boyfriend!jaemin x reader, kitten kink, used of good boy, bossy reader, making out
Fluff , implied smut , suggestive
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Who wouldn't like to have their boyfriend wrapped up in pretty pink lace? Certainly jaemin isn't against....
You walk into the room slowly, deliberately, holding the pink lace between your fingers like it’s nothing.
Jaemin’s eyes land on it instantly.
And then they don’t leave.
“…What’s that for?” he asks, voice already lower, playful but strained. His head tilts slightly, that familiar teasing look on his face....but there’s hunger underneath it. You smile, sweet and dangerous at the same time.
“It’s to make something cute.”
You take another step closer.
"And,” you add calmly, “we can also use it..."
"later."
You continued lowly, still holding eye contact with him.
That does it.
He bites his lip hard, jaw tightening as his gaze flicks from the lace, to your hands, to your face. “You’re actually evil,” he murmurs. “You know that, right?” You stop right in front of him, close enough that your knees brush his. Slowly, you lean in between his legs — not straddling him, just close — letting the lace dangle teasingly.
His hands move on instinct, sliding toward the back of your thighs to pull you closer.
You’re faster.
You slap his hand away lightly but firmly. “No,” you say, tone gentle but absolute. “You can’t touch.” He freezes. Blinks. His mouth opens.
“…Wow,” he exhales with a laugh, leaning back into the couch again, hands lifting in surrender. “You really came prepared.” You keep your distance just enough to drive him insane, watching his chest rise and fall. “Sit still,” you add softly. His eyes darken, but he obeys immediately, settling back, hands gripping the edge of the couch instead this time. “Yes, ma’am,” he mutters.
You step closer again, very slowly, close enough that he can feel your warmth without being allowed to do anything about it. He looks up at you, lips parted slightly now, completely undone.
“You can’t do this and expect me to behave,” he says quietly.
You tilt your head, pretending to think.
“I'm sure you can do it,” you reply. That earns a low chuckle from him, equal parts amused and wrecked.“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Maybe you are.
You settle yourself fully on his lap, legs on either side of him, close enough that he can feel your weight and warmth but you still keep control. He looks up at you, curious, amused, completely gone already.
“I wanna make you my pretty boy,” you say softly, fingertips grazing his shoulder as your eyes flick back to the ribbon in your hands. His brows lift. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Your… pretty boy?” You nod seriously. “Yeah. And you know what looks good on pretty boys?”
He already knows the answer, but he plays along anyway. “Tell me”
“Pink ribbons.”
For a split second, he laughs under his breath then immediately relaxes again, eyes warm, trusting, open. “…Okay,” he says simply. “Do whatever you want.” Your heart flutters at how easily he gives in. You lift the ribbon. “Arms. Please.”He straightens a little and lifts his arms obediently, exposing those ridiculously strong biceps. You start wrapping the ribbon around one arm, careful, slow, fingers brushing his skin as you go. The second the ribbon tightens slightly, he smirks and flexes on purpose, muscles swelling under your hands.
You immediately pinch his arm. “Hey—!” he yelps softly, startled. “Relax,” you scold, trying to sound stern. “Your arms have to be relaxed for it to work.” He laughs, rubbing the spot you pinched, then straightens up again, instantly contrite. “Sorry miss. I won’t move.”
You shake your head, hiding a smile, and finish tying the ribbon neatly around his first arm. The contrast of pink against his skin makes your chest tighten a little : soft and strong all at once.
“Good,” you murmur. “Much better.” He looks down at it, then back at you. “Do I pass?”
“For now.”
You shift slightly on his lap and move to the second arm, fingers once again circling his bicep with focused care. This time, he stays perfectly still, jaw clenched just a little, but obedient. “There,” he murmurs quietly. “Relaxed. See?”
“Good boy,” you say without thinking.
The words hang in the air for half a second.
His breath stutters. “…Oh,” he says softly. “You’re gonna ruin me.” But he doesn’t move an inch as you finish tying the second ribbon, sitting there patiently, your pretty boy, letting you decorate him however you want.
You tilt your head a little, holding the lace between your fingers, suddenly all soft again cute, almost shy.
“Can I tie… one last ribbon?” you ask, voice small, almost pleading. He watches you closely. “Where?” he asks, tone curious, low.
You don’t answer.
Instead, you reach up slowly and rest your fingers at his neck, not gripping, just touching. Your thumb brushes barely under his jaw, gentle enough to make him inhale.
You lean closer, eyes locked with his.
“I think,” you whisper, “you’d look like a really good kitty.”
A pause.
“A really good boy.”
The effect is immediate.
His teasing smile disappears, not replaced with tension, but something softer and far more dangerous. His eyes darken, pupils blown, completely focused on you. “…Yeah?” he murmurs.
Still sitting on his lap, you keep your touch light, slow, intentional fingertips trailing just a bit along his neck as you hold his gaze. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t interrupt. Instead of taking the ribbon back himself, he reaches beside him, gathers the rest of the pink lace, and carefully places it into your hands. “Then,” he says quietly, voice steady but obedient, “get to work.”
You lift the ribbon once more, hands steady now, and lean in toward his neck again close enough that he can feel your breath completely aware that you’re the one in control.Once you finish tying the last ribbon, you lean back just a little to look at him properly. And for a second, you just… admire.
Pink ribbons against his skin, his broad shoulders relaxed, lashes low as he looks at you like he’s waiting for approval. You smile to yourself, clearly pleased with your work.
He notices. “Well?” he asks, voice soft but hopeful. “Are you satisfied?” You don’t answer right away. Instead, you lift one hand and gently pat his head, slow, affectionate. “You behaved so nicely,” you say warmly. “Good boy.”
The reaction is instant.
His head tips back against the couch, eyes closing as a quiet breath leaves his lips. half laugh, half sigh. “You’re actually gonna be the end of me,” he murmurs. “You know that?”
While he’s distracted, his hands slide down instinctively, coming to rest on your thighs, thumbs rubbing lightly like muscle memory.
“Nope.” You catch his wrists immediately, playful but firm. “No touching yet.”
He whines — actually whines — eyes opening in mock disbelief.
“What? But I’ve been good,” he protests. “I deserve it.” You smile sweetly, completely unmoved. “Maybe.” Then you tilt your head, already reaching for your phone.
“Let me take pictures first.” His brows lift. “Pictures?” “You heard me,” you say calmly, adjusting your position on his lap. “Then maybe you’ll get to touch.” He groans, dropping his head forward this time, forehead nearly hitting your shoulder. “You’re evil.” You laugh softly, framing him in your camera anyway.
“But you’re enjoying it,” you remind him.
He looks back up at you, ribbons, flushed cheeks, eyes full of heat and affection... and smirks despite himself. “…Yeah,” he admits quietly. “Way too much.” And he stays perfectly still, hands obediently in his lap, letting you take your pictures.
You lift your phone and angle it just right, completely focused, lips pursed a little in concentration as you move closer.
“Stay still,” you warn lightly.
He immediately straightens, hands planted firmly on his thighs. His jaw tightens, clearly trying very hard to behave. “Yes,” he says obediently. Then, softer, “I’m staying still.”
You snap the first picture.
You tilt your head, checking the screen, then take another one. And another. Each time you get closer, adjusting the ribbon, smoothing his shoulder, brushing your fingers over his arm like it’s completely innocent. “You look really pretty like this,” you murmur, mostly to yourself.
His ears turn pink immediately and he just chuckles shyly. You smile but don’t stop.
He swallows. “Are you done yet?” “Almost,” you say sweetly. “You’re doing so good.”
That phrase again. His eyes flutter shut briefly, then open, completely ruined. “You know that makes it worse.”
You lower the phone at last and set it aside on the table, satisfied.
“Okay,” you say, tapping his knee thoughtfully. “I think I got enough.” He perks up instantly. Hopeful. “That means....?” You place both hands on his chest, pressing him gently back into the couch again before he can move. “Not yet,” you say. He groans loudly, dropping his head back again. “You said maybe.” “And maybe doesn’t mean now.” He looks at you again, eyes dark, lips parted, ribbons still perfectly in place. “You’re really enjoying this.”
You lean down until your nose brushes his, voice low and playful.
“Isn’t that the point?” For a moment, neither of you move. The tension is warm, charged, but still soft, trusting. Then you play with the ribbon around his neck, smiling and whispering :
“You can touch soon. I promise.” He lets out a slow breath, hands clenching once on his thighs, then relaxing again; still choosing to behave.
“Okay,” he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll wait.” And the way he looks at you, patient, amused, completely yours in that moment makes your chest tighten all over.
You suddenly get an idea and grab your phone again. “…Can you flex?” you ask, tone innocent but eyes very much not.
“Just once. For the picture.” “And for me to enjoy.” His lips twitch immediately. “Oh, now you want that?” he teases softly. He adjusts his posture, sitting a little taller, shoulders squaring.
“Just once,” you repeat, smiling sweetly.
“Sure,sure" he says rolling his eyes playfully.
He flexes. Just enough. His biceps tighten beautifully under the pink ribbon, muscle rounding and firm, veins faintly visible. The contrast is ridiculous: soft lace against pure strength. You genuinely stop breathing for a second.
“…wow,” you murmur, completely unfiltered.
He watches your reaction closely ; the way your eyes widen, the way your lips part slightly and his smile turns slow and satisfied.“That good?” he asks quietly. You nod without even looking at him, bringing the phone back up with slightly shaky hands. “Unfairly good.”
He holds the flex perfectly still, obedient like he promised, but his chest lifts with a quiet laugh. He loooooves this, loves being admired, loves knowing exactly what he does to you.
“You’re staring,” he says smugly.
“What? No im not,” you reply, hiding your face behind the phone, pretending to take another picture. So you take another. And another. Each one closer. When you finally lower the phone, he relaxes his arms and looks at you like he just won something. “Worth it,” he says confidently.
You crawl your hand up his arm, fingers brushing lightly over the muscle you were just admiring, eyes still fixed on him. “So worth it,” you admit. He exhales, clearly pleased, proud, adored, completely soaking in the way you look at him. “Careful,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to your lips. “If you keep looking at me like that… I’m not gonna stay patient much longer.”
You don’t hesitate anymore.
Your hands slide up his chest and you lean in, kissing him deeply, slow at first, then fuller, hungrier. Still sitting on his lap, knees pressing closer, bodies perfectly aligned. He responds immediately, a soft sound leaving his throat, lips parting for you like he’s been waiting only for this. One of his hands twitches instinctively, stopping himself at the last second, still remembering your rule, until your kiss deepens and your fingers curl into his hair. When you finally pull away, your lips are just barely brushing his, breath warm between you. His eyes are darker now, focused, dangerous.
You lean in close to his ear and whisper low, slow, teasing: “…You’ve been good enough.”
His breath catches. You pull back just enough for him to hear the rest. “You can touch now.”
The shift in him is instant. His hands come to your thighs like he’s been restraining himself his whole life — firm, warm, claiming. He exhales shakily, forehead dropping back for half a second like he needs to ground himself. “Finally,” he murmurs, voice husky. He slides one hand up your thigh, pulling you in closer, the other settling at your lower back, holding you securely against him. Not rough just confident now, allowed. “You have no idea how hard that was,” he adds quietly, lips brushing your jaw as he speaks. “You’re dangerous,” he says with a faint laugh. “And I let you do whatever you want to me.” His thumb traces slow circles on your thigh as he leans in again, voice softer now, almost reverent. “But don’t think for a second,” he adds, kissing you again, deeper this time, “that I’m not enjoying every second of it.” You smile against his lips, breathe still uneven, and murmur softly, confidently: “Oh I know you’re enjoying it too.”
That does something to him. He pulls back just enough to look at you, really look at you, eyes dark but warm, grin slow and unmistakably cocky now that you’ve given him permission.
“Oh, hell yeah,” he says quietly. Then, lower, playful but certain “But… my turn.”
Before you can tease him again, his hands tighten around you strong and easy and he lifts you effortlessly from the couch. You laugh in surprise, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he stands. “Jaemin—” you start.
He just smiles up at you, completely smug. “Relax. I got you.” He carries you down the hallway toward his room like it’s the most natural thing in the world, pink ribbons still tied around his arms, head held high, clearly proud. Once he nudges the bedroom door open with his foot, he lays you on his bed and looks at you again, smirking. “Come here,” he whispers softly.
And whatever happens after that doesn’t need words...
Ive just been SO busy with work that I gen don't have time to sit down and write ( or think) of any fanfic atm 😭😭
Im trying my best to manage my life and writing isn't my priority:( I might try to work on some really short scenarios or scenes but im kinda out of it :(
Hope y'all will be patient with me 😭😭 plz don't be upset I'll come back with GREAT things
you’re a college student working on a photography project, aiming to collect shots from everyday life.
one night you’re photographing a busy street, a blur people crossing the road. one person, though, is looking directly at the camera lense, him being the only one that’s unblurred, almost like he’s the main character of the picture. guess what? it’s Jeno!
I pictured him as a barista from the cafe you usually visit near your school — someone you know but not enough to have a casual conversation with.
when you visit the cafè the next day, he confronts you and tells you not to use the picture.
you write the follow up! i feel like it can make jeno almost hate reader …
hope it’s good enough! you can make as many tweaks as you want ofc ૮ ´ ꒳ ` ა
I FORGOT I COULD REPLY TO THOSE 😭😭😭
Forgive me I'm so sorry
I really love this idea I can picture it maybe jeno being upset at first cuz you kinda use his face without his consent???? But then you apologize and offer him something ( maybe the picture edited and printed) and turns out he actually likes it and thought you were cute.....
I'll start writing this one as soon as I'm done wih th whatever the fuck is going on with my life 💀💀
It's hell I'm sorry I barely have time for fanfictions and shit omg sorry
breaking up with Doyoung because you're holding him back from his career....right?
The call connects.
He looks exhausted.
Doyoung’s sitting on the edge of a hotel bed in Japan, hair damp, his shirt wrinkled like he barely had time to change after the concert. There’s sweat still at his temples. His expression softens when he sees you, but the fatigue sits heavy in his eyes.
“Hey,” he says, voice hoarse.
You try to smile. “Hey.”
You hesitate.
He notices it right away. “What’s wrong?”
You exhale. “You’re tired, Doyoung. You don’t have to talk if you’re—”
“I want to talk. It’s you.
” But the sharpness in his tone catches you off guard. He sighs immediately, rubbing his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just—tonight was rough. The venue, the travel. Everything.”
You nod, swallowing the ache rising in your chest. “It’s okay.”
But it’s not okay.
It hasn’t been for weeks. Months, maybe.
“We’ve been fighting so much lately,” you say quietly. “I don’t even know how we got here.”
He looks up, and for the first time tonight, there’s panic behind his eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”
You pause. The words are sitting on your tongue, cold and sharp.
“I think we should break up.”
He freezes. You hear the static shift in the line as he leans forward.
“No. Don’t—don’t do that. Not over the phone. Not when I’m—”
“You’re always somewhere else,” you say, voice cracking. “Always performing, always preparing, always giving the world so much of yourself. And I’m just here waiting, needing more, and feeling like the worst person in the world for even asking.” “You’re not the worst person,” he says firmly, eyes wide now. “You’re the only person I think about when it gets hard. I’m doing this for people like you—for you.” “That’s the problem, Doyoung,” you whisper. “You shouldn’t have to think about me when you’re on stage, or in the studio. You should be thinking about yourself. About your music. About your future.” He shakes his head, voice cracking. “You are my future.”
“No, I’m your distraction.”
He looks like you just hit him. “I’m the reason your mind isn’t fully on your work,” you say, the truth cutting you open. “I see it, Doyoung. I see the frustration when you’re tired and I call. I hear it in your voice when we fight because I miss you and you don’t have the energy to miss me back.”
Tears sting your eyes, but you push through. “You’re meant for more than this. More than me.”
His voice drops, trembling. “You don’t mean that. You’re just hurting.”
“I do mean it,” you lie, because it’s easier than the truth that you love him so much it’s destroying you.
“I love you,” he says. “I don’t care how tired I am. I don’t care how hard it gets. Don’t give up on us now.”
You can’t look at him.
“Let me come back,” he pleads. “Let me come home and talk to you, hold you—don’t end this like this, not like this.”You finally meet his eyes. He’s breaking, piece by piece, and all you want to do is take it back.But you can’t. Because if you stay, he won’t leave you. And he needs to leave you. He needs to be free to become everything he was meant to be.
“I’ll always be proud of you,” you whisper. “But I can’t keep holding you back.”
The screen goes quiet. He covers his mouth with his hand like he’s trying not to cry. Like if he says anything else, he’ll beg.
And you know if he begs, you’ll never leave.
So you end the call.
Not because you don’t love him...But because you do. Too much to let him fall behind chasing something he was never meant to carry.
-------------------------
It’s been three weeks. Three weeks since you sent that last text. Three weeks since you blocked him everywhere, cut the string, and let yourself unravel in silence.
You told yourself you wouldn’t look back. That walking away was the kindest thing you could do for him, and for yourself.
But today out of all places, of all days; you walk into that shop. The one where you met him. Where he’d once stood, tall,handsome, charming and a stranger. Laughing to himself about two different snack brands, and accidentally bumping into you. You’re halfway to the back aisle when you feel it. That sudden chill across your skin. The moment your body knows he’s near before your eyes confirm it.
You look up and there he is.
Doyoung.
In a plain hoodie. No makeup. Tired eyes.
He hasn’t seen you yet.
You panic. Your heart leaps and twists painfully in your chest. You duck your head and move to pass, fast, hoping to disappear out the door before he turns.
But he does.
Right as you walk past him.
His body stiffens, eyes widening with shock and a surge of something else....hope. “Wait—” he breathes. “Wait.”
You keep walking. He follows. “Wait,” his voice cracks this time. Louder. More desperate. “Please.” You stop. Not because you want to. Because you can’t breathe otherwise. He reaches you in two quick steps, grabbing your wrist gently. Like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he holds too tight.
"I’ve been going crazy,” he says, staring at you like he’s seeing the sun after weeks of storm. “Why did you disappear? Why didn’t you let me fight for you?” “I already told you why,” you say, your voice trembling. “You were supposed to understand.”
“I don’t understand,” he says. “I can’t. One day you were mine and the next gone. You blocked me, you vanished like we never existed. And all I had was one message: ‘I’m sorry, but I feel like I’m holding you back.’ That’s not enough.” You blink hard, trying to stay composed, but your eyes burn. “I didn’t vanish. I stepped out of the way. You needed to focus.” “On what?” he snaps, hurt written all over him. “My career? My solo? You think I can focus now? I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I go on stage and pretend everything’s fine, but I feel the hole you left every second of the day.” Your voice breaks, low and bitter. “Even when we were together, you couldn’t focus.”
He stops.
You look at him then, your eyes finally locking. “You were always so careful. So tense. Like if you didn’t text fast enough or call enough, I’d be upset. You were working and still trying to hold me together and I hated that. I hated being that.”
His lips part, but you keep going.
“I wanted more than just calls in the middle of the night when you were half asleep. More than countdowns until the next tour. I wanted… you. Fully. But I know I can’t ask for that. Because you don’t have that to give right now.” He exhales shakily, his hand dropping from your wrist. “You think you were the one holding me back. But breaking up with me? That’s what broke me.”
Silence hangs.
“I loved you so much,” you whisper.
“I still love you,” he says. No hesitation. “Even if you block me again. Even if you walk out that door. I don’t care how busy I am. I want to try again.” You feel yourself shaking. “You’re saying that now. But when the next round of schedules start, and you’re halfway across the world, I’ll be here again feeling like a burden.” His eyes glisten. “Then let me prove you’re not. Let me prove that we can be something, even in the mess. Please.”
You look at him, trembling between love and logic. Your heart pulling one way, your mind the other.
It would be so easy to say yes.
So easy to fall into him again.
But easy doesn’t mean right.
And right doesn’t always mean forever.
-
Hope you enjoyed!!!
(Idk why the paragraphs are always so weird when I copy paste from notes 😭)
why do girls have to be touching up your boyfriend's lips :(
You’re sitting just off to the side, watching Mark in the makeup chair as he gets his final touch-ups before the shoot. His stylists move around him efficiently, but your eyes are fixed on one in particular; the makeup artist carefully dabbing at his lips with her pen. Again. And again. And again. You narrow your eyes without meaning to, a little sulky glare slipping onto your face every time her hand goes near his mouth. She’s just doing her job, sure but did she really have to be that close? Mark notices instantly. Of course he does. He squeezes your hand where it rests between his fingers, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin. His lips twitch into a small smile as he bites back a chuckle, his eyes flicking toward you soft, amused, those big brown eyes full of affection. He’s clearly enjoying this. The next time the pen touches his lips, he glances right at you again, laughter dancing in his eyes now. You huff quietly, crossing your legs and trying to look at your phone instead but your other hand stays locked in his, his grip warm and comforting.
“She’s just fixing my lip line, baby,” he murmurs under his breath, low enough that only you can hear. “I know,” you mutter back, still sulking, avoiding his gaze because you know he’s smirking.
Mark chuckles again, the sound soft, private.
The moment they call wrap on makeup, Mark stands up from the chair, still holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The room buzzes with movement ; staff packing up palettes and brushes, lights adjusting, assistants chatting but you’re still in your little bubble, fingers curled around his stubbornly. You’re still pouting. Still sulking. Still grumbling under your breath about how unfair it was that someone else got to touch his lips, even with a brush. Mark lets out a low chuckle, squeezing your hand as he turns toward you. “Baby,” he whines softly, dragging the word out in that playful tone he knows gets to you, “don’t be like this...look at your face…” He pokes your cheek gently with his free hand, like it’ll force the pout away. But you only pout harder. He laughs, he can’t help it. And before you can spit out another dramatic little complaint, he steps in closer and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you right into him.
“Still mine, right?” he murmurs, dipping his head as your rant trails off mid-sentence. You’re caught off guard by how close he is, how soft his voice sounds when it’s just for you. You’re about to reply, but he’s already pressing a kiss to your pout. Just once, then again, lingering this time, like he’s trying to kiss the sulk straight off your lips. You sigh into the kiss, annoyed but undeniably melting. “It’s just not fair,” you whisper against his mouth, fingers sliding up to cup the sides of his head. “You’re mine.” “I am yours,” he breathes, grinning now.
And then you kiss him.
Once. Then again. And again. A whole flurry of soft little kisses, your hands gentle in his hair, his fingers tightening just a bit at your waist each time your lips find his. He lets out this helpless, breathy laugh in between kisses, letting you steal as many as you want. “You’re really not mad, huh?” he teases, voice low and warm. You shake your head as you kiss him once more. “No,” you whisper, “but you’re not allowed to be this pretty when other people are around.”
He smiles into your mouth like he’s won the lottery. “Deal. As long as you keep doing that.”
hi! I haven't forgot about you guys requests! I'm just really busy with work and I'm trying to get better mentally!!
I also take time bc I have a hard time picturing members in "real life" boyfriends scenario and I want to write them the best way possible. So I need some time to actually think about how they would act etc etc!!
Inspired by THIS clip...... yea mark being a gentle boyfriend makes you all hot and....
It’s a warm afternoon, sun high in the sky, and you and Mark are tucked away at a little outdoor café, just far enough from the crowd to feel like you’re in your own world. The table’s small, your knees brushing his under it, and you’re sitting side by side on the same bench seat, closer than usual, but it feels natural, like you’re both pulled toward each other without thinking.
You’re wearing THAT mini skirt, the one that makes his eyes linger a second too long and his ears turn just a little pink when he first sees you. He had stared for a bit when you walked up, lips parting like he was about to say something, but instead he just handed you his jacket, murmuring softly, “Here. Just in case, baby.” Now the jacket’s draped over your lap, legs crossed, your thigh pressed up against his jeans. You’re animated, chatting about something, maybe retelling a funny story from the night before, hands moving as you talk. You’re caught up in it, eyes shining, and without realizing it, your hand gestures shift the jacket slightly, hiking it up just enough to reveal a teasing bit of bare thigh. Mark doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even glance down. His gaze stays locked on your face, soft and focused, a little amused. But one of his hands slides down casually beneath the table, fingertips brushing along the skin of your exposed thigh; slow, warm, purposeful.
You falter just a second in your story, breath catching when you feel him gently pull the jacket back over your legs. His fingers graze you as he does it, a whisper of a touch, deliberate but subtle. Still, he’s nodding like he’s fully listening, his voice low and smooth when he says, “Oh yeah?” like nothing just happened, like he didn’t just make your pulse spike and your cheeks flush with heat. He catches the change in your expression instantly, the way your eyes go slightly wide and your lips part with a flustered little breath. The corner of his mouth twitches, the tiniest smirk forming, but he doesn’t say a word. Just sits there, hand now resting innocently on your knee, his thumb stroking slow circles like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
“You okay?” he asks softly, leaning a little closer so only you can hear. “I’m, um…” You let out a shaky breath. “I’m kind of… distracted.”He tilted his head, curious, slightly amused. “Distracted?”
You nodded, giving him a look you knew he’d understand: soft, needy, with the tiniest tilt of your head toward the parking lot outside. “Do you wanna… get out of here?”
His hand froze. His eyes darkened almost instantly. He knew.
Then a slow smile crept across his lips, and he leaned forward just enough for only you to hear. “Yeah?” he whispered, voice low and teasing. “Where’d you have in mind, pretty?”You tried to stay cool, but your voice betrayed you,quiet, desperate, barely a breath.
“Your car.”
He stood up a second later, offering you his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. You laced your fingers with his, and the moment you stepped out into the cool air, you felt it: the way his grip tightened slightly, like he finally understood what he’d done to you.
And the second the car door shut behind you, you know you were in for a ride.
boyfriend!mark x reader, kitten kink, used of good boy, mark wants to be good
fluff, smut(?)
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why did mark let other people tie a pink ribbon around his neck :(
kitten mark does something to me
You walked in slowly, deliberately, the soft creak of the floor the only sound in the room. Mark sat on the couch, legs spread, scrolling on his phone in sweats and a simple tee. But the moment he looked up, the device slipped from his hands and landed beside him with a dull thud.
His eyes widened just a little. You were wearing his t-shirt, nothing else visible except the teasing peek of black lace underneath, hugging your hips, and the soft pink ribbon dangling from your fingers. The smirk on your lips? Dangerous.
“Baby…” he breathed, eyes already dipping to your legs and back up to your face, “what are you up to?”
You stopped in front of him, leaning forward just enough to pout, your voice dripping with honeyed seduction. “I saw that content you were in… the one where they tied a ribbon on you. Made you look like a pretty little cat.”
Mark blinked, his ears already starting to turn pink. “You mean the shoot with—”
You cut him off with a dramatic little whine, swatting away the hands that had come up to grab your thighs. “No touching,” you said firmly. “You let them do it. You let someone else tie a ribbon on you, like a good kitty. But not me.” Mark let out a nervous, guilty chuckle, already looking like he was falling apart. “You’re jealous over a ribbon, baby?” You tilted your head, biting your lip just a little. “I want to tie one on you. Myself . Not for the camera. For me.” That’s all it took. He sank back against the couch cushion, eyes wide and full of need as he nodded once. “Okay… okay, yeah. Tie it.”
You climbed into his lap slowly, feeling the way his breath hitched, his hands trembling just slightly on your thighs but this time he didn’t move them, didn’t dare. His eyes were locked on you, pupils blown wide, completely at your mercy. You brought the pink ribbon up and looped it gently around his neck, your touch soft, delicate. He tilted his head obediently, letting you guide him. The moment you pulled the fabric into a bow and adjusted it, your heart fluttered : he looked perfect.
“Look at you,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair, “my pretty kitten.” Mark let out the softest sound ; a needy little whimper, his hands flexing against the fabric of your shirt but not moving. His head dipped just slightly under your praise.
“You like it when I call you that?” you teased. He nodded. “Yeah… I do,” he admitted, voice low and breathy. “I wanna be good for you.” You leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his lips. “Then be still. Let me look at you.” He obeyed instantly. Chest rising and falling a little quicker, flushed cheeks, and that soft ribbon perfectly wrapped at his neck. All yours. All obedient. All kitten.
“Good boy,” you murmured, smiling as his eyes fluttered closed, clearly melting under the praise.
And from the way his thighs twitched beneath you, you knew: you had him exactly where you wanted
