Soft Soft Soft - Tumblr Posts

Ok but this is so soft! We all need a Joon in our life...

deep end (explicit)

genre: pwp / domestic-ass smut hehe 💕

pairing: namjoon x reader (ft. no gendered language! bc lots of people get periods!)

summary: your boyfriend suggests a new way to relieve your period cramps.

word count: 4.2k

contains: explicit sexual content ~*~*~ established relationship, boyfie joon in a hoodie/glasses/with stubble (yes that's a warning), they use the term 'baby' a lot because it's me writing joon duh, some minor implications that menstruation is gross (from reader) (buuuut they get over it lol), 🩸period sex🩸, nipple play, fingering and clit stim, joon has a monster cock bc of course he does, size kink, bulge kink, he's all up in their cervix, reader has a.... cervical orgasm which might just be an a-spot orgasm my googling was inconclusive whatever none of you care - a good mix of fluff and playful bickering, the ending is soft 🫠

A/N: JOON HOES I HAVE RETURNED FOR YOU 🫡 it's been too long, so please take one of my favorite things i've ever written as my very sincere apology. idk this really just flowed out (no pun intended ksdjhgdfsdf) and i had a lot of fun with it, i heart bodies doing body things yknow. shout-out to my period for being extra bad last month and inspiring this.... it's called MANIFESTING amiright besties 💅✨ i hope y'all enjoy!!!! would love to hear your thoughts if you did 🥺💜

and all the love in the world to @haliiimede for betaing and being my emotional support capricorn, where would i be without you my love

read on AO3 !

~*~

The hinges of the bedroom door creak softly as it’s pushed open, and you glance up.

You’re where you’ve been for as long as social responsibilities will allow you to hide from the world and futilely attempt an afternoon nap: curled up on your side, knees pressed tight to your chest, gritting your teeth through each fresh round of stabbing pain. It’s worse than usual this month, for no discernible reason, which is stupid.

Namjoon leans against the doorframe, domestic-cozy-cute in the way that usually makes you want to jump him, glasses and a hoodie. He can’t help but smile sympathetically when he notices your arms are wrapped around an emotional support Koya plushie.

“You okay?”

You wince. “Cramps. I’ll be fine.”

There’s a flutter of mattress springs and bed sheets as he sits down at your side. “Is today the worst of it?” You nod. “Did you take your stuff?”

You smush your cheek against the top of Koya’s head, nuzzling into the soft fabric, tactile comfort. “Yes.”

“Extra-strength?”

“Yes, Joon,” you snap. “I’ve been having periods since I was twelve, I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay, baby.”

You feel guilty as soon as the exasperation-tinged words leave your mouth. “Sorry. I’m being an ass. Just… fucking hurts.”

He tries again. “Heating pad?”

“Worked for a bit, but I got too hot.” Your feet kick frustratedly under the blankets. “I’m ready for winter.”

Namjoon laughs at this. “Does that mean too hot for some company?”

The corners of your pouted mouth just barely start to pull up as you pretend to think it over. “…No.”

“Okay then.” He pushes back the sheets to slide in next to you, removing his glasses and reaching over to deposit them on the nightstand. He smells good, clean laundry and woody cologne. You don’t fight him when he moves to gently pry Koya out of your hands.

“Get out of here,” he murmurs, and you laugh in surprise when he unceremoniously flings the plushie across the room.

“Hey!”

“We don’t need him,” Namjoon says with a smug smile as he adjusts the blankets so he can settle in behind you.

Just the presence of him pressing into your back, big and solid and familiar, makes you start to unwind. His hand slips under your oversized t-shirt to rest on your low belly, fingertips dipping beneath the band of your underwear to gently trace over your skin. The warmth is nice— you feel yourself melt a little under his touch.

“You know what’s good for cramps?” He asks softly. You hum a response, prompting him to continue, and he does. “Orgasms.”

With a sigh, you turn your head to press your face into the pillow. “Vibrator’s dead.”

“Do you want me to plug it in?”

You make a sound that isn’t a clear yes or no, debating internally, then finally answer. “Don’t leave.”

He doesn’t. “What can I do then?”

The answer is immediate, paired with a dry laugh. “You can put me out of my misery.”

Namjoon shakes his head, tuts a little. “Can’t do that. But maybe I can help another way.”

The hand on your stomach slowly starts to slide further up, over your waist and rib cage, coming to cup one of your breasts. He gives it a tentative squeeze. “Sore?”

You shrug. “A little.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

His thumb starts to move, tracing slow, lazy circles over your nipple, coaxing the soft bud to a peak.

You let your eyes flutter closed and allow this sensation to overtake the others, enough to pull an appreciative noise out of you. “Nnh— feels good.” Your voice comes out nearly a whisper.

“Good.”

He wiggles his hips a little in response, and you can’t help but laugh when you feel something firm press against your ass. “How are you hard right now?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling, and you shift to turn onto your back so you can see him properly. It doesn’t hurt that it also gives him a better angle to play with both of your breasts— a second hand quickly finds its way up your shirt. “Everything turns you on.”

Namjoon shrugs, unbothered. “With you, yeah.”

“But…” You shift your legs vaguely under the sheets, knowing he’ll understand what you mean. “It’s gross.”

“How?”

The feeling of his fingers gently flicking over both of your nipples simultaneously makes your brain lag. “Uh— dirty.”

“Not true.”

Your eyes flutter shut again as you try to keep up with the conversation despite the heat of arousal that’s starting to swell in your gut, and lower. “Okay, messy.”

“All sex is messy,” Namjoon says, like it’s a given.

You huff a noise of frustration, glancing over at him. “Stop being obtuse. It’s different.”

“I’m not,” he insists. “It just sounds like you have some unnecessary shame. It’s a natural thing.”

“Natural,” you deadpan back. “You’re a hippie.”

He smiles. “Maybe.”

The admission is paired with a light pinch to your nipples, and you inhale sharply, biting back a whimper. “A freak.”

His laugh is soft and deep. “Sure. Have you fucked on your period before? I know we haven’t, but— ever?” You shake your head into the pillow. “Might feel good. They say it helps.”

You scoff at this. “Yeah, I bet ‘they’ all have dicks.”

“We don’t have to.”

Namjoon pauses, as if waiting for you to make a decision. You can’t ignore the way his hands on your tits have worked up a steady pulse between your legs.

“…You’ve done it before?” You squeeze your thighs together as you ask the question.

He shrugs. “Yeah.”

“And it wasn’t gross?”

“No, baby. It’s just a—”

“Do not say fluid,” you interrupt with a grimace.

He quirks an eyebrow. “An output.”

“Actually, I think that’s worse.”

A smile blooms on his face, dimples popping, his hands jiggling your breasts. Playful. “It’s free lube.”

You laugh despite yourself. “We’ll mess up the sheets.”

“We’ll put down a towel,” he corrects. “And if we do, I’ll wash them.”

You pause for a moment, considering. “Promise?” There are few things more torturous than the idea of doing laundry on your period.

“Yes, baby,” Namjoon assures you, his gaze roaming over your face. “But I don’t wanna force you. If you feel that bad, let’s just watch a movie.”

You narrow your eyes at him, unable to hide your smile. “Nuh-uh.” You scoot a little closer, rolling in to hitch a leg over him, your socked foot teasing up the back of his calf. “You played with my tits too much. No turning back now.”

The answer makes him cocky, his tongue briefly toying at the corner of his mouth when he smirks. “I’m not scared.” His voice is deeper, darkened by lust, enough to send a shiver through you.

You tilt your jaw up towards his mouth. “Kiss me.”

His lips are soft and warm when they press to yours, and you tip onto your back again, his knees and forearms sinking into the mattress as he follows to cover your body with his.

Your palms slip under his hoodie to slide up over the smooth, defined muscles of his stomach, the broad expanse of his chest. His tongue flutters over your lower lip, and your hands trace back down to the hem, bunching the thick fabric up in your fists.

“Take this off.”

Namjoon smiles against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, his hands still pawing under your shirt. “Bossy today.”

You tug at his hoodie again for emphasis, earning a pinch to your nipples in response. “You like it.”

“I do.”

“Off.”

He sits up on his knees, untangling himself from under your shirt to strip, and you do the same. You can see the imprint of his dick already straining against the thin fabric of his joggers, and you reach up to slip your fingers under the waistband, running your palm down the length of him over his briefs. There’s a new kind of ache in your core now.

“These too.”

He laughs a little. “Okay, baby. And do you wanna—”

You follow his gaze to stare down at your own sweatpants. “Yeah, let me just. Bathroom.”

Namjoon leans forward, so his mouth ghosts over yours when you sit up. “I’ll get the towels.” He sucks gently on your bottom lip when he kisses you. It’s enough to leave you breathless.

You do your best not to overthink it as you slip into the bathroom and go through the motions. Sweatpants off, underwear too, pad discarded, attempt to clean up a little. You move fast, trying not to leak. The blankets are pushed to the foot of the bed when you return to the bedroom, brown towels laid over the sheets, even a box of tissues on the nightstand.

Namjoon has kicked off his pants and underwear, one hand lazily pumping himself as he turns to face you, muscles in his forearm shifting from the motion.

You lick your lips appreciatively. His cock is flushed dark, hard, already wet at the tip. The thought of him dripping precum just from setting out towels and tissues makes you giggle a little as you climb into bed— a Virgo through and through.

The mattress shifts as he crawls over you, letting go of himself to trace a slow hand up your thigh, over your hip, to finally settle at your waist. “Still okay?”

You nod and pull him down.

He kisses you more fervently this time, and you tilt your head to lick into his mouth, your breath edged with a moan when your tongues pass over each other. You run your hands along his back, nails scratching gently, as his lips move to brush against your jaw, then nibble at your ear.

“How do you want it, baby?” Namjoon’s voice goes straight to your cunt, thick and dripping like honey.

Your mind swims as you try to answer the question, and you instinctively bring your knees to your chest, not unlike the way you were curled up in bed earlier. You pull them apart a little, spreading yourself for him, nowhere to hide. Heat blooms in your face as his eyes trace your body down to your pussy, and he hums softly.

You suck in a breath at the barely-there brush of contact, his slender fingers tracing over your folds. “Is it bad?”

“It’s perfect. It’s you.” You bite down on your lip, not quite willing to believe it’s that simple. “Can I touch you?” You nod again. He groans a little in the back of his throat when he presses in. “Fuckin’ wet.”

“Joon,” you gasp. Your cunt flutters around his finger, tender, as if to suck him further in. He adds a second, sliding easily, and you can feel the way he curls inside to pet long strokes over the ridges of your front wall, made supple from sensitivity. The pleasure sends a shower of sparks through you, and your spine arches. You squeeze your eyes shut as they roll back in your skull.

“This okay?”

You reach up to dig your fingernails into his arms, his biceps flexing under your touch. “’Sgood, baby. More.”

“More fingers?”

You shake your head, eyes flickering open to meet his. “Cock.”

It’s both dirty and domestic, doing it in broad daylight, the bedroom drenched in mid-afternoon sun that pours between the cracked window blinds. No shadows to disguise it, no questioning the color painted over Namjoon’s fingers when he withdraws, dark red.

Your discomfort feels like an afterthought compared to how badly you want him now. He pauses to wipe the excess off on the towel beneath you, free hand guiding the still-slick tip of his cock to brush over your folds, teasing.

You can’t help but whimper. “Baby.”

With a soft grunt, he does it again, more purposefully now— the whole of this thick cock grinding over your slit, both of you smeared messy with arousal and flushed warm from blood-flow.

You press yourself up on your forearms in time to see him wrap his hand around the base and slide it in. He pushes slow, but you’re wet enough that he can slip right to the hilt without resistance, and your jaw goes slack as you watch all of him disappear up inside you.

“Ah, Joon—” you hiss a little as he bottoms all the way out, fucks in until there’s no space left between you.

He stills his hips, eyes flitting up to find yours. “Hurts?”

You shake your head and whine softly. The stretch was easier than normal, actually. “Just, nnh— full.” Letting your head drop back on the pillow, you breathe a laugh. “You’re fucking big.”

He’s nearly wincing. “You’re swollen, baby. Makes it feel like more.”

The pressure of being filled blooms thick, indulgent, a sensation you can feel all the way down to the soles of your feet, every inch of you plugged up with his cock. You lick your lips and try to speak.

“Can you move?”

Namjoon flashes a dimpled smile, suddenly shy. “Hang on.” He scrunches his nose a little, eyes rolling up briefly to fix at a spot on the wall behind you. You can hear the strain in his voice. “Trying not to come.”

Your eyes go wide. “Really? Are you a teenager?!”

He huffs an indignant laugh, face flushing. “It’s like a fucking flood down there! And you’re extra tight… So damn, give me a second.”

Giggling a little, you reach up to loop your arms around his shoulders, fingernails lazily scratching at the nape of his neck, combing through his dark hair that’s gotten so long. He exhales a slow stream of air as he closes his eyes for a moment, then blinks them open again with a smile.

“Okay. You okay?”

You hum. “The pressure is… it’s good. Think it’s helping.” Your cramps have started to subside, or at least you’re not focused on them.

“It’s not too much, all the way in like this?” He circles his hips experimentally, which makes the head of his cock press firmly against your cervix.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and you feel him reflexively start to pull out, paired with a concerned look flashed over his face. You smack a hand to his lower back to stop him, to hold him still.

“Please, Joonie, don’t— it felt good. Just, ah, keep doing that.”

“You squeezed me so hard. Thought I hurt you.” He rolls his hips again and you both groan softly. “Shit, baby, look down.” Namjoon’s voice is slightly hoarse.

You tilt your head up to see an unmistakable bulge in your lower abdomen that shifts as he ruts his hips into you again. You gasp at the rush of pleasure and the visual of his cock so deep inside you.

“You like that?” You swallow hard and nod at his question, whimpering as he brings one hand up to gently press down around his girth. A mixture of pleasure and relief floods through you, and you moan. “Like it when I’m in your stomach, baby?”

Your head drops back against the pillow. “Fuck” is the only answer you can give as he keeps moving his hips.

It takes you by surprise when you feel the brush of his lips over yours, and you tilt up to deepen the kiss instinctively. “So damn sexy,” he murmurs into your mouth. For a minute, you let the rest go, and allow yourself to believe him.

Namjoon falls into a consistent rhythm, cock grinding into your cervix so steadily that it makes it impossible for you to bite back your moans. He keeps one hand splayed over your stomach to meet himself there, and your cunt squeezed in between feels liable to overflow, on the verge of splitting open.

“Nnh, shit, Joon, that feels so good.” It’s like he’s pressing up on your lungs now— you can hardly breathe, dizzy with pleasure. 

Fucking is somehow more intimate this way, taking him as deep as you can go and keeping him there, his shallow flutter-thrusts rocking slow and heavy for your shared sensitivity. Trading lazy kisses and stilted breaths and pretty sounds into each other’s open mouths. The press of his broad hands into your skin and the towel-guarded mattress, the wet squish of your folds on the base of his cock.

“God,” Namjoon groans, breath ghosting over your lips. “This perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

Without warning— or maybe in response— your walls start to pulse, and then the dam of steadily built-up pleasure bursts, a rush so intense that you can only gasp and dig your nails into Namjoon’s shoulders. “Joon, Joon—” You clarify when his brow creases with concern: “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You think you might die if he does.

He keeps going, barely-there strokes that rub the thick head of his cock into you over and over, and you cry out as you come fully undone.

A strange new feeling lights you up like a live wire, warmth radiating through your body as contractions squeeze your pussy so tight you swear you see stars when you close your eyes.

Namjoon curses under his breath, your whole body shaking beneath him as he works this surprise orgasm all the way out of you, until your thighs reflexively pull together and he stills his motions again.

“Oh my god,” you murmur, turning your head to press your cheek into the pillow. You slowly start to come down through the aftershocks, a lingering buzz glittering in your fingertips from the weight of his cock still crammed up inside you.

Namjoon’s large hands pet up the backs of your thighs, trailing soft heat. “You good, baby? That was crazy.”

“I-I just—” You exhale in an attempt to catch your breath, and it turns into a laugh as your eyes flicker open. “I didn’t know I could come from that. Fuck.”

He cracks a smile. “Sensitive. How’s it feel?” He leans forward to seek a kiss and you return it, nuzzling along the line of his jaw once you break apart. His stubble drags against your cheek, not unpleasant, and you shiver a little.

“I don’t know, I just had a crazy fucking… cervix orgasm,” you tease. “I’d say it’s pretty good.”

“Just don’t want it to hurt.”

“It doesn’t,” you murmur into his mouth. “So fuck me?”

You both moan when Namjoon begins to properly move, thrusting slow and deep-deep, your pussy clinging tight to him on the upstroke. You’re wet enough to gush when he fucks back in— just the sound of it makes your head spin. Your clit aches, so worked up untouched that it’s starting to throb.

“Baby,” you whine. “Touch me. Wanna come again. Please.”

He hums a soft noise of surprise, eyebrows raising, hips worked up to a steady rhythm now. “Already?” His lips press to yours again, and a sly smile spreads across them as he pulls back. “Needy.”

You huff a laugh, leaning up for another kiss, insatiable. “I said please.”

Namjoon earns a whimper out of you this time when his tongue swipes into your mouth, and he’s a little breathless when he breaks away. “I like you needy. I’ll keep you in this bed all day, if that’s what you want.”

“I—nnh—” you lose the thread of mid-sex conversation entirely as he shifts to free one hand and bring the pad of his thumb to your clit, flicking down firmly at a pace to match his strokes. “Fuck, Joon.”

Your hands grasp at the pillow beneath your head, fingers sinking in to grip desperate. He’s pounding heavy into your g-spot now, your legs spread wide and back arched up to take it.

It’s so good, it’s overwhelming, warm glow all the way through you. Arousal drips from your cunt to make the squelch of his strokes even messier. His hips are unrelenting, and your thighs start to shake from the pleasure, amplified with every pass of his thumb over your clit.

“Just—” You can barely speak, have to gasp for air after the first word, “—just like that.”

“Baby,” Namjoon’s voice comes out hoarse, in the way it does when he’s close, too. The bed creaks from the weight of his strokes. “So damn tight, so soft, can you feel it?”

A whine and a nod are all you can manage. You can feel him everywhere, down to the details, the fat veins that run the length of his cock molded to your walls, pulsing velvet heat. Your cunt melts lush around him, wet and raw as he fucks you apart. He rubs you in time to bring you over the edge again, and you’re helpless to it, can only let out a strangled sob of a noise as you tense up and come hard.

Namjoon’s thumb keeps circling, hips keep rocking, working you through it and groaning low in his throat for the way your cunt clenches up around him. Your nails dig into the pillow as you shudder and gasp.

“That’s it, shit, baby. Tight little pussy, gonna make me come too, fuck.”

With a grunt of effort, he pulls out, one hand reaching down to stroke his cock as he comes, thick ropes of his release painting your stomach in milky gloss. Your cunt pulses around nothing, hot pleasure aftermath, twitching sensitive.

Fucked to oblivion, you collapse against the mattress, feeling spent and heavy-all-over. Your head is still spinning, enough that you’re only distantly aware of the way Namjoon’s ragged breathing softens at the edges and starts to dissolve into gentle laughter.

Your eyes blink open to see him leaning over you, reaching for the tissues on the nightstand.

“Good thing I grabbed these,” he remarks as he lifts up his red-stained palm.

You can’t help but gasp at the sight. “Oh my god, Joon.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up enough for a dimple to wink back at you as he goes through a couple tissues to clean himself up. “Relax, baby. It really doesn’t bother me.” He pulls a few more loose from the box to deal with the mess on your stomach. “Just wanna point out that you don’t mind when I come on you.”

You huff. Smart-ass. “It’s different.”

“Is it?” He challenges. “It’s just bodies being bodies. Byproducts of the human condition.”

You can’t quite hide your smile. “You’re a poet.”

“Maybe.” His clean hand smacks playfully against your thigh, jiggling the soft skin there. “Shower time.”

The whine that escapes you sounds pathetic, even to you. Movement of any kind feels impossible. “I won’t make it.”

“Come on.” You yelp and grab to wrap the towel beneath you over your waist as Namjoon scoops you up in an effortless bridal carry and heads for the bathroom. He turns the shower on with his foot as you cling to him for dear life, but he somehow manages not to drop you.

When he deposits you onto still-shaky legs, you let the towel drop to the bathroom floor. The water is scalding when you step into the shower, the way you both like it. Crowding you under the spray, he reaches for the washcloth and squirts a liberal amount of body wash into the fabric, infusing the steam with eucalyptus and mint. It feels like you can breathe a little deeper.

One large hand comes to your hip under the water as he works up a lather. “Turn around.”

You can feel the staining at the crux of your thighs, dry and sticky, as you shift unsurely in place. “Nnh,” you pout. “Can I rinse first?”

“Nope. Tryna take care of you, so let me.”

Scrunching your nose for dramatic effect, you turn for him. When the washcloth passes over your skin, his touch is so gentle, so immediately overwhelming, that emotion bubbles up before you can stop it. There’s nothing you can do to hide the way your shoulders start to shake as tears spill down your face.

It takes a second, and then you feel his motions slowly come to a stop. “Baby?”

You shake your head, embarrassed, bringing your arm up to wipe at your nose. “‘m fine. Emotional. Ignore me.”

“I can’t do that.” He rights himself, and the fingertips of his free hand trace the line of your jaw, encouraging your gaze to meet his. “Talk to me, please.”

Another fat droplet slides down your cheek, and his thumb catches it. You inhale, trying to catch your breath, and your chest shudders. “It just. Feels like too much, sometimes. Like I don’t deserve it.” You gesture broadly. “Everything, you. I don’t know.”

Namjoon frowns a little as he momentarily drapes the washcloth over the edge of the tub. “C’mon, don’t think like that.”

When he pulls you in, you allow yourself to sink into the embrace, tears flowing freely as his strong arms press you close. You know he’ll let you ride it out, the same way you do with him.

His lips brush over your hairline. “You’re good to me, wanna be good back,” he explains, voice low. “That’s all.”

Your cheek rubs against the hard plane of his chest as you nod.

“You’re so good to me, Joon. Too good.”

“Nah.” You don’t even have to look up to know he’s smiling— you can hear it in his voice. “You’re easy to love.”

➛ happy joon 1st, 2021, everyone (.❛ ᴗ ❛.)

okay this is probably not the reaction you expected, but I literally, not figuratively, teared up at the very last line.

i wasn't sure where this drabble was going, and i read it randomly because it popped on my dash through "based on your likes!" and when i noticed it was you posting plus yoongi plus fuck buddy au plus the word count, i was like, why not?

i'm gonna cut it short and say i love this so much. love how i can feel OC's confusion in its entirety and just how soft and... pure Yoongi is. you can tell that he means nothing, but he's not supposed to do that? what's going on??

literally almost nothing is going on in this short work and still, my heart is all warm and fuzzy inside D: thank you <3

below is just some sort of word vomit so feel free to ignore hehe

anyhow, it was my birthday last week. and while i've never really been big on birthdays, this is the first time I'm spending it away from my family because I'm currently living in another country. I don't usually care much about celebrating, just happy that people would greet me, but suddenly it felt immensely lonely that I'm here by myself on my birthday. The close friends that I made were all unavailable bc it was term break and they were not in the country, and tbh I don't like telling people it's my birthday when they don't know.

but it felt like it'd be very lonely if i didn't? so i reached out to a friend that is... close enough but I haven't spoken that much with to be considered a close friend? and i was like... hey, do you mind spending my birthday with me?

and we did and it was great!

what i want to say is... i didnt expect to relate so much to his shyness, and that last line just reminded me of myself quite literally last week too much that i just ended up crying D: this yoongi must've been a little lonely too, and I'm glad he had someone to share his birthday with.

the one with yoongi, netflix, and zero chill

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader Type: Drabble; Suggestive Fluff Word Count: 1.1k Content: fuck buddy!au; birthday boi Yoongs A/N: Nobody asked for this — I just wanted it, lmao. HAPPY (belated) YOONGI DAY ‼️

Of all the texts you might’ve expected to receive from Min Yoongi — of all people —this hadn’t been one of them. A far cry from the anticipated “cum over?” and follow-up “that was intentionally cringe but seriously, get here,” it was one word:

Hey.

Simple, unassuming, shockingly innocuous. A text like this from any other person wouldn’t have set off the shop-lifting alarm in your brain, but this one did. 

Until now, all of your other exchanges had been borderline — if not entirely — pornographic. Yoongi had received enough photos of you in compromising positions to fill a dossier; or the national archives, if your tits were properly classified as subjects of great cultural significance. He wasn’t the type to chat for the sake of it, certainly not without an ulterior motive bulging uncomfortably in too-tight jeans. 

What the fuck?

Unable to square this flagrantly conversational message with its sender, you’d replied to ask if he meant to send it to someone else. He hadn’t, he clarified. Then, doubling down on whatever fast-one he was pulling, he’d asked if you wanted to hang out. No suggestive emojis, no “*bang out, my bad” — just an invitation, sans subtext. 

It was too intriguing to ignore.

You parked in your usual spot on a side street and followed the same path you always did towards his apartment building. By now, there should’ve been shoe prints worn into the concrete from how frequently you’d passed overtop, but there weren’t. You were able to confirm as much because you were finally perceiving that sidewalk in sunlight. Even his building looked different when it wasn’t shrouded in darkness and questionable judgment.

After a quick trip up the stairs, you found yourself on familiar territory: a doormat that said “fuck off.” You snorted, staring down at it, and wondered if it knew how often you’d done the opposite.

You knocked and Yoongi answered; his usual smirk wasn’t present with him to greet you. Instead, he offered you what looked like a genuine smile and nodded his head for you to come inside. If your ears hadn’t deceived you, you might have heard him ask about your day, but they were too busy ringing as if a bomb had gone off nearby. Still shocked, your brain was left to stagger through the aftermath while you trailed off after him. 

At this point, on any other occasion, he would be charting a map of your body by now — before you could even cross the threshold. There’d be a mouth nipping at the underside of your jaw, too. In lieu of small talk, his tongue would be lavishing warmth upon the curve of your neck. This time, though, Yoongi kept his hands to himself — and when he led you further into his apartment, he didn’t make a beeline for his bedroom.

Once more, with feeling: what the fuck?

You’d never seen his living room before, not even in your fucked-out wobble towards the door when your nights with him were over. It was cozy, confusingly soft in comparison to the roughness you knew right down the hall. Plush couch, plusher throw blankets, and multiple bookshelves — all seemingly hand-crafted. To your surprise, they were all full of personal trinkets, and curated works of fiction and nonfiction alike.

It never crossed your mind that he had personal possessions, let alone hobbies. You were shocked to learn that your recurring dick appointment involved a full-fledged person with interests. You coughed, “You read?”

It wasn’t meant as an insult, but it sure as hell sounded like one. Immediately, you winced at your lack of tact.

Just add friendly conversation to the short list of things that mouth doesn’t do. 

When Yoongi blinked slowly back at you, all you could do was anticipate. What quip would he hit you with? What sarcastic remark would fly out of his mouth and how wet would it make you despite your embarrassment?

He chuckled, shrugged, and said, “Guess I do.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. Yoongi’s face didn’t change at all, remaining as airy and unbothered as it was when you walked through the door. He unknowingly left you buffering where you stood, walked around the back of his couch, and dropped down onto the cushions.

You might’ve stood there all night, wondering what sort of wormhole you’d fallen into, but he glanced back over his shoulder at you. It wasn’t expectant, the way he eyed you. In fact, he seemed just as confused as you were.

“You good?” Yoongi asked, eyebrow slightly raised.

You opened your mouth to respond; nothing came out. Am I? Does anybody else smell burning toast? You closed it again without saying a word.

Resigned to this frighteningly domestic fever dream, you padded over to where he was — apparently — waiting and sunk down into the cushion next to him. Though you couldn’t explain why, you left a few centimeters of space in between your thigh and his. Grinding yourself down onto his naked lap was one thing, but this all felt so blatantly out-of-bounds.

Once you were settled into your spot, you watched with suspicious eyes as he turned on the television. He’d begun to scroll through Netflix’s newest additions before you’d bothered to blink.

Yoongi was in the middle of asking you what sort of movies you typically watched when you blurted out: 

“I don’t understand what’s happening here.”

He hit play on whatever choice he’d made and set the remote back down onto his coffee table. “What’s happening is Tazza because you said you’ve never seen it.” He responded easily, like none of this was wildly out of the ordinary. Then, he turned to smile at you again. “It’s a great movie. Probably my favorite, honestly.”

There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your brain, just the sound of sirens and flashing red lights. Is this what he meant when he asked you to hang out? Sitting on his couch, fully-clothed, watching a movie? His favorite movie? The one he knows you haven’t seen?

Maybe that was how normal friendships worked, but this friendship blew your back out on a bi-weekly basis. This friend routinely rearranged your guts, whispered depravity in your ear — and throughout all of that, he noted the distinctly non-sexual shit you mentioned in passing.

Things you didn’t even remember saying.

Using some sort of app on his phone, he dimmed the lights. As the opening scene blared from the screen ahead, he nestled himself down into the couch looking downright huggable. It wasn’t a word you’d ever have attributed to Min Yoongi until now, but there was no other way to process the weird urge you felt to nestle into him.

You didn’t, though. You stayed firmly planted within the bounds of your designated cushion, straight upright with perfect posture you’d never previously exhibited. Still, you were staring and you couldn’t quite help it.

Yoongi could sense it, it seemed. He pulled his gaze off the screen and set his sights on you. And he kept them there, inhaling quietly then exhaling a soft sigh. “It’s my birthday.”

If that was meant to be an explanation for summoning you, it only made matters more confusing. Stupefied, you peeped, “Oh? Happy — um — h-happy birthday?”

He looked shy, which was yet another word you’d never expected to associate with him. Even in the dark, you could see the way his cheeks flushed pink.

Yoongi swallowed, nudging your nearby thigh softly with his knuckles. “I didn’t want to spend it alone.”

the way he’s always just wanted to be held… I’m fine

trophy - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: lawyer!au, established relationship, fluff, angst but it’s not really related to the couple, implications of misogyny/sexism, angry yoongi is a warning right?, ft intern jeongguk, also ft yoongi’s ass in dress pants

word count:  2,440

summary: in which you hold your own against yoongi’s clients or i won’t ask again. leave.

Somewhere between shoving earrings through weeping, pierced skin, swiping the wrong color to your lips, and centering the chain of a necklace, a disconnected pair of hands worked at the cool zipper fitting to your spine with each ascending link, lips connected to those hands pressing to your shoulder while a soft voice told the cusp of your ear you’re beautiful. 

You shared the sentiment when you routinely looped a tie, classic black, around Yoongi’s neck, letting him knot it but taking the extra step to straighten it on his throat (a step you normally avoided in the mornings when the people he’d be interacting with were limited to Jeongguk and an elderly landlord with a difficult tenant in his apartment complex), lips landing on the heated apple of his cheek to profess, “Handsome.”

And when he turned in the bathroom mirror, your eyes traveled to the generous stretch of fabric on his ass, “Is this how you woo all your clients?”

Keep reading

Despite ssmmy being soft, it is amazing. I prefer dean being adorable as hell. Like him being scared, sam might hate him for his sick thoughts, their first kiss, and how sam led it as Dean was so out. Like, yeah, dean leads in the room, but he belongs to sammy. Sam knows how to calm his old guy dean and is just a siren to dean;making dean turn into lump jello. Dean is still whining when sam hugs him softly. Making love is way better than rabbit routines. Forehead kisses for dean to calm down. Like just sammy doing all the boyfriend/husband fluffy stuff to dean, as dean melts into slime.

jungkook has a soft spot and i like to call it “park jimin”

| 2021 wp cr. dwellingsouls |

i think hybe editors were onto something:

Loving me, loving you

tags: GN reader, mention of injuries, tending and dressing wounds (blood), hand feeding, finger sucking, fluff, soft smut, dry humping, coming in pants, established relationship

wc: 2.1k

"Let's get you into some dry clothes,” Satoru murmurs, kicking the door closed behind him, though it feels more that he’s speaking to himself than to you. He hadn’t let your feet touch the ground since he first lifted you from the pavement, held firmly against his chest in an uncomfortable but familiar grip.

“I can walk,” you complain, the words catching against your dry throat, an embarrassed grimace twisting into your features as he sits you on the edge of the bathtub.

You're uninjured, aside from the shallow wound on your bicep, welts of blood smearing into the material of your shirt. Satoru tears the sleeve wordlessly, lifting a cloth and an unlabelled bottle of liquid from the cabinet beneath the sink.

“What’s that?” you ask quietly, mere curiosity rather than distrust. He covers the bottle opening, tipping it sideways and soaking the cloth, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling the air.

“S’the good stuff,” the corner of his mouth lifts into a conspiratorial smirk, “stole it from Shoko”.

“I can’t believe he got me,” your voice is barely above a whisper and dipped in shame. All it took was a mere moment for you to go from being a partner to being a hindrance, only for the simple fact that you’d gotten too comfortable around Satoru. It’d been a mistake to think curse users were rational thinkers – the fact that Gojo was known for being untouchable presented a challenge in and of itself.

“Happens to the best of us,” he chimes, a faux air of light-heartedness about him that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. The damp cloth is wiped gently over your arm and you hiss at the sting, forcing your body still as he dresses the weeping wound.

His face is wet, covered in specks of dust, his hair laid flat over his blindfold from the rain. There’s a spot of blood on the front of his white shirt where he’d held you, and you can still feel the warmth of his arms like a phantom around your shoulders.

“Thank you for stepping in,” you say, casting your eyes to the bathroom tiles when his head lifts in faint surprise, “though I’m pretty sure you broke a few laws back there”.

He laughs, the sound is hollow as he stands up straight, throwing the cloth into the sink and curving his hand around the swell of your cheek.

“Do you truly believe that something as inconsequential as the law could have stopped me from protecting you?” he smirks, stroking your skin with the pad of his thumb and bending to press a chaste kiss to your hairline.

You exhale shakily, both with exasperation and fondness. “You’re incorrigible,” your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth, “have you ever behaved a day in your life?”

“Not one,” he grins.

The clothes he hands to you are thick, undeniably soft and oversized. They smell like him and you resist the urge to tuck your face beneath the collar while he’s still standing in the room. You’re thankful that they’re hanging loosely on your frame and not disturbing your bandages, though the pants are a little more ridiculous, having to be tied with a hair band to your hip so they won’t pool at your feet.

“You could always take them off,” he suggests playfully, receiving a light kick to the shin in response.

“Out!”

While you finished changing, Satoru seemed to have busied himself with cutting up what fruit he has in his kitchen into bite-size pieces, apples carved into the clumsy shape of a bunny and melon into jagged stars.

And an orange, peeled terribly, split into slices.

The blindfold is gone, his hair messily pushed back away from his eyes, now wearing a comfortable set of clothes much like your own. Cuffed grey sweatpants and a loose scoop neck shirt, his glasses teetering on the bridge of his nose.

Satoru makes his way to the couch carrying a ceramic plate, beckoning you over with a nod of his head. He sets the plate where you aim to sit, and instead pats the space in his lap twice.

Your knees sink into the cushions either side of his hips, settling yourself back onto his thighs, his left arm rising to circle the small of your back.

“Open up,” he says, an orange slice dwarfed between his fingers, pressing your lips tightly together as he leans forward to press the fruit against your mouth. You shake your head in feigned disbelief, grabbing his wrist and giving a futile attempt at pushing him away.

“I can feed myself, you know”.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he pouts, “just humor me”.

So you give in to him as you always do, because you know that despite his excuses, this was actually to make himself feel better. To placate the guilt that, though minor, you got hurt. With lips parted he slips the orange slice into your mouth, frowning when your tongue meets the texture of the pith, the flavour bursting into your mouth as your teeth sink into it.

Satoru already looks considerably lighter, pleased from the simple act of feeding you by hand. He presents you with another and again you take it into your mouth, the pad of his finger catching against your tongue.

He repeats this until the fruit is gone, all the remains is the poorly peeled skin, and your eyes linger on the sheen of citrus coating his fingers.

He notices, of course, tracing the shape of your lips with his wet thumb in blatant amusement. He taps your lower lip, wordlessly asking that you open them, and your glare only seeks to amuse him more.

“C’mon, you have to lick the plate clean”. Hardly a plate, you think, hot flickers of arousal spreading through your stomach.

You part your lips for him and he hooks his thumb into your mouth, tracing the grooves of your teeth. Quiet wet sounds of your spit pooling into your cheeks cut through the silence of the apartment as he pulls his hand back to replace the it with his index and middle fingers, smoothing them over the flat of your tongue.

The sharp taste of apple and orange tangs across your palate, lips shaping around his second knuckles as you begin to suck. You roll your tongue around and between each finger, peering up at him through your lashes while he stares at the hollow of your cheeks.

You pull back with a soft wet pop, his fingers slick with your spit, followed by strings of saliva that wear thin and snap. He shifts in his seat, legs moving to spread a little wider, the outline of his cock obvious against the material of his sweatpants.

Innocently you roll your hips forward, and warmth blooms to the tips of his ears when you exhale a soft breath of laughter at his startled hiss.

“So easy,” you mumble, his chest rising to meet yours. He pulls your full weight against him, your hands lifting to gently push the frame of his glasses up his nose and over his forehead, nestling them into his hair. He smiles knowingly, turning his cheek to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“Only for you,” he breathes, toeing the line between teasing and sincerity, shifting his hips in search of friction, “you like me that way”.

When you kiss him it’s one of many, yet still as good as the last. His lips are soft, balmy, the faint scent of strawberry from his favourite chapstick. You thread your fingers into his hair to anchor yourself, still slightly dampened from the rain, and grind yourself onto his cock.

For a few precious moments, everything around you slows to a stop, your boyfriend content only to grope at the softness of your hips and guide you in rocking against him. It’s languid, and entirely indulgent. In the safety of his embrace, warm and fed, you feel the tension bleed from your body. You revered being able to touch him so intimately now, knowing as soon as the work day came there would be infinity between the two of you.

“Think you can cum like this? In your pants, like a teenager?” He punctuates the question with a thrust, a little breathless, the shadow of white lashes fanning across his cheeks as he watches you with a heavy lidded stare.

A lazy grin pulls at the corners of your mouth, slipping your hands down the front of his torso as your body rises and falls above him with each roll of your hips.

You hook your hands into the hem of his shirt and his abdomen clenches when your nails graze against the fine hair on his stomach. Slowly you pull the material up to his chest, leaning yourself back just enough to look between your bodies, revealing the growing damp spot on his sweats.

“I know you can,” you murmur.

He groans and tilts his head back over the lip of the couch, dark tinted glasses slipping from his head and hitting the floor. He curls his fingers into the thick of your thighs, dimpling the skin and rutting your hips forward, your breath catching in your throat at the friction. The relief is almost palpable, his shirt still tightly fisted in your grip as you rock down harder at the same angle.

“Shit,” he exhales shakily, pushing up onto the balls of his feet for more leverage. The jolt of his hips throws you against his chest, his arms circling your waist securely so you are unable to move.

“Cum for me,” you reassure him, gaze caught on the pink blooming up his neck. Disjointed praises fall from his lips as his hips stutter, clutching you to his front, the distant scrape of the couch shifting across the floor beneath the movement.

You feel yourself throb at the drawn out, wanton sound that is pulled from his throat, like a man sinking into warmth after days in the cold. The thin clothing between your bodies darkens as he cums, the material soaked and sticking to your inner thigh.

Despite your discomfort you let him swaddle you, nose tucked into the underside of his jaw where you leave the odd chaste kiss to his pulse point while he calms down. He hums, satiated, the sound reverberating through his chest like a purr, and nuzzles his cheek against the crown of your head as he traces shapes into the skin of your back.

“I’m sorry our date got interrupted,” is the first thing he says once he has his breath back.

“Comes with the territory,” you reply quietly, not yet wanting to break the soothing atmosphere that had blanketed the two of you. Your answer gives him pause, his finger pausing at the dip of your spine.

“You’re allowed to be angry, you know,” he mutters, and your expression twists into one of confusion.

“Do you want me to be mad?” You ask, finally sitting upright and letting his arms slip loosely from your waist. He looks contemplative, a little conflicted, a tightness in his smile that wasn’t there before.

“I never want you genuinely upset with me,” he sighs. The tone is all wrong, you think as you take his face into your hands once more, letting him lean into your touch.

“Just know you’re allowed to want better for yourself”.

You smother the exasperation that comes with his words, with his needless apology. Satoru didn’t often let insecurities eat at him, and it was a rarity for him to show this much vulnerability with you. He didn’t need frustration, just reassurance.

“I have what I want,” you say, purposefully gentle and firm, pressing your foreheads together as if to embed the sentiment into his brain.

“I can’t be angry at you for things out of your control, and I would tell you if I were”.

Comfortable silence permeates the room, his fingers having returned to writing words with characters you cannot recognise onto the small of your back. His eyes bore into yours, frighteningly blue, slowly softening into something fond.

“You’re so good to me,” he eventually murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice and his smile genuine, “be careful or I might think you like me”.

You snort affectionately.

“You’re insufferable”.

Jimin/Jungkook + Black or White rehearsal │BTS Memories 2018