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︙pjm

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧

𝑛𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠

Something doesn't feel right. That was your first thought as your mind slowly rose from unconsciousness. Something was definitely off.

It wasn't until you opened your eyes with a low groan, that you realized exactly what that something was.

You were fucking tied up.

Panic and confusion briefly struck your chest, and you gave a sharp tug at the ribbon binding your hands to the headboard.

Something moved in your peripheral vision, and your head whipped around fast enough to give you whiplash. It was then that you spotted Jimin standing at the edge of the bed. Subconsciously, you relaxed, but your outward expression turned hard. "What's this about, Jimin?" You huffed, lightly jerking your arms against the silk binds, "why am I tied up?"

The mentioned boy innocently smiled, fingers traveling playfully over the top of your foot, before grazing over the bottom. You twitched at the ticklish sensation and glared at him with a frown. He knew how much you hated being tickled. But he only giggled lightly in response, moving so that he was kneeling on the edge of the mattress, hands resting just above your knees.

"Mommy looks so pretty all tied up for Princess," he cooed, crawling over your body, fingers feathering over your vulnerable sides and stomach and up your chest. A growl vibrated in your throat, and you tugged sharply at the restraints around your wrists.

"Princess better let mommy go before mommy loses her temper," you snapped, glaring at your younger with dark eyes.

Your intense stare sent ripples of excitement through his body. God, he loved getting you worked up. He loved seeing your eyes grow dark, the veins in your neck become prominent, your gorgeous hands curl into tight fists, your jaw clench and nostrils flare dangerously. If you got angry enough, you'd take it all out on him. You'd be rough and ruthless and mean. You'd fuck him into oblivion. Completely wreck him. The mere idea of it made him quiver with delight.

But once you finished, you'd kiss away the bruises and sore spots until all he felt was the warm ache of your love. You'd caress his face and comb your fingers gently through his hair, all the while whispering sweet nothings into his ears. You'd call him angel and tell him how much you adored him. He loved that part just as much.

Smirking, he leaned down, hovering his face near yours, taunting you with the painfully short distance between your lips. "Play nice, mommy," he scolded teasingly, nipping at your jaw, before gliding his hot, wet tongue down the curve of your throat, feeling it vibrate with a suppressed hum.