the cocky mask is gone. In its place is something raw, pleading, and terrifyingly dark. “I made a mistake. The biggest fucking mistake of my life. Letting you go. I want you back. I need you back.”

“You don’t get to say that,” you snarl, but your voice is shaking. “You don’t get to—”

“I do,” he insists, his hands dropping to your waist, pulling you hard against him. You feel him, the rigid, thick line of his erection straining against his suit pants, pressing into your stomach. “I see another man’s hands on you, and I lose my goddamn mind. You’re mine. You were always mine. And I'm yours.”

His mouth crashes back onto yours, and this time, your resolve splinters. A broken sound escapes your throat, part protest, part surrender. Your hands, which were pushing him away, fist in the fabric of his suit jacket. You kiss him back, just as fiercely, all the anger and hurt and two years of missing him pouring into the clash of teeth and tongue.

He groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “That’s it, love. Fuck, I missed this. Missed you.”

His hands are everywhere. One slides down to grip your ass through your skirt, squeezing roughly, pulling you tighter against his cock. The other fists in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. He bites your lower lip, not enough to break skin, but enough to make you cry out. He soothes it with his tongue.

“Jungkook…” you pant against his mouth.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he challenges, his own breath coming in harsh pants. His hand leaves your hair to yank at the buttons of your blouse. One pops off, pinging against the mirror. He doesn’t care. He shoves the fabric aside, palming your breast over your lace bra. “Tell me you haven’t thought about this. About me. About my cock.”

You can’t. You’re wet already, a slick, shameful heat pooling between your legs. Your nipples are tight peaks under his touch. “You’re an asshole,” you gasp, but you’re arching into his hand.

“Your asshole,” he growls, popping the front clasp of your bra. Your tits spill into his hands, and he groans, thumbs circling your hardened nipples. “Fuck, look at you. Perfect. Mine.”

He bends his head, taking a nipple into his hot mouth, sucking hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. You cry out, your head falling back against the cool mirror. The dual sensations—the cold glass, the heat of his mouth—are overwhelming. His other hand hikes your pencil skirt up around your waist.

“No panties?” he rasps against your breast, his fingers finding your bare, soaked folds. “Fucking hell, were you hoping for this, you little cockslut?”

“No! I—ah!” Your denial turns into a sharp moan as two of his fingers slide into you without warning, deep and rough. “God… Jungkook!”

“So tight,” he grits out, fucking you with his fingers, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit with each thrust. “So fucking wet for me. Did you get this wet for him? For your cute little assistant?”

“Stop it,” you whimper, but your hips are rocking, meeting his thrusts. It’s been so long. No one has ever made you feel like this—so utterly possessed, so completely filthy and desired.

“Answer me.” He adds a third finger, stretching you, the burn mixing with the blinding pleasure. His mouth is back on yours, stealing your breath, your protests. “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” you sob, the word torn from you. “You, you bastard.”

“Damn right.” He withdraws his fingers, shiny with your arousal, and brings them to your lips. “Taste. Taste how much you want me.”

You open your mouth, letting him push his fingers past your lips, sucking them clean, your eyes locked on his dark, triumphant gaze. The act is so degrading, so intimate, it sends a fresh flood of heat to your core.

He unbuckles his belt, the sound loud in the confined space, and shoves his pants and briefs down just enough to free his cock. It’s thick, veined, and painfully hard, the head already glistening with pre-cum. He fists it, stroking once, twice.

“Look at what you do to me,” he grits out. “Two years, and I’m still fucking obsessed.”

He doesn’t bother with foreplay. He’s done waiting. He spins you around, bending you over the polished metal handrail of the elevator. Your cheek is pressed against the cool surface, your ass in the air, your skirt bunched at your waist.

“Jungkook, wait—!”

He doesn’t. He guides the broad head of his cock to your dripping entrance and sinks into you in one brutal, relentless thrust.

You scream, a raw, guttural sound as he fills you completely, the stretch bordering on pain after so long without him. It’s too much, and it’s everything.

“Fuck,” he snarls above you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Always so perfectly tight. You take me so good, love.”

He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He sets a punishing pace from the start, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, each thrust jolting you forward against the rail. The elevator car sways slightly with the force of it. The sound is obscene—skin slapping against skin, his grunts, your choked cries.

“You feel that?” he pants, one hand snaking around your front to rub furious circles on your clit. “That’s my cock. Remember it. This is where you belong.”

“You—ah!—dumped me!” you sob, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, a knot in your lower belly. “You left!”

“I was a fool,” he grunts, his thrusts becoming more erratic, deeper. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. But I’m here now. And I’m never letting you go again. You hear me? Never.”

His words, mixed with the relentless assault on your body, break something inside you. The orgasm hits you like a freight train, sudden and catastrophic. Your vision whites out. You clench around him, milking his cock, and a gush of fluid releases from you, soaking his thighs, dripping onto the elevator floor with a sound like rain. The intensity is too much; your head spins, the edges of your vision darkening as wave after wave of pleasure wracks your body.

“That’s it, whore,” he groans, feeling you squirt around him. “Soak me. Make a mess. Fuck, I’m gonna—!”

His rhythm shatters. With a final, deep, possessive thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his body going rigid against yours. A hot, pulsing rush floods your depths as he comes, his shout loud in your ear. He holds himself there, grinding into you as he empties himself inside you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of your combined panting, the smell of sex and his cologne thick in the air. You’re limp over the rail, boneless, your mind utterly blank.

Slowly, he pulls out. You gasp at the sudden emptiness, at the feel of his cum already starting to leak out of you. You hear him shuffling with his clothes, then he’s turning you around. Your legs are jelly. He holds you up, his eyes soft now, but still intense. He reaches down, picks up your discarded panties from the floor where they’d fallen, and gently guides your feet into them, pulling them up your legs. The silk is instantly soaked through with his release.

“Keep it in,” he murmurs, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your forehead. “My mark inside you.”

You’re too wrecked to protest. He tucks himself away, fixes his suit, and with a casual press of a button he’d known about all along, the elevator hums back to life and resumes its descent to B2.

The doors slide open to the quiet, concrete garage. A sleek black sedan is waiting, a driver standing beside it.

Jungkook takes your arm, guiding your shaky steps out of the elevator. You feel his cum leaking into your panties with every movement.

“You’re a fucking psycho,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from screaming.

He just smirks, that cocky, shameless look back on his face, though his eyes are still dark with satiated hunger. “And you’re my fucking psycho. Come on, love. Let’s get you to the hotel. We’re just getting started.”

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[lemonjjk]

Revenge Love 🔞 Jungkook x Y/N

genre: revenge plot backfire, possessive!jk, brat!fem!y/n, possessive sex

It was supposed to be simple. Your ex-best friend stole your crush so you will steal the bad boy she wanted, Jeon Jungkook. Except, apparently, he has been in love with you all along and fucks you like that. But then he finds out the truth and punishes you for having a crush on another boy.

tags: daddy kink, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, crying during sex, rough sex, hair pulling, marking & bruising (biting, fingerprints), spanking (ass, tits, pussy), clit play, face sitting, cunnilingus, fingering, tit worship & torture, nipple play, mating press, breeding kink, possessive dirty talk, jealousy, punishment, bratty reader, shameless jungkook, semi-public sex, light choking, doggy style, mating press, thigh riding, grinding, small tits, jungkook is HUNG, jungkook calls you love, fucktoy, slut, etc, jealous jungkook punishes you.

total words: 4k

this snippet: 1.9k words

(this snippet shows first scene where jungkook makes you cum in the college and takes you back to your place to fuck you doggy style)

The plan was stupid, born from a late-night spiral of cheap wine and bitter tears. Anya, your ex-best-friend-turned-nemesis, had a new target: Jeon Jungkook. The college’s resident bad boy, the guy with the smirk that could melt panties and a reputation for being a shameless, cocky bastard. After she’d stolen your crush Jay, dated him for a humiliating three days, and dumped him so spectacularly he now blamed you for the whole mess, seeing her flutter her lashes at Jungkook was the final straw. Revenge. That’s what this was. You’d seduce Jungkook. Take him from her. Simple.

You found him on the edge of the basketball court, leaning against the chain-link fence, a bottle of water dangling from his fingertips. He was shirtless, sweat glistening on the hard planes of his stomach, tattoos snaking over his shoulders and down his arms. Your mouth went dry. This was a terrible idea.

Anya was already there, of course, laughing too loud at something he’d said. She spotted you approaching and her smile turned razor-sharp. “Oh, look who’s here. Stalking again? Jay’s not around, sweetie.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. You opened your mouth, some weak retort dying on your tongue.

“She’s not stalking,” Jungkook’s voice cut in, low and smooth. He hadn’t even looked at you, his eyes still on the game, but his words were clear. “She’s with me.”

Anya’s face faltered. “What?”

Finally, he turned his head. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, landed on you. A slow, knowing smirk played on his lips. “Aren’t you?”

You managed a nod, your heart hammering against your ribs.

He pushed off the fence. “Cool. Let’s talk.” He didn’t wait for a reply, just started walking towards the back of the cafeteria building. You scurried after him, ignoring Anya’s stunned, furious glare.

Behind the cafeteria, it was all concrete and dumpsters, the air smelling faintly of grease and garbage. He leaned against the rough brick wall, crossing his arms. The smirk was still there, but his gaze was intense, scanning your face. “So. You needed to talk to me about something? Or were you just using me to piss off your little friend?”

You swallowed. “Both.”

He barked out a laugh, sharp and surprised. “Honest. I like it.” He uncrossed his arms, taking a step closer. The space between you crackled. “She’s been following me around for a week. Annoying as hell. You’re a much prettier distraction.”

“I’m not a distraction,” you said, trying to sound firm, but your voice wavered.

“No? Then what are you?” Another step. You could smell him now—sweat, clean cotton, something uniquely male and dangerous.

Panic, pure and stupid, seized you. The rehearsed lines vanished. Your mouth moved before your brain could catch up. “I have a crush on you.”

The words hung in the grimy air. Jungkook froze. The teasing glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by something raw and hungry. For a second, he just stared at you, and you thought you’d made a catastrophic mistake.

Then he moved.

One hand cupped the back of your head, the other gripped your hip, and his mouth crashed down on yours. It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It was hard, demanding, all teeth and tongue and possessive heat. You gasped into his mouth, your hands flying up to clutch at his bare shoulders. He tasted like mint and something addictive. He broke the kiss just enough to growl against your lips, his voice rough. “Fuck. Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for you to say that?”

Before you could process that, he was kissing you again, deeper, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. You moaned, the sound swallowed by him. His hands were everywhere—tangling in your hair, sliding down your back to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the hard ridge of his erection through his sweatpants, pressing against your stomach. A thrill shot through you, hot and liquid.

His mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. “J-Jungkook…”

“Say my name again,” he murmured, biting the sensitive skin below your ear.

“Jungkook… we’re in public.”

“So?” His hand slid from your ass around to the front of your jeans, palming you through the denim. You jerked against him, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. “I need to touch you. Need to feel the pussy I’ve been dreaming about.”

“You’re insane,” you whimpered, but you were arching into his touch.

“For you? Yeah.” He deftly unbuttoned your jeans, yanked the zipper down, and shoved his hand inside your panties. His fingers were calloused, rough against your soft skin. He found your clit immediately, circling it with a pressure that made your knees buckle. “Fuck, you’re already so wet for me. Knew you would be.”

He kissed you to muffle your moans as his fingers worked you, fast and ruthless. It was filthy, dangerous, leaning against a dumpster with his fingers buried in you, but you couldn’t stop. Your hips rocked against his hand, chasing the coil of pleasure tightening in your gut. His thumb pressed hard on your clit while two fingers pushed deep inside you, curling just right.

“That’s it, darling,” he whispered, his breath hot in your ear. “Cum for me. Let me feel it.”

You came with a broken cry, your body convulsing around his fingers, wetness soaking his hand and your underwear. He held you through it, his arm like a steel band around your waist, his lips pressed to your temple.

As the waves subsided, leaving you trembling and boneless against him, he slowly withdrew his hand. He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth, sucked them clean with a dark, satisfied look in his eyes that made you blush furiously. “Tastes even better than I imagined.”

He helped you fix your clothes, his movements oddly gentle now. “My place,” he said, it wasn’t a question.

Doubt crept in. Was this just a game to him? Another conquest?

He saw it on your face. His smirk returned, softer now. “Or yours. Wherever you feel safe, love. I just need to be inside you. Tonight.”

The raw need in his voice broke your resistance. “Mine,” you whispered. “Roommates are away.”

The drive to your apartment was a blur of tension. He parked his sleek black car with a careless screech of tires. Inside your quiet apartment, the reality of it hit you. Jeon Jungkook was in your living room, looking around with that predatory curiosity.

He turned to you, closing the distance. “Nervous?”

“A little.”

“Don’t be.” He tipped your chin up. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Not in a way you won’t fucking love.” His kiss was slower now, deeper, exploring your mouth like he had all the time in the world. His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head. His thumbs brushed over the lace of your bra, over your small breasts. “Perfect,” he murmured, before unhooking the bra and letting it fall. He palmed them, his touch reverent and rough at the same time. He pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers until you gasped. “So pretty.”

He backed you towards your bedroom, shedding his own shirt on the way. His torso was a masterpiece of lean muscle and ink. He pushed you down onto the bed, following you down, his weight settling between your thighs.

“You know what I want?” he said, kissing down your stomach. “I want the smartest girl in this fucking college to be my little slut. My fucktoy. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to hear you moan.” He hooked his fingers in your jeans and panties, dragging them down your legs. “You’re mine now.”

The possessiveness should have scared you. It just made you wetter. You were spread out before him, completely bare. His gaze burned over every inch of you.

“Say it,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble.

“Yours,” you breathed.

He rewarded you with a kiss, his hand sliding between your legs again. “Already dripping for me again. Such a good girl.” He pushed two fingers inside you, scissoring them, stretching you. “Gotta get you ready for me, darling. I’m not small.”

You believed him. You could feel the thick length of him straining against his pants.

He added a third finger, the stretch burning so good. He curled them, rubbing that spot deep inside that made you see stars. “You gonna squirt for me? Hmm? Gonna soak my cock?”

“Jungkook…”

“What do you want?” he teased, his fingers pumping in and out.

“You,” you begged. “I want you.”

He shifted, yanking his sweatpants and boxers down in one rough move. Your eyes widened. He wasn’t small. He was thick and long, veined and already leaking at the tip. He gripped himself, stroking slowly as he watched your face. “Gonna take every inch, cumslut?”

The filthy word sent a jolt through you. You nodded, unable to speak.

He positioned himself at your entrance, the broad head nudging against your soaked folds. “Since you asked so nicely.” With one brutal thrust, he sheathed himself inside you.

You screamed. It was a blinding, overwhelming stretch, a burn of pure fullness that stole the air from your lungs.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder. “So fucking tight. Like a vise.” He didn’t move, letting you adjust, peppering your neck and shoulders with bites that you knew would bruise. “Okay?” he gritted out.

You nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Move. Please.”

He pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in. And then he set a punishing pace, fucking into you with deep, powerful strokes that shook the bedframe. Each thrust punched a moan from your throat.

“Whose pussy is this?” he grunted, gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks.

“Yours!” you cried.

“Louder.”

“Yours! Daddy, it’s yours!”

He snarled in approval at the title, his pace turning frantic. He flipped you over onto your hands and knees without even pulling out, just manhandling you into doggy style. The new angle made him hit even deeper. You buried your face in the pillows to muffle your screams.

One hand gripped your hip, the other tangled in your hair, pulling your head back. “Look at you,” he panted, his thrusts becoming sloppy, brutal. “Taking my cock like a perfect little whore. Gonna fill you up. Gonna make sure you remember who owns this cunt.”

You were hurtling towards another orgasm, the coil snapping as he hammered into that sweet spot over and over. You came with a shattered sob, your body clamping down on him, a gush of wetness soaking both of you.

He felt you clench around him and lost it. With a final, deep grind, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a guttural roar, his warmth flooding you, pulsing inside as he milked his own release.

He collapsed half on top of you, both of you breathing like you’d run a marathon. After a moment, he rolled off, pulling you with him so you were sprawled on his chest.

His hand stroked your sweaty back. “I’m never letting you go,” he said quietly, but with absolute certainty.

And as you lay there, feeling his come leak out of you, feeling the ache between your legs and the bruises forming on your skin, you realized with dawning clarity that your revenge plan had backfired spectacularly. You hadn’t seduced Jeon Jungkook. He had claimed you. And the terrifying, thrilling part was… you didn’t want him to stop.

read full here

[lemonjjk]

Daddy's Present 1 🔞 Jungkook x Y/N

part 2

genre: sugar daddy!jungkook, sugar baby!fem!y/n, college student!y/n, age gap

Hunt for a Sugar Daddy lands you right in the lap of your previous college senior and current rich boy Jeon Jungkook. Fucking a man older than you for money was never on your list but when he fucks you in his car, spoils you rotten and takes you on a romantic and sexy vacation, the line quickly blurs between a transactional relationship and love.

tags: power imbalance, transactional relationship to lovers, club meet-cute, past history, car sex, public sex, degradation kink, praise kink, dirty talk, brat tamer!jungkook, bratty!reader, submissive!reader, dominant!jungkook, cocky!jungkook, needy!reader, daddy kink, pet names (whore, darling, love, cockslut, cumslut, fucktoy, baby, little one, good girl), biting, marking, hickeys and bruises, spanking (ass, pussy, clit), breast groping and slapping, fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, jungkook loves eating your pussy and making you squirt, doggy style, hair pulling, face fucking, deep throating, swallowing, size difference, clothed male/naked female, aftercare, sexting, phone sex, favorite food as love language, sex vacation, pool sex, underwater sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, possessive behavior, sexual tension, bickering as foreplay, jungkook is HUNG

total words: 5.8k

this snippet: 2.5k words

(this snippet shows the first scene where you meet jungkook and he fucks you in the back of his car)

The air in your shitty studio apartment is thick with the smell of instant noodles and desperation. You stare at the numbers on your laptop screen until they blur, a cold knot of panic tightening in your gut. Tuition for your final year. Rent. The overdue notice from the utility company, a cheerful red stamp that feels like a punch. You’ve picked up a third part-time job, stocking shelves at a 24-hour convenience store from 2 AM to 6 AM, and you’re still drowning. The exhaustion is a physical weight, making your bones ache.

Your phone buzzes. It’s Mina, your only friend who seems to understand the scale of the catastrophe.

“Meet me at Luxe. 10 PM. Wear the black dress. The one that makes you look like a sin.”

You type back, fingers clumsy with fatigue. “Can’t. Have to calculate how many kidneys I can sell.”

Her response is immediate. “Stop being dramatic. I have a solution. Just trust me.”

Luxe is the kind of club you normally avoid—all gleaming surfaces, bottle service, and people who’ve never worried about a student loan in their lives. The bass thumps through your chest as you push through the crowd, spotting Mina at a high-top table near the back. She looks predatory and pleased.

“You came,” she shouts over the music, her eyes scanning you. “Good. You look fuckable.”

“Charming,” you yell back, sliding onto the stool. “What’s the grand solution? Embezzlement?”

She leans in, her perfume a cloud of jasmine and money. “Sugar dating.”

You laugh, a short, harsh sound. “No.”

“Y/N, look around.” She gestures at the glittering room. “Half the girls here are on some sort of arrangement. It’s not what you think. It’s companionship. Dinner. Gifts. An allowance that would solve every single one of your problems overnight.”

“I’m not selling myself.”

“You’re not selling anything. You’re curating an experience for a wealthy, busy man who wants a beautiful, intelligent girl on his arm and in his bed. It’s transactional, sure. But so is your soul-crushing job at the copy shop.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a simple, satin pink band. “If you’re open to being approached… you wear this. Just on your wrist. It’s a signal. Discreet.”

You stare at the band. It looks innocent. Pretty, even. The symbol of everything you swore you’d never do. But then you think of the red-stamped notice, the tuition deadline, the hollow, scared feeling in your stomach. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you snatch it from her fingers and slip it over your left wrist. It feels like a brand.

“Just to look,” you say, your voice barely audible.

Mina grins. “Go mingle. I’ll be watching.”

You drift through the crowd, feeling like a fraud. The pink band feels impossibly heavy. You’re heading for the relative sanctuary of the bar when a solid body steps into your path. You stumble, your hands coming up to brace against a chest that feels like carved stone under a crisp, expensive dress shirt.

“Sorry, I—” you begin, looking up.

And the world tilts.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your brain short-circuits. He’s older, of course. Four years since he graduated. The boyish softness is gone, replaced by a stark, ruthless handsomeness. His hair is dark and styled back, a few strands falling over his forehead. His eyes, always so intense, sweep over you with a heat that makes your skin prickle. He’s broader, taller somehow, radiating a confidence that saturates the air around him. He was the campus golden boy, the senior who’d occasionally save your freshman ass from his rowdy friends’ teasing. Until that one night at a party, when you were sure he was in on a cruel prank, setting you up for humiliation. In a fit of rage and hurt, you’d dumped your entire cup of water over his head. The memory still makes you want to crawl into a hole and die. You found out later he’d actually been trying to warn you.

Shame, hot and immediate, floods you. You spin on your heel to flee.

A large, warm hand closes around your wrist—the one with the pink band.

“Running away, Y/N?” His voice is deeper than you remember, a smooth, dark rumble that goes straight to your knees. He doesn’t let go. His thumb brushes over the satin band, and his eyebrow arches. A slow, knowing smile spreads across his lips. It’s not a nice smile. It’s predatory. Amused. “Well, well. Look at you.”

You try to yank your arm back. “Let go of me, Jungkook.”

“Or what? You’ll baptize me again?” He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his grip and into your bones. He tugs you closer, into his space. You’re engulfed by his scent—sandalwood, clean sweat, and something uniquely male. “I have to say, pink suits you. Looking for a benefactor, little one?”

“Fuck you,” you hiss, your face burning. You’re trying for fury, but it comes out breathless.

“That’s generally the idea, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your lips. He’s so close you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “All these years, and you turn up here looking like a five-course meal with a price tag on your wrist. I’m intrigued.”

“I’m not a meal,” you snap, but your heart is hammering against your ribs.

“Could’ve fooled me.” His gaze drags down your body, taking in the way the black dress hugs your curves. It feels like he’s touching you. “Still as feisty as ever, I see. Still that bratty little college topper who thinks she knows everything.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Liar.” The word is soft, definitive. He finally releases your wrist only to slide his hand to the small of your back, steering you firmly away from the main floor, toward a dimly lit corridor lined with private booths. You don’t fight it as hard as you should. “You want everything. Tuition paid? Debt cleared? A nice apartment where the heat actually works?” He pushes you gently into the shadowy corner of an empty booth, his body caging you in against the plush wall. “I can give you that. I can give you more than you ever dreamed of.”

Your mouth is dry. “I don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not charity, darling.” He leans in, his lips almost brushing your ear. “It’s an exchange. And it starts with an apology.”

You stiffen. “For what?”

“For the water. For assuming the worst of me. For running away tonight instead of saying hello.” He pulls back to look at you, his expression unreadable. “Apologize properly, and we can talk about what comes next.”

Your pride screams in protest. You lift your chin. “No.”

His smile returns, wider now, all white teeth and dark promise. “God, you’re cute when you’re defiant.” He says it like it’s a diagnosis. Before you can retort, his mouth is on yours.

It’s an all consuming, rough kiss. His lips are firm, demanding, and you gasp against them, your hands flying up to push at his chest. But the moment your tongue touches his, all fight evaporates in a surge of pure, unadulterated lust. You’ve thought about this—about him—more times than you’d ever admit. He groans into your mouth, one hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, the other sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel him, hard and thick already, pressed against your stomach.

The kiss is filthy. All biting lips and dueling tongues. He sucks on your bottom lip until you whimper, then soothes it with his tongue. His hand leaves your ass to cup your breast over your dress, his thumb circling your nipple roughly through the fabric. It pebbles instantly, a sharp ache of need shooting straight to your core.

“Still so responsive,” he breathes against your mouth before biting at your jawline, then lower, sucking a bruise into the tender skin of your throat. You moan, your head falling back against the wall. His other hand slides under the hem of your dress, his fingers tracing the lace edge of your panties. “Is this what you wanted when you put that band on? To get fucked by a stranger in a club?”

“You’re not a stranger,” you pant, arching into his touch.

“No. I’m worse.” He nips at your earlobe. “I’m the one who knows exactly how to wind you up.” His fingers dip beneath the lace, and you cry out when he finds you already soaked. “Fuck, you’re dripping. Such a needy little thing.” He pushes a finger inside you, curling it just right, and your knees buckle. He holds you up easily, working his finger in and out with a slow, cruel rhythm. “Apologize.”

“J-Jungkook…”

“Say you’re sorry for being a brat.” He adds a second finger, stretching you, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

A broken sob escapes you. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay?”

He kisses you again, swallowing your moans as his fingers pump faster. “Good girl.” He withdraws his fingers suddenly, leaving you empty and throbbing. You whine in protest. He brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, sucks them clean with a dark hum of appreciation, then smacks your ass—a sharp, stinging crack that makes you jolt and gasp. “Now let’s get out of here before I fuck you right in this booth.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He takes your hand, his grip firm, and leads you through the back exit of the club into the cool night air of the parking garage. His car is a low-slung, expensive-looking black thing. He opens the back door.

“In.”

You balk for a second, the reality crashing down. “This is insane.”

He crowds behind you, his body hot against your back. His mouth finds your neck again. “Get in the car, Y/N. Or I walk away, and you go back to your instant noodles and your three jobs.” His hands slide around to palm your breasts, squeezing roughly. “We both know you don’t want that.”

He’s right. You don’t. The shame is still there, but it’s drowned out by a desperate, clawing hunger. You climb into the backseat, the leather cool against your bare thighs. He follows you in, pulling the door shut and plunging you into near-darkness, lit only by the amber garage lights.

“Take them off,” he says, his voice a rough command as he nods at your panties.

You hesitate, a final flicker of resistance.

He sighs, as if dealing with a stubborn child. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He pushes you onto your back on the wide seat, hooks his fingers into the sides of your lace panties, and yanks them down your legs and off in one swift motion. He tosses them over his shoulder. “Spread your legs.”

When you’re slow to comply, he grabs your thighs and pushes them apart himself, settling between them. The look in his eyes is pure hunger. “Fuck, look at you.” He doesn’t use his fingers this time. He lowers his head and licks a broad, flat stripe from your entrance to your clit.

You shriek, back arching off the seat. Your hands fly to his hair, tangling in the soft strands.

“Quiet,” he growls against your pussy before diving back in. He eats you like he’s starving, like this is his last meal. His tongue is relentless, fucking into you, then swirling around your clit, then sucking it into his mouth. He groans, the vibration making you see stars. One of his hands comes up to knead your breast through your dress, pinching your nipple hard.

“Jungkook… oh god…”

“Taste so fucking good,” he mumbles, his words muffled against your flesh. “All sweet and salty for me.” He adds a finger, then two, curling them inside you while his tongue flicks your clit over and over in a rapid, maddening rhythm.

You’re bucking against his face, moans pouring out of you uncontrollably. The coil in your belly is winding tighter, tighter. You’re so close.

He pulls away.

You scream in frustration, thumping your fists against his shoulders. “No! Don’t stop! Please!”

He sits up on his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s breathing hard, his eyes glazed with lust. He unbuttons his pants, freeing his cock. It’s thick, veined, and ruddy with need, standing proud against his stomach. You lick your lips unconsciously.

He sees it and laughs, a low, dirty sound. “Look at you. Desperate little cockslut. You want it that bad?”

“Fuck me already!” you demand, reaching for him.

He smacks your hand away. “Ah-ah. Ask nicely.”

You glare at him, panting. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please… fuck me.”

“Not good enough.” He leans over you, bracing one hand by your head. His cockhead nudges at your entrance, spreading your wetness but not pushing in. The tease is agony. “Use my name.”

Tears of frustration prick your eyes. “Jungkook, please fuck me!”

He pushes in an inch, just enough to make you gasp, then stops. “Try again.”

You’re trembling with need. The word falls from your lips before you can think. “Daddy… please fuck me.”

He freezes. Completely still. For a terrifying second, you think you’ve ruined it.

Then a shudder runs through him, and his eyes darken to pure black. “Oh, you perfect fucking whore.” In one brutal thrust, he sheathes himself inside you to the hilt.

The scream that tears from your throat is raw. He’s so big, stretching you so full it borders on pain before melting into mind-numbing pleasure. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He sets a punishing pace from the start, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the car.

“That’s it,” he grunts, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Take it. Take all of it for Daddy.” He shifts, driving deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision white out. “Fuck, your tight little pussy was made for my cock. Clenching around me like a greedy slut.”

You can only moan, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper with each thrust. The car rocks slightly. He leans down to capture your mouth again, kissing you with a bruising intensity as he fucks you.

“What if someone sees?” he whispers against your lips, a wicked glint in his eye. “What if one of my business associates walks by and sees the little college valedictorian getting railed in the back of my car? Getting used like a common fucktoy?”

The thought should horrify you. Instead, it sends a fresh gush of wetness around his cock.

He feels it and groans. “You like that? You like the danger?” He sits back on his haunches, pulling you with him so you’re straddling his lap, impaled on his cock. The new angle is even deeper. He grips your ass with both hands, controlling your bounce as he thrusts up into you. One hand moves to roughly knead your breast again, his thumb rubbing your nipple through the fabric.

“Yes! Daddy, yes!” you babble, riding him frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Such a good girl for me,” he rasps, his own control fraying. “My perfect, bratty cumslut.” He suddenly flips you off his lap and onto your stomach, pushing you down so your face is against the cool leather seat. He drapes himself over your back, one hand tangling in your hair to pull your head back.

“You called me Daddy,” he snarls in your ear, lining himself up and slamming back into your sopping wet pussy from behind. “Now take it like you mean it.” He fucks you in deep, punishing strokes, each one jolting you forward. His free hand comes down on your ass in a sharp slap.

You yelp, the sting mixing deliciously with the overwhelming pleasure.

“Again,” he demands, spanking you once more, then rubbing the sore spot before sinking his fingers into the flesh of your hip to hold you steady as he pistons into you.

You’re babbling nonsense—his name, daddy, please, more. The pressure is building again, higher and harder than before. You can feel your orgasm coiling like a live wire.

“You gonna come for me?” he grunts, his rhythm becoming erratic, brutal. “You gonna squirt all over Daddy’s cock like the dirty little whore you are?”

His words are the final trigger. Your body seizes, a silent scream stuck in your throat as an intense, violent orgasm detonates through you. Your vision tunnels. You feel a hot gush release around his cock as you convulse, milking him desperately.

“Fuck! Yes!” Jungkook roars as he feels you clench and drench him. He gives three more ragged thrusts before burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. You feel the hot pulse of his cum filling you in thick spurts, mixing with your own release.

For a long moment, there is only the sound of harsh breathing and the faint hum of the garage. He collapses partially on top of you, his weight warm and heavy. He nuzzles into the sweaty skin of your neck, placing soft kisses over the bruise he left earlier.

Slowly, carefully, he pulls out. You whimper at the sudden emptiness and the slick mess between your thighs. He turns you onto your back, his movements uncharacteristically gentle now. He brushes the hair from your face and kisses your forehead, then your lips—a soft contrast to the frenzy of before.

He gathers you against his chest, cradling you in the backseat of his car as you both come down. Your body feels boneless, utterly spent.

He tilts your chin up so you’re looking at him. His expression is soft, but his eyes are still possessive, intense.

“So,” he says quietly, his thumb stroking your cheek. “About that arrangement.” He kisses you again, slow and deep. “If you want tuition paid… an allowance… an apartment…” Another kiss. “Then I’ll be your Daddy. In every single way you want me to be.”

read full here

[lemonjjk]

Genuinely asking—if you don’t want to share full stories on here what’s the reason for using this platform? Wouldn’t it make more sense to post everything on one platform that you’re actually using to monetize?A lot of us can’t afford to pay for full access so reading only half the story feels a bit incomplete and frustrating. It kind of takes away from the overall experience for the audience.You should do whatever you wish with your content, but I’m just trying to understand the thought process behind this approach.😊

Hey! Thanks for being respectful. Sure I'd love to post everything on one single platform because cross-posting is an added work for me too but Patreon isn't exactly the place where you can add tags or can make content for a specific fandom. Posting on a social media platform and linking to your monetization site happens everywhere because that's the only way to do it. Animators post clips of their animations on Youtube or Twitter and full version on Patreon/Kofi, same with fanartists who post censored version of their art on Tumblr and Instagram. We even have OnlyFans creators posting their pictures and video clips promoting their monetized account on multiple social medias.

I get the frustration, I genuinely do, which is why I choose to share first half of the fic and let the audience know beforehand just what exactly they'll be getting so they can scroll away if they want. But coming from a place whose economy and employment is rapidly collapsing because of political unrest, this is one of the only forms of income I've currently left. And if I have to face some nasty comments (not yours, you were very nice thank you) to make sure I have some financial stability, I'll gladly take it.

[lemonjjk]

My Mafia Husband 🔞 Jungkook x Y/N

genre: mafia boss!jungkook, mafia queen!fem!y/n, possessive/rough sex, marking

Their first mistake was kidnapping you, mafia Jungkook’s queen. Their second mistake was hurting you. Jungkook will tear down Seoul to reach you but then treat you like a delicate flower. But you’re no flower and you need your husband to treat you rough and love you hard. Now you’re screaming loud enough to be heard throughout the mansion but you don’t care, not even when Jungkook fucks you on his throne in front of everyone.

tags: you and jungkook are married, angry jungkook, possessiveness, kidnapping, mafia, protective jungkook, gentle aftercare, rough sex, dominant jungkook, submissive reader, ownership kink, degradation kink, praise kink, dirty talk, jungkook calls you whore, cumslut, fucktoy, queen, babygirl, darling, marking (biting, hickeys, bruising), size difference, tall/muscular jungkook, face down ass up position, deep penetration, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, clit play, breast play, tit slapping, ass slapping, tattooed jungkook, mirror sex, public sex, exhibitionism, business during sex, creampie, breeding kink, lactation kink, daddy kink, husband kink, aftercare (bathing, massaging), cum play, cum eating, sleeping while penetrated, emotional hurt/comfort, unprotected sex, body worship, hair pulling, choking (hand over mouth), spit as lube, claiming, jungkook is HUNG.

total words: 6.2k

this snippet: 3k words

(this snippet contains first scene where you're kidnapped, jungkook comes to save you, he treats you gently but you ask him to remind you who you belong to so he fucks you rough)

The world dissolved into a symphony of pain and disorientation. One moment you were stepping out of the luxury boutique, the crisp Seoul evening air the next, a rough canvas bag was yanked over your head, the world plunging into stifling darkness.

You came to in stages. First, the cold. It seeped through your thin silk blouse, a deep, cement-floor chill that bit into your bones. Then, the smell—damp concrete, rust, and stale oil. A warehouse. Your wrists were bound tightly behind your back with coarse rope that scraped your skin raw with every tiny movement. Your ankles were similarly secured to the legs of a heavy, metal chair. A throbbing ache pulsed at the base of your skull.

A single, bare bulb hung from a distant rafter, casting a sickly yellow puddle of light that did little to push back the overwhelming darkness. Shapes of crates and machinery loomed like sleeping beasts in the shadows. You tested your bonds, a muffled whimper escaping as the rope bit deeper.

“Ah, she’s awake.” The voice was smooth, cultured, but it slithered through the cold air like a snake. A man stepped into the edge of the light. He held your phone. “The famous Mrs. Jeon. The queen of Jeon Jungkook’s empire.” He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “He keeps you very polished, doesn’t he? A pretty little trophy on his arm.”

You lifted your chin, forcing steel into your voice despite the tremor in your limbs. “He’ll burn this city to the ground to find me.”

“I’m counting on it,” the man smiled, a thin, cruel line. “That’s the point. Your husband has been… inconvenient. Moving in on territories that are not his. This,” he gestured around the warehouse, “is an invitation to renegotiate. And you, my dear, are the message.”

He crouched in front of you and tapped your phone screen. “We’re going to call him. You’re going to sound scared. You’re going to beg. And he’s going to hear it.” His fingers gripped your chin, forcing your head up. “Do you understand? The more convincing you are, the less I have to hurt you to make it real.”

Revulsion coiled in your gut. You spat at his feet.

The backhand caught you across the cheekbone, a sharp crack that snapped your head to the side. White-hot pain exploded, followed by the warm, metallic taste of blood filling your mouth. Stars danced in your vision.

“We can do this the hard way,” the man sighed, as if you were a misbehaving child. He unlocked your phone, scrolling through contacts until he found the one labeled with a simple black crown emoji. Daddy. He put it on speaker.

It rang once, twice. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird in a cage of fear.

Then, his voice. Low, calm, wrapped in a velvet warmth that made your eyes prick with tears. “Yeobo? You on your way home? I ordered that spicy seafood stew you like.”

The kidnapper held the phone closer to your bleeding mouth. “Say hello,” he whispered, his own voice a venomous parody of kindness.

You swallowed blood and fear. “J-Jungkook.” His name was a broken prayer.

The silence on the other end was instantaneous and absolute. When he spoke again, the velvet was gone, stripped away to reveal the cold, hardened steel beneath. 

“Who is with you.”

It wasn’t a question.

The kidnapper took over, his voice cheerful. “Mr. Jeon! So good to finally speak. Your wife is here with me. She’s a bit… roughed up. But she’s alive. For now.”

“If a single hair on her head is out of place,” Jungkook’s voice came through, deceptively soft, “I will peel the skin from your bones while you watch. Slowly.”

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold went down your captor’s spine, but he pressed on. “Such theatrics. Here, let her convince you.”

He shoved the phone against your lips again. “Beg,” he hissed.

Tears of rage and humiliation mixed with the blood on your face. You thought of Jungkook—his stupid, handsome face, his laugh that crinkled his eyes, the way his hands, so big and rough, could be impossibly gentle on your skin. The thought of him hearing you break was worse than the pain.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, your voice trembling but clear. “It’s cold. And… my face hurts.” You couldn’t keep the sob from hitching in your throat. “Please. Please come get me.”

There was a sharp, indrawn breath on the line. Then, his voice returned, transformed. “Listen to me, my love. My queen. Look around. Tell me what you see.”

You blinked through tears, frantically scanning the dim light. “A… a red shipping container. To my left. It says… ‘Hanjin’ on it. There’s a broken forklift. And… I smell fish. Like a market.”

“Good girl. So brave for me,” he crooned, and the love in his voice was a lifeline. “You stay strong for just a little longer, jagiya. Close your eyes if you have to. I am coming for you right now.” The tenderness didn’t fade, but it was edged with a promise that turned the air in the warehouse even colder. “And to the man holding my world,” the voice shifted again, dropping into a register of pure, apocalyptic darkness, “prepare your soul. There is no hole deep enough for you to hide in.”

The line went dead.

The next hour was a blur of terror and aching cold. Then, the world exploded.

It wasn’t with sirens, but with the deafening roar of engines—not cars, but motorcycles and armored SUVs—smashing through the warehouse’s roll-up door. Gunfire erupted, not the sporadic pops of movies, but short, controlled, brutal bursts that echoed like thunder in the cavernous space. Men shouted, screamed, fell. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, curling in on yourself as best you could, the sounds of violence a terrifying cacophony around you.

And then, through the smoke and chaos, a figure emerged.

Jeon Jungkook.

He moved like vengeance personified. Dressed head-to-toe in tactical black, he was a panther among sheep. A knife glinted in his hand as he fluidly disarmed one man, the blade finding a home in another’s thigh with a sickening wet thud. He didn’t waste bullets; his movements were efficient, brutal, final. You saw the ripple of his powerful back muscles through his shirt, the sweat already darkening his hairline. His face… his beautiful face was a mask of serene, focused annihilation. His doe eyes, usually so warm and sparkling, were flat and black, absorbing no light.

He cut a path directly to you, a force of nature that nothing could deter.

Your captor, panicked, raised a gun toward you. He never got to pull the trigger.

Jungkook didn’t even break stride. A throwing knife sprouted from the man’s throat with a thunk. He gurgled, clawing at the hilt, before collapsing into the darkness.

And then Jungkook was there, filling your vision, blocking out the horror. He dropped to his knees before you, his big hands immediately going to the ropes at your ankles. His touch was gentle, but his hands were shaking—a fine, almost imperceptible tremor of pure, undiluted rage held in check by sheer will.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice ragged. “I’ve got you, babygirl.”

The ropes fell away. He moved behind you, his chest pressing against your back as he sawed at the bindings on your wrists. The moment your hands were free, you slumped forward, but he caught you, pulling you back against him, his arms a vise of safety around your middle. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

Then he turned you in his arms, his hands cradling your bruised face. His thumbs, calloused and scarred, wiped away the blood and tears with infinite care. His eyes searched yours, that terrifying emptiness replaced by a storm of anguish and relief.

He didn’t say a word.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. His lips were hard on yours, tasting of gunmetal and the mint gum he always chewed and something uniquely, fundamentally him. It was a kiss that swallowed your sobs, that poured every ounce of his fear and fury and ferocious love into you. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his sweat-damp hair, anchoring yourself to the only solid thing left in the universe.

He broke the kiss only to sweep you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. You clung to his neck, burying your face against the column of his throat, inhaling his scent—sweat, leather, and home.

“Clear the way,” he growled to no one in particular, and his men formed a phalanx around him as he carried you out of the warehouse of nightmares, stepping over bodies without a second glance. He placed you in the back of a blacked-out Mercedes G-Wagon, climbing in after you and pulling you onto his lap, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe, as the convoy tore away into the night.

The ride to the penthouse was silent but for the rumble of the engine and the soft, shuddering breaths you couldn’t quite control. Jungkook held you the entire way, one arm locked around your waist, his other hand stroking your hair, his lips pressed to your temple. He didn’t speak. The silence coming from him was more unnerving than any outburst could have been.

He carried you from the car into the private elevator, up to the penthouse that overlooked the glittering Han River. The familiar opulence—the floor-to-ceiling windows, the modern art, the deep silence—felt alien now.

Still silent, he took you straight to the master bathroom. He set you on the marble countertop and began to undress you with methodical care. His fingers, which could break a man’s neck without effort, were impossibly tender as he unbuttoned your ruined blouse, peeled off your soiled slacks. He ran a bath, pouring in your favorite sandalwood-scented oil. He tested the temperature with his wrist before lifting you and placing you in the steaming water.

He knelt beside the tub, a king brought low. He took a soft cloth and began to wash you. He cleaned the blood from your face, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked violently. He washed your arms, your back, between your fingers. He was meticulous, reverent. When his cloth swept over the darkening bruises on your ribs from where you’d been handled roughly, a low, animal sound rumbled in his chest.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “Talk to me.”

He just shook his head, his eyes downcast, focusing on his task. He washed your hair, massaging your scalp, rinsing away the stench of fear and that man’s touch.

When you were clean, he lifted you out, wrapping you in a massive, warm towel before carrying you to the bed. He dried you with the same thorough silence, then smoothed a healing salve onto your bruised cheekbone. He pulled one of his own soft black t-shirts over your head—it drowned you, smelling overwhelmingly of him—and tucked you under the duvet.

He stood there for a long moment, looking down at you, his expression unreadable in the dim bedroom light. The adrenaline was fading, leaving you hollow and shaky, but more than that, you were terrified of his silence.

He finally moved, stripping off his own tactical gear until he was just in his black boxer-briefs. His body was a masterpiece of power—the broad shoulders, the defined chest and abs that tapered to a narrow waist, the thick thighs. His tattoos—the intricate sleeve, the script across his ribs—seemed to tell stories of violence and survival in the dim light. He slid into bed beside you and pulled you into him, your back to his chest, his front spooning you protectively. His arm was a heavy band across your waist.

And then he began to kiss you.

Slowly. Deliberately. Not on the mouth, but on every part of him he could reach. He kissed your bandaged cheek. The shell of your ear. The slope of your shoulder where his shirt had slipped down. His lips were soft, worshipful. He shifted you gently onto your back and continued his pilgrimage—the hollow of your throat, the swell of your breast over the cotton shirt, your stomach. He pushed the shirt up, exposing more skin, and his mouth followed.

His teeth grazed your hip bone, a hint of his true nature, but he immediately soothed it with his tongue, pulling back as if burned.

“Jungkook,” you said again, more firmly now. You threaded your fingers into his dark hair. “I’m okay.”

He looked up at you then, his eyes finally meeting yours. The storm was still there, churning with guilt and a fury so deep it had frozen him from the inside out. “I almost lost you,” he said, his voice raw and shredded. “Because of my world. My mess.”

“I’m here,” you insisted, pulling his face up to yours for a soft kiss. “You came for me.”

He kissed you back, but it was still soft, still careful. He moved over you, settling between your thighs, but his weight was braced on his arms. He began to make love to you. It was tender, achingly sweet. Slow rolls of his hips, deep gazes into your eyes, whispered words of love against your lips. It was everything a woman should want after trauma.

And it was all wrong.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t you. 

The gentleness felt like pity. The care felt like distance. You needed the fire. You needed the proof that you were alive, that you were his, that this hadn’t broken what you were together.

As he rocked into you with another tender thrust, you tangled both hands in his hair and yanked, hard enough to make him gasp.

“Stop,” you breathed against his lips.

He froze immediately, concern flashing in his eyes. “Did I hurt you? Jagiya, I’m sor—”

You cut him off by yanking his hair again, forcing his face closer until your noses brushed. Your voice dropped to a low, sassy growl, all traces of the victim gone. “Who the fuck do you think you’re fucking right now? Some delicate little flower?”

His eyes widened slightly.

“You think I need vanilla love-making after what happened?” you hissed, bucking your hips up against his. “I need my husband. I need my Daddy. I need the mafia boss who turned a warehouse into a graveyard for me.” You dug your nails into his scalp. “So stop this bullshit gentle act and fuck me like the queen you claim I am. Remind me who I belong to. Remind yourself.”

For a heartbeat, there was only stunned silence.

Then, it was like watching a dam shatter.

A feral growl ripped from Jungkook’s throat, a sound of pure, unleashed possession. All the gentleness evaporated, burned away in an instant by the inferno you’d just unleashed. The tender lover was gone, replaced by the primal, dominant beast who owned you body and soul.

“You brat,” he snarled, his eyes darkening with predatory lust. “You fucking perfect, crazy brat.”

In one brutal motion, he flipped you over onto your hands and knees, yanking his t-shirt up over your back until it was bunched around your shoulders. He shoved your head down into the pillows, arching your back until your ass was high in the air, presented for him.

“You want to be reminded?” he growled, his big hands grabbing your hips so hard you knew there would be fingerprints bruised into your skin tomorrow. One hand slid around your front, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your tit through the shirt, pinching and pulling at your nipple until you cried out. “You want to know who owns this perfect little cunt?”

You felt the thick, blunt head of his cock—massive, always so fucking big—nudge against your soaked entrance. You were dripping for him, your body singing for the roughness it knew was coming.

“Tell me who you belong to!” he commanded, not entering you yet, just rubbing his tip through your slick folds.

“You!” you moaned into the pillow. “Daddy! I’m yours!”

“Damn right you are.”

He didn’t slide in. He drove into you in one ruthless, claiming thrust that punched the air from your lungs and made you see stars. You were so wet he sank to the hilt in one go, his pelvis slapping against your ass with a loud crack. A guttural moan tore from your throat—a mix of overwhelming fullness and perfect relief.

“Fuck! Jungkook!”

“That’s it,” he grunted, already setting a punishing pace, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in with enough force to jolt you up the bed. “This is what you needed? This is what my queen deserves? My cock splitting her open after some other fucker dared to lay hands on her?”

His words were filthy, dark music to your ears. Each thrust was a punctuation mark of ownership. The wet, squelching sounds of your pussy taking him filled the room, obscene and perfect. The bedframe slammed against the wall in a rhythmic thunder.

One of his hands remained anchored on your hip, the other snaked under you, his fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. He rubbed tight, rough circles that had you screaming into the pillow within seconds.

“This cunt is mine,” he chanted, his voice thick with lust and fury. “My cock is gonna bruise your womb so it knows—so it never forgets—it belongs to me. I’m gonna mark you from the inside out, babygirl.”

He leaned over you, his sweat-slicked chest pressing against your branded back. You could feel every ridge of his abs, every flex of his powerful muscles. His mouth latched onto the side of your neck, sucking hard enough to brand you there too before biting down. You cried out as pain and pleasure fused into one white-hot wire.

He released your neck only to trail his mouth down your spine, sucking and biting every inch of skin he could reach—your shoulders, between your shoulder blades, the small of your back. He was marking his territory like a wild animal, painting your skin with purple-and-red blossoms of possession. His tattoos glistened under a sheen of sweat in the low light, the ink seeming to move with each powerful thrust.

“Gonna make you scream so loud the whole city knows Jeon Jungkook has his queen back in his bed where she fucking belongs,” he rasped into your ear before biting the lobe.

His fingers on your clit were relentless, his cock pistoning into you with deep, brutal strokes that hit that perfect spot inside you with every single one. The coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter, a spring of pure sensation ready to snap.

“Daddy… I’m gonna… I can’t…”

“Come for me,” he demanded, his voice guttural. “Squirt all over my cock, you perfect fucktoy. Let me feel it. Show me how much you missed this.”

It was the command that shattered you.

Your orgasm detonated like a supernova behind your eyelids. A scream ripped from your throat as your body convulsed around him, your inner walls milking his massive cock in frantic pulses. And just as he’d ordered, you squirted—a hot, gushing flood that soaked his thighs and the sheets beneath you with such violent intensity that your vision whited out. The pleasure was so extreme, so overwhelming after the terror of the day, that for a second, the world faded to static and you genuinely thought you might pass out.

You collapsed forward into the pillows, boneless and gasping, waves of aftershocks still making you twitch around him.

But Jungkook didn’t stop.

His pace barely faltered. He was still rock-hard inside you, still thrusting with deep, possessive strokes through your oversensitive contractions.

You whimpered weakly as he leaned over you again, his lips brushing your sweat-damp ear.

“Did you think we were done, my greedy little cumslut?” he purred, his voice thick with dark promise as he continued to move within you, his cock still relentlessly claiming your spent body. “The night isn’t over. I’m not done reminding you—or anyone else who might get ideas.” He punctuated his words with a particularly deep thrust that made you jolt. “I won’t stop until the whole of Seoul knows no one can touch what’s mine.”

(the full version contains jungkook fucking you on every surface, in front of the mirror, and also in front of his 3 trusted men as he makes you squirt again and again)

read full here

[lemonjjk]

150k words of Jungkook x Y/N fics

As of right now we've officially crossed 150,000 words of Jungkook x Y/N fics on my Patreon!! Three months in and this journey has only just begun, I cannot wait to hit half million words by the time we end 2026 💜

To celebrate this I'll be posting some short fics completely free here on Tumblr! I've gotten some requests in the past so I'll fulfill them in the upcoming weeks.

Thank you for being a part of this beginning, no matter if you're on my Patreon or not, I'm grateful for every like and interaction here.

If you wish to read those 150k words now, they're available for $15 on my Patreon right now. Half of these words are available on my Tumblr for free. Thank you for reading and I hope in the turbulent state of this world, you find your stability and support 💜

[lemonjjk]

Hiii sorry im new to your page put live your writing!! I was wondering how it works for read your full stories? Is it just on another platform, or do we have to pay to access it on said platform?

Love u🤗

Hey! The full versions are on Patreon, you'll need a membership to access them.

[lemonjjk]

Falling In Bed 🔞 Mafia Boss Jungkook x Y/N

genre: mafia boss!jungkook, ex fiance!y/n, lovers to enemies to lovers, ex-lovers with benefits

You told yourself it doesn’t matter if your ex-fiance mafia boss Jungkook comes begging on his knees, you won’t forgive him. But heart doesn’t listen to logic so you’re falling in bed with him again. And again. And again. Fine, if he wants forgiveness so bad, you’ll use him for the only thing he’s good for: his cock. 

tags: jungkook is HIGHLY obsessed, obsessive stalking, unresolved past betrayal, infidelity but also not, miscommunication, angry sex, limo sex, car sex, rough fucking, doggy style, riding, face sitting, cunnilingus, squirting, multiple orgasms, you squirt so much you pass out, aftercare, daddy kink, degradation, praise kink, dirty talk, jungkook calls you whore, darling, cockslut, fucktoy, biting, marking, bruising, hair pulling, scratching, power struggle, bratty reader, cocky jungkook, unprotected sex, creampie, size difference, oral sex (f receiving), semi-public sex, unresolved feelings, hurt/comfort, jealousy, angst with a happy ending, toxic love, forced proximity, injured jungkook, hate sex, love-hate relationship, mutual pining, second chance, romance, break-up to make-up, sexual tension, against the wall sex, sofa sex, begging, orgasm control, overstimulation, emotional sex, crying after sex, passionate kisses, morally grey jungkook, strong reader

total words: 5.5k

this snippet: 2.5k words

(this snippet contains first scene where jungkook is trying to win you over so you can go to a club to unwind but end up riding jungkook in his limo)

The city’s rain-slicked streets reflect neon like oil on water. You’ve moved three times in the last year, changed your number twice, switched jobs four times. Yet he always finds you. Jeon Jungkook. Your ex-fiancé, heir to a crime syndicate you tried so hard to escape. You told yourself you were done the night you saw him in that back alley, a woman with too-short leather skirts and smeared lipstick climbing into his car two nights after he slid that diamond ring onto your finger. You didn’t even scream. You just turned around, went home, packed a single bag, and left. But he’s a ghost you can’t shake.

Every morning since you landed in this new city, there’s been something. A single white gardenia on your doorstep—your favorite. A box of those ridiculously expensive dark chocolate truffles you used to eat after sex. A vintage vinyl of that stupid love song you’d dance to in his penthouse kitchen. You throw them all away. Every single one. But he doesn’t stop. And sometimes, when you’re hauling your groceries up the walk, you feel it—the weight of a stare. You glance down the street and there it is: a matte black sedan, windows tinted so dark you can’t see inside. But you know. You always know.

He’d tried to explain once. Cornered you in the elevator of your old apartment building, his body blocking the doors from closing. The scent of him, expensive and familiar, had made your stomach twist.

“It was a misunderstanding,” he’d said, his voice low, urgent. “They showed me pictures. Of you and him. The night I proposed. You were smiling, he had his arm around you… it looked real.”

You’d stared at him, ice in your veins. “So your solution was to fuck a hooker in your car two days later?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I wanted to forget. To hurt like you were supposedly hurting me. I paid her, got in the car… and I couldn’t. I didn’t touch her. I made her get out. A week later, my tech guys found the photos were faked. Stitched, deepfake bullshit. My father’s doing. He didn’t want me… distracted.”

You’d let out a scoff so sharp it hurt your throat. “Wow. So I should be happy, right? The man who wanted to marry me couldn’t even talk to me before hiring a prostitute. That’s your defense? Get out of my way, Jungkook.”

You’d shoved past him, the elevator doors finally closing on his stricken face. You walked out, and he was left alone. 

The flowers today are different.

Not cut stems wrapped in paper. Potted orchids. Three of them, gleaming white and purple under the weak porch light, their delicate roots visible through clear glass containers. They’re alive. You can’t just toss living things into the dumpster. You stand there, key in hand, the rain misting your jacket, and a hot, stupid lump rises in your throat. He remembers. Of course he fucking remembers. That weekend you dragged him to a botanical garden, you spent an hour sighing over orchids, telling him how you loved that they were stubborn, that they needed specific care to bloom. He’d kissed your temple and said, “Like you, then.”

“Asshole,” you mutter to the empty street. But you pick up the pots. They’re heavy, cool against your chest. You take them inside.

Your apartment feels claustrophobic. You put the orchids on the kitchen windowsill. They look innocent, beautiful. A peace offering. But with Jungkook, nothing is ever just a gift. It’s a claim. A reminder. I know where you are. I know what you love. I still own it.

You need to get out. You need noise, bodies, distraction. You change into a little black dress you haven’t worn in ages—the one he used to peel off you with his teeth. You don’t think about that. You just swipe on red lipstick, shove your feet into heels, and call a cab. You’re going to the most expensive, exclusive club in the city. The kind of place he’d never be caught dead in. Too flashy, he’d say. Too many cameras.

The club is all throbbing bass and swirling lights. Bodies press and grind. You order a vodka cranberry and swallow it too fast, the burn doing nothing to settle the itch under your skin. You’re on your second drink, trying to lose yourself in the rhythm, when the air changes.

It’s not a sound. It’s a pressure. A shift in the atmosphere. You turn your head slowly, and there he is.

Jeon Jungkook.

Leaning against the far wall of the VIP section, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He’s dressed in all black—a simple but impossibly expensive-looking sweater, tailored trousers. He looks older. Sharper. The soft boyishness you loved is gone, carved into something harder, more dangerous. His eyes aren’t on the dancers, the models hanging off the booth next to him. They’re locked on you. Dark, unwavering, consuming.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod. Just watches.

And it’s that… that fucking normalcy that breaks you. He’s not storming over. He’s not grabbing you. He’s just observing. Like you’re a painting. Like he has all the time in the world.

A white-hot rage, fiercer than any hurt, blazes through you. You slam your glass down on the bar, the sound swallowed by the music, and you stalk toward him. People instinctively move out of your way. His eyes track your every step, but his expression doesn’t change.

You stop inches from him. The scent of him—sandalwood, clean sweat, and that unique, musky Jungkook smell—hits you like a physical blow. Your hand flies up before you can think.

The crack of your palm against his cheek is shockingly loud, even in the club. His head snaps to the side. A red mark blooms instantly on his perfect, tan skin. The people around them fall silent, eyes wide.

He turns his head back slowly. He doesn’t touch his face. His eyes are black pits.

“You bastard!” you scream over the music, your voice raw. “You smug, stalking bastard! The flowers? The fucking chocolate? Sitting in your car like a creep? What the hell is wrong with you? I left! I don’t want you! Get that through your thick skull!”

He just looks at you. Calm. As if you just commented on the weather. “Feel better?” he asks, his voice low, a rumble you feel in your bones.

It’s the final straw. You grab the front of his sweater, fisting the soft fabric, and yank him down, crashing your lips against his.

For a heart-stopping second, he doesn’t move. Then, with a groan that’s pure animal hunger, he kisses you back. It’s not gentle. It’s a possession. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, tasting of whiskey and him. His arms band around you, crushing you against a body that’s all hard muscle and lethal intent. You kiss him with all the fury, the betrayal, the months of lonely, aching nights. It’s brutal and perfect and it feels like coming home to a house on fire.

He’s the one who pulls back, breathing ragged. His lips are wet, swollen from yours. His eyes are wild now, the control shattered. “You need to stop,” he grits out, his voice strained. “If you don’t stop right now, I’m taking you out of here. And once I start, darling, I am not stopping. I won’t be gentle. I won’t be sorry. I will fuck you until you forget every reason you ever had for leaving.”

A thrill, dark and electric, shoots straight to your core. You’re soaked. Your body is screaming for him, traitor that it is. You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. You taste the salt on his skin.

“Then don’t stop, Daddy,” you whisper, the word you’d only ever breathed in the dark with him falling easily, defiantly, from your lips now. “Stop talking and do what you’re good at.”

A shudder runs through him. A low, possessive growl escapes his throat. He doesn’t say another word. His hand slides down to grip your ass, hard, possessive, and he starts walking, dragging you with him through the crowd, toward a discreet side exit. No one tries to stop him. No one even looks twice.

A long, black limousine is idling at the curb. He wrenches the door open and practically throws you inside onto the soft leather seats. He climbs in after you, slams the door, and hits a button. A dark partition slides up, sealing you in a silent, plush tomb.

The engine purrs to life. The car pulls away from the curb.

In the dim interior light, his eyes glow. He’s on you before you can take a breath. His mouth is on yours again, biting, sucking. His hands are everywhere—pushing the straps of your dress down, palming your tits over your lace bra. He pinches a nipple through the fabric, hard, and you cry out into his mouth.

“Missed these,” he growls, pulling the bra down to free your breasts. He ducks his head, taking a nipple into his hot mouth, sucking fiercely, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. “Missed the way you taste. The way you moan.” He switches to the other, giving it the same rough treatment. Your back arches, your fingers tangling in his soft hair, holding him to you.

“Jungkook—” you gasp.

“Daddy,” he corrects, biting the swell of your breast. “You called me Daddy. You don’t get to take it back now, cockslut.” He pulls back, his hands going to your hips. “Turn over. On your knees. Face the seat.”

You’re trembling, but you obey, the old submission rising fast and familiar. You get on your knees on the wide seat, facing the back of the limo. The cool leather kisses your skin. You feel him behind you, a solid wall of heat. His hands push your dress up around your waist. His fingers hook into the sides of your panties and rip them clean off. The sound of tearing lace is obscenely loud.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he mutters, dragging a thick finger through your soaked folds. You whimper, pushing back against his hand. “Always so fucking wet for me. Even when you hate me.”

You hear the rustle of his clothes, the unmistakable sound of a zipper, the tear of a foil packet. Then the blunt, hot head of his cock is pressing against you. He’s huge. You’d forgotten just how big he felt, stretching you, filling you.

He doesn’t push in. He just rubs the tip up and down your slit, coating himself in your arousal, teasing your clit. “You want it?” he murmurs, his lips against your shoulder blade. “You want Daddy’s cock?”

“Yes,” you sob, pushing back again, desperate to be filled.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Daddy! Please!”

He slams into you in one brutal, deep thrust. You scream, the sound swallowed by the leather seats. He fills you completely, stretching you to the brink. He stays there, buried to the hilt, letting you feel every inch. “Tight,” he groans. “So fucking tight. Like you’ve been saving it for me.”

Then he starts to move. There’s no rhythm, no finesse. It’s pure, raw fucking. Hard, deep strokes that jolt your whole body forward with each thrust. His grip on your hips is iron-tight, sure to leave bruises. The sounds are filthy—the slap of skin on skin, his ragged grunts, your choked-off cries.

“This is where you belong,” he snarls, pounding into you. “Taking my cock. My cumslut. My fucktoy. You think running changes that? You think changing your name or your city erases what you are? Mine.”

Each word is punctuated by a vicious thrust. You’re so close already, the coil in your belly winding impossibly tight. “Daddy, I’m gonna—”

“Come,” he commands. “Come on my cock. Now.”

It hits you like a seizure. Your vision whites out. A guttural scream tears from your throat as you shatter, clenching around him in violent pulses. Your body convulses, and you feel a hot gush of release soak your thighs and the seat beneath you. You squirt, hard, the force of it taking even you by surprise.

He fucks you through it, his pace never slowing, drawing the orgasm out until it’s borderline painful. “That’s it,” he groans. “Fuck, look at you. Making a mess. My good girl.”

You’re boneless, sagging against the seat, but he’s not done. He pulls out, flipping you onto your back. He pushes your legs up and apart, hooking them over his shoulders, and drives back into you. This angle is deeper, hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

“Look at me,” he demands, his face hovering over yours, slick with sweat. You force your eyes open. His gaze is fierce, possessive, unhinged. “You’re coming back with me. You’re going to be my queen. No more running. No more hiding. You’re mine. Say it.”

You shake your head, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. “I can’t… you hurt me…”

He leans down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. “I know,” he murmurs against your lips. “And I’ll spend the rest of my fucking life making it up to you. But you’re mine.” He thrusts hard, making you gasp. “Now say it.”

The pleasure is too much. The feel of him, the raw need in his eyes, the love you’ve never been able to kill. “I’m yours,” you whisper.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!” you cry out as he hits that spot again.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You! Daddy! I belong to you!”

A savage triumph lights his face. “Good girl.” His thrusts become erratic, frantic. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna put a baby in you. Make sure you never leave again.”

The filthy promise pushes you over another edge. This orgasm is different—deeper, longer. It starts as a slow roll and builds into a crashing wave. You feel the tension snap, and another, more powerful stream of release gushes out of you, soaking his lower stomach and the seat. Your body locks up, muscles spasming uncontrollably. You can’t breathe. You can’t see. The pleasure is a white-hot brand, burning through every nerve ending. You hear a high, keening sound—it’s you—and then the world tilts, fragments, and goes blissfully, utterly dark.

You come to slowly, awareness seeping in. You’re curled on your side on the soft leather seat. You’re warm. There’s a heavy, familiar weight around you—his arm, holding you tightly against his chest. His even breaths stir your hair. He’s dressed again. You’re wrapped in what feels like his suit jacket. It smells like him.

The limo is still moving.

Your body feels used, wrecked, profoundly satisfied. Sore in the best way. You can feel the sticky evidence of both of you drying on your inner thighs.

And beneath the physical satisfaction, a cold, sharp reality is already starting to pierce the haze.

You’re in his car. You came for him. You called him Daddy. You told him you were his.

You let the monster back in.

You close your eyes, a single, hot tear escaping and soaking into the leather beneath your cheek. You let yourself sink back into the warmth of his embrace for just a moment longer, knowing with a dreadful, certain clarity that when morning comes, the regret will be a physical thing, a stone in your gut.

But for now, in the dark, moving through the anonymous city, you pretend.

(full version contains you trying to ignore jungkook but he gets injured and you end up letting him in his house but only to use him as your personal annoying dildo)

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