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bldyvalntyn · 15 days ago

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JINWOO X READER

Soft Dom Jin, Rough pnv, cunnilingus, soft sex, Jinwoo pampering. That’s all I can think of now.

***

You knew the second you walked into the apartment something was different

Jinwoo hadn’t said much on the drive home, but his hand had never left your thigh. Not the way it usually rested there—sweet and casual—but gripping. Squeezing. His thumb brushing too close to your core. You should’ve known from the way his jaw twitched when that guy at the guild dinner laughed a little too long at your joke.

You barely got your shoes off before he had you pinned against the door.

“Mine,” he muttered, voice deep and low in your ear. “Say it.”

You whimpered, your fingers already tangling in his jacket. “Yours.”

He kissed you hard—nothing like his usual tenderness. He devoured you, his tongue invading your mouth, his body pressing you so tight against the door you could barely breathe. His thigh pushed between your legs, grinding up until your knees buckled.

You barely registered him dragging you down the hallway, clothes half-torn off in his rush. His usual patience? Gone. He didn’t even bother with the lights. He tossed you onto the bed and climbed on top of you, hands everywhere—possessive, demanding.

“You liked it?” he growled as his mouth traced your neck. “When he touched you?”

“No—nngh—Jinwoo, I didn’t—”

He bit down hard enough to leave a mark and pulled back to look at you. “You’re mine,” he said again, and his voice was so deep, so feral, it made your body pulse with need.

Then he was pushing inside you.

No slow buildup. No teasing.

Just him—thick, deep, filling you in one rough thrust that made your back arch off the mattress and a choked moan tear from your lips.

“F-fuck—!”

He groaned above you, eyes burning as he watched the way you took him. “So tight,” he hissed. “God, you feel so good like this. Messy. Open.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust. His hands grabbed your hips, dragging you back onto him over and over, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. He was relentless. Rougher than he’d ever been. And it felt so good—the stretch, the burn, the way he fucked you like it meant something.

Because it did.

You were sobbing his name in broken gasps, your legs shaking, your voice hoarse.

“Too much—Jinwoo, it’s—!”

“No,” he growled, lips ghosting your jaw. “You can take it. I know you can. You’re mine, right?”

You nodded frantically, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Y-yes—yours—Jinwoo, please—”

And when you came, it hit like lightning—your entire body tensing, your nails digging into his back, your moans turning into whimpers as he fucked you through it.

He didn’t stop. Not even when your legs trembled or your voice cracked.

He flipped you over.

Fucked you from behind until your arms gave out and your face was pressed into the pillows, his hands tangled in your hair and his name all you could say. And when he finally spilled inside you, it was with a deep growl of your name, his fingers bruising your hips as he slammed in to the hilt.

You collapsed.

He kissed your shoulder. Pulled the blankets up. Whispered that he loved you as he tucked you against his chest.

⸻

The morning light felt too bright, and you barely stirred as he moved around the room.

You were sore everywhere—your neck, your thighs, your back. He’d marked you, covered you in love bites and finger-shaped bruises. Your lips still tingled from his kisses.

You lay there, limp and half-dazed, wearing nothing but his shirt. It smelled like him. You clutched it to your chest.

Jinwoo moved through the room with calm efficiency, fixing his collar in the mirror, tugging on his jacket. You watched him, quiet. Your gaze trailed down the muscles of his back, the curve of his neck, his strong hands as they buttoned the last of his sleeves.

He caught your eyes in the mirror.

And smirked.

You whimpered softly—barely more than a breath—but he heard it.

Jinwoo turned, walked back to the bed, and knelt beside you. His fingers traced your jaw, then your lips—red, swollen, kissed raw.

“You okay?” he asked, voice suddenly soft. Soothing. The Jinwoo you knew.

You nodded.

Barely.

He leaned down and kissed you sweetly. “You look so fucked out, baby.”

You whimpered again, biting your bottom lip, unable to even answer. Just watching him like he was the only thing holding you together.

He chuckled and stood, grabbing his bag. At the door, he paused.

Glanced back.

“You better rest,” he said. “Because the next time someone looks at you like that, I won’t be so nice.”

And then he was gone—leaving you melted into the mattress, ruined and glowing, already aching for more.

***

You were exactly where he left you: curled beneath the blankets, still wearing his shirt. The scent of him wrapped around your body like a second skin. You hadn’t bothered to move much, too sore, too wrecked, too dazed from everything he’d done the night before.

But when you heard the door click open, your heart fluttered.

Footsteps. The sound of his keys on the counter. His jacket being shrugged off.

You swallowed, anticipation blooming low in your belly.

When he stepped into the bedroom, he stopped.

His eyes found you instantly. Hair mussed. Cheeks flushed. Legs tangled in the sheets. One shoulder exposed. You looked up at him with that same needy, vulnerable gaze from that morning—and his chest tightened.

“Still worn out, baby?”

You nodded slowly.

He smiled, softer this time. Less cocky, more loving. And yet still so in control.

He didn’t speak again as he walked over and pulled the blankets down, exposing your bare thighs. His hand grazed one gently, then the other. You shivered under his touch.

“You really didn’t move all day?”

You blinked up at him. “Couldn’t.”

That made him smirk—but just for a second. Then his hands were sliding beneath you, lifting you into his lap like you weighed nothing. You curled against him instinctively, burying your face in his neck as he sat back on the bed, holding you like something precious.

“You were so good for me last night,” he murmured into your hair. “Letting me take what’s mine. Letting me remind you.”

You whimpered, nodding into his chest, breath hitching when his hand slid up your shirt—his shirt—and cupped your breast. Still tender. Still sore from his mouth.

“You wanna be good again?”

You didn’t answer with words. Just a slow, needy grind of your hips into his lap, the way your thighs squeezed around his. The way your breath stuttered.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

This time, he undressed you slowly. No ripping, no rough hands—just his fingers skimming your skin, drawing goosebumps in their wake. He worshipped every inch he’d ruined, every mark he’d left. His mouth traced over love bites with reverence, his tongue soft and teasing as if to soothe the bruises he’d made.

He took his time.

He laid you back on the pillows like something sacred, spreading your thighs gently and lowering his mouth to your center.

You gasped, hips twitching as his tongue made contact—slow, deep licks that had you trembling. Your fingers fisted the sheets, eyes fluttering shut.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he murmured against you. “So fucking sweet. Mine.”

You nodded helplessly, moaning his name.

He didn’t stop until your thighs were shaking again, until you were sobbing for him, legs wrapped around his shoulders, back arched.

Only then did he crawl up your body and kiss you—deep and slow, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

When he finally pushed inside you again, it was gentle. Not less intense, just slower. Thicker. He rolled his hips into you like he had all the time in the world, one hand cradling your cheek while the other held your hip steady.

You wrapped around him, whimpering.

“You still feel so good,” he whispered into your ear. “Can’t believe you let me fuck you like that last night. Let me make you mine like that.”

“I am yours,” you whispered back, voice cracking.

That made him groan. He buried his face in your neck and fucked you slowly, thoroughly, until you were gasping again, your nails dragging down his back.

“I love you,” he said between thrusts. “I’ll ruin you over and over if it means you remember who you belong to.”

You came again—quiet, broken, so deep in it you could barely breathe.

He followed with a low, shuddering moan, burying himself deep inside you, holding you tight as you both stilled.

For a long moment, he just held you.

Sweaty, tangled, breathless.

Then he rolled to his side, pulling you with him so you were curled up in his chest. His fingers brushed your hair back, then skimmed your jaw, your lips, your marked-up neck.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he whispered. “So full of me.”

You blushed hard, and he chuckled, tucking your face into his chest.

“I’m making you dinner,” he said suddenly. “You need something real in you before I fuck you again.”

You whined softly, hiding your face even deeper.

And he grinned. Smug, satisfied, completely in love with the way you melted for him.

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bldyvalntyn · 1 month ago

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icarus

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Pairing: Vergil x F!OC

Warning: graphic sex, menace Vergil, piv sex, unsafe sex (wear a condom), Amalia brats too close to the sun

Banner: @enchanthings

“You know…that big like, devil looking form you took when you saved me was kind of hot.”

Vergil stopped to look back at her and the look on his face was priceless. Amalia’s face burst into a wide grin and she leaned against—was it a tree? She was gonna call it a tree. It probably wasn’t.

“Do you want to repeat yourself?” He asked. Oh, that was dangerous.

“Your devil form was hot.” Amalia shrugged. “What’s so hard to understand about that?”

Eyes slightly wide, lips parted like he wanted to say something but he definitely could not figure out what to say. To watch a clever man stumble and a brilliant man be at a loss for words? They may have been in hell, but she felt like she was bathed in divinity.

After several moments of Vergil trying, and failing, to find the words, he simply turned to continue leading her. Okay. So that worked a little bit. Unfortunate, then, that Amalia wanted to see just how close to the sun she could get before her wings melted.

“In the spirit of honesty—“ She trotted up alongside him, then clasped her hands behind her back. He had long since reclaimed his coat once they ensured her gown was functional again. “You’re an incredibly attractive man.”

“What are you getting at now?” He sighed. She chuckled and shrugged.

“I feel like you don’t hear it enough. So…you’re sexy.” She stated, deciding to say it plainly. Maybe that would garner her some progress. “I definitely wouldn’t kick you out of bed over some crumbs. But I also wouldn’t get out of bed to make you a sandwich, either.”

He finally looked down at her, then stepped so he was in front of her. The height difference was notable up close like this. It had been noticeable before she passed out, too, but that was a different form.

“I’m starting to think you like me.” She remarked. Confusion flickered in his eyes. Then—he smirked.

Her stomach immediately twisted itself into a knot and she swallowed thickly, her mouth dry suddenly for some unknown reason.

“Is that so?” His voice took on a lower register, which made her stomach flip. Almost like a frightened animal, Amalia found herself stepping back. Vergil followed her steps, until she was backed against something hard and—well, slightly damp, to be fair.

His hand pressed against it beside her head.

“I want to hear you say it.” He said and she had—an echo of a memory. Hazy and grey but she could remember hearing those words. Her voice, not his. The way he said it…

It almost sounded like a threat. The warning hung heavy in the air, red and fatal. She could feel a heat flooding her entire body, starting in her face and pooling in her belly.

The wings were starting to melt.

“Say it.” He didn’t ask. He commanded, his free hand coming to her chin. A soft, gasping chuckle left her lips as she pressed herself back and against the wall as firmly as she could get.

“You—go out of your way to protect me.” Amalia began, swallowing around the racing heart shaped lump in her throat. Her gaze drifted from his, down to his lips, to his throat, then back to his lips. “And, well, I mean—you don’t strike me as the type to tease if you aren’t interested. Unless you just like the attention, which could be entirely pos—“

“Have you ever stopped to realize your voice raises in pitch when you’re nervous?” He asked as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. Her knees buckled. “Now, tell me, little scientist…what was your intention in trying to rile me up, if you’re so nervous with the results?”

“Honestly, I did not think I’d get this far.” She admitted with a sheepish little laugh that quickly turned into a squeak when he released her chin to grab her side. Her wings melted faster and faster. “I’ve never—um—I’m a, uh—a…virgin.”

He pulled back enough to regard her with one raised brow. Not mad, just curious. “Is that something you were looking to change?”

And just like that, those wax wings that Icarus wore as he flew closer and closer to the beautiful sun melted, and Amalia understood in that moment truly what it meant to fall. Her heart raced, rabbit fast, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She should say no. The smart and sensical thing would be to say no and carry on.

“Yes.”

All sense flew out the window.

The low, rumbling chuckle that left Vergil’s lips was the final nail in the coffin. His laugh was warm, inviting. And his smile, when not shyly procured, was radiant. Radiant enough to make her reach for him, her hands coming around the back of his head and neck, so that she might pull him down further.

Curious, he obliged, and she pulled him into a hungry, desperate kiss. The likes of which replaced her heart with a hummingbird. Truly, her BPM had to be off the charts at this point, at risk of the delicate organ exploding or bursting from her chest. But—if she died kissing him? That wouldn’t be so bad.

In those tawdry romance novels she had once perused during college, they always talked about the taste of someone’s lips on theirs. She didn’t get that here. Instead, it was the smell that flooded her senses. The unique scent that she’d come to associate with him from his coat, minus the leather, surrounded her.

Her grip became needy, clutching into his soft, white hair, fingers curling against the back of his neck. The last time she kissed anyone, it didn’t feel like this. Fireworks burst in her chest, sending an electric shock down to her toes that made her half melt into the ground beneath her. He pulled back, and a soft whine escaped her throat as he did.

“So you’re eager in everything you do.” He teased. “But it is quite uncomfortable to have to bend down.”

Before she could retort, his hands gripped under her thighs and he hauled her up. With a gasp, she gripped onto his shoulders. Now she was looking down at him.

The look in his eyes had that swirling heat in her belly twisting itself into a knot. She moved one hand off his shoulder to cup his face and the way he leaned into her touch made her heart skip a beat. If she was more in her right mind, maybe it would mean something. Right now, all she could think about was the burning heat under her skin and the way she wanted to kiss him again.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asked. The words she heard, though, buried underneath and wrapped in insecurity, were: “Are you sure I am what you want?”

And her answer was the same. Regardless of what the question was, her answer was unequivocally the same. “Yes.”

She didn’t know when he laid her back down, or when he started kissing her. All she knew was her hands were trying to yank off that coat, eager to see him without it again. The damn thing seemed inseparable from him before she got hurt, and ever since he reclaimed it. And if she remembered anything from when he was taking care of her, it was how nice he looked without the damn thing.

“Vergil—“ She managed to give a gasping whisper between kisses. He conceded, pulling back enough to pull the coat off his body. Her gaze raked over the muscles of his arms as he tossed it aside and went the extra mile to take his vest off next. Button by button, then the zipper. Eager hands came to his chest, tracing the hard earned muscles of his torso with incredible interest.

Two fingers tilted her chin up and the way he looked at her sent electric shocks of thrill through her veins. “You get one last chance to back out. Do you intend to take it?”

“Hell no.” The words slipped out without a single thought to slow them. She didn’t care. She fucking meant it.

His hands moved her gown up her body, warm and calloused from years of using a sword as they brushed her calves, her thighs, her hips, her sides. He didn’t take it off, though, letting the dark, tattered fabric bunch up at her belly. A mourner’s wedding gown. Black and red, torn from their travels. And yet, now, it felt as stunning as any bridal gown might.

He tugged the top of the dress down, which was all fine and dandy except it trapped her arms tight against her sides. When she went to move them free, he stopped her. “You don’t need to move your arms.”

The sound that left her was not a word but somewhere between a squeak and a gasp. She had read plenty of books along those lines; bondage was no real stranger to her. In theory.

In reality, her heart raced a thousand miles a second when she realized her range of movement was so limited. She could only imagine what he would do with the appropriate amount of planning and prep time. Maybe, someday, she’d be lucky to find out.

His hands pulled her legs up and pressed them back by her thighs until her knees were to her chest. Her heartbeat became one with the thrum in her aching core; rabbit fast and hungry.

Her underwear was pulled from her body and set aside, not tossed like his coat. The difference in treatment wasn’t lost on her in her haze, but instead became an anchor she could cling to. She was delicate, she was fragile. He wasn’t.

All further exploration went out the window when he grabbed both her ankles in one hand, and she could hear the sound of leather sliding. She twisted and turned just in time to see him bring his belt up to her calves, then wrapped it around them and secured them tight together. Yeah, give this man some real prep time, and she’d be in trouble.

Like with everything about Vergil, he was quiet and methodical. For once, she found herself unable to find the words. No questions or curious ramblings spilled from her lips, just nervous and soft gasps.

“At a loss for words?” He teased, his words making warmth blossom in her chest and sink into her ribcage. Instead of speaking, she nodded. She couldn’t even explain why she was at a loss for words.

He hummed and she wasn’t sure whether or not it was approval, then ran his hand along her thigh. Long, slow strokes as he held her legs against his shoulder. Anxiety and anticipation married deep in her gut as she looked up into those beautiful and irritatingly patient eyes.

Then, he kissed one of the spots of discolored skin on her leg. “You always take great joy in analyzing the world around you. The people, the devils, myself…” His gaze stayed on hers as his hand dipped down. She felt his fingers press against her and her heart stopped. “Maybe it’s my turn, don’t you think?”

She opened her mouth to speak but was immediately cut off by the intrusion of two fingers. Her words dissolved into a soft moan and her eyes fluttered closed. His fingers were thicker than hers, and longer. The angle was more forgiving, too.

He said nothing for the first few thrusts of his fingers, watching as she writhed underneath him. Wicked and evil, she wanted to hiss, but couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Then, he smirked. Much more freely than the smile she’d stolen before. “Those faces you’re making—this is more intense than you bargained for. And this is just from my fingers…I don’t think you’re ready for anything else.”

She whined and he laughed.

“Oh? That made you squeeze so tightly.” He leaned over her, pressing her legs back against her torso more. His fingers curled inside her and she gasped, her head tilting back against the ground. “You’re making a mess.”

His words were not helping. Or maybe they were. It really depended on what the desired outcome was.

His thumb pressed against her clit and began making circles to match his lazy thrusts that made her whimper and whine, now reducing her to soft moans and desperate cries of “Please” over and over again. He seemed to be in no hurry. In fact, that smirk was now permanently fixed on his face as he watched her.

“Do you even know what you’re begging for?” His free hand grabbed her jaw and she felt like she was swimming. Drowning. Floating. She wasn’t even sure anymore, actually. “There isn’t a thought behind those pretty eyes.”

Oh, there were thoughts. A jumbled knot of chaotic desperation that made no sense in the moment. Maybe if she wasn’t so anxious or eager, she could parse out different trains of thought. Strands of ideas. Something. Right now? It was just a cacophonous lost cause—

Until he pressed his fingers in deep and pressed into a spot that made her see stars.

“Do you like that, then?” He mused in a mockery of the tone she used whenever she discovered something new. Bastard. “Then let’s try this.”

He released her jaw to bring his hand down to her abdomen and pressed down. His fingers inside her pressed up and she swore her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she squealed, legs trembling as she felt her core unravel and a white hot explosion. When she came back down, she was panting and gasping and his damned fingers hadn’t stopped moving.

“Vergil—“ She whimpered. He tilted his head. Still. Fucking. Smirking.

“Yes?”

“Too—“ No. If she said too much, he would just stop. And she didn’t want that. “…not enough.”

“You really aren’t afraid to play with fire at all.” He almost lamented the fact. “Do you want to try that again?”

“Not. Enough.” She spoke slowly and clearly, despite the way she trembled. He sighed and slowly, tortuously, pulled his fingers out and licked them clean, his eyes never leaving hers. Maybe he was expecting her to chicken out.

She wasn’t going to.

Both hands moved off her body briefly. She could hear the sound of his zipper being undone, then he took the belt off her legs. He guided her legs down, around his body, and she was able to look up at him comfortably. Beautiful—really beautiful. She didn’t have it in her to be articulate and poetic right now, focused solely on the anticipation of what was to come.

One hand held her thigh and the other moved to stroke her cheek, using that as a brief distraction to reach back and take her hair out of the bun she kept it in. Bleached pale lavender hair splayed out underneath her head, tangling around the fingers that curled into it. “You will let me know if it’s too much. No games.”

“Yes, sir.” The title slipped out. He chuckled, his hand sliding up to her core to spread her open for him.

“Good girl.”

Her mind went blank. Hollow silence replaced all the loud thoughts tumbling in her mind as she felt the head of his cock press into her. All that existed was the weight of his touch, the feel of him oh so carefully filling her, and the soft grunt he made when he bottomed out inside her.

His lips met the side of her neck, placing small kisses against her skin. “How are you feeling?” He asked, his hand moving away from her hair. He pressed it back to her abdomen and she whined. “Be honest, darling.”

“You’re—really big,” she whined as she wrapped her legs around him. “Don’t make me wait.”

He chuckled gently, then leaned up so he was leaning over her. One arm was beside her head, his other hand still pressing down against her abdomen.

She had never felt this small before.

There was maybe all of three seconds to think about it before he started to move. Long, slow, deep thrusts that had him bottoming out each time he pulled back to the tip. “You’ve been thinking about this, I can tell. The way you’re—squeezing around me.”

The hitch in his voice made her stomach twist and she whined, head tilting back.

Vergil took his hand away from the ground and laid it around her throat, his thumb carefully stroking along the carotid artery in her neck. Sweet whimpers and moans accompanied the tightening coil deep inside her. It burned as it pulled tighter and tighter with every thrust, with the gentle squeeze of his hand, the pressure he applied, his damned words.

He started to pick up the pace, his thrusts becoming more shallow. His beautiful, perfect face didn’t show any signs of exertion or exhaustion. Perfect. Controlled. And so fucking frustrating.

“Ver—Vergil—“ She gasped out. “Fuck—Vergil!”

“Can’t talk?” His voice wasn’t as confident as it was. His words came out in such sweet, shaky breaths. His control was slipping.

The wings had long since melted and she was plummeting down to earth. If she was going to fall? She might as well fall all the fucking way.

“Don’t stop—“ She groaned, tightening her legs around him. “I want every last drop.”

“Amalia—“ The way he said her name was strangled. There was a look of surprise on his face. If she had to burn herself to win, she’d dive into the flames.

“If we’re doing this—“ He had slowed down. She rolled her hips, trying to get him to resume the pace he had started going. “We might as well do it right.”

“Are you—“ He had to force himself to stop, exhaling through his nose to calm himself. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“What I’m saying is…” She finally slid her arms free of her dress, then grabbed the back of his neck. “I want to fuck me like you own me, and I want you to cum inside me. Consequences be damned.”

“You’re such a pain.” There was no bite to his words. No malice.

Unlike the way his thrusts turned punishing. Hard and fast, the head of his cock ramming against her cervix. She screamed, her nails digging into his skin, tears pricking her eyes. But this was what she asked for.

“If this is what you want—“ He groaned, and now she could see the battle for control etched into his face. “Who I am to deny you?”

It happened too fast for her to calculate for. Sharp, hard thrusts, his grip tightening on her throat. It was hard to breathe and like that—

Icarus crashed into the earth with a wailing cry, her body lighting up with electric heat. She was only dully aware of his body coming to a stuttering halt, and the sensation of something filling her. Gasping moans helped her to slowly catch her breath as her hand slid down from his neck to his back, giving him a weak little squeeze.

“Was this…” Oh, the tone his voice took when he was exhausted was…fucking delicious. “Everything you wanted?”

Amalia tried to catch her breath, worn out as she was from the exertion. Then, she chuckled. “Dunno.” She said breathlessly. “Might need to do that a few more times to be sure.”

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