stareuphoria - Tumblr blog

stareuphoria · 14 days ago

Text

FETISH

Pairing: STALKER!! Jimin x Reader

Word count: 16k

Warning: smut, sex, stalking, dark themes, voyeurism, dirty talk, cunnilingus, oral sex, vaginal sex, penetration etc

Authors note: I honestly had so much fun writing this!! I hope you enjoy it. Let me know if I should do one about another member as well

Synopsis: "When Jimin wants something, he'll have it. One way or the other."

The bakery was quiet as Y/N worked the counter, the early afternoon sunlight spilling across the wooden tables, casting soft shadows on the cream-colored walls. The rich scent of butter and vanilla wafted through the air, mingling with the faint dusting of flour on the counter. A delicate hum of the oven's warmth was her only companion as she carefully arranged freshly baked pastries in the display case.

Y/N had always loved the rhythm of the bakery. The way the dough felt between her fingers, the way the heat from the oven would settle around her like a comforting embrace. It was simple, predictable—exactly the kind of life she wanted. No drama, no distractions. Just the steady flow of flour, sugar, and quiet.

But there was always something strange about this place. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was the way certain customers lingered a little too long, as if they didn’t just come for a croissant, but for something else—something she could never define. Or perhaps it was the way the silence would sometimes stretch, too long, too deep, as though the air itself was holding its breath.

A woman entered, her steps light, but her gaze lingering a moment longer than usual. Y/N smiled politely, forcing her attention back to the pastries as the woman selected a few items and moved to the counter.

"Just the usual?" Y/N asked, her voice quiet, practiced.

The woman nodded, placing a few crumpled bills on the counter before leaving without a word. Y/N watched her go, the door chiming softly behind her. The silence returned, but something felt different today. She couldn’t explain it.

Her eyes drifted to the window. Outside, the street was as bustling as usual. People hurrying by, oblivious to the quiet life she led. She was used to the hustle—she’d grown up in cities where the noise never stopped. But here, in this small corner of the world, there was a strange stillness that she could never shake.

As her gaze drifted past the street, something caught her attention. A figure, standing just outside the bakery window, hidden partially behind a lamppost. A man, his face obscured by a hood and sunglasses, his posture tense and watchful. She blinked, sure she was imagining things, but when she looked again, the figure was gone.

She shook her head. Just a trick of the light, she thought.

Y/N returned to her task, pushing aside the odd feeling that clung to her. She had no room for paranoia. She couldn’t afford it.

From the shadows, across the street, Jimin observed her, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his cap. He hadn’t come here to buy pastries, nor to admire the delicate art of baking. He’d come to watch her.

His lips twisted into a slight, cynical smile as he watched her move behind the counter, her fingers graceful as she shaped the dough. She was so... unaware. So focused on the small world she had created for herself. It was almost too easy.

Jimin’s world was not like hers. His was loud, filled with flashing lights, cameras, and the constant hum of voices singing his praises. He was Park Jimin, a star—a god, in the eyes of many. And yet, here he was, in the shadows, lingering in the corners of her life like some kind of invisible force.

He knew everything about her. Where she lived. What she liked to bake. The quiet way she carried herself. The subtle tension in her posture when she felt eyes on her, though she never acknowledged it.

It made him smile to think of how perfectly she fit into the life he had carefully crafted for her. A life where she would never escape him. Where he could watch, and wait, until she was ready to let him in.

Jimin’s eyes narrowed as Y/N glanced toward the window again. She didn’t see him, but he knew she felt something. She’d been sensing him for days now, and it would only be a matter of time before she figured it out.

But he wasn’t ready yet. Not yet. He wanted her to feel the fear first. To see him lurking in the background, like a shadow waiting to pounce. The fear would make her crave him, would make her realize that the only way out was to let him in completely.

He allowed himself a few more moments to study her. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few loose strands framing her face. Her movements were deliberate, efficient—exactly how he liked it. She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t demanding. She was content, trapped in the little world she’d made for herself.

But that wouldn’t last.

He’d make sure of it.

Y/N's attention snapped back to the counter as the bell above the door jingled again, the sudden intrusion breaking her train of thought. The figure she’d seen earlier? Gone. The street was just as it had always been.

She frowned, pushing the feeling of unease aside. It was nothing. Probably just someone waiting for the bus or some curious stranger with too much time on their hands.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. It wasn’t the first time, and she was certain it wouldn’t be the last.

Y/N sat at her small kitchen table, the soft glow of her laptop screen casting an ambient light across her face. It was late—almost midnight—but she didn’t mind. She’d gotten lost in her sculpting, her hands covered in clay, the world outside slipping away.

As usual, she was lonely at this hour. The bakery had closed, the last customer had long since left, and now there was only silence. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she sat back, debating whether she should check her messages. It had become a small ritual for her. In the last few weeks, someone had been reaching out to her through her online art account. They weren’t aggressive or overwhelming, but their words were kind, supportive.

Y/N had grown used to the occasional comment on her work—most of it generic, encouraging, but nothing that stuck. But this person, "ArtLover23," seemed different. They never just complimented her work—they asked thoughtful questions, made observations, and had a deep understanding of the techniques she used.

Her fingers clicked on the message notification, and a new message from ArtLover23 appeared.

ArtLover23: "I’ve been following your work for a while now. Your sculptures are so unique, they almost seem to have a life of their own. The way you bring such expression to stone… it’s incredible. Have you ever thought about making a piece that tells a story?"

Y/N smiled faintly, a warmth spreading through her. It wasn’t the first time they’d praised her work, but tonight the words felt different. She’d always struggled with loneliness, her quiet life filled with the hum of the bakery, her art, and the occasional student loan reminder. She wanted to believe that someone truly saw her—her work, her passion.

Y/N: "Thank you. That really means a lot. I’ve thought about telling a story with my art, but it’s harder than it sounds. Maybe something a bit abstract, like capturing the movement of water or the fragility of time."

There was a pause before a reply came through. The thoughtfulness behind the response always struck her. It made her feel... seen.

ArtLover23: "I’d love to see something like that. I think you’d capture the essence perfectly. It’s like you’ve already told a story with every piece."

Y/N typed back quickly, the connection sparking a little bit of excitement inside her.

Y/N: "I’m not sure if I’m that good, but I’m glad you think so."

The message she received back was immediate.

ArtLover23: "I know you are. I can tell by how much care you put into your work. You’re different from the rest."

She bit her lip, a small flush rising to her cheeks. There was something about the sincerity in his words that made her heart flutter—just a little. It wasn’t anything she could place. It was all so... harmless, right?

At least, that’s what she told herself.

---

Jimin leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on his desk as he stared at the screen. His lips curled into a small, calculating smile. It was easy, almost too easy. She was responding just as he’d hoped.

Her art had captivated him from the very first time he’d stumbled across her profile. He’d seen so many works in his life—so many faces, so many bodies—but her sculptures had a raw, delicate vulnerability to them that drew him in. The way she shaped the clay, the way she sculpted with such care—he could see it in the way she moved, the way she placed every finger against the surface. She poured her soul into it.

And now, he was the one she would pour her soul to.

He’d watched her from afar for weeks now. It was almost poetic, really. The quiet girl with the simple life. She had no idea who he was—not really. She had no idea that he could see everything. Every movement. Every glance. Every sigh.

And soon, she wouldn’t be able to turn away.

But for now, he was content to play the part of the faceless admirer. "ArtLover23" was the perfect guise—sweet, supportive, and above all, anonymous. He didn’t need to reveal himself just yet. Not until she had become comfortable with him. Until she was so deep in the web he’d woven that she would never dream of escaping.

---

Days passed, and Y/N found herself looking forward to the messages from ArtLover23 more than she cared to admit. He wasn’t just a fan—he was someone who understood. And for someone like Y/N, who often felt isolated in her little world, it was a relief. She looked forward to his thoughtful words as though they were a lifeline.

But as the weeks went on, small, strange details began to pop up. At first, they were easy to dismiss. A comment about her favorite painting—one she’d mentioned only once, years ago, to a friend. A mention of the small park near her apartment, where she often walked to clear her mind. The way he seemed to know exactly how she liked to spend her Saturdays—long afternoons at the pottery wheel, always listening to the same jazz playlist.

Y/N brushed it off. Coincidence, she told herself. He must just be observant.

But the unease crept in. A whisper in the back of her mind. Was it really coincidence? Or was it something else?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she typed a message to him.

Y/N: "You always seem to know so much about me. It’s a little… weird, don’t you think?"

The reply came quickly, as expected.

ArtLover23: "I told you, I’ve been watching your work for a long time. I think I understand you better than most people."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. It was such an innocent reply, yet something about it unsettled her. She wanted to ask more, to confront him, but she didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she replied with something that felt safer.

Y/N: "Well, I hope you’re not watching me in person too. That’s… that’s a little too much, don’t you think?"

The screen went still. No response. Her fingers tapped nervously on the table as she stared at the message. Then, just as she thought he wouldn’t reply, the response came through.

ArtLover23: "I would never. You’re too beautiful to scare, Y/N. You’re safe with me."

Her pulse quickened as she stared at the screen. There was something about the phrase “you’re safe with me” that struck her wrong, and yet, part of her wanted to believe it. It was a paradox. A tangled mess of fear and comfort.

She didn’t respond. Instead, she closed the laptop with a sharp snap, the weight of the message pressing on her chest like an anchor.

---

Meanwhile, Jimin sat back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips.

He knew he had her. The seed of doubt had been planted. She was already questioning herself, and soon, she’d be begging for answers. But the answers wouldn’t come easily. Not from him.

He leaned forward, fingers brushing over the camera he’d installed in her apartment. It was only a matter of time before he’d get the reward he’d been waiting for. He’d make sure she needed him, and when that moment came, he’d step out of the shadows and claim her completely.

The cool morning air filtered through the bakery's open windows, carrying with it the faint scent of fresh bread and the distant hum of the city. Y/N moved mechanically through her routine—mixing dough, shaping pastries, and setting up for the day. Her hands worked skillfully, but her mind wasn’t entirely present. Lately, there was a gnawing feeling at the back of her mind, a weight that followed her everywhere.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed, breaking her from her thoughts. She picked it up and unlocked the screen, her heart immediately skipping a beat. Another message from ArtLover23.

ArtLover23: "Had a thought about your latest piece. What if the stone wasn’t the medium, but the message? What if you could shape the heart of someone, not the material?"

It was thoughtful. It was weirdly insightful. But as Y/N scanned the message, something about it felt... off. The choice of words felt oddly personal, almost as if he knew her more intimately than he should.

With a sigh, Y/N put her phone down, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling. She turned her attention to a new sculpture she was working on—a large, abstract piece that would require hours of careful attention. Yet, even as she worked, her mind kept drifting back to the messages, to the strange sensation that someone was watching her.

---

It started small, almost imperceptible. At first, it was the missing jewelry. A necklace she always wore, one with a pendant shaped like a crescent moon, had gone missing from her bedside table. Then it was the earrings she’d been sure she left in the bathroom. Little things. Tiny pieces of her life, slipping away, as if someone had taken them just to remind her they were close.

The strange events didn’t stop there. She began to notice things in her apartment—subtle, disturbing things. The windows she always double-checked at night were sometimes left ajar. Her bathroom mirror would fog up, even though the shower had never been turned on. And once, in the middle of the night, she swore she felt someone brushing her cheek, their breath hot against her skin. When she sat up, heart pounding, the room was empty.

She thought she was losing her mind. Paranoia was setting in, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being followed. At night, when she walked home from the bakery, her every step seemed too loud, her heart beating too quickly. She’d glance over her shoulder, but no one was there. Not visibly. But the feeling—it was there.

The final straw came when she received another message from ArtLover23. This one was different. It was a photo, just like before, but this time it was more explicit. The image was blurry at first, but it was clear enough—bare arms covered in tattoos, jewelry glinting in the sunlight, the faint outline of a chest.

No face. Just his tattoos. The same ones she had noticed before, but this time, they were more. The swirls of ink on his forearm. The intricate designs on his fingers. It was unmistakable—this wasn’t just any person. These tattoos were too specific, too unique. She had seen them before.

Her breath caught in her throat. Could it really be?

Y/N: “How do I know these aren’t just random pictures? Who are you, really?”

She didn’t send the message immediately. She sat with her finger poised over the keyboard, the weight of the decision settling on her chest. She wanted to ignore it, to pretend it was just another coincidence. But deep down, she couldn’t. The images felt too personal. Too real.

The response came quickly, far quicker than she’d expected.

ArtLover23: "You’ll know soon enough. I think you’ve already guessed, haven’t you?"

---

The unease became a constant companion. Every time she turned a corner, every time she glanced over her shoulder, it was there. The paranoia crept in, weaving its way into her every thought. It wasn’t just the online messages anymore. It was the feeling of eyes on her wherever she went.

One afternoon, she left the bakery for a quick break, needing to clear her head. The streets were bustling with people, but as she walked along the crowded sidewalk, a sharp chill ran down her spine. There was a figure—just a shadow, standing under a tree near the corner of the street. She couldn’t see their face, but the way they stood, so still, so aware, made her feel like they were waiting for her.

She turned the corner sharply, trying to shake the feeling off, but when she passed by a crowded train station later that day, it happened again. She was walking down the stairs, carrying her bag, when she felt a warm hand brush against her lower back. It wasn’t accidental—this was intentional.

Her heart pounded as she whipped around, but there was no one there. The crowd had shifted, and the person was gone, lost among the others.

A lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t move.

And then, before she could catch her breath, it happened again. A firm hand pressed against her arm, pulling her against a figure in the crowd. She stumbled for a moment, her breath hitching, and tried to push away, but the hand held her firmly in place.

"Careful," a voice whispered against her ear, muffled by the sounds of the city. She could barely make it out, but the voice was deep, smooth. Familiar. It felt like it was laced with a dangerous amusement.

"Who are you?" she managed to ask, trying to pull away, but the grip was too tight.

He didn’t answer her immediately. Instead, the stranger chuckled softly, his breath warm against her neck.

"You’ll find out soon enough, Y/N. But you already know, don’t you?" His voice was laced with something unsettling, something dark. "I’ve been waiting for this moment."

Before she could ask anything else, he slipped away into the crowd, leaving her trembling on the edge of the busy street. She looked around, but there was no sign of him. It was as if he had melted into the crowd, disappeared completely.

She didn’t know what was worse—the fact that someone had touched her so intimately without her consent, or the fact that she felt a strange thrill in it. Her pulse raced as she fought the contradictory emotions inside her—fear, curiosity, and something darker.

---

Back in his apartment, Jimin sat in the dim light of his room, the shadows of the city stretching across the floor. He had watched her—watched her in the bakery, watched her when she was on the streets, watched her when she was completely unaware.

His fingers tapped on his phone screen as he sent her the latest message. He watched her reaction with a quiet, satisfied smile. The game was close to over, but he wasn’t ready to reveal everything just yet.

He would keep her on edge, keep her craving him, until she couldn’t imagine a life without him.

Y/N could feel it in the air. The tension had been building for days, creeping into her life like a storm that she couldn’t outrun. She could no longer dismiss the feeling that she was being watched—couldn’t ignore the sense that someone was always nearby. It wasn’t just the missing jewelry, the opened windows, or the hand on her back in the crowd. No, it was everything. The gifts that appeared in her apartment when she wasn’t looking, the cryptic texts, the unnerving photos—each piece of the puzzle had been carefully placed, one after the other, until they formed an unmistakable pattern. A pattern she had refused to see until now.

But tonight, everything would change. Tonight, she would find out who had been behind it all.

She walked through the dimly lit streets, her steps quick but unsteady. The bakery was closed for the night, the warm, comforting scent of bread replaced by the sharp, metallic taste of fear in her throat. The closer she got to her apartment, the more her unease grew. She could feel it. Someone was there.

And then, as she approached her building, the familiar pressure of being watched pressed into her chest. She heard the rustle of a coat, the faint shuffle of footsteps behind her. Her breath quickened, her heart pounding in her chest, but she refused to turn around.

She had to face this.

When she reached the door to her apartment, she fumbled with the keys, desperately trying to get inside, but her hands were shaking too much. The sound of footsteps grew louder, closer, and just as she was about to step inside, a hand—warm and firm—pressed against the door, halting her.

“Not yet,” the voice whispered, smooth and dangerously familiar.

Y/N’s heart skipped. Her stomach twisted. It was him.

Before she could react, the door was pushed open, and she was pulled inside, her back slamming against the cool, hard wall. The lights were off, but she didn’t need them to recognize the figure standing before her. She had seen him before—through the photos, in the shadows, in her every waking thought.

Park Jimin.

Her pulse raced as her mind struggled to process the sight before her. This wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

Jimin’s eyes glinted in the darkness, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re surprised,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing. “You really didn’t know?”

Y/N’s breath hitched as the realization crashed over her like a wave. “You… you’re him?” she choked out, her voice trembling with disbelief. "You're the one—you have been stalking me? All this time?”

Jimin didn’t answer at first. He simply stepped closer, his presence looming over her like a dark cloud. His eyes never left hers, watching, studying her with a calm intensity that made her feel exposed—vulnerable in a way she hadn’t felt before.

“Did you think it was just some random stranger?” His voice was almost playful now, as if he were enjoying her confusion. “Did you think this was all just a coincidence?”

Y/N’s mind raced, her thoughts a blur. She wanted to push him away, to scream at him for everything he had done, but her body betrayed her. She stood frozen, unable to move. Her hands were clenched into fists, but they hung limply at her sides.

Jimin reached out, gently cupping her face in his hand. She flinched at the touch, but he didn’t pull away. “You were never just a random person to me,” he continued, his voice dripping with something dark, something possessive. “From the moment I saw you, I knew. I had to have you.”

The words hung in the air between them, suffocating. She recoiled from his touch, her pulse racing as the anger surged within her. “Why? Why me?” Her voice cracked with disbelief, but there was an edge of something else beneath it—fear. “Why would you do this to me? All of it… the stalking, the messages, the pictures—am I just some game to you? An object for your twisted obsession?”

Jimin didn’t flinch. He only smiled, the expression almost affectionate. “No. You’re not a game.” His fingers traced the line of her jaw, his touch light but insistent. “You’re everything to me. You always have been.”

“Everything?” Her voice rose, her fury igniting. “Everything?!” Her hands clenched, her chest tightening with rage. “You’ve been stalking me, invading my life, and you’re obsessed with me? How the hell could I be ‘everything’ to you?”

Jimin’s smile never wavered. He took a step back, his gaze never leaving hers, and for a moment, he was silent. The weight of his words pressed down on her as the room seemed to shrink. The quiet tension between them was palpable.

“You don’t understand, do you?” Jimin’s voice was softer now, almost pensive, as though he were explaining something delicate, something necessary. “It’s not about control. Not about owning you. It’s about needing you. You don’t belong to me, Y/N.” He took another step forward, his eyes narrowing. “But I can’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”

Her breath came in quick bursts, and she wanted to push him away, to run. But part of her—something dark and dangerous inside—wanted to hear more. It sickened her, but the curiosity was there, burrowing under her skin.

“No, you’re wrong,” she spat, her voice trembling with both fury and confusion. “You can’t just take someone, not like this. It’s sick! You’re sick! How could you think I would ever want this—this madness?”

Jimin stepped closer again, and this time she didn’t pull away. He raised his hand and gently brushed his thumb against her lower lip, his eyes searching her face as if he were studying her very soul.

“You want it, Y/N,” he said softly, his words almost a whisper, like a confession. “You want this. You feel it too. That’s why you keep coming back. That’s why you didn’t run.”

Y/N froze, the words ringing in her ears. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Her heart hammered in her chest. “No…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “No, I don’t.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Jimin replied, his voice sharp now, confident. “You do want me. You wanted this from the moment you noticed me, didn’t you?”

Her eyes filled with anger, but there was something else there too—a glimmer of truth, something she didn’t want to face. She felt the pull, the sick fascination, the twisted part of her that couldn’t deny the thrill of it all. Of him.

She stepped back, trying to gather her thoughts. “I hate you,” she spat, the words laced with venom. “I hate everything about this.”

Jimin simply smiled, stepping even closer now, until his body was almost pressed against hers. “You’ll learn to love me. You’ll need me. And when you do, you’ll realize how foolish you were to resist.” His lips brushed against her ear, and he whispered, “You’ve always been mine, Y/N. I just needed you to see it.”

---

The room felt heavy, suffocating with their emotions. Y/N’s heart raced, her body trembling with a combination of rage and something darker, something that disgusted her even more because she couldn’t deny it—there was a part of her that wanted him. The power he had over her, the way he twisted her thoughts, it scared her, but it also made her feel alive in a way she didn’t want to admit.

As Jimin watched her, his expression unreadable, she realized something. She could hate him all she wanted. She could push him away, scream at him, but it didn’t matter.

He was already inside her. The damage was done.

The tension between Y/N and Jimin had reached a fever pitch, each moment a precarious balance of power, manipulation, and twisted desire.

Every move she made, every breath she took, seemed to be under his watchful eye, but the strangest part was how he always knew how to stay one step ahead. It was like a game-one where she was both the prey and the willing player, her instincts torn between fighting back and giving in.

He had warned her. She had ignored him.

The night she went out with another customer- an innocent enough date, or so she thought-had been the line she crossed. His texts were brief, cold, threatening: "I warned you about consequences, Y/N. Don't make me teach you a lesson."

She should've listened. She knew better. But her anger, her stubbornness, her need to prove something-it made her reckless. The man on the date had been charming, attentive, everything Jimin wasn't. And for a moment, as she laughed at his jokes and enjoyed the normalcy of it all, she had almost forgotten about Jimin and his suffocating grip on her life. But the moment she stepped through the door to her apartment, that illusion shattered.

Jimin was waiting for her, his posture relaxed but his eyes dark, calculating. The air was thick with anticipation, the quiet hum of power pulsing between them like electricity.

"You thought I wouldn't notice?" His voice was deceptively calm, but there was an underlying edge that made her spine stiffen. "You really thought you could go out with another man and not face the consequences?"

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but the words got stuck in her throat. She had pushed him too far. She knew it, and deep down, she regretted it.

His eyes narrowed, and without another word, he motioned for her to come closer. "Get over here," he demanded, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Her feet moved instinctively, but her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and something darker-something dangerous. She wanted to fight. She wanted to scream at him, to shove him away and tell him she didn't need this, but deep down, she understood that this was his world. She was just a pawn in it, and he held all the power.

As she stood before him, her defiance rising, Jimin didn't give her a chance to argue. With one swift movement, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down across his lap. She gasped, her body tense with shock, her hands bracing against his leg to steady herself.

"I warned you," he murmured, his fingers gently caressing the curve of her hips before his hand came down hard across her bottom.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, a mix of pain and shock rippling through her. She tried to squirm away, but Jimin's grip was unyielding, his fingers digging into her sides. Another smack landed on her other cheek, and she gasped again, the sting sending a shiver down her spine.

"Still think this is a game, Y/N?" he asked, his voice low and filled with an eerie calmness that made her blood run cold.

She glared at him, her face flushed with a mix of humiliation and rage. "You're sick," she spat, but the words felt weak, impotent.

He didn't flinch. Instead, he smirked, the amusement in his eyes cutting through her like a blade. "You wanted this, didn't you? You pushed me, and now you're here. Don't pretend you're not enjoying it." Another slap, and she winced, the stinging sensation making her flinch.

Tears welled in her eyes, her chest heaving with the rawness of the moment. Her body trembled from the sting of his strikes, but it wasn't just physical. It was the betrayal-the realization that she had given him control once again.

She should have fought harder. She should have run.

But here she was, in his lap, tears blurring her vision, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The anger, the humiliation, the desire-it all tangled together in a twisted knot that she couldn't undo.

Jimin's hand gently stroked her back, as if he were soothing her, and it only made her more furious. "Shh, it's okay. You know I'm doing this for your own good, right? You need to be taught a lesson. You need to learn that you can't just go around doing whatever you want."

I love the idea of adding more emotional intensity and frustration after the punishment. Here’s how that scene could unfold:

The punishment had been excruciating. The sting still burned in her bottom, a reminder of her defiance and his dominance. She sat on the edge of her bed, her chest heaving with the aftermath of Jimin's touch and the power he had over her. But instead of the quiet moment of reflection she’d expected, the anger inside her surged, bubbling up like a volcano ready to explode.

"You're sick!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "You think you're some god, some... some king who can control every single part of me?" Her hands trembled with rage as she pulled at her hair, pacing around the room. "I hate you! I hate how you watch me, how you manipulate me, how you—"

Her breath hitched, and the words came out faster, more venomous. "You're nothing but a coward, hiding behind your games, your little tricks. I don’t need you!"

She turned to face the bed, her eyes blazing with fury. "You don’t get to decide who I am! You don’t get to control me, Jimin!"

But even as she screamed, even as her mind raced with all the things she wanted to hurl at him, she knew he wasn’t there. He was gone.

Or was he?

Her hands went to her phone—her constant tether to him, to the man who’d been watching her every move—and unlocked it. She opened the messages he’d sent her, rereading the cold, calculated words. The threat in each message. The subtle pull he had on her. And yet, there was nothing. No message. No sign of him.

Nothing.

A sick, twisted part of her—part of her that she had come to hate—waited for the ping of a new message, a new sign that he was still watching. That he was still there. But the silence grew more oppressive.

Was he really gone?

Y/N stood up abruptly, her blood boiling. She couldn’t stand it. The silence. The absence.

Her fists clenched at her sides as she stormed out of her room, her steps echoing through the apartment. She went straight to the drawers, rifling through them with a sense of desperation. Where were they? The cameras. The ones she had always known were there, hidden, watching.

She tore apart the living room, throwing cushions, upturning furniture, desperate to find something—anything—that would confirm he was still here, still controlling her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she ripped through the place. The more she searched, the angrier she became. Each empty space, each hidden corner felt like a taunt.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she found a small, hidden device in the corner of the living room, partially obscured behind a bookshelf. She grabbed it, holding it up like a weapon.

She was panting now, her body trembling from the rage that had overtaken her.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she hissed, glaring at the camera. “You think you’re so damn obsessed with me. You think I can’t see through your games.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, raw from the emotions tearing her apart.

Her fingers were shaking as she typed out a message to him, but her anger was so palpable that her hands could barely hold the phone steady. "If you’re so obsessed with me, Jimin, then come out. Face me. Take me. I’m done with this game, I’m done with hiding. If you’re watching me, come and take me, because I can’t do this anymore."

She threw the phone on the couch with a frustrated scream, her breath heavy as she stared at the empty space around her. The silence felt deafening now, unbearable.

Where was he?

The room felt colder, the absence of his presence almost suffocating. But as she turned around, a shadow in the corner of the room caught her eye. Slowly, cautiously, she stepped forward, her heart racing in her chest.

And there he was.

Jimin, standing in the doorway, watching her with an unreadable expression. He was silent, his gaze steady and calm, almost as if he had been waiting for this moment.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, a mixture of anger, frustration, and something else—something darker—raging inside her. Her fists clenched at her sides.

“You were watching,” she spat, her voice trembling with the force of her fury. “You were always watching.”

Jimin’s lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. “I’m always watching, Y/N. And you know that.”

He took a slow step forward, his presence suddenly overwhelming as he closed the distance between them. He was calm, collected, but the way he looked at her made her feel like prey.

“You didn’t have to search, you know,” he said quietly. “You already knew I was here. You wanted me to come.”

Her heart raced faster. The realization hit her harder than she expected—he knew. He always knew what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

“You’re sick,” she whispered, but this time, her voice was softer. There was no fight left in her.

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Am I? Or are you just as twisted as I am?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The silence between them now held all the weight of the truth.

The silence in the apartment had thickened after Y/N's words, her confession hanging heavily between them. But Jimin wasn't fazed by her fury. He was calm, too calm, and that only made Y/N's pulse race faster, her breath hitching in her throat.

She hadn't expected him to stand there. Hadn't expected him to just... wait. It infuriated her even more.

"You think you can just walk in here, and everything will be fine?" Her voice was barely more than a growl, but the edge in it was clear.

"You think after all of this, I'll just let you have me?"

Jimin stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. Every movement was slow, deliberate, as if he enjoyed watching her struggle against the growing pull between them. His eyes never left hers, the heat in them unmistakable.

"You already know the answer to that," he said quietly, his voice low, as though they were the only two people in the world. "You've always known it."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest. The distance between them was so small now, yet it felt like an eternity. She wanted to push him away, to scream at him, but every inch of her body craved him. The tension between them was unbearable, a raw need that neither of them could deny.

Jimin reached for her, his fingers grazing the side of her face, soft yet possessive. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, and she swallowed, trying to control the emotions threatening to overtake her.

"Why do you think you're here?" he asked, his lips brushing her ear as his hand slid down her neck. "Because you wanted this. You wanted me to make you mine."

Y/N's body responded against her will, her skin flushing, her breath quickening. She hated how much she wanted this, how much she needed him. But she couldn't stop herself. She wanted to feel everything-wanted him to prove that he could make her forget all the anger, all the hate.

Jimin's hands moved lower, pushing her clothes aside with practiced ease. There was no hesitation, no mercy in his touch. He wasn't going to let her run. Not now. Not ever again.

With a swift motion, he pressed her against the wall, his lips crashing into hers, silencing the words, the anger, everything between them. His kiss was hard, demanding, a physical manifestation of everything he'd built up in the silence, in the stalking, in the control. His mouth claimed hers as though he had every right to do so, and the fierceness in his kiss made her knees weak.

Y/N struggled to breathe as his hands roamed her body, touching her in ways that made her tremble. She tried to push him back, to pull away, but he wasn't having it. He pinned her there, his body pressing against hers with a possessiveness that left no room for escape.

"You're mine," Jimin whispered against her lips, his breath hot and heavy. "You always have been."

His hands slid down her body, caressing her skin with an almost reverent touch, as if he were marking her. His lips followed the trail of his hands, kissing down her neck, nipping at her sensitive skin. The more he touched her, the more she felt herself slipping-slipping into something darker, something she wasn't sure she could control anymore.

"Jimin-" Y/N gasped, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desire.

"You don't get to say my name like that," he growled, his tone filled with a possessiveness that made her stomach tighten. "Not unless you're ready to be mine. Completely."

She wanted to say no. Wanted to scream, push him away, and tell him she didn't need him. But when his lips found her collarbone, when he kissed the skin beneath her ear, she melted. She couldn't fight it. Not anymore.

He pulled her closer, lifting her easily as if she were nothing, and carried her to the bed. Every movement, every touch, was calculated. Every inch of her skin he touched, every time he kissed her, it was a claim. A claim on her body, on her heart, on her soul.

Y/N's hands trembled as they touched his chest, tracing the tattoos she had seen in those secret, faceless photos. His body, the ink, the jewelry- all of it. It was him. And in that moment, she realized she could never escape him. Not now. Not when he made her feel like this.

She reached for him, desperate, and pulled him down on top of her, her legs wrapping around his waist. Jimin groaned against her mouth, the sound of it sending shivers down her spine.

"You're mine now," he whispered again, more urgently this time, as if reminding her of something they both knew deep down.

Her pulse raced as he lowered his lips to her neck, kissing the soft skin there, marking it with the same possessiveness that filled his voice. His hands were everywhere, claiming her as his, branding her with every touch. She could feel the heat between them, the intensity of the moment, and there was no going back now.

As Jimin moved over her, taking control in a way that both terrified and thrilled her, she finally let go. All the anger, all the frustration-everything melted away. There was only him, only this moment, and she couldn't deny that it was everything she had been craving.

In his arms, in his touch, she finally understood.

She had always been his

And now, he was making sure she never forgot it.

He pinned her hands above her head as his free hand reached behind her back to unbuckled her bra. He leaned down to kiss her breasts and suck on her nipples “Fuck you taste so fuckin' good baby, just how I imagined” she whimpered as he bit down on it and moved lower and lower, palming her through her shorts.

He slowly pulled her shorts down with his teeth while making eye contact with her, she almost let out a moan at how hot he looked. He pressed his mouth on her clothed cunt, pressing his tongue on her before pulling it down as well.

She was beautiful, and so fuckin' wet— he couldn't help but dip one of his finger inside her, drawing out a whimper from her, “you've been fantasizing about these fingers for a while, haven't you baby? I've seen you use that weak little vibrator on yourself” she blushed, throwing a hand on her eyes to try to shield herself from the embarrassment.

He pinched her clit, receiving a surprised yelp from her— god she would be the death of him the way her pretty little eyes threw him a glare almost made him cum right there in his pants, he doubled down spanking her clit, it hurt so good it was enough to make her moan out his name and make her eyes roll back.

He smirked “I want your eyes on me princess, you've already been so bad…don't make me punish you twice. Have I made myself clear, doll?” She bit her lip and rested her hand on her side.

He spanks her thighs, “use your mouth pretty” he smirked as she let out a firm yes.

He bent down to flatten his tongue against her— fuck she tasted so fucking sweet, he moaned against her as he pushed two digits inside her sopping cunt, she gasped “hnngh hurts jimin…” he scoffed “if you're hurting with just my fingers how do you plan on taking my cock doll?”

She let out a pathetic whimper and he sighed “don't worry, I'll take good care of my princess. My pretty girls never been fucked, has she?” She shook her head, earning another harsh slap on her clit, “no..” she replied, her lips forming into a pout. Jimin snickered and picked up his pace, bending down to suck and lick on her clit.

He kissed her folds and clit, moaning and praising her. Her head was spinning from the overwhelming pleasure Jimin was providing. It felt so good.

He continued his ministration until she came all over his tongue, letting out an almost guttural moan of his name.

Jimin hummed and sneaked his hands underneath her, pinching her ass cheeks before flipping her over. She heard a muffle sound of belt unbuckling and his pants falling.

Jimin stroked his cock slowly, rubbing it between her folds making her gasp. She peeked over her shoulder trying to get a glimpse of him and the sight alone was enough to make her cum. He looked so fuckin' delicious— his tip a pretty berry coloured and he was sooo deliciously thick her mouth watered at the thought of having him inside her. Jimin noticed her expression and chuckled, rubbing it against her clit, drawing out a small whimper “pretty girl likes my cock hmm? Don't worry baby, a few more minutes and I'll have you bouncing dumb on it”, he pats her head, giggling when he sees her blush.

Jimin grabbed a handful of her ass, fondling it. He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy “your pretty little ass is still so red from the punishment earlier princess. Tell me, did you secretly enjoy it, doll?” she blushed, hiding her face and he kissed his teeth and reached down, sliding his hand up her head and grabbing her hair before pulling her up against him. She let out a startled moan as he pulled her flush against him “ I asked a question princess. Did you secretly enjoy your punishment earlier?” He asked lining himself against her “y-yes…I-I did Jimin” he slowly pushed him tip in, making her eyes roll back as she shook her head “n-no please not…not like this…I wanna..h-hold you please” she begged looking back at him and he hummed kissing her neck and pulled out.

He knew this was her first time and as much as he wanted to pile drive her into oblivion through the back, he wanted to make sure she's comfortable and felt good for the first round. He laid her down comfortably and got on top of her, “is this better my pretty girl?” she nods, and pulls him closer, circling her arms around his neck pulling him close and hiding her face in his shoulder. Jimin kissed her neck before reaching down to rub himself against her, “look at that princess…fuck your cunts so fucking tiny…how's my cock supposed to fucking fit in hmm?” He mused, chuckling to himself.

“It'll fit” she moaned, her chest heaving.

“Is that right princess?” He bit her cheeks, kissing her to distract her from the burn as he pushed himself inside her in one swift motion. He moaned, whining into his mouth. He sucked on her tongue, making her eyes roll back as she rubbed her clit.

He kissed her, squeezing her nipples teasingly. He gave her some time to adjust before pulling out. He was hitting each and every spot inside her. So fucking thick— her eyes rolled back as she clutched on jimins back, scratching it in process as he slowly started thrusting in and out of her.

He slowly picked up his pace. Her eyes rolled back as he started rubbing against her G- spot. Her legs clamped shut around his waist, pulling him unbelievably close to her. “God—fuck princess, don't wrap your legs around me like that of you don't want me to fuck a baby inside your sweet cunt” he moaned, his eyes wandering over her face as it contorts in pleasure.

She looked so pretty as he bounced her dumb on his cock, the only thing leaving her mouth was the moans of his name. She said it like a prayer. He loved it. He had been dreaming about it for the longest time. He kissed her, flicking her tongue with his own as he pounded against her sweet spot.

He felt her throbbing around him, his own cock twitched at the sensation. She clenched around him so tight his vision went blank.

She felt a sharp spank land on her ass “fuck— princess, shit— loosen up cmon doll, or I'll end up blowing my load inside your pretty little cunt”

Jimin moaned “fuck— that's right baby, cream around my cock, fuckfuckfuck you're clenching so hard—ahn, fuck that's right milk my cock for all it's worth, attagirl” as he fucked her through her orgasm.

“Inside, please…do it …I'm so..so close jimin—fuck, you're…you're so thick” she moaned arching her back against him.

Jimin groaned as he continued thrusting inside her, his hips snapping against her harder and faster. He pulled her In an open mouthed kiss, sucking on her tongue, flicking it and reaching his hand down, rubbing her clit.

Her legs started shaking and her vision went black, as she clenched around him and came all over him.

He pinned her hands above her and started chasing his own high as he came deep inside her. The sensation of him cumming inside her was so fucking addicted, she found herself beggin for more. Wanting him to cum inside her over and over again as he fucked her dumb on her mattress all night long.

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