Gnam
Gnam
Train the Bunny | JJK | Part 1

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)
Wordcount: 3.3k
Genre: smut, pwp, fluff (kinda), established relationship, idol!Au
Rating: 18+
Synopsis: the plot is sort of a joke…. Candy remembers she owns a pair of bunny ears and accidentally…. puts them on fresh-out-of-the-shower JK. Stuff happens….
Trigger warnings: Swearing, mild petplay, dirty talking, praise/degradation kink, switch Jk, switch y/n, powerplay, brief spanking, very descriptive oral sex (female receiving), fingering, hair pulling/face fucking (male receiving), unprotected sex within an established relationship (wrap it before you tap it!!!), squirting, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare.
a/n: thanking my betas @nervous-moon, @joheunsaram . Also @dopesportsoperatorzonk (sorry for the super long wait and for tumblr eating your ask).
Here is my masterlist! Enjoy💜✨

Jeongguk stood in front of the bathroom mirror, too inviting for you not to swoon from the bedroom.
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More Posts from Nervous-moon
Down the Rabbit Hole | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (Harper)
Wordcount: 9.1k
Genre: smut, bdsm!au, coworkers!au
Rating: 18+ Minors, please do not read or interact.
Synopsis: Harper is proud of being an esteemed professional and recruiter in the field she works, however her roles comes with many responsibilities she would be happy to set aside just once. When her friend Daisy accompanies her to a risqué soirée at The Rabbit Hole, she’s willing to stop teaching and start learning. But she didn’t expect for her trainer to be someone she know so well.
Warnings: coworkers getting a bit too spicy with each other, discussion of bdsm themes (suspension play, hardcore pet play, latex fetish, knife play and caging genitalia are mentioned as hard limits), negotiation of a bdsm scene, soft(ish) dom!Yoongi (Sir), sub!reader, praise kink, restraint (sub must keep her hands on the headboard), disobedience and punishment (overstimulation), making out, blindfolding, breast worship, breast slapping, safe wording from overstimulation, unprotected oral sex (female receiving), protected vaginal sex, cock ring, sensory overload, cock warming.
Thanking @joheunsaram and @nervous-moon for all the feedback, the beta reading and the making my life a better, easier experience. I love you 💖
Here you can find my masterlist!
Enjoy ✨💜 (Lemme know in the comments who you’re dying to read 😉✨)

Life can be stressful. Being the manager of an entire department was stressful.
What was even more stressful was how often you had to train new personnel, people rushing in and out of your office all the time, and working extra hours to fit in all the work you couldn’t do while tutoring and consulting had ran you down.
You needed a distraction. Something fun. Something unusual.
You needed to stop caring and start having fun.
That’s where Daisy came into play.
She was bright, lively. She knew what having fun means, unlike you. All work and no play, blah blah…
You had earned a night of reckless, unconventional, unreasonable debauchery and The Rabbit Hole was precisely that. A place of altered morals, a suspension of normality.
“We’re almost there,” Daisy chirped, looking around. Her Toyota was small, and you could barely fit your legs in the tiny car. “It’s over… There!” She pressed down her foot on the gas, barely perceivable, but quite confirmed by the excitement in her voice. “You’re gonna love it.”
You tensed your lips in a thin line, hoping that you weren’t getting yourself into something too big for your likings. “This place looks scary.”
The manor looked like an historical palace on the outside, artistically lit, a few people walking down the path leading from the parking spot to the entry door. Lanterns floated on the pond under the path, and some more hung from the trees. The atmosphere was inviting, seducing. If the goal was setting a sultry, classy mood, it had definitely worked.
“It’s just the vibe. You’ll love it.” Daisy parked her mouse of a car in an exceedingly large spot, both of you getting out comfortably. “You’re not used to pretty things. You’re too pragmatic for those. But you can enjoy them every now and then, you know?” She fixed her pixie cut and her dress. You felt awkward in your silk blouse and trousers, but at least you were wearing heels. Daisy instead – quite matching her nickname – was dressed in flowers, the skirt hitting just above her knee. And the green flats seemed to look extremely comfortable – other than complimenting her charms.
You didn’t know how she had ended up in a club like this, you were simply grateful of her knowing about it and being your sponsor for the night. You wouldn’t be able to access unless someone vouched for you. “Are you nervous?” she asked, her voice fairy-like.
“Just a bit,” you conceded.
She led the way as she chuckled. “We all are, at the beginning. It gets better once the mood settles in. My first time I ran out of the front door covering my eyes.”
You almost laughed. Almost being the key word.
The security guard at the entrance checked your and Daisy’s identity card. “You know it’s just procedure, miss,” he said, looking at your friend.
“Don’t worry, Minho. I know the drill. Wish you a smooth shift.” Daisy moved ahead and you followed her, bowing your head to the bulky man.
Inside there were several types of people already. Men. Women. Actually, more women than men, you could notice. “I’m vouching for you. It means that if you break the rules, we both get kicked out. Permanently.” Daisy’s stare was particularly poignant. “Don’t get me kicked out.”
You nodded. “I promise.”
“Once you hand in your papers, you will get a blue stamp on your hand. It means you’re a first-timer. The person you’ll be matched with will be prone to teaching you the Rabbit’s etiquette, don’t worry. Teachers are specifically trained and selected. They’re few, so you might have to wait a little until things get sorted out. Most of the times, teachers outnumber newbies, but not always. Let’s get to the papers.”
The idea of being trained instead of training someone yourself seemed to be an interesting switch. You could really use that. At a large table, you were given a pen and a set of sheets.
“This is your comprehensive paper. You will find questions about yourself and the ideal partner you would like to match with.” Daisy started writing quickly. “Everyone needs to fill it in, no matter how many times they’ve come. Boundaries and kinks evolve, so they prefer staying updated.”
The first sheet was easy. It mostly requested personal information and general health questions. Next, of course, a non-disclosure agreement. The third sheet, however, started getting trickier. “What does suspension play entail, exactly?”
“Tied up and lifted off the ground,” Daisy replied with quick efficiency.
You ticked the ‘no’ box and moved on. As you did with the question about cages and slurping food from a bowl. And the one about latex wear. And the one about knife play. And the one about the idea of caging someone’s genitalia.
Five sheets later, you were done, Daisy patiently waiting for you. You handed in the papers together and received a blue stamp on your right hand, – just as Daisy had anticipated – a Chinese character spelling ‘beginner’. Meanwhile, on Daisy’s hand, a bright green spelled ‘teacher’.
“Oh.” You blinked rapidly. “Does that mean that we could get paired up?”
“No. I specified in my paper that I prefer male partners.” She shrugged. “And only people I’ve already worked with. The fact that I’m a teacher doesn’t mean that I teach only first timers. Sometimes I take intermediate members into stuff they’re not skilled at.”
That seemed interesting. Through the night, you made small talk, meeting new people, listening, mostly. You used your words in few circumstances, sharing work experiences and nuisances from everyday life.
And then the jazz music playing in the courtyard stopped, a silver bell echoing through the silence.
It was some sort of signal.
Teachers were called out of the central courtyard, venturing into the rooms. Another category – unnamed – came next. It was like they already knew, group after group leaving towards the main corridor. Only you and a couple more people were left. A member of staff – you assumed – came to you. “The newbies last. You’ll be given room numbers, and inside you’ll find your match. You have the right to refuse to continue if you find your partner unsuitable, however I suggest you don’t base yourself on looks and negotiate in terms of limits and kinks. If we matched you, there’s a reason. Quite surely more than one.”
You signalled you understood, as did the tall, muscular man at your side. As did a lithe, fashionable man across the small crescent you had formed around the staff member. Two women beside you were the first to receive their notes, heading towards the corridor and taking opposite directions. Next was you.
“Number seven, miss.” You didn’t know what it meant except you were headed there. You reached the corridor and noticed a sign, ‘rooms 1-10’.
Room Seven was a few metres ahead.
You lingered at the doorstep, staring at the dark wood before taking a deep breath and knocking.
“Come in.”
You felt tense, almost too weak to lower the handle. And once you did and took a step in.
Oh Lord.
“Welcome to The Rabbit Hole–” The man comfortably seated on the bed lifted his eyes. “Miss Harper?”
Why the hell not even once you could get rid of your fucking job!?
“Hi…” you responded shyly. “That’s me, yes. And you’re Min Yoongi.” My trainee, Min Yoongi.
He looked at you, vaguely shocked before shaking himself off his stupor. “I surely didn’t expect to meet you here.”
“The feeling is mutual.” You chuckled embarrassedly, ready to duck and dive for the door. “I’m sorry–”
Yoongi stood, almost ready to reach for your wrist before regaining his composure. “Wait, Harper.”
You were conflicted but you straightened your spine and forced yourself to face the situation. “Yes?”
“I know you want to run, but don’t do it. Unless you think this is deeply unprofessional and we should not discuss what we like and dislike sexually.” Yoongi realised just how wrong that sentence sounded. Of course, it was wrong to talk kinks out with your boss, especially if you had been attracted to her since day one. “I mean… Does our job policy prohibit this?”
You knew it by heart. “It doesn’t.” And the fact that you had thought about it repeatedly since the day you first saw Yoongi spoke volumes about how you felt about him.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing in your opinion, Harper?”
Was he asking if you were attracted to him or not? “I…” You hesitated.
“Don't go quiet on me. It's not a hard question, is it?” Yoongi looked into your eyes and you quite didn't know how the diligent assistant turned into a demanding interviewer.
“I think it's— It's convenient. Sometimes.” Don't let him win.
“Did you happen to take this chance in the past?” Yoongi was ice cold. It was amusing and terrifying.
“No. I'm… I'm not interested. I mean, I never found— I always focused on my job.” You were stuttering. It was absurd.
He hummed and nodded. “That's very curious. And why is that? I'm sure you must have attracted many people with the energy you emanate. You're incredibly magnetic when you teach.”
You felt your face burn with embarrassment. “Uhm… I… thank you, I guess.”
He smiled. For goodness sake, how could someone like you, so professional and composed turn into a puddle just like that. “Do my compliments unsettle you?” He grabbed the papers from the small table by the bed. He stood up and chose neutral ground, sitting on an elegant chair in a corner. You noticed the papers on the opposite side and took them with you before sitting on the matching chair in front of him. A round coffee table was in the middle.
As he consulted what you knew had to be your survey, he stretched a hand toward you, moving his fingers in a back and forth motion. “Hand it over, Harper. You don't need that.”
You offered it, slightly reluctant; still, he didn't look like the type who would take no for an answer.
“I see you like being praised. Is that why you're so prodigal with compliments and rewards with your trainees? You liked receiving praise when you were a student?” He stared deep into your eyes and waited for your reply.
“I—” There was no way to answer that. You shook your head and stayed quiet, staring at your feet.
Yoongi studied your face for a minute before speaking again. “You're an incredibly restrained person, Harper. Why is that?” He licked his lips. “Am I intimidating you?”
“Yes.” That was easy to say.
He chuckled and you looked at him, noticing a faint flush on his cheeks. That made him look slightly less alarming. “I'm sorry. I've been told that endless times, but I keep making the same mistake.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Okay, let's start over. You take the lead.”
“Good. Ehm… I'm— I really don't know what I'm doing here. I was just looking for some fun since, well, I'm very invested in my job and it's been a while since I last relaxed and lived in the moment.” You fixed your hair and toyed with your bracelet.
Yoongi noticed your silence prolonging and decided to take over briefly. “You need someone to have fun with?”
You nodded. “So to say. My friend Daisy brought me here after I complained about my life being boring and all of that.”
His eyebrows arched and he smirked. “Interesting friend you have. Quite your opposite.”
You blinked. “The… Opposite? Did you sleep with her?”
He shook his head. “She's not my cup of tea. I just watched. We trained together.”
You nodded. As 'opposite' did he mean… “Wait, she isn't… a sub?”.
Yoongi laughed at that. “A sub?! Oh no, darling. But let's keep the focus on you. You said you want something fun, what is that?”
You pouted as you thought. “Well, not having to think about anything. Everything's already planned out for me, I don't need to worry, plan, decide. I just follow the rules.”
Yoongi smiled softly. “That's what I'm here for. But that means I need to be sure I'm making the right decisions for you and that I'm doing things that you like.” He grabbed a pen and sat down again. “Praise kink? Yes?”
You nodded. “Good.”
He placed a tick by it. “There are some more risqué topics, but I say we should keep them for when you're more experienced. No bondage yet, maybe when you're trained into full obedience. Maybe we could use soft restraints. Would you be interested in me blocking your hands?”
You nodded. “You would tie my wrists?”
He blinked, thinking about it before deciding. “No, not yet. Just hold them above your head with my hands. Or pin them behind your back. Nothing that can't be undone as soon as you dissent. It would just ensure soft obedience. Maybe have you grip the headboard or restrain you from touching me.”
You agreed. “That's okay with me. I mean, I think I'm obedient enough to handle restraints. I would stay still and—”
“Harper, darling. I can tell you're obedient. That doesn't mean you're trained, unfortunately.” He pinned you with his gaze. “I don't know how you're going to respond to me and I much prefer taking things gradually.”
You bit your lip, betraying slight disappointment.
“We'll do that next time. If you decide you want a next time, that is,” Yoongi reassured you.
You looked at him, mouth agape, causing him to chuckle. “It's okay. I see you're doubtful about impact play. Let's skip all of that. Oh, this… This, I want.” He circled it enthusiastically.
“What is that?” You stretched to read it, but he covered it quickly.
“I know it. It's nothing you need to worry about.” He stretched a hand towards you looking into your eyes. You hesitated before letting your fingers tiptoe closer to his palm. “May I?”
“Uhm… yes. Yes, Sir, I mean.” You looked away, your cheeks on fire.
He looked at you with curiosity. “You don't need to call me Sir unless you want to, Harper.” His fingers moved slowly, sensually on your hand. “It's alright, sweetheart.”
Your whole body tensed as his touch seemed to echo through your entire body. “Will this have any repercussions on our dynamics at work?”
He shook his head. “I can separate who I am in public and who I am here. Nothing will change on my behalf, but only you can tell whether you will feel awkward or embarrassed when we meet again in the office.”
You hummed, your brain working ten thousand miles a second as you tried to process the idea.
“Okay, here's what I would like to happen now. If you are uncomfortable, you can stop me at any time.” Yoongi cleared his voice and licked his lip. When he spoke again, his tone was deeper and more relaxing. Hypnotic, even.
“I would like to dim the lights, loosen up your blouse a little, since it looks very uncomfortable. Next, I would like to slow dance with you, earn your trust. See how our bodies work together on a more platonic level. And then we'll reassess things from there. Would you like that, Harper?”
“Yes, I would, Sir— Sorry, Yoongi.” You giggled, still confused, covering your face with your hands.
That was endearing, and Yoongi couldn't help but look at you with fondness. “Just settle with one, Harper,” he offered his hand again, and you grasped it, watching him grab his phone from his jacket and select a song. Once the first notes started, he stood up.
He had incredibly nice hands. You had noticed them so many times during his traineeship, how elegant and strong they looked. They could do so much damage, but still they always managed to look so gentle. There was something erotic and strangely reassuring about them.
Your arms bent at your side, hands joined together, he accompanied your other arm around his neck by drawing its underside with the very tip of his middle finger, the electric feeling leading you through the motion. The hand not holding yours settled around your waist, then on the small of your back.
You propped your chin on his shoulder.
“Does this feel good, Harper?” he asked, his mouth at your ear in a way that made your insides quiver.
You didn't realise your eyes were closed. You kept them like that. You could almost forget that the man currently awakening your libido was the sweet angel who was a little grumpy before finishing his coffee in the morning and that always handed in his assignments two days in advance so you wouldn't find all your papers handed in at the last minute and spend the weekend correcting them.
“It feels great.” You felt your shoulders relax.
“Let's scooch over to the light so we can lower them. Would you like that?”
You hummed. Could he keep talking just that way? Close to your ear… With that slightly raspy purr…
His hand left your spine for half a second, your eyes opening only to observe his thumb and forefinger pinch the dimmer and roll it.
It was unreal. Your entire body responded to the gesture — and you felt ridiculous about it, from the way you could physically perceive wetness dripping out of you and glazing your folds, your breathing interrupting only to come back quicker, shallower.
“Feedback, Harper,” he requested, his hand reaching your tailbone only to start sliding up your spine. It felt too good. It felt too fast — not in a way that made you want to slow down, but in one that made you feel like a needy, deprived, horny mess.
“I'm feeling very affected,” you replied pragmatically, making him hum.
“Good-affected or bad-affected?”
“Conflicted affected.” You replied, incapable of withholding a moan as his fingers started teasing your nape.
“Why are you conflicted?” He hoped you wouldn't hold back. After all, his only goal was taking care of you. Showing the kind of paradise he knew he could lead you to, and eventually get to see you again. Your paper was so interesting and he could see so much potential in unravelling you and initiating you to all the dark cravings you had confessed with pen and paper.
“You're a coworker. You're my trainee. I shouldn't— It's not right that you make me feel like this.”
“Like what, Harper?”
You hid your face. “Aroused.” You nuzzled into him. “Wet.”
He oh-ed in understanding. “There's nothing wrong with that. It's just your body responding to stimuli. You're just conflicted about associating them with the person making you feel that way.” He swayed some more on his feet, the song changing to something even slower. He slipped into the rhythm seamlessly. “It's okay to feel conflicted. You feel an ethical hurdle.”
Why did he have to be so understanding? “Exactly.”
“Do you feel like it's a hurdle that is keeping you safe or keeping you out?” He arched his head away, trying to look you in the eye.
“I'm not sure.” You had to look away. He was too much for you to handle. “I only know I'm tired of feeling so left out.”
He touched your face. “I have something that could help you, but it's a bit daring. Before we discuss that, I want to cover the safeword discourse.”
“Sure.” What was he about to ask you? “In the past I've used the traffic light system. I think it's the most convenient, right?”
Yoongi agreed. “Yes. It's the standard. For future reference, all teachers here are trained with the traffic light system, so that's the safest option to achieve the shortest time between you calling a safeword and your partner reacting.”
“That's very considerate,” you mused nodding to yourself.
“The experience can be pleasurable only if truly safe. That's the bare minimum. Which reminds me; what do you say if you're not feeling okay?”
You blinked. “Uhm… 'I'm not feeling okay, can we slow down or stop?' I guess?”
Yoongi frowned. “That's fine too, but I meant I need to hear your safewords.”
“Oh. Red to stop, yellow to slow down, green to go?”
He nodded. “Yeah, more like that.”
You chuckled and hid your face against his neck. “I'm so dumb.”
Yoongi helped your head back on his shoulder. “You're just learning. I'm here to talk things through and help you understand. Now, going back to our earlier talk, I could suggest a solution to the dichotomy between our institutional and private roles, but it could be very intense, physically and emotionally.”
You hummed, inviting him to go on.
“I don't usually do this on a first encounter since I tend to cover mostly chill stuff. Do mild things without really testing any limits, but this is really tiptoeing around the line.”
“Just tell me what it is already!” you complained, stepping back and looking at him.
“Okay. I would like to suggest a blindfold.” He gave a small tug at your wrist, inviting you back against him.
You followed his lead. His chest was beating like crazy against you, but it was very hard to believe. Yoongi didn't look like a person whose body could betray nerves or excitement.
“It's okay. I've done that before.” You stared at him. “I can handle that.”
He stared at you. He knew that different people meant different experiences, and that he would probably make you feel sensations that would overwhelm you and test your limits; still, he trusted your judgements and your ability to use the safewords.
He would just remind himself to check in more than usual.
“So you agree to being blindfolded?”
“Yes, Yoongi.” Your reply was followed by him making you take a step away.
“No “Sir” this time?” He cocked an eyebrow, amused. After he opened a drawer, he extracted a black silk blindfold, showing it to you. “Come here, Harper.”
You moved closer and lowered your eyes. “Good girl,” he murmured distractedly, slipping the fabric over your eyes.
Your knees were weak, your ears alert. You heard him move with stealth, a sudden burst of cold air rushing down your spine. “I'm here, darling.”
You clenched your core. More wetness oozed out.
“Now I'm here,” he spoke at your other ear, voice otherworldly. “Does this get you wet, Harper?”
You nodded wordlessly. Your eyes were useless. The blindfold was thick and the lights were too low.
And then his hands appeared at your waist, guiding you. “A few steps forward, sweets.” You did as you were told. “Undress.” He whispered.
You felt him leave.
Your hands went to the buttons of your blouse, undoing them slowly, tentatively. Yoongi took it all in. “You look magnificent, darling. Look at all that skin.”
You smiled and continued, wiggling off your shirt. “Like this?”
“Exactly like that, sugar. You must be so sweet, mh? Calling your partner 'sir', lowering your eyes, speaking when talked to. That's a good girl.”
Your smile grew brighter, Yoongi's ego inflating as he found the way to crack you. You weren't all that elegant when you took off your trousers, but he was too busy taking in the sight of your chest.
“Did I say anything you didn't like?” He checked in, shaking himself out of his stupor. Stop staring at her chest. Stop thinking she wants it fucked and marked.
“No, it's okay. I'm doing fine.” You felt awkward standing in the middle of the room in your best matching set.
You already knew it had to look boring to him, your breasts too large for underwear brands to match comfort and sensuality. The mere thought of it got you even more tense.
“Perfect. Would you like to keep your bra on?” He hoped you would remove it, but this wasn't about what he wanted, no matter how much he wanted to tie you up and cover your boobs in his cum until he was dry.
Comfortably, you reached behind you, huffing out in relief as soon as your bra unclasped. You did realise the sight of you had to be profoundly unsexy.
“For fuck's sake.” He needed to touch himself. He needed to find some release before making a mess of himself. His demure, practical teacher. His shy and composed coworker. Here. Naked. In front of him. With her breasts out offered to his eyes alone, waiting to be fucked and pleased. Controlled. Cherished. “Can I touch them?”
“Please.”
He stood up, crossing the distance quickly. The idea of not knowing where exactly he was made you a little nervous, but Yoongi seemed very thoughtful about it. “I'm right in front of you, Harper. Remember your safewords.”
You nodded, but still reached out before you, stopping midway. “Can I touch you?”
He startled a little. “Of course.” He took a step forward, letting your palms connect with his chest, still clad in a black button down. “Do what you want, darling.”
You traced his frame till your hands met his wrists, next you brought his hands on your chest, gasping just barely once his palms started shifting, lifting the heavy weight of your flesh, his fingers tweaking your nipples.
“How is your relationship with your body?” he asked, massaging your breasts, feeling the skin react with goosebumps.
“I like it. It's a bit plain but not too bad.” Your shiver was visible. It made him chuckle.
“It's not even remotely plain, darling.” He let his hands roam further down before bringing you closer to him. “Are you cold?”
“A bit,” you confessed, trying to feel him with your hands.
“Can I guide you to the bed?” He asked with a purr that made you question whether you would ever stop feeling so aroused by his voice.
You nodded, taking a step back only for him to grip your waist. His fingers sank in your flesh, feeling the tenderness of your figure. It was something you thought no man would find attractive.
“So soft,” he breathed out, his voice betraying some excitement. “You were going to step on your clothes,” he explained before guiding you. The back of your thighs met the mattress and you climbed comfortably, a bit confused when you didn't feel his body follow yours.
“Yoongi,” you whined, panicking.
“I'm here.” You heard the ruffling of fabric. “I'm just taking off my shirt. Would you like me to switch off the music?”
It was a bit too romantic anyway. “Yes, please.” You would also hear him better like that.
Silence came shortly after. And then his command. “Sit up, beautiful.”
You pushed yourself onto your elbows.
“Give me your left arm,” he said, kindly.
You blinked under the blindfold. “What's going on? What's—”
“I'm just putting a warm robe on you. You said you were cold and your blouse was too flimsy.” He kissed your brow. “Normally we use this for aftercare, but I'll just wrap you up in a blanket.”
He watched your lips stretch into a smile as you thanked him. You could see his kind expression with your eyes closed.
“It's all good. You can lay back down,” he explained with a calm tone. This time you did feel his body following yours, his hand on your cheek. “Would you like to kiss me, Harper?”
You hesitated only for a millisecond. “Yes.”
It was tentative, slow, seductive. His lips were rougher than you had imagined, dryer. Smaller. You parted your lips, trying to chase the sensation. Then you felt a hard edge.
Yoongi smirked. “That's my fingertip, darling.” Your lips closed in a pout.
“Oh, don't be grumpy.” This time it felt hotter. Your entire face felt the pressure of something closer. And then something skimmed your lips. “There you go.”
And there you went, his mouth hot and demanding against your own, your lips chasing him, your tongue searching for him until he finally complied, letting his slippery flesh slide against your own, conquering every inch you had to offer.
His hand appeared on your stomach, teasing you between moving higher or lower.
“My chest, please,” you gasped in between kisses.
“Your chest what?” he taunted back.
“T— Oh… Touch it, please.”
He did as you told him.
“Harder.”
He gripped it.
“Harder.”
He squeezed it.
You moaned and arched off the bed. That was truly hard. Almost painful. Just the way you like it. And then it stopped.
“Did I give you the impression that you can call the shots?” His voice was minacious.
And then the slap came.
It stole your breath. If he kept up like that, you would cum untouched.
And then another. “Answer me.”
“No, Yoongi.” You felt sorry. You really did. But horny felt more powerful than sorry.
“Just because I ask for feedback, doesn't mean you choose what goes on here.” Yoongi pressed his mouth to your ear. “I choose what you feel. How you feel it. You only need to take it and stop me when you can't take it anymore. Understood?”
You squeezed your legs together. “Understood.”
“Did you like your tits getting spanked?” he said, his voice thunderous.
“Yes,” you mewled out, intimidated.
“Great. Cause I loved doing that too.” He did it again before soothing the skin with his palms pressed to the curve of your breast. “I'm not happy to admit you're making it difficult to stay chill.” He kissed around your neck, going from side to side before tracing the path again with the tip of his tongue. “Hands on the headboard.”
You obeyed.
And next all hell broke loose. You felt his teeth sink on your left breast, pinching the skin in a way you knew would bruise. His hip was placed between your legs and you were trying, really trying, not to move in ways that would make him stop and punish you.
He placed his mouth around your nipple, sucking it intensely. You moaned.
He chuckled and nodded, moving his hips suggestively.
He watched you struggle, chest arching off the sheets to push into his mouth, but at the same time sobbing about the loss of pressure between your legs. Your body was on fire, your robe laying open and forgotten around you.
“Come on, rub yourself on me, I know you want it, Harper.” The way he called your name was a crime. Too sexy for you to handle it. You were just an instrument of pleasure in his hands. Or rather a victim of it.
He watched you grind on him, finally, moving to the other nipple to make sure both received equal attention. “If you manage to cum like this, I promise I'm gonna suck your clit too, sweets. Come on. Let me see you cum.”
You were aroused, agitated, restless underneath him, the pins of pleasure torturing you until all you could feel was the hot coil in your core tightening and tightening.
Your hands left the headboard, locking him into place, making him suck harder. He smirked and took more of your skin, using not only his mouth, but his head too to tug at the skin he was suctioning.
A scream tore through you. You don't remember the following minute or so, you can only recall the scorching heat of your orgasm, the way your glutes burned as you threw yourself at him with the most selfish need.
Yoongi appreciated your sounds. He reckoned the memory of them would be useful on nights he was left alone with his hand. The little gasps, the moans, the sobs and whimpers.
He was done for.
“Fuck me. Fuck me, please Yoongi, fuck me.”
You were there, blindfolded, chest glistening with his saliva, still trying to recover, and you had the audacity to ask to be fucked?
“What did I tell you about your hands?” He tutted. You could hear disappointment in his voice. You brought them back to the headboard. “What did I tell you about your hands, Harper?” he remarked.
“To keep them on the headboard,” you replied, obedient and apologetic.
“Correct. And what did you do?”
You felt like a child being scolded. “I moved them off the headboard.”
“That is a large mistake on your behalf, Harper. If I give you an order, I do it for your own good.” He slapped your sensitive breast, once. “There will be times when disobedience could compromise your well-being.”
You were too busy processing everything to figure out the implications of that. 'There will be times…'
He slapped your other breast, once, twice before pinching your nipple. “We can't have that.” The other one. “I can't have that.” He paused for a second and then he stopped all stimulation. “Gimmie a colour, Harper.”
You inhaled at the small moment of reprieve. “Green. Very green.”
He nodded — not that you could see that. And then a new thrill of glorious pain slashed through you. “Are you gonna keep your hands on the headboard?”
You nodded madly. He grinned at your eagerness. “Are you going to obey me?”
“Yes, Yoongi,” you replied right before you felt his body slide down against yours, a hot burst of air meeting your navel.
“You're so wet it's a crime.” He patted your legs further, settling in right between them, taking in the salty, coppery scent of you. To think some men don't even appreciate it…
He shook his head and reminded himself he wasn't like that. He grinned and pressed his lips to the drenched spot on your panties. He nuzzled closer, until he got you to gasp and grind against him. “All this goodness wasted on your panties.” He hummed in complaint. “I should have eaten you out first.”
You knew that not watching him do that would be a crime. The sight of Yoongi's head in between your legs was something that would torment you and arouse you for the rest of your life, though.
“I'm gonna take them off, Harper.” He exhaled against your inner thigh before hooking his fingers through the sides of your underwear. “I want you creaming all over my tongue, sweets.” His voice was nothing like the diligent intern you trained everyday. He was almost as if possessed by a demon. You felt the fabric slide down your skin, unhook from your ankles. And then his hands. So smooth and hot. Slightly sweaty. He ran them up the sides of your legs, truly feeling your skin. “Focus on me.”
As if there were anything else you could do. The moment his hair tickled your navel, it was like electricity. Like static. And what followed was the rest of the storm.
He was hungry, ravenous. If he could have swallowed you, he would have. He was sloppy in the most delicious of ways. You could hear him lapping, licking, slurping. It would be almost embarrassing, if it weren’t from your mind being entirely disconnected from your body. You wished you could be in his shoes just to understand what truly licking someone’s cunt felt like.
However, you weren’t ready to leave the receiving end yet. Your legs were trembling, you were pretty sure of that — not entirely though. Yoongi was making a quite serious job at holding them still.
“You still with me, Harper?” he asked lazily, lewdly. He wasn’t checking — he was teasing you, and gloating too. You hadn’t noticed it, but you were being so vocal he had to slow down to see if he could coax lazier, needier purrs out of you.
The moment you confirmed you were okay, he went all out, until he could no longer control your legs and he let himself enjoy the conquest, your thighs squeezing his head, his arm almost cramping as he tried to slip two fingers inside you and find your cervix, tracing around it, where the puffy ring of flesh met your pelvic muscles.
The way you clenched around him, another squeal leaving your throat announced your third orgasm, Yoongi more than happy that he was doing his job correctly. “Grab my head. You can tug on my hair, sweets.”
Your hands left the headboard immediately as Yoongi allowed a reward for your obedience. He enjoyed his stay as long as he could before you pushed him away. “Too much, Yoongi! Stop! Stop, stop, stop!”
At your insistence he realised you had forgotten about the safeword rule. “Harper.” He touched the outside of your leg, sitting beside you and removing your blindfold. “Hey?”
You turned to your side and clinged to him while your body spasmed in the aftershock. “I’m sorry.” He cupped the back of your head and held you to him, letting you nest into his chest.
“I’ve got you. You know you should have said the safeword, right?” He grabbed your chin and made you look into his eyes.
You nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m sorry.”
He simply rubbed your back with his clean hand, the other one hooked underneath your thigh, propping it up onto his hip. “Tell me what would have happened if I didn’t stop.”
You stared at him, trying to understand whether it was an actual request or not. As his gaze stayed insistent, you replied. “I would have cried and thrashed. I could have hurt you.”
He acquiesced. “A safeword is a suspension of consent, in case of a yellow. A revoking of consent in case of a red. If someone keeps going after your safeword, that is abuse.” He caressed your head. “If you ever come to play here again, and someone doesn’t respect your safeword, you need to report them immediately. Clear?”
You nodded, your eyes still veiled in panic.
He secured the robe around you, tutting and petting you. “‘s all good, sweets. You’ve got it.”
Your fingers were laced at his nape, your legs twitching uncomfortably as you squeezed your thighs together, still vibrating with sensations.
You hid your face against his chest before his hand reached for your hair and he kissed the crown of your head. “I’m here, sweets. You can ask me anything. A bath, candies, chocolate, a massage. You can ask me to leave, too.”
In response, you wrapped your arms around him tighter and pulled him closer, shaking your head. “Stay here, please.”
He nodded and soothed you with little touches against your thigh and your spine, tutting and rubbing his nose against your hair. It smelled way too good. He was getting lost in it when you tipped your head back, your eyes meeting his.
You stretched, your body adhering to his deliriously as your lips landed on his chin. He restrained himself for maybe half a second before he gripped the side of your face and held you still, pressing his lips square on yours. “We’re okay, Harper.”
You shook your head yes.
“We’re alright, darling.” He combed your hair back with a contemplative look in his eyes. “Are you ready for aftercare?” His voice was a midnight purr, a secret.
You shook your head no.
He arched his eyebrows. “More cuddles?”
With your leg hooked around his hip, you pressed him closer to you and blinked a few times before closing your eyes and pushing your pelvis against his.
“Harper, I need you to use your words,” he murmured. He just wanted to hear you say it. He just wanted to make sure he understood correctly — that you wanted him against you or maybe, even better, inside you.
“Fuck me. It feels so empty, I just— I want to squeeze around you as I cum. You must be so hot, so thick, so… So smooth.”
“You want to feel me inside you, darling?” He caressed your face and you nodded.
“Anything you’re willing to give, please.” You found the courage to lay on your back and spread your legs, letting the robe come undone around you. You gripped your breasts and started toying with them. “I want it so bad.”
Yoongi was still alert from his previous wrongdoing and felt like he deserved punishment, but he saved that negative feeling for his own wrap up of the night, when he analysed how he’d felt with you and with himself.
“We’re gonna use a condom, Harper.”
“Please, without.” Your eyes were wide and imploring.
He shook his head and smiled bitterly. “I’d rather we use one, darling, if you don’t mind.” His smile was gentle. “There’s nothing wrong with you, I swear. It’s just my rule to always use one, no matter how many health checks we go through.”
Your mouth formed an o-shape. “Dammit, I’m so sorry. It’s— Of course. We’re gonna use it.”
He smiled as he turned around and undid his belt, taking off his trousers and his underwear in one go. “Don’t worry about it, Harper.” He turned around and your gaze went to his dick caught in his fist. You noticed all its details: the colour, the shape, the fact that it leaned a little, the way his knuckles turned white as he squeezed it, precum oozing from the tip. “Maybe I’ll go bare inside you next time.” He smirked. “A picture will last longer, darling.”
You moved your eyes up, to his face. If you’d seen a picture of his dick you would have never matched it to him. “Your penis is extremely interesting to look at.”
“Even more interesting the moment you put it in your mouth — or so I’ve been told.”
You made to sit up and test that statement, but he blocked you. “Lay there.”
Once he made sure he had worn the condom correctly, he crawled in between your legs and grinned as he showed you something pinched between his fingers.
“What's that?” you asked, not actually recognising the swirls of colours and the purpose of something shaped like… Oh.
He stretched the thick rubber band. “Gonna make it last for you, Harper.” He kept it stretched wide as he slipped it on his dick, all the way to the base before he eased his fingers away, trying not to snap the rubber.
You were still hazy for the arousal as he laid down on top of you. “Hi there,” he purred. “Would you like your blindfold on again?”
You blushed to your ears as you confessed. “No. I want to remember your face when you cum and scream my name.”
He snickered in mischief. “If that’s the case, then.” He aligned his tip with your entrance. “I’ll make sure you call mine at least twice before I scream out yours.” And then he was in.
It was… There aren’t any perfectly fitting adjectives: all you could say is that you had to close your eyes to focus on him, on taking him, on squeezing him, on making his tip rub against your inner walls.
He grunted and went deeper, moving an inch back before impaling you. “Colour, Harper.”
“Very fucking green,” you managed to hiss through your teeth before throwing your head back, exposing the throat he was so eager to take advantage of.
He dove for it, biting, sucking, moving down your chest as you wrapped your legs around his hips and made more room for him.
“Can I touch myself?” You managed to ask, your voice so needy and high pitched.
He looked hazy when he looked up in your eyes, but still he connected enough thoughts to say, “Of course.”
And then your fingers between your legs made everything escalate too quickly, his thrusts becoming more frantic, his grunts and pants getting harsher, more breathless as sweat started beading his forehead.
For a second you thought about closing your eyes before Yoongi grabbed your chin and shook his head at you.
“Keep looking at me. This is my reward.” He slowed down until he stopped. “I worked hard to watch you cum like this, you'd better look in my eyes and show me how grateful you are, darling.”
Your brain was too fuzzy to reply, but from the way he steadied himself before starting to go harder you understood he wasn't expecting a reply.
The only thing he did expect was for you to obey and hold his unapologetic stare.
He broke eye contact only for a quick look down, to where your fingers were working your overheated core, squeezing him, hugging him, so tight right before your body held its maximum tension and snapped.
Yoongi gritted his teeth and smirked. “Like that, darling.” He looked at the way your breasts bounced while you rode your high, eager to get every ounce of pleasure while your eyes crossed, finally disrupting that shameless stare that you'd been sharing with Yoongi.
“You didn't scream my name, darling,” he made you notice once you were taking a brief vacation from existence. You were pretty much boneless at that moment.
You opened your eyes and felt him shift inside you. “You didn't cum,” you commented, disappointed.
He smiled. “Trust me, it was difficult not to. And that's why I wore the ring, sweetheart.” He paused and stared at you for some outstretched seconds. And then as he was still sheathed inside you, he pulled himself up to his knees. “But now it's my turn and I can go wild while you're still limp and exhausted, mh? I bet there's nothing better than feeling like you don't need to do anything.”
He grinned and pulled back before pushing in with all his might. Your legs were spread, thighs resting on top of his, your body abandoned on the mattress while his hands gripped your hips and pulled your naked, wet, open core against his pelvis, onto his awaiting erection.
He was wet, slippery and scorching hot, and you could only wish for the universe to one day reward you with his bare dick, no layers of latex in between.
“Finger yourself, Harper. You wanna make me cum? Then squeeze me with your inner muscles as you cum. I'm not doing it without you.” He made his hips twirl, his spongy tip rubbing against all the right places.
“Yoongi.”
“Yes, darling,” he said before exhaling with a moan.
“This is the best dick I've ever had,” you confessed in a rush of intimacy.
He hummed and changed his movement to a little upward curl that made your feet crunch. “Thank you for the compliment.” He chuckled and grabbed one of your breasts while with the other hand he kept pushing and pulling you on him. “I'll make sure next time is even better.” He smiled at you with mischief and something sweet before he slapped your breast playfully, not hard enough for it to be erotic, but enough to make you giggle at him as you purred.
“Those tits are huge showstoppers,” he murmured, picking up his pace and watching them bounce to his tempo. “Next time I'll fuck them first.” He slapped them again, one first, then the other.
Secretly you were already imagining it happening at your workplace, maybe in an empty storage room during lunch, you bent over a shelf and him fucking you from behind, your blouse open, the cups of your bra pulled down, his fingers tweaking your nipples until they bruised.
“Are you close?” was all that made it past your lips, your body wired too tight to voice anything but monosyllables.
“Almost. Come on, you first,” he gritted.
You held your breath and tried to form a pattern with your kegels, trying to work in tandem with Yoongi until you were overthrown by sensations. “I can't hold it anymore, please cum with me, Yoongi. Please.”
“Just take it, Harper. Take it like a good girl,” he ordered sternly. And you did.
You did so well he got caught in your tide and it overthrew him too as he abandoned his restraint and let his back flop onto the mattress while he pulled you up, your body so taut you found yourself in a position to ride him.
And so you did it, bouncing on him, swirling your hips before he caught hold of your sides and started shoving you up and down.
His name came out of your lips hysterically, with little hiccups due to the impact of your ass against his thighs while he bottomed out and pulled you up again, almost pulling out completely before he slammed you down again.
It was animalistic and frantic, your name leaving his lips over and over again together with the filthiest of praises.
“I want this pussy bruised and used, Harper. Such a good pussy you have,” he gasped and rambled on. “I'm not gonna let anybody use it. I'm gonna fucking serve it. Nobody can taste it, nobody can fuck it. No fingers but mine.”
You nodded and kept going. “Please,” you begged, your orgasm subduing only for another one to rise fast.
“No dick but mine.” He was getting overstimulated, but there was no way he would stop. He'd rather cry. “This is the perfect pump, darling. Fucking perfect.” He stilled and let you ruin him as he brought his fingers to your clit. “Come on, we're not done.”
“Yoongi,” you whined, but he was stronger.
“Be my good girl, Harper. Fuck my cock again. You want someone to give you orders, right? Someone who can fuck your brains out and not make you think, right? Come on then. I tell you to fuck, you fuck. Harper. I tell you to come, you come. Can you do that for me? You're such a diligent, lovely girl after all, aren't you?”
At that, a grunt left your throat and you collapsed on his torso, your inner muscles torturing him as his name tore through your lips and you came once more, finally, a earthquake making your entire spine quiver.
He welcomed you with his arms around you and shut his eyes tight, giving a couple strokes with his hips as he weathered your high. “There you are, darling. That's my good girl,” he praised you, already wondering if this would really ever happen again, if he could ever be your trainee again after this or if he would spend the rest of his month under you thinking of how sweet and mind-blowing it was to be literally under you.
He pushed messy, sweaty locks of hair off your face, kissing your forehead once he felt you relax. “You were so good to me, Harper.” With a fingertip skating down your spine he added, “So, so good to me.” And that same fingertip skated up, his digits burrowing deep into the hair at your nape. “How are you feeling, sweets?”
“I think I'm dead.”
He chuckled and pressed your head to the crook of his neck.
You kissed it absentmindedly.
“Tell me, is death as terrible as everybody thinks?” He fumbled to pull the robe from below the two of you and dragged it over your spent body.
“I'd be happy to die a bunch of times over.” You shifted your arm to pull the robe closer and cover Yoongi too.
“I'll keep that in mind next time,” he mused. “Sensory overload. Multiple orgasms.”
“And cockwarming,” you murmured.
Yoongi blinked, slightly surprised before he smiled softly. “And cockwarming.” He let silence take over for a minute. “Any feedback you'd like to offer?” He asked.
“Uhm… Only that maybe you should fuck my mouth and my tits before you fuck my pussy… Next time, I mean. If you'd like there to be a next time, I mean.” You felt suddenly a bit too naked, a bit too exposed, a bit too forward. “Oh god…” You felt your face heat and you tried to distance yourself.
However, Yoongi tightened his grip on you, his hand on the curve of your spine, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders. “I want a next time, Harper. And a couple more times after that. But I need you to tell me how you want it to be between us at work.”
You shifted to look him in the eye. “Are you sure you want to do this again?”
“Yes, sweets. But I'll start from your tits next time.” He nuzzled his lips close to your ear. “And then I'll go down on you. Again.”
“Don't forget about fucking my mouth. You promised.” You didn't know where this came from, but your shyness faded once confronted with your wants.
“I don't remember promising, but I guess I'll keep it in mind,” he admitted. “The important part is that I get to get milked by your magic cunt.”
Heat coursed down your spine, making you roll your eyes in pleasure. “You can get my cunt whenever you like, however you like.” You caressed his chest with your hand.
“Interesting.” His voice was so reconciling and peaceful. “But you still haven’t told me how we’re gonna deal with this at work.” He let a second pass by before he added, “But we don’t need to discuss it if you don’t know it yet.”
You bit your lip and started tracing the features of his visage with your fingertips. “We’ll have to be strictly professional.” You said plainly.
He nodded.
“But I guess there’s nothing wrong as long as I get to have you here, once a week. After all, I’ll be training you for three more weeks. After that I’ll have you assigned to another department so there won’t be any risk of misconduct.” You shrugged. “Not that there’s any actual misconduct happening, but just in case. I don’t want us to be jeopardised by this.”
“I don’t either.” Yoongi traced the edge of your shoulder-blade, reflecting on the situation while feeling your skin under his fingertips. It was strangely soothing. “So we’re gonna meet here next week, and do it all over again?”
You chuckled. “Hopefully.” You paused. “Here or anywhere else. I mean, here isn’t cheap, so if you wanna meet anywhere else, I wouldn’t be against it, but totally up to you.”
Yoongi hummed. “We’ll see. We can exchange phone numbers and eventually arrange something.”
“Absolutely.”
“Perfect,” he commented. It was time. “Harper, I need to go clean up, sweets.”
You inhaled. “Does that mean you have to go?”
“Only that I need the restroom — you should go too, by the way — and that I can come back and cuddle some more after I’m rid of the condom and the ring.” He tried to speak with a voice that could dull the panicky edge in your words.
“Oh, that. Okay, I guess.” You felt indeed calmer at his explanation. You didn’t know if you could actually sleep next to Yoongi, but the idea of cuddles… Well.
He kept his mouth pressed to your forehead as he slipped out. “Okay, I can do this,” he whispered, motivating himself.
On instinct, you tipped your head back before pressing your lips on his. “Yes, now you can,” you murmured after kissing him.
He stared at you. “What if I don’t want to, though?”
You shook your head and giggled. “I’ll be here when you’re back.”
He eyed you suspiciously. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
clamor | kth+jjk

summary⇢ “taehyung,” you say faintly. despite your volume, the blond man still manages to hear you, tilting his head curiously as you clear your throat and try again. “i think i left my keys at your apartment.” the entire air around him changes, eyes laser-focused on you, jaw visibly ticking under the streetlamps as he breezily answers, “ah, you know what, i think you did.” pairing⇢ taehyung/jungkook/reader word count⇢ 8.1k rating⇢ 18+ genre⇢ smut warnings⇢ YIKES 😭😭😭ok, here we go!!! sexual content, mmf threesome, dom!tae, switch!guk, unprotected sex, rough sex, cumplay, cum eating, oral (m+f giving/receiving), orgasm denial, forced orgasm, overstimulation, sloppy seconds, creampie, fingering, spanking, dirty talk, hand jobs, masturbation…i hope think that’s everything, this is a mess
a/n⇢ if you’re looking for any semblance of a plot, you need to take yo ass back to part one because this is pure filth!!! clearly i’ve lost my damn mind sooo… lmao i forgot i have somewhere to be right now immediately 👋🏾🏃🏾♀️ have fun
two dudes means two moods 💁🏽♀️mood 1 + mood 2
part one | part two

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Come At Me, Bruh | JJKxJHS

Pairing: Hoseok x Jungkook
Wordcount: 2.3k
Genre/Rating: +18, PWP, NSFW!
Tags/Warnings: Kink discovery, cum play, sexting, snowballing, blowjobs, brief mention of other kinks as Hoseok recollects memories such as blindfolding and forced orgasming, unedited chaos
A/N: For the lovely koobi enthusiast @hoeuseok. Please disregard the banner and title as I couldn’t think of either.
This is a commission for the ARMY for AAPI Advocacy and Justice! Please consider donating to get your own request fulfilled and learn more about the cause!
Read on Ao3
In Your Calvin's | JJK

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)
Wordcount: 9.6k
Genre: smut, fluff, pwp, established relationship
Rating: 18+ Minors, do not interact
Synopsis: Being Jeon Jeongguk's girlfriend is a great honour, but it comes with great responsibilities. When the commercial celebrating your boyfriend (very secret boyfriend) starts playing on everyone's and their mother's phones, it's time you face what it means to be loved by the most wanted idol of them all.
Warnings: Jealousy and general possessiveness. Swearing. Powerplay, switch!reader, switch!jk. Masochist!jk (?). Marking (hickey, writing on body with a pen), hair pulling (male receiving), edging (male receiving), spanking (male and female receiving). Teasing. Mild degradation. Dry humping. A very mild boobjob. Breast worship. Unprotected foreplay, oral sex (female receiving; brief male receiving), unprotected sex (be smarter, kids), rough sex. Mentions of cockring.
One last thing: 1. this was edited at 3am, please bear with me. 2. Sidenote: I try to be as neutral as possible with the way I describe the girls' appearance, however I wanted to specify that in this fic, I mention Candy having long, straight hair (and huge badonkers, but that's kinda canon by now LOL). It's just a brief mention, absolutely nothing major and holds no relevance to the fic, you might not even notice it; but still, I wanted to make sure I thought about my curly haired goddesses, and short haired queens, (or a combo of both heart eyes) and that I apologise for making this fic just a pinch less immersive for you. (Is this the right moment to apologise to small boobs princesses too? ily sisters, itty bitty titty committee 5evah)
Here's my masterlist, lemme just disappear very quickly. Enjoy 💜✨

You knew Jeongguk had a gig with Calvin Klein. You've known it for months. You've seen him cut calories and hit the gym and dehydrate for a couple days before the shoot because he explained to you how muscle definition works, and crucial to showing a great slab of abs is being basically as dry as a breadstick, to the point of being cranky because you have drunk three glasses of water in the last forty-eight hours.
Which all means, you knew his stomach would be quite surely showing.
And yet your world still stops once you're merrily sitting on your train back home and his half undressed form appears on the screen on your phone.
At first you slam your phone shut, mostly because you're used to hiding your boyfriend away and that's the reaction you usually have when you open one of his flirty pics from your chat.
Next, you realise you weren't on your private chat, and you weren't even looking at pictures in your phone gallery.
You were absentmindedly scrolling. On Instagram.
You unlock your phone again, and right there you're confronted with the very naked truth.
Jeongguk. Is basically naked. On your phone. And it's for the entire world to see.
Your brain slows down, as if the earth axis is tipping over a little in the opposite way.
Something inside you snaps around the third time the video plays in front of your unseeing eyes. To anyone looking at you, you could be just an obsessed fan taking a close look at the fine piece of art, but your eyes are unfocused, your mind too deep in thought to register any stimulus from the external world.
The vibration from the phone awakens you from your state of trance.
“Candy, baby,” says the adorable lover boy calling you. “Have you seen it already?”
Your lips are sealed, and you can't quite bring yourself to speak, you don't know why.
“I'm on my way back home.” You say, and the words feel like cracking a glow stick in your chest.
“But did you see it?” His voice isn't as bright now.
“I'm coming home.” You repeat.
He's silent for a few seconds, and you can hear him sigh. “Okay.”
“He's so insanely hot,” you overhear a girl sitting across from you comment.
“I want to run my palms down the sides of his waist,” says her friend.
You stare at them and you know you must look like a woman possessed right now, but you still allow yourself to incinerate them with a glare, as if your eyes could turn into flamethrowers.
“Candy?”
“I'll be home in ten.” And you close the call.
On the way back home, you hear more people talk. More girls fawn. More women zoom in.
On the escalator, you notice a woman fanning herself while staring at the screen. Another one even crosses herself as the ad from your boyfriend reruns on her phone screen.
Every step on your way home is utter agony, and once you step over the threshold, you're not sure what you're going to do.
Jeongguk is in the kitchen in a sleeveless top, tattoos out, piercings glowing in the gentle light of the living room. And his hair is fluffy, which means he's probably just done blow drying it after taking a shower.
The fact that the scent of his body lotion is still sharp gives you further indication of how recent that shower must be.
“Hey,” he says, turning towards you with a bunny grin, which immediately dims once he sees your expression. “Oh. Bad day?”
You bite your lip and stare at him a fair bit. Then, a bit more.
“Candy, love.”
You don't know what to do with him. Is he yours? Is he really yours?
How come you come home to him making dinner, and being freshly showered, and being so domestic? How come you're living in his apartment, knowing his pass code, having an ID card for his apartment complex and his studio at HYBE? How come he gives you a copy of his schedule and talks about you over the phone on his weekly call to his grandmother and brings you to his parents' house? How come you go on trips together and you're the emergency contact to his fur babies and you make love two to four times a week? How come he's brought you to the town he grew up in and loved you down in the place where he lost his virginity because, "I wish it had been you since the very first time"?
Who is this man?
Is he Jungkook from Bangtan Sonyeondan? Or is he Jeon Jeongguk, your very own quiet, shy, reserved lover boy?
“You're scaring me,” he whispers, putting down his wooden spoon and taking a few steps to stand in front of you.
“Why me?” you ask, staring at his collarbones, too scared to look into his eyes.
“What do you mean?” he asks back, sheepish.
This time your eyes meet his. “Why me? Of all the women out there, why me?” You look down, taking in just how average you feel, every imperfection magnified in your eyes, now that you have so many people you're comparing yourself with, and competing with.
“Candy—” He starts.
“Everyone, everyone out there is literally foaming at the mouth at that commercial, and I'm here? I come home to you? I make love to you almost every night?” You pause and laugh bitterly at him. “I'm a fucking fraud.”
He shakes his head and moves closer, grabbing your wrists. “A fraud, you say?” He tuts in disappointment, places your hands on his waist. “You're not a fraud, ____, you're my soulmate.” He leaves your hands once he feels them clutch at his narrow waist.
Possessiveness hits you all of a sudden, and it is only mildly ebbed by his hands landing at the top of your ass.
“I love you, and I make love to you because it's a fucking dream. You're a fucking dream, and I'm so upset that you don't see it.”
You're jealous. You're simply jealous. It's human and it's healthy to be moderately jealous. After all the comments you heard and read, it's fair to be jealous.
“I reckon you saw the commercial.”
“I saw the commercial and everyone's reaction to it,” you comment, slightly acidic.
Jeongguk bends to place a kiss below your earlobe. “Are you angry?”
No. Not just anger.
Your hands mimic his and crawl to his lower back, toying with the hemline of his underwear. “I'm not mad.” I'm disgustingly jealous and I don't like them having more of what's mine. They already have too much, they've always wanted too much and you always give it to them and I'm furious that it's not mine alone.
Jeongguk wears a mischievous smile as he makes you take several small steps back, the back of your legs hitting the kitchen counter. “Do you like it?”
You click your tongue and shake your head. “No.”
The reply startles him, and he feels his mood dim. Did he—
“I'm not a jealous person, but this… God, this hits a new level,” you finally admit. “They already drool over you quite enough, and now they even have a video of you shirtless. How would I not be jealous!? Half the girls would have snapped your neck. If Yoongi ever did this, Kitten would have his balls dangling from her Mercedes keychain. I don't even know how Lace and Princess are handling their boyfriends naked on everyone's phone. If I were Tae I would seek political asylum in Greenland. Or maybe Tibet.” You take a large mouthful of oxygen before you launch yourself in another tirade.
“Everyone's talking about grabbing your waist, licking your abs, tugging at your hair and shit and hi! I'm here! I'm the girlfriend! Sorry I exist! WHAT THE FUCK!?”
Jeongguk laughs and lowers himself to your chest, kissing where your heartbeat echoes like a crazed war drum.
“It's not fun!” you complain, significantly agitated.
“Mh.” He hums as he moves aside the hem of your shirt, meeting the soft, smooth skin of your chest. “It was supposed to come out on your birthday, that's why's a bit more racy,” he explains more patiently. “But they decided to release it early.” He kisses a tender spot and your left knee tingles a little. “It was supposed to be a slightly too public boudoir shoot. But secretly it was just yours.” Jeongguk finds the cup of your bra and stares up at you as his fingers reach the hem and slide the fabric aside. “I was thinking of you when I made it.”
And once his mouth wraps around your nipple, your right knee starts tingling too.
“Must admit I had to push the limits a lot to finally make you jealous,” he purrs once he is done with the licking, sucking motion of his mouth around your tender flesh. “But I'm sorry I crossed the line.”
What line? You think, your brain already hazy. No sharp line exists in the world you’re currently in. Just the loving, plush hills of Jeongguk's lips, the slippery slopes of his waistline, the sinuous curves of his hip bones leading you to his pelvis, and the soft curls of his luscious dark locks. No crossed borders, only gentle waves licking the shore, water and land embracing one the other.
“Remind me who's the boss here, Candy,” he says, and you know he's playing you right now. “Remind me where I belong.” His mouth is at your ear as he whispers, “Show me who owns me.”
The tingles are spreading as his fingers grab at your ass, his lips connecting with your jaw. “Talk to me, Candy.”
You’re not sure you can articulate words at this moment. Talking isn’t as easy as everyone makes it seem.
His eyes connect with yours and he can tell you’re staring at his lips by the poetic detail of your lashes lowered over your cheekbone.
It makes him chuckle, very gently, that he has all these details of you he adores, and that you have the audacity of asking him why he picked you, and why he keeps choosing you over and over.
He loves you, his family loves you, his dogs love you. This is the way it’s supposed to be.
His finger reaches underneath your chin, forcing your eyes to actually meet his. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he purrs, and as your lashes dart up, he shakes his head a little, loving the way you arch up a fraction, as if pulled towards him. “There she is, beautiful.”
You feel completely neutralised. Disarmed. All the storms brewing over you a minute ago are forgotten as soon as his sweet smile shines like sunlight above you.
His hand combs your hair back, cupping your cheek and landing a kiss on your temple. “Are you feeling better?”
You nod.
“What mood are we in?” You’ve asked him this question thousands of times since the two of you became serious, ever since he opened up about feeling too closed off to make a relationship work; and now, the fact that it was such a solid, valid ritual in your dynamics made it natural for him to ask too. “You need to talk to me, sweetheart.”
“I’m better. I…”
“Tell me what you want.”
You stare at him, at his shoulders, at his biceps, you trace his tattoo with your fingertip, and he looks closely at your finger, at it drawing swirls and circles on his skin.
“Pick me up,” you say softly.
And he does, immediately. His biceps flex and he grunts a little, not at the weight, but just because he knows the sound can make your toes curl, and he likes that a lot. His hands are wrapped around the back of your thighs, then they adjust to your bottom.
“Next? Counter? Bed? Shower?”
You kiss him. Impatient, and needy, you kiss him.
He opens up for you without hesitation, moaning at the sweet invasion of your tongue in his mouth. God, he loves it. It makes him melt, to feel your tongue slip against his, moving wet and sloppy, your lips plush and hot pressed up against him. He loves kissing you. Actually, he loves making out with you. He’s pretty sure he could come of that alone, and he tries to remind himself you have to give that a try. Another day.
He places you onto the counter because he fears his knees might give out on him. And once he has you there it means his hands can roam all over you and grab your chest and toy with—
“No touching,” you snap at him, gripping his wrists and pulling his hands behind his back.
His eyes go wide at the shift in pace, but he obeys. He also feels like he's awakening from a dream only to find out reality can be so much better.
You dig your hands in his hair and he hisses a little as you tug gently, but still roughly. You think of all the people who wish they could do just so as you stare into his eyes, seeing just how turned on he gets as you manhandle him.
You lean towards him and you notice him trying to kiss you, but you tug at his hair harder, holding him in place as the heat of your exhale fans over his parted lips and his chin.
“You want me to own you?” you ask him, watching his muscles twitch as he fights the urge to grab you and put you in place.
He nods. “Do me all the things no one else can.” He has a roguish smile as he adds, “Do me everything they won't ever, ever do to me.” And he is god of deception when he finally tips you over the edge. “Do me everything I want just from you, and you alone.”
You watch him intently, then tug at his hair so that his head is angled upwards, throat vulnerable and exposed.
He's staring at you with a mischievous glint in his expression, a walking temptation, and you can almost hear him say it, 'come on, do it'. And you do it.
You bend forward and sink your teeth in his flesh, the tender skin caving in as your bite marks him softly before your cheeks move into a suctioning motion that you know will turn into a bruise. It just pleases you so.
“Take a step back,” you order as soon as you're happy with the hickey. “Take off your shirt.”
And he winks before he does. You watch the plain of his chest, the valley in between his pectorals leading you down to his navel.
“I hope you're wearing your Calvin's,” you tease with a cocked eyebrow.
He smirks. “Always in my Calvin's.”
You snicker and shake your head. “Take off your pants.”
His forehead scrunches up in surprise, but he eventually obeys.
He's standing in a pair of socks and his white boxer briefs. At least he didn't lie, they are Calvin Klein.
“Do you want—”
“The Calvin's stay on,” you sentence, then you descend from the counter. “Head over to the bedroom. I'll come over in a minute.”
He stares at you, flabbergasted.
“Oh, and I almost forgot: don't touch yourself. Settle down, hands on the headboard and wait pretty.”
He blinks, unsure of where this is going to end or where it came from, but so blazingly grateful for it.
“Okay.”
You give him a quick once-over as you stand in front of each other. His abs are toned and defined, but now less alarmingly than the days before the shoot. His thighs are strong and you love how the material from the boxers wraps around them comfortably and smoothly.
You dare stare at his crotch, at the way the fabric traces the curve of his length, so perfectly long and so perfectly thick.
You allow your fingertips to trace the curve of his spine, so lightly that it causes him to close his eyes, his head inched to the side as he shivers in pleasure.
“Can I be rough with you?” you ask him, your hand reaching the small of his back and cupping the curve of his ass.
He moves his hands on you the exact same way you did. “Maybe I like pain,” he suggests, and from the collection of tattoos and piercings, but mostly from the supercut of memories of him getting bitten, spanked and scratched by you, you’re reminded that you’re not dealing with the edited version of him he has promoted publicly.
This is your boyfriend. Jeongguk. Your Jeongguk.
You sink your nails into the flesh of his ass, and he hisses but smiles, pulling you closer, swaying his hips to tease your crotch with his. “Go get ready, babyboy,” you croon.
He hums invitingly and kisses your neck, trying to get you to move with him, but you’ve made up your mind already.
“Go,” you repeat.
He pouts and grabs your hips. “Come on, what are you trying to do?” he asks, his brow furrowed, his eyes dark and wide and imploring for you to just follow him and spare him whatever cruel surprise you want to use against him.
You grab his wrists, making him unclasp his hands. “Go and you’ll find out.”
He hesitates and then he faces away, still reluctant, turning around a couple times on his way, checking if you’re following him — perhaps, maybe, hopefully…
Yet, you don’t move, not until he turns the corner to the bedroom. And then you make your way over, slow, unbothered.
And you close the door on him.
You head to the bathroom, wash up quickly, and equally quickly you cover yourself in his favourite lotion, taking special care of your neck and chest. Once properly buttered up and covered in nothing but pretty Calvin undies and his favourite Calvin jeans jacket, you’re ready to attack. But you stare at yourself in the mirror, and you feel like there’s still something you could do to give him a heart attack…
Oh, that, you think. And you get to work.
Apparently he has behaved, as you find him lounging in bed, with his boxers still on, his hands laced behind the crown of his head, a fine slab of abs in full glow from the dark amber hue coming from his led lights.
“Are we on a sunset gold kinda vibe— Holy shit.” He didn’t manage to sound as cool and aloof as he’d tried to be once his eyes landed on you.
He wished he could take a picture of you and spread it across town, just so he could stare at it while waiting for a bus, or hanging out at Hongdae with his friends, and excitedly point at it while tipsy to holler “that’s my fucking girlfriend, that fine piece of ass fucking owns me”.
He wished he could put you on an album cover and fill it with all the insane stuff you do to his heart and his mind and his body. How his heartbeat does a little hiccup thing when he sees you first thing in the morning, and how he’s spent every wish on fallen eyelashes over you, and making you happy, and building you a house and having fireworks for your wedding night, and having all his fans seeing just how incredibly fantastic you are to him, how you make him so happy and deliriously smitten and barely coherent when it comes to talking about you, and just… He just wants everyone to love you half as much as he does.
And maybe for you to be only ever in love with him, so he doesn’t risk anyone thirsting for you enough to steal you from him.
“What were you saying about golden lights?” you ask, climbing on the bed, your hand modestly holding the lapels of his jeans jacket together — it’s not time to destroy him yet.
“I— I…” He tries to sit up, but you push him back where he belongs with a well-placed hand pressed to the middle of his chest.
“Put on the red lights, love.” You grin devilishly, watching his doe eyes glimmer with wonder and disbelief.
“Have I ever told you I am one lucky motherfucker?” he says, staring at your neck, at your face, at your hand, his palms already moving to your hips as you straddle him.
“I just know it.” You sit on your throne — his lap —, stretch to the end table to grab the remote to switch the lights to red, and once the deal is settled, you let the jacket open. “I mean. I’m the luckiest because I have these, but considering you profit from them… You know…” You let your breasts show.
“I know…” he says, entirely mesmerised. God, he is so easy, you think, watching his eyes scan your chest like a cat playing catch with a laser light. You mix your standard level of charm with a slow grind of your hips, so slow and gentle that it’s straight up teasing, torture at its blandest level.
“You make it so hard to think,” he speaks with a strangled voice, trying to make you move the way he wants, but you grab his hands with the excuse of lacing your fingers with his, only to drag them back by the sides of his head.
“I didn’t know I could turn your brain into mush just like this,” you reply, feeling your folds moisten in an attempt to ease the sliding of your crotch against his length. Too bad both of you are still clad in your underwear and, according to your plans, would stay that way for quite a while, as long as possible. “You’re so whipped.”
“I am,” he purrs, and tries to get away with moving his hands back to your hips, but before he can dig his digits in the soft of your flesh, you tut.
“You’d better not touch that ass, Jeon. Keep your hands to yourself if you want my hands on you,” you threaten. “Just to remind you who’s in charge, sweetheart.”
His eyes go wide and he moves his palms back behind his head as soon as you finish your remark. “Yes, miss.”
“Good boy,” you praise him, and you visibly notice him holding back from smiling at the praise. “Did you see my little mark?” you ask. “Call it a slog
an of sorts. A vision statement.” You shrug and push back the lapels, hoping for the lights not being too low for him to see.
It has taken a while for your handy work to happen, mostly because it can be absurdly tricky writing in reverse, but thankfully you’re quite prone to graphic arts.
Jeongguk rises a little, getting closer to where he can recognise dark scribbles on your chest. Unusual dark scribbles.
“Is that… Tattooed?” he asks, and his eyes go wide as he meets your face.
You cackle at him, leaning over and licking his lips, sucking his lower one, then travelling along his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe in a way that makes his hips jolt against you, buckling. “I can't have that tattooed, can I? Unless the world knows and it gets a little too permanent.”
He frowns, not at the way he loses contact with your warm crotch, but because of the unwelcome realisation of what it means to not belong to you entirely. “I'm so sorry,” he sighs, trying to hold you, but stopping his hands before he can touch you.
He goes back to his assigned position and begs you with his eyes.
“Oh, no. Don't worry, it's okay.” To keep him distracted, you get back to a soft roll of your pelvis against his, and he seems to oppose, but it only lasts for maybe five seconds.
His wound-up exhale convinces you to reward him further, lowering your chest so that it drags against his as you keep grinding on him.
“Jeongguk, baby,” you murmur fondly.
“So unfair… That I don’t get you like a girlfriend like anyone else…” He speaks, his focus spotty and frail.
“What do you mean, love?” you egg him on.
“All the public stuff… All the PDA and the grand gestures. The stuff that makes it official, you know.” His eyes are glassy and fleeting as he speaks, and it really feels as if speaking were like making a necklace except he can’t quite line up the beads the right way and he can’t manage to get the string inside the hole and it takes a very long time for the words to finally turn into meaning and it’s all so frustrating.
“I don’t care,” you reassure him, and this time you’re not unaffected either, the sentence stumbling out of you before you can even fully register the meaning you were trying to convey. “Can you read the tattoo, Guk?”
His eyelids lift through great effort, and in slow motion. You stop moving to help him focus on the writing, and he grunts at the interruption. He does not like that at all, and having you so close, so soft, so hot and wet for him is making his instinct vibrate with need to be inside you, move inside you, and then finally find his release in the welcoming darkness of your womb.
“I—” He’s really trying so hard, god bless his heart, but he’s so unfocused and his vision is blurry and he needs to blink for a bunch of seconds before he manages to spell the message, and then compute it, and then smirk wildly before he bucks his hips up against you, letting you know that you’d better move on him.
“What is it, Jeongguk? Mind sharing with the class?” you bait him with a cheshire grin.
“Not sharing any of this,” he growls, and you can feel his arms jolt at the urgency to wrap around you, press you to his front and shove you underneath him, so that he can finally move as hard and as fast as he knows the both of you need.
“Oh, don’t be a greedy little boy! Don’t you want to test how it feels to say it?” you tease him further, ready to push him to his breaking point. After all, that is what you’re always trying to do, get as far as it needs to make him go wild on you, barely coherent and entirely animalistic.
“You want me to say it, don’t you?” he provokes you, feeling just how much the humiliation will further send you soaring over him.
“I do,” you admit.
He bites his lip and you look at him, you study the shape of his lips, the glint in his eyes, the dark shimmering of his lovely ebony locks, and the way his chest heaves with effort and arousal. “These tits own Jeon Jeongguk,” he speaks, his gaze piercing yours, holding you accountable for the undoing he knows will follow.
“That’s right, isn’t it?” Your smile is sardonic, evilly pleased with his admission of submission, with him confirming, with conviction, that he is indeed entirely enslaved to his fascination for your chest, that he is so deeply enticed by it that just a silly part of you can guarantee you his unflinching devotion.
“You know it’s right,” he grunts as your movements resume. And at this point, he knows this is going to take a while, and it will most surely turn out vicious.
“Just checking in on you, making sure you haven’t found a better pair—”
“Don’t you dare talk to them like this. Not in front of me,” he hisses with a passion, and you chuckle at how chivalrously he defends your breasts from your own ill assumptions.
“That’s so gallant of you,” you reply, your hands pulling his hair back, your tone fond and just vaguely lined with mocking. “Let them repay you for your kindness,” you suggest, as you start crawling down his body, your breasts landing heavily on his lap.
“Really…?” he asks, first distracted and then extremely alert as he connects the dots. “With my boxers on?” He says with a frown.
You shrug and smirk. “Maybe we’ll get rid of them later…” You sprinkle some kisses on his abdomen, your chest dragging against his sensitive parts.
He frowns at the weight of them, so welcome, and yet deceiving as the fabric is hindering him from fully enjoying the act. “Please, off,” he huffs, tutting and fussing a little, but you decide to reward his patience with your nails tracing patterns against his chest, your fingertips drawing his areolae, your eyes hungry on his lost, bewildered state.
“Not yet, love… Be patient with me,” you reassure him, tracing the rift in between the crests of his hips, one side, then the others, ricocheting between the bones on the two sides. “I’m going to make it so good to you,” you promise him, placing kisses all around the underrated perfection of his belly button — a huge ‘fuck you’ to the people salivating over him and never, ever knowing how such a minuscule inch of his body has you so irreversibly whipped.
“Candy… Mh, love—” His voice has grown unbearably raspy and airy, so light it feels almost incorporeal, if it weren’t for the velvet smoothness of his skin underneath your lips, like marble that has finally received the breath of life, your boy an ineffable Galatea.
“If you knew, Guk, if only—” kiss— “you knew—” kiss— “how sexy, and erotic, and exciting and poetic you look right now, baby. You look like art.”
“Lemme touch you, I need you, I need—” he gasps and you’re almost expecting him to release a groan before he comes, way too early, much earlier than planned. But fortunately he doesn’t, he holds back stoically and cants his hips away. “For fuck’s sake,” he whispers, an arm covering his eyes. “I need a second if you need me to hold back.”
“Oh,” you reply in surprise, lifting yourself off him. “Are you alright?”
“Just give me some quiet for a second, Candy, don’t you dare even speak.” Jeongguk’s chest is rising and falling in wide movements, enticing and captivating.
Finally he removes his arm from his eyes, but he barely makes eye contact.
“Guk?” You ask, worried.
“Just— I’m trying to keep it cool here, love.” He wiggles his body a little, trying to get his boxers to fit a bit less tightly around him. “We should be smarter about this, you know?” His hands clench as he stops himself from reaching for you. “We should get a cockring for next time.”
You ogle him, then smile excitedly. “Really?” you chirp.
“Totally,” he concedes. He smiles even bigger at your smile. “Don’t tell me you bought one already.”
“Uhm… No,” you admit with a pout.
“Dammit. It would have been weird, but I wouldn’t even have complained about it since it would pretty much save my ass right now.” He licks his lips, stares at you some more, and he groans and throws his head back at the renewed flare of arousal after he’d just managed to tone it down a notch.
“I’m so sorry, bunny.”
“I’m alright,” he admits, his tone defeated.
“Is this the right moment to suggest I ride your face?” you say, your grin now sardonic, almost drunk on him and the sight of his body shutting down for you, malfunctioning at the mere touch of you.
He stares at you, wide eyed, nodding energetically, like a kid being asked if they want to visit Disneyland. “Guess it took a half naked commercial to get you to finally ask for it like you own it.”
You roll your eyes at him. “Careful or I can keep going with torturing you. I’m liking it anyway.”
“No no no, come over here,” he says with a stern and determined expression on his face, his hands reaching for the back of your thighs. “I’ve been waiting. Get comfy,” he encourages you, and after some manoeuvring you settle on top of him.
He nods to himself, his nose nuzzling against the crotch of your panties, his mouth opening so he can feel your heat with his tongue, trying to get as close as possible.
Unsatisfied, his fingers reach to slip your panties to the side, but you slap at his hand.
“Nope. You wanted the Calvin’s, and we’re keeping the Calvin’s,” you scold him.
He frowns. “No, you were the one wanting them,” he argues. “Keep them on, you said.”
“Whatever.” You arch an eyebrow at him, but you also know he’s right and this decision has come to bite you in the ass. “Imagine how good it will feel once we take them off… And it feels a bit kinky to keep them on. Like… Like we’re having a quickie and everyone out there is waiting for model Jeongguk to come out anytime now, but once he does, well, he looks freshly fucked and everyone can’t stop talking about it— Oh, that!” you moan, your musings interrupted by Jeongguk trying to get bits of you in his mouth.
You’re thankful for the brazilian cut panties giving him plenty of stuff to work with even with the underwear still on.
“Stop me if it’s lewd but, dammit, I love the smell of you.” He drags his face side to side, basking in the damp, salty scent of your arousal. “I don’t even know what it is about it, but I like it so much.”
“Keep doing whatever you’re doing,” you comment, your voice breathy.
“Do you want me to keep talking?” he asks, and you just rub yourself against his chin, his mouth, and his words come out muffled. At some point you think you might have hurt his nose, so you ease the pressure a little, but he grabs handfuls of your butt and keeps you snug to his face, parts his lips wider as if he were really trying to eat you.
He parts from his designed heaven only long enough to announce, “I’m pushing ‘em to the side, fuck it.” And you’re barely coherent, and he’s speaking with that intimate lisp of his, his accent heavy, like he can’t pay too much attention to words anyway.
You don’t oppose.
In seconds, his tongue is tipping inside you, slippery, and so hot, and you moan without even noticing it. Everything is soaked, his chest is covered in perspiration, and so are your thighs.
You dare look down, and his eyes are closed as he is filling all his other senses with the sensation of you.
You bask in the sight of him, one forearm draped against the headboard of the bed, your other hand reaching down, to his fluffy hair currently tickling your inner thigh. You grab it, careful to be right between gentle and aggressive, in that way he finds so pleasant and sexy.
He opens his eyes suddenly, and the moment he finds your eyes already connected with his face, he finds himself more eager to give you just what you need to plunge into oblivion.
He gives you lush, slow licks, from your centre to your most sensitive spot, he takes his time, and moves into more sinuous motions, drawing curve after curve on his way up. He is unrushed, patient, and eloquent. He is luxuriant, explorative, curious.
He loves what he’s doing, and he loves you and he’s showing it, top to bottom, and all the way up again.
“Guk,” you breathe out, and it’s almost a hiccup.
“Yes, I know,” he murmurs against the bend of your inner thigh, right at the fold to your crotch. It’s so private, so sacred. It’s heartbreakingly yours and his and no one else’s. You’re in a shared space where nobody else can tell what you and him know.
“Please,” you manage to say.
He rearranges his arm so he can move two fingers along the seam between your legs, and then they’re inside, and he’s moving them right, rubbing them against the back wall of your entrance.
As you tip your body forward, he moans with his mouth to your clitoris, happy with the new angle, and once you start grinding against him, climbing your way to your climax, he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t go faster, he doesn’t add pressure. He does not change one single thing, and you’re so grateful for the way he has come to understand you, your body, your tells.
“Just right,” you encourage him. “You’re so damn perfect, love— Oh, there.”
That’s the last thing you can remember saying before he sets you off like fireworks. You don’t take much into consideration after that. All is fair, unless he’s holding you back.
You grind, hump, moan, thrash just a little as you get too sensitive and fold in two, your forehead pressed to your wrist on the headboard
as you shake your head ‘no’ but can’t bring yourself to stop from feeling everything he wants you to take.
When you manage to recover, you whisper, “Okay, gimme a second.” And you try to unstraddle his face, but he holds you there, and simply avoids touching your sensitive parts, removing his fingers from inside you.
“Are you alright, Candy?”
You nod and take some large breaths.
He moves your panties back in place, then kisses your mound softly, affectionate, innocent even.
“Can I do anything for you now, love?” He asks with a reverent, caring note in his voice.
You shake your head, still recovering. “Can I lay on top of you?”
“Sure thing,” he says, unlatching from you and leaving some room for you to realign with him, face to face, torso to torso, hip to hip, calf to calf.
He’s still hard as marble, and the gentle grind of your pelvis against his causes him to groan softly.
You press your lips to his to distract him.
The jeans jacket you’re still wearing gives him something to ground himself, his focus aimed entirely at the feeling of the fabric underneath his fingers instead of the humid warmth of your crotch pressed against his.
Just then, you bring your heels underneath your ass, rising to your knees as you swiftly remove your upper garment.
The way his focus moves immediately to your breasts makes you cackle a little, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.
“Candy, you’ll have to get that tattooed.”
“Nah, too dangerous. They might tell on you.”
He frowns. “You’re right,” he still agrees. Too dangerous. You’re dangerous to him too, and there are not many chances of him keeping some form of dignity if he could at any time see a tattoo calling him out for his undying liaison with your chest.
He catches your wrists, making you lose your balance so that your torso collapses onto his. And he keeps you there, wraps you up in his arms.
“Still jealous, love?” he asks you.
“More than ever,” you admit, and you look into his eyes, recognising the feeling pooling in them.
“I'm only yours,” he swears, kissing the side of your head, whatever he can reach, and it's so tender, so innocent, so magical. “What can I do for you?” he whispers, flirting with you.
You wrap your hands around his forearms and bring them up above his head. “No. I want to do things for you.”
You press your lips to his gingerly, then start to kiss down, tracking his throat and moving further downwards, to his chest, stopping where his heart thumps against the petals of your lips.
“Beats so hard for me,” you comment lightly. “Do I make your heart race, love?”
“You do, Candy,” his reply is strained, as if it hurt to speak at that moment.
“But I—” You let your nails tickle the flat of his waist, the elastic band around his hips— “I also make your dick hard, don't I?”
He moans eloquently, then chuckles at your teasing. “You so do,” he admits, embarrassed but also excited, and so so thankful for having found you.
You grab the waistband of his underwear with your teeth, letting it slap against his skin with a dry snap. “Grab a pen from your bedside, will you?”
You look up just in time to catch his eyes flickering open, his expression coming to life slowly. “What?” he asks, confused.
“A pen, from your drawer,” you repeat.
“Oh.” He had been too unfocused and he hadn’t realised you were talking to him, as if the words were just sound with no meaning; however, now he’s paid attention, so he stretches to the side, exposing the slender twist of his waist to your reverent mouth. You kiss him there, his body contracting as your lips attack his ticklish spot.
“You’re a menace,” he complains, giving you the side eye, but also offering you a boyish, loving smirk.
“And yet, you love me.”
“You’re lucky,” he says, right before you nip at his skin in reprimand. “Okay, I am the lucky one,” he concedes, returning to you with a pen in his hand. “You want this one?” he asks.
You nod and stretch for it, then peck the mole beside his navel and make your way down.
His underwear by now is bitterly persona non grata, still you make yourself okay with it and simply move the elastic down, exposing his hipbone more fully.
“What you gonna do?” he muses, propping himself up and staring at you bent over his pelvis. You look at him and prepare the pen, staring in his eyes as you suck at your bottom lip, torturing it a little as you think.
“Are you gonna mark me? Sign me up?” he asks, a mocking grin on his face.
You move the pen away and loll your tongue out, drawing a thick stripe following the shape of him in his boxers.
He immediately drops his cocky act and arches up, sensitive, holding on barely.
“You think you’re so smart, huh?” you scold him provokingly. “Remember where this is all coming from,” you remind him threateningly.
He gasps as your mouth sucks his tip through the fabric, your nails tracing the indentations of his quads.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You’ve got me.”
You nod to yourself. “I do,” you say, patronising just in the slightest. And because you can you rise, remove yourself from the way, and pull at his hipbone, trying to flip him around.
He’s alarmed, but he follows your lead. You straddle the back of his thighs, bend down, and move his underwear down, the elastic stuck under the fold of his ass, further emphasising it. It looks plump and delicious, and for a moment you’re caught admiring him.
He’s twisting his neck to try and see what you’re doing, filled with wonder at the way your hair tumbles over, and he’s mesmerised by the shine of it, the softness of the tips, like a brush, whispering at his skin.
You pick the right spot, then settle down, folded over his glute. His skin is hot against your touch and when you finally bring the pen to his flesh, you hope it won’t fail, despite the perspiration and the soft surface.
Shamelessly, you draw the words like an inscription on a stone.
Poetic, and dirty. Just the way you like it. However, you don’t give him the benefit of knowledge.
You lean back, watch your little handywork with a surging of pride and love and confidence. You smack it, just because you can, not hard, not soft either, just sweet enough that it doesn’t feel like a violation doing it without asking his permission first.
His muscles squeeze, and his breath catches.
Because I can, your brain keeps telling you, over and over, like a mantra. You’re allowed to. He’s yours and you’re the only one allowed to.
“You’re getting confident with this,” he comments, and suddenly your eyes are meeting.
He looks like something you would paint. Something you would dream of, and then wake up and sketch down in the middle of the night, caught by some sort of frenzy, some urgency mixed with an impending fear of forgetting, of losing it. Losing him.
“I’m gonna draw you.”
He doesn’t connect the words for a bunch of seconds. Not until you’re standing up and running out of the room and he asks himself, why, why the fuck is she leaving?
“Candy?” he calls, unsure.
He tries to see what in the world you’ve written on his ass, but you’re making your way back in the room, tablet in hand, and your steps are bouncy and your tits follow the movement so his attention is divided.
“What— Where—?” He’s confused.
And then you’re perched on the armchair at the corner of the room, and the light from your tablet reflects on your face, and you look spirited, caught by some urgency he can’t quite find a name for.
“Candy, for the love of—”
“Just a bunch of minutes. A quick sketch, no more.”
He’s been patient. He’s been understanding. He’s let you tease him, and he’s let you touch him, lick him, suck him. He still has your taste all over his face and chin and he still feels the phantom touch of your breasts against his crotch and all he wants is to feel you on him, around him, against him.
“Please,” he whines.
“Just a minute.”
He swells. Frowns. Thrusts his hips against the mattress.
“Almost—” you say, drawing a couple more lines.
You’re in his arms next. “Put that down, Candy.” His face is right above yours and he’s carrying you bridal style. “Put it down,” he repeats.
You're very still. He's looking at your quick sketch, at the way it was all a rough frame and some basic lines. “You're gonna post that? Share it as some fanart instead of a live portrait?” He throws you on the bed and you clutch your tablet harder, trying to save it from any damage. He's on top of you next, grabbing the device and moving it to his drawer before he returns upon you, blocking your wrists above your head.
“Are you maybe going to draw it faceless, so you can sell it as a picture, to decorate somebody's house?” He bends to your ear and nips at the side of your neck. “Let my ass hang naked on someone else's wall?”
You feel overwhelmed and surprised by his counterattack, not really knowing how to react.
He drags his body against yours, stealing a whimper from your lips. “I think you enjoyed topping a little too much tonight.” He flips you onto your front next, and you find yourself only mildly embarrassed that he's made only one tenth of the effort it had taken you to flip him.
He slaps your ass, and it is nowhere as playful or light as the spank you'd given him. It is his turn to grab the pen.
“Let's see if you can walk the talk, Candy. If you like the taste of your own medicine,” he muses, and he bites your ass cheek, bending over to start writing, but accidentally finding himself unable to resist the urge to sink his teeth in your plush flesh.
“Since I'm not a selfish asshole, I'm gonna tell you what I'm writing. Here we go, 'This ass likes spankings from Jeon Jeongguk'. What do you say? Is it true?”
You're panting, wiggling in his hold, trying anything to see the possessed look on his face. “It's true,” you admit, breathless.
He smirks and lands one more hit on your ass. “Damn right it is,” he says confidently.
He tugs your underwear off harshly, almost angry.
Soon he's naked, and so are you, and he's slipping inside you while you're still on your front, your hips arched all the way up, cupped by his hands. “Let's make this fuck more fun than your drawing, huh?”
And when he starts, goodness, you want him to never, ever stop.
He's ruthless, and he only asks if you're alright once, after three strokes. After that, all's fair, and he's ramming inside you in a way that makes you gasp and arch further, trying to get him even deeper, to an even better angle.
You can't really look at him, since you'd risk a kink in your neck, but he doesn't care. He only cares about his handwriting on your ass, and his name on it. He only cares about the way you're gasping his name, and sometimes, when he slams in at the right moment, the impact causes too much of your breath to come out, so the whispered begging gets punctuated by moaned-out, hiccuped syllables.
He smacks your ass a few more times, his hand tingling, but the spanks seem to make you happy, so he doesn't stop, and he doesn't complain either.
“You're jealous of me, Candy,” he manages to speak, slowing down just enough so he has more of your attention. “Do you have any idea how jealous I am of you? How hard it is to feel like you want to own me half as much as I want to be yours?” He's on his knees behind you, and his thrusts grow more patient, more luscious. Richer and fuller. “Sometimes I'm scared you'll leave me, and someone else will get to have all the wonderful sex I get to have with you. Someone else will get to see your face first thing in the morning, and become a character in your cartoons, and talk about you with their granny, and bring you home for New Year's.” His face collapses close to your shoulder. “What will I do with myself, then?”
You turn your face and you finally get to see him. “Flip me around,” you order him, but your voice is fond. “I want to look you in the eyes while you fuck me like no one else has ever.”
His hair is fuzzy with his perspiration, and his face glistens with a light sheen of sweat. “Sure?” he asks, in confirmation.
“I'm sure,” you comfort him.
He's only happy once you're below him, and he's on top of you, inside you.
You clench around him, and he frowns deeply, trying to control himself. Still, he gives a sharp jab with his hips, and it steals your breath.
“Like that,” you praise him. “I want you to fuck me like that. Like no one else can.”
His eyes stay wide open, stubbornly nailed to yours as he starts moving. It's hard and slow, and it makes you see stars.
“Do you still feel like drawing?” he provokes you, “Or am I fucking you good enough?”
You hiss and bite his arm, both to keep him humble, but also, again, because you can — and nobody else does.
“Maybe I could get on top of you so you can watch my tits bounce, and maybe that will make you want to draw,” you bite back, and next thing you know you're both sat up, you're on his lap and he's bouncing you on his dick.
“Definitely feeling inspired right now,” he concedes. “Maybe I should stop and paint them.”
You push him down and he's finally with his back to the mattress, you on top. “Or maybe you could shut your mouth and get busy so I can cum.”
The slap lands almost immediately on your ass. “Dirty mouth. And a fucking divine cunt,” he speaks through gritted teeth.
He lets you lead for about thirty seconds, during which he stays occupied with your boobs, grabbing them, slapping them, pinching your nipples, and then he grabs your hips and stills them.
“Touch yourself,” he orders your roughly before he starts fucking up from below you.
It escalates quickly from there, and in less than a minute you're gone, collapsing forward, against him, and he's so thankful because he's coming too and your kegels are squeezing him just right, and he only manages to say “fucking yours” before he abandons all his inhibitions and loses himself inside you.
You come back to reality only, and you find yourself tucked in his embrace, his body above yours. You don’t know when he flipped the two of you over, but you like his weight on top of you.
“Hey,” you murmur, combing his hair away from his face.
His expression is lazy and satisfied.
Well done, you tell yourself, almost giving a pat to your own shoulder. He looks fantastically fucked, deliciously edible and perfectly yours.
“Hey you,” he replies, with the most heavenly, blissful grin on his face. No, too tired to be a grin, more like a glowy smile. It’s not fully on, it looks like those battery-operated lights when they’re almost out of energy, a bit faded, or maybe pale. Faint, feeble, dim. Soft. Muted. If his bunny smiles were jewel tones, this was the most delicate pastel pink. A powder baby blue, almost robin egg blue.
You want to wrap yourself in the hazy glow radiating from him, gentle as a sunny dawn in late May.
“So glad you got those Calvin’s,” you joke, and there it is, bunny grin, ten million watts. Apparently that makes his battery die because his head collapses to your neck and he doesn’t seem willing or ready to lift himself back up.
“So glad I made you jealous. But also sorry,” he says, truly apologetic. “I’m happy we did this. I’m happy I saw you like this.”
His lips tickle the side of your neck, and you squirm a little, but you try not to move too much. You want to be comfortable for him to rest on. You want him to stay like that on top of you forever. “I’m still maddish. But I think I can deal with it.”
“There’s more pictures coming,” he says tentatively, and he makes the effort to pick up his head to give you a helpless look, trying to protect himself already by giving you the sweetest pair of puppy eyes he’s ever used on anyone.
“Oh, I’m totally getting your ass branded,” you reply, saccharine. “I was thinking I could make those ribbons, like the ones the police use, except I put my name on it and I wrap it all around your chest, so they can’t drool all over your abs.”
He laughs, and the sound is boyish and playful, and lovely. You fall in love a tiny bit more.
“Can I see the pictures in advance?”
He hums as he thinks about it for three seconds, except he already knows how he wants to play it. “Mh…” he says some more, keeping you on your toes. “No.” He looks up, testing you. “But let’s say I hope you get that cockring ready.”
You pull your head back, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re not naked in your Calvin’s, right?”
He grins, gives you a devilish wink. “Maybe.”
You grab his cheeks and squeeze his face and he laughs so hard you can’t be possibly mad at him for even a nanosecond. “You’ll be the death of me.”
“And your tits will be it for me,” he flirts back.
You shake your head. “Brat.”
And he kisses you. Just that.

Before he hits the shower the following morning, Jeongguk inspects the damage you’ve done on him.
He’s quite happy with it. A very faint bruise on his neck. A red splotch on his abs, and another on his hip, but nothing that won’t fade within one or two days. He knows you know the drill by now.
He turns around to inspect his back, and he’s okay with it, nothing that will get him in trouble in case he needs to be shirtless or generically undressed around staff members. He drops his underwear and it’s only once he’s making his way to the shower that he notices something strange on his asscheek.
Oh, fuck. Suddenly reminded of your little handiwork with the pen the night before, he bends to the side, trying to get a better view at his ass.
He finds himself wobbling side to side, like a silly puppy chasing his tail, and that is exactly the way you find him when you enter the bathroom.
A laugh bubbles out of you and you smack his butt playfully. “Do you need help with that?” you ask, cheery.
“No,” he bites back, but he has the most innocent, pouty look on his face, and he is having fun a little. “Maybe,” he concedes, his voice young.
You wrap your arms around him and rise to your toes, propping your chin on his shoulder as you hug him from behind. “I wrote, ‘Candy’s babyboy’.”
His ears go red, just the tiniest bit. “Really?” His expression is so sweet.
“Really,” you confirm, confident, serious, and loving.
“You’re not making fun of me,” he asks, vulnerably.
“I promise I’m really, really not, Guk.” You kiss his shoulder. “You’re my babyboy. And my sexy man. And just mine, generally speaking.”
He nods, a happy, fulfilled look on his face. “Right.” He’s once more confident. Entirely adult.
“Love you,” you reassure him again, and then you kiss his shoulder, again.
He grins. There he is, your boy. “Love you too.”

Hi it's Dita, the writer, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment to keep this poor gremlin fanfic writer motivated. Bye and I LOVE YOU!!!
Sons of Midas - Masterlist

A look into the love lives of seven men born into the glittering world of gold and privilege. And seven ways of love found, lost, and found again.
This series is a collab between myself and five other brilliant authors here on tumblr.
Genre: chaebol!au, angst, smut, fluff.
Status: Ongoing
Rating: R
Release Schedule: May 25th (Parts 1), June 25th (Parts 2)

Lavender Honey by @oftenderweapons
Namjoon x Reader | childhood friends, exes2lovers
Namjoon — man of many women, successful businessman is nothing but a rotten piece of soul living in memories and what ifs. His life is nothing but completing his endless tasks fast enough to hide himself in a sweet scent from the past. What happens when the gentle perfume waltzes back into his present together with the only one he ever loved?
Part One | Part Two

What’s Wrong with CEO Kim? by @hobiandsprite
Seokjin x Reader | bestfriends2lovers
CEO Kim Seokjin, the youngest president of Cuddlebug Toy Company, needs you. That much is clear. As his longtime secretary and trusted confidante, he can barely tie his shoelaces without you, but what happens when you take the leap to leave his company to start a relationship with him?
Part One | Part Two

Stuck by @honeyj00ns
Yoongi x Reader | arranged marriage
When Min Yoongi’s parents arrange for him to marry their top business competitor’s daughter, he’s less than thrilled, but being the filial son he is, he does what his parents ask to keep the business successful. You’re much less receptive to the news, and it takes your parents threatening your fortune to get you to go along with it. As expected, things between you and Yoongi go from bad to worse. It only takes half a year before it all comes to a head, leaving you both exhausted, heartbroken, and unsure of how to pick up the pieces.
Part One | Part Two

I Want You To Lie by @hobiandsprite
Hoseok x Reader | bestfriends2lovers, fwb!au
Best friends, exes, ex best friends, friends with benefits…there are very few remaining labels you and Jung Hoseok can continue to add to your unofficial list. Things have changed since high school, with the exception of one thing–you’re still head over heels for him, and he’s not.
Part One | Part Two

Caught in a Lie by @biaswreckme
Jimin x Reader | strangers2lovers
As the heir of the King’s Conglomerate, sweetheart Park Jimin has been spending his time at the hospital run by his father, shadowing his footsteps. And it is where his life entangles with yours with lunch dates, caring touches, and whispered promises. But what happens when he finds himself caught in a web of lies?
Part One | Part Two

Songs About You by @taegularities
Taehyung x Reader | childhood friends, fwb
Both of your touches used to fit your little agreement to fulfill your desires whenever you needed it - when had exactly these touches started to become a quiet whisper in the back of your mind that had you yearn for so much more than just careless nights?
Part One | Part Two

Glitter and Disquiet by @joheunsaram
Jungkook x Reader | enemies2lovers
Poised to inherit Korea’s largest gaming company in a few months, the world looks at Jeon Jungkook as a symbol of envy. Why wouldn’t they? He has everything, riches, power, and according to the rumour mill, endless women. Little do they know that his father’s company is on the verge of downfall, he barely has respect of his employees, and regardless of the rumours, he’s just a virgin saving himself for true love.
Part One | Part Two