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dreamy-writings · 4 years

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All I want for Christmas

Pairing: Shigaraki x Reader!

~~~

Christmas eve was tomorrow. And Shigaraki has been a little grumpy lately.

After Kurogiri got caught, it was very obvious he was upset. He’d been talking less to everyone, isolating himself. Even if he tried to act uncaring, he’d gotten used to his presence. And he missed him. But you had a little surprise, just for him. You had talked to Toga a bit earlier, and she’d agreed to your plan. You had bought snacks, cake, and gifts. You had a little christmas tree that you were planning to put tomorrow once Shigaraki left, and Toga made it her responsibility to make sure everyone looked as cute as possible! Dabi said he could care less but she managed to somehow convince him to at least change his clothes through some otherworldly power. It was safe to say you were beyond impressed. Twice decided he’d dress as Santa, and you couldn’t find anyone better for the job.

Toga and you decided to buy the gifts, since it’d be easier when you two weren’t so recognizable. She’d disguised and you had taken off the mask you used to hide your face.

Spinner decided to wrap up the gifts and cut the extra pieces with one of his many swords. You hadn’t asked why.

Compress would take all the stuff you got and use his quirk to hide them.

And so, the plan commenced. “Hm, there’s this new video game that just came out. Do you think Tomura is going to like that? I wanna give him something that will make him happy.” You mumbled to her as you two wandered around the mall. “Hmm, Tomura-kun would like that I think if it’s like the stuff he plays! Oh, you know, I think he’d like gloves. He doesn’t hug you much because he keeps saying he doesn’t want to hurt you, so what if you got him gloves?” Toga responded cheerfully. You huffed softly. It made you feel bad how scared he was, but gloves did sound like a good idea. “Oh, I could get both!” “Great! I’m gonna get him the warmest hoodie ever! He’d look cute in a warm oversized hoodie, I should get him one.” She giggled, and you couldn’t help but nod. “Right! And Dabi’s in desperate need of new clothes. His style is weird but I know you’re good at getting the right stuff, so you should get him something else to wear, at least when we’re all together you know.” “He doesn’t like new stuff but I’ll try! Oh, I’ll get Jin-kun something I’m sure he’s gonna like! And there’s a cute sword right there, Spinner would like it! I wanna get them all sorts of stuff!” She said, excited, and you couldn’t help but smile fondly. “Me too.”

When you two got back, you made sure Compress was waiting outside to hide all the stuff. Toga took off her coat, and you threw yourself on the couch, sighing. “My legs huuurt.” You whined, burying your face into a blanket you’d left on the couch earlier. “Oh, I know. Don’t worry though! I and Jin-kun will take care of most of the stuff tomorrow. I told Dabi-kun to hang the stuff, he didn’t say yes but I know he’ll do it anyway. Tea?” You nodded. “Thank you.” ~~~ Shigaraki had just left, and you’d known he’d be back after maybe five hours. You had changed into a warm cute red dress you’d gotten when you and Toga were shopping. She insisted it’d look cute on you and she wasn’t wrong. “Y/N-chan! Come put your gifts!” She called. “Coming!” You got all of your gifts, neatly putting them down underneath the tree. You looked around, grinning. “Everything looks ready!” Toga nodded, and as soon as you heard the door move, everyone ran to stand next to the tree with the exception of Dabi who stood against the wall alone like the edgy person he was.

“Merry Christmas!!!” You all cheered loudly, and Shigaraki stared at you for a while, confused. “It’s Christmas?” You nodded, enveloping him in a hug. “We wanted to celebrate. I want us all to be happy during this Christmas, as much as we can. And...I hope that by the next one, we’ll all be together, smiling.” You mumbled, hugging him tightly. And slowly, you felt arms wrap back around you. “I hope so too. Merry Christmas everyone.” Toga decided to join the hug, wrapping her arms around you two, giggling. “You can’t have Tomura-kun all for yourself!” And soon, Jin, Spinner and Mr.Compress joined the hug. “C’mon Dabi!!” “No, I’m good.” She left, dragging him from where he was standing and pushing him onto you, wrapping her arms around him, laughing.

After a few seconds, she stopped, pulling back. “Let’s open up the gifts, everyone!” “I didn’t buy gifts…” “It’s okay! Just smile and that will be our gift, right Y/N-chan?” “Yeah!” Dabi rolled his eyes, but even he seemed to be enjoying this.

You opened yours first. It was a coat from Toga that had a tiny cat drawing on the top. “You like it?” She bounced on her feet. “Yeah! It’s so cute! Just like you, Toga-chan!” She giggled. “My turn!”

And so, everyone went ahead to open their gifts and Toga was more than glad to see everyone try on the clothes she’d gotten for them. Even if Dabi just tried on a hat. It was enough.

When you all opened your gifts, Toga had turned on the TV and poured drinks for you all, but you decided to save your real gift for him when you two were alone. You dragged him into his room. “What is it-” You picked up the gift box and turned to him. “It’s another gift. I couldn’t decide between the two. I hope you like this one though.” He tilted his head, unwrapping it, and opening it up. Then stared. “What’s that?” “Gloves. I’ve cut off two of the fingers so you could wear them. Do you like them?” He took them carefully, then looked up to you. You helped him put them on, and stared at the ground. He reached out to touch you with a trembling hand. But you still stood there, smiling shyly at him. He did it again. And you were still there. He giggled quietly, then wrapped his arms around you so gently, holding you close. “I really like it. Thank you.” Toga stood behind the door, giggling, mumbling something about telling him to wear them before and him not listening. You both didn’t notice. He cupped your face in his hands, beaming, giving you a soft peck on the lips “I love you, Y/N.” And you almost teared up, because he was too gentle, too good. And you wanted to protect him forever, even if he was stronger than you could ever be. “I love you too, Tomura.”

#bnha #mha #boku no hero acdemia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #tomura x reader #bnha fanfic #lov #toga himiko #mr compress #twice

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buns-with-a-book · 4 years

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Deflowered

A sequel to Flowers of White, completely spicy. So much spice. Includes SDT spice.

There’s two poems in this fic. The second one was written by furyeclipse

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: OC/Vergil, Dante Tags: @nimnox @furyeclipse @synchronmurmurs @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz

Summary: Vergil despises the scent of another man, of Draco, on the person he considers his. The scent infuriates him, enough to make him act on more base desires.

Days after they crashed her ‘wedding’, he can still smell him on her.

His demonic blood gave him heightened senses, hearing and smell and speed. It usually was a blessing but, in this moment, it was a curse. He can smell that scum, the scent of silver and sage and too-expensive cologne, still lingering around her. A part of him, a deep base beast that he sometimes wishes would just quiet down, snarls every time she passed by him before promptly filling him with shame for snarling at her when the whole affair was no fault of her own.

How dare Draco, a pathetic excuse of a man who had shown nothing but disapproval and dismissal, believe himself worthy of Cassandra? Cassandra was nothing short of extraordinary, the blood of a warrior-saint in her veins. A part of him was always in awe of how she maneuvered herself on the battlefield, brave and bold and unafraid of the demons they faced. That fool would never know the joy that burned in those deep green eyes of hers when they got paid for exterminating demons, the determination when they clashed in the training room, the way they sparkled with amusement at whatever foolery Dante got into. Draco would never know that and he was certain he didn’t care.

Cassandra was far more than just her ancestor, far more than just the daughter of a warrior-saint. She was a queen. A queen that Draco would never respect, would never appreciate, never be worthy of. (And, if he was honest with himself, he wondered if he himself was worthy of her as well).

“Verge? Earth to Verge?”

Vergil blinked, seeing Dante’s hand waving in front of his face. He was sitting on the couch in Devil May Cry, the setting sun casting long shadows across the shop. Dante was hovering next to him, a curious but playful smile on his face.

“Dante, I’m right here.” Vergil slapped his brother’s hand away from his face.

“Yeah, sure you were.” He smiled and sat down, the couch dipping as he settled next to his twin. “I know that look of yours when you’re thinking really hard. What’s stewin?”

“The best way to get rid of you.” Vergil replied dryly, a spectral sword appearing by his will and pointed at Dante. Dante laughed, of course he would laugh.

“Nah, I feel like trying my luck.”

“Your very horrible luck, you mean.” Vergil raised an eyebrow. Despite his mild irritation, it wasn’t enough to skewer him yet. “I believe even Lady can attest to how rotten it can be.”

“I can be lucky every once in a while!”

“Like a broken clock can be right twice a day.” Vergil snapped his book shut, finally admitting defeat. “I’m...afraid my mind still wanders back to the day we crashed Draco’s wedding. I can still smell him and it infuriates me, like an unwelcome stench that refuses to leave.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Dante hummed. “You two should go on a date.” Vergil could feel heat rising in his cheeks.

“A...date?”

“Yeah! Get your mind off the whole wedding shit.” Dante waved his hand. Vergil closed his eyes in thought.

“Perhaps star-gazing. It’s nice and relaxing, a reprieve we need from...that event.” Even mentioning it left a foul taste in his mouth, Vergil thought with a scowl. Dante let out a soft chuckle, seemingly unaware of Vergil’s inner turmoil...but Vergil noticed the mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“Well, there’s this nice forest outside of Red Grave. You can hike to the top and maybe get some ac- OOF!” Vergil promptly whacked him upside the head. “OW! Jeez, I’m trying to help...”

“Your idea of help is not actually help.”

“Look, I know what’s going on with you. You’re pissy another dude touched Cass when that’s your job. God Verge, you’re so easy to read when you’re angry.” Dante crossed his arms. Vergil just stared at him, not sure what to say. On one hand, Dante wasn’t wrong: the thought of Draco touching Cassandra in any capacity infuriated him to no end. On the other hand...did he have to say it so brazenly?! It always infuriated him that Dante had no shame. While Cassandra was more than willing to encourage him in his shamelessness (because she found it hilarious when that very shamelessness got him in trouble), Vergil had to draw the line somewhere.

“...if she consents.” Vergil said, standing up stiffly. “I will ask about...a date.”

“If you don’t run away from being awk-” And that was when the sword slammed down into the floor, barely missing Dante’s knee. “Hey!” Vergil ignored his exclamation as he made his way into the kitchen, where he saw Cassandra enter. Sliding his book into his jacket, he entered the kitchen to see Cassandra hard at work. A savory scent wafted through the kitchen as Cassandra stirred up waffle batter for baking. Aside her stirring bowl was cheese, tomato sauce, and herbs. He smirked, knowing that tonight’s dinner was pizza waffles.

“Hi Vergil.” Cassandra said quickly. “What do you need? As long as it’s not pestering me to finish up din-”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Vergil shook his head, earning a confused noise from her. “I would like to know if you would like to go on a date with me.”

“You sound like you’re trying to ask me out for the first time.” Cassandra said with a soft chuckle. Before he could object, she continued. “I’d love to go on a date. A nice simple date, maybe we can go stargazing on the roof.”

“On the roof of Devil May Cry?” He asked.

“Not in the mood to go anywhere for a bit. If we can stay home, I’d go for it.” A part of him, that hungry beast inside him, purred appreciatively at the idea. He watched her work on dinner.

“As you wish.” A faint smile crept on his face as he watched her work. It seemed like that little affair was nothing more than a bad memory, a memory that was rapidly fading. As she poured the finished batter into the waffle-maker, Vergil’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned against the doorframe. The sound of her making dinner was...surprisingly soothing. The fact that he could indulge in domestic scenarios like this was a feeling he couldn’t quite describe. He could only barely remember the last time he was this peaceful, the feeling of contentment with his life being foreign to him. If he had to recall, it would be back in his childhood, before the attack that changed his fate forever. But now, he had that...peace in his life. Reunited with his brother, slowly bonding over the son he only recently found out existed, and with a woman who cared about Nero just as much as he did (but more openly. Vergil being open with his emotions remained a struggle that he tried hard to work through), he was just...happy.

He opened his eyes, watching as Cassandra finished with the waffles. She drizzled tomato sauce, cheese, and basil all over them. Setting the plate on the table, she walked past him. His nose caught her scent, of herbs and morning mist and too-expensive colog-

No. That was Draco. The beast roiled at the scent. He flinched, thankful that Cassandra wasn’t nearby to notice it.

“Dante! Dinner!” She called before slipping back into the kitchen, followed by Dante padding his way after her call. He rounded around Vergil, pausing next to his brother.

“Did you ask her out?” He asked, ice blue eyes glimmering mischievously.

“Yes.”

“Did she say yes?”

“Of course I did Dante.” Cassandra huffed. “We’re gonna go stargazing on the roof of Devil May Cry in the future.”

“How romantic.” Dante hummed. “I mean, aside from the whole ‘sitting on the roof’-”

“I’m sure it’ll be romantic somehow. Vergil’s very good at reciting poetry.” Cassandra said as she prepared a second plate of pizza waffles. She ignored the sound of Dante gagging. “Yeah yeah, you keep gagging all you want mister ‘has rotten luck with the ladies’.”

“Ow!” Dante whined. “That huuurts.”

“It hurts because it’s true.” Vergil added.

“Beating up on your own brother…” He sighed in mock defeat. “You two are mean.”

“That’s our job.” Cassandra winked at Dante before handing Vergil the plate of pizza waffles. Vergil took the plate and the fork Cassandra offered before sitting down next to Dante. Cassandra made one last plate of pizza waffles for herself, humming softly as the waffle-maker did it’s work. Vergil closed his eyes, quietly eating what she had served. He remembered the first time she made this meal, and how quickly he made his distaste known until he actually tried it. It was this very dish that made him only occasionally question what Cassandra made (most of the time, as he had come to understand it, some of her more stranger options was just to get Dante to eat more than just pizza and sundaes).

His mind moved away from that memory, to that promised date. If the devil within decided to behave, perhaps it would be just a gentle and loving affair, as she deserved after such tribulation. But it all hinged on if the devil inside him behaved. And if even the slightest hint of that scum’s scent sent it into a huffy rage…

He wasn’t too sure how he would deal with that.

---

The skies of Red Grave City were clear, the summer stars shining brightly above them. As most of Red Grave had been ripped apart, the light pollution was not as strong as it used to be, providing one with a clear view of the stars above. Normally, every reminder of the destruction of the city stung Vergil’s heart with guilt, even if he wasn’t in the right mind when he did stab himself with Yamato.

It was here, on the roof of Devil May Cry, that Vergil found Cassandra. In his hand were three books of poetry, one of Shakespearean Sonnets, his prized book of Blake, and a small notebook he kept in his coat pocket. Cassandra had given it to him on his birthday (a day he usually forgot). He had taken that notebook and tried his own hand at poetry. It’s quality was...questionable but, according to Nero, it was passable. Cassandra was busy smoothing out a large plush blanket on the floor of the roof. Not too far away was a basket, full of sweet and savory snacks to pass the time. Very faintly, in the far distance, he swore he heard a piano playing. Returning his gaze to Cassandra, her attire was a simple deep blue dress, the thin linen fluttering with her movements.

He was right, he thought with a soft smirk. Blue did look good on her.

“Vergil, I can feel you staring.” Her words, accented with a tease, made his heart jump. He hid his brief surprise as he strode to her, sitting down on the blanket next to her. She smiled to him, laying herself down on the soft blanket. Vergil shed his coat, setting it next to the blasket of food. He set the books down on his coat. She laid down on the blanket, Vergil settling himself next to her as he took out his book of Shakespearean sonnets.

“Shakespear?” She asked, staring at the beautifully decorated book curiously.

“Why not?” He asked in turn. Cassandra laughed.

“You got me there, Mr. Poetry.” She pecked his cheek before laying down. Vergil settled down next to her and opened the book, flipping through the sonnets until he found an acceptable one. With that, he began to read.

Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest; But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my poverty; And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury. Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Kill me with spites, yet we must not be foes.

Cassandra hummed thoughtfully as he finished reading. “That’s not 18, is it?”

“No. Too overdone. This one is his fortieth sonnet.” Vergil explained.

“Hm. 18 is a classic for a reason.” She hummed.

“Every man woos their lover with 18.” He countered. “But you are no ordinary woman, Cassandra.”

“I’m the only one that’s knocked you on your ass.” She said proudly, earning a chuckle from him.

“I believe that was because you pulled a cheap tactic on me.”

“That was one time Vergil!” Cassandra playfully whacked his shoulder. Vergil sat up, placing the book of Shakespere away. His hand took his small notebook, to which Cassandra raised an eyebrow at. “What’s that for?”

“...I’ve been practicing poetry myself.” He admitted, flipping through the pages. “It’s a hobby I’ve been working on when I am not busy.”

“Aww…” She smiled, retaking her place at his side. She rest her head on his shoulder. “Which one are you going to read?”

“Reclaim. My 78th poem.”

“78!? You either have a lot of downtime or you have a lot of ideas to immortalize in poetic form.”

“A little of both.” He smiled at her surprise. “Shall I begin?”

“Yes, please.” She rested a hand on his chest. He wrapped his arm around her, his hand resting on her back, and began to read.

The rightful queen came home today. She came back with her head high, Proudly bringing the slain man's head for all to see. The dress of white was gifted to the winds and carried away. It's shameful imitation of fabric no longer touched her. Now she's taken back her rightful crown, The light basked in her glory as she came to her knight.

She tilted her head, just a little, and suddenly that scent came back to him. Caught off guard, he let go of the book. It landed on his face rather ungracefully, earning a surprised gasp from Cassandra.

“Vergil?”

“I...I’m fine.” He grumbled.

“I doubt it. You’ve been...stiff ever since we came back from Rothes.” She sat up a little. “What’s going on?” Vergil lifted the notebook off his face, meeting her dark green eyes. They were searching him, trying to find out the answer to his state. He let out a sigh, setting the notebook back with his books. He sat up, helping her into a sitting up position, and turned to her.

“That man...Draco, his stench clings to you. It infuriates the devil inside me. It is of no fault of your own. You did what you had to do to save Nero and I am grateful for your bravery.” He paused, taking in a breath. “It still does not change the fact that Draco dared to touch you, dared to be in your presence when he is not worthy of it…”

“You’re jealous.” And there it was, that simple succinct phrase. “Does that mean your devil considers me a mate or something?”

“Along that line, yes.” He sighed.

“So…” Cassandra’s eyes were closed, the spellblade warrior deep in thought. “Your devil considers me as a mate and Draco’s shit caused them to get jealous and see Draco as competition. Does that sound right?” She opened her eyes, seeing Vergil’s confirmation. He nodded. “Ok, so, how do we deal with this problem?” There was a quiet that fell between them, Vergil’s eyes fluttering closed to think. He could feel Cassandra’s gaze on him, intense and searching for an answer to the predicament. Vergil knew the answer but his pride refused to let him say it. “Is it sex.”

“What?” He blinked.

“If it wasn’t something like that, then you would’ve said it by now.” Vergil looked away, a blush on his face. “What? I’m not wrong. You never mince words about what needs to be done to solve a problem unless it’s salacious.” And indeed, she wasn’t wrong. Vergil let out a sigh.

“You are...correct. Specifically, it involves scenting.” He could feel his face burn as he spoke. “It’s...messy.”

“We have a bath. And we paid the water bill for the month.” Cassandra said. “Are you afraid I won’t like it? Or I won’t like what will happen.”

“No. It is the fact that all this was born out of a desire to possess you. And you deserve more than someone who refuses to let go.” Cassandra mulled over his words.

“Earthmother help me, you’re such a gentleman deep down.” She said with a smile. She gently took Vergil’s chin, guiding him to face her. “If you’re worried about me consenting, then don’t worry. Of course I’d consent. I know you know your strength and I trust you to not break me too much.” Her hand moved down to take his hands. “You wield Yamato so skillfully, after all. I’m sure you can control yourself or drive me mad with pleasure.” She glanced up and gave him a wink. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re insatiable.” He breathed.

“I know.” With that, she leaned forward to kiss him. Her hand rested on his hip, the other threading through his silvery-white hair. She gently nipped at his lips, earning a soft surprised gasp. She slid her tongue inside quickly, taking advantage of his surprise to establish her dominance. He chuckled into the kiss, slowly tipping her back onto the blanket. The hand on his hip moved to rub his groin, earning a low groan from the half-devil above her. He pulled back, earning a soft gasp from her. He leaned back, pulling the dress off her. She aided him in the effort, pulling the soft fabric off her. He leaned back, carefully pulling off his vest. He could see the hunger and appreciation in her eyes, she didn’t even try to hide it. Placing the vest next to her dress, he worked on sliding his pants off. His eyes flicked to Cassandra, who was reaching back to undo her bra. He took in a soft breath, watching as it fell away. He pulled off his pants, noticing how Cassandra’s gaze flicked down to his groin and thighs.

“Yes?”

“Lace underwear, huh?” Cassandra asked, quite obviously amused. He tensed for a moment.

“The other options chafe. It’s distracting.”

“I like it.” She leaned forward, pulling the waistband of his underwear and pulling it back and down, exposing his cock. “And it makes your dick look that much more appetizing.” She smirked at his blushing face, pulling him out of his underwear. “And those thighs? To die for.”

“Are you going to spend the rest of the night showering me with compliments?”

“I might.” She winked. “But I’m not wrong.” She reached down, stroking Vergil’s cock. He let out a grunt, eyes fluttering closed. “That’s a look…” She murmured.

“You drive me mad.” She felt his hand grab her hair. “You insatiable harlot.” She grinned at him, meeting his smirk. Before she could reply, he forced her down onto her back. He presented his cock to her. Quickly getting the hint, she took the tip into her mouth and sucked, swirling her tongue around the slit. He let out a grunt, his hand gripping just a little tighter on her hair. He remained still, groaning softly as she leaned forward, bobbing her head on his cock. Vergil groaned as she worked, her hands moving up to massage his thighs, the very part of him she praised to high heavens.

Well, not that hers were lacking in any manner. But that was neither here nor there. His more immediate focus was on Cassandra, his ice blue eyes meeting her dark green. That half-lidded sultry look made him shiver, a look that shot down his spine and made his cock throb. That deep base beast rumbled with approval at the sight...and it wanted more. Despite his attempts to stay in control, the beast within refused. He could feel his body shift and change, slowly as his control loosened. He growled as his load poured down her throat. With the last of his control, he moved back. In moments, he transformed with a burst of demonic energy.

Cassandra stared at the now transformed devil hovering over her, wings flared out behind him. The chill of the oncoming night was gone, replaced by the warmth that radiated from the very devil she was admiring. The devil let out a slow exhale, blue meeting green. She looked up and down the devil’s armored body, the deep blue that pulsated like a glowing heart from his chest to his flared wings. She could hear his tail swaying slowly behind him, faintly seeing the sharpened tip from behind his wings. He shifted back a little, as if he was worried that he had startled her.

“Wow...hot.” Cassandra said, earning an amused rumble from the devil hovering above her. Cassandra sat up, her hand reaching up to cup the side of his face. The devil leaned into her hand, warm against her skin. She smiled at the sight. “What? You thought I would be running for my life at the sight of you?”

“...a little.” He rumbled, voice warped from the demonic energy. “From the shock of my transformation.”

“You’re such a gentleman.” She took his hand and gave the warm palm a kiss. With a pleased rumble, he slowly moved his way down to her thighs. He pushed her thighs apart, noticing Cassandra shiver at the claws that pressed into her skin. Vergil leaned forward, his tongue rubbing slowly against her cunt. It rubbed up and down her slick folds, occasionally rolling around her clit, before moving down to push inside her. She gasped out, her hand reaching down to grab his horn. She pulled him closer to her, wanting to feel more of his tongue against her. Her body shook as he gave her more of what she wanted, his tongue lapping up her juices. Cassandra began to grind her hips against his mouth, shivering at the sensations.

He pulled back, letting out a pleased rumble. Cassandra lifted herself up a little by her elbows, looking down to Vergil’s groin. The carapace protecting his cock had split open, revealing a girthy slick blue cock. The bulbous head was slightly larger than the ridged shaft and, at what she presumed was at the base of his sac, was a knot. The scent that reached her made her shiver, a wave of arousal washing over her.

“Shit…” She panted. What was it about the heady scent that just seemed to make her wetter? She was certain Vergil could tell she was more than aroused, more than ready for him, but he restrained himself. “Veergill…” She whined.

“Yes, my love?”

“Nnn...please, just fuck me.” She panted. She could barely think, the heat at her core was almost overwhelming. She faintly heard a soft but warm hum before the tip of his cock rubbed at her entrance. Her body burned with unbridled lust at the contact, a cry of pleasure ripped from her. The devil pushed the tip into her, earning breathy moans from his writhing mate. With the tip inside her, he paused and looked at her. Even with only the tip inside, he could sense her trying to pull him in. He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. She reached up, holding tight onto his scaled body. She let out a whine as he pushed forward, sinking more of his cock into her. He could feel her walls squeeze and ripple around him, a sensation that made it difficult to not start thrusting right then and there. The devil let out a slow exhale, trying to not thrust with wild abandon, not yet.

Until she pulled him close, pressing her lips against his fangs. It did him in.

With an aroused growl, the devil began to thrust hard. He felt her legs hoist around his armored midsection. In the back of his mind, he knew she would come out of this scratched up. He would take care of that later, his mind too focused on the unbridled lust that was spurred on by her moans and cries of pleasure. His wings dug into the blanket below, growling as he thrust into her shaking form. The warmth that surrounded them felt as if it was pooling in his core, his thrusts devolving into short harsh movements. He panted as the knot at the base of his cock began to swell and with it, the oncoming orgasm.

“Vergil! I-I’m close!” He heard Cassandra pant. He could feel it, it was so close. With a final thrust, he pushed the knot into her and roared, warm seed pouring into her. With him, he heard her cry out and tense up around his knot, body shaking as her orgasm finally hit her. After a few tense moments, he felt her body go lax. He looked down, seeing her breathing heavily underneath him. His gaze moved down her body to her stomach, slightly swollen from the seed that he poured into her. If he was capable of blushing, he would be doing it. He stayed there for what felt like hours, the knot slowly deswelling. He pulled out, letting out a soft groan. Settling himself next to her, the devil disappeared with a flash of blue, revealing an exhausted flushed Vergil. She turned to him, reaching out to pull him into a brief kiss.

“Cassandra…” Vergil murmured. “I apologize-”

“Don’t.” She smiled at him. “That was...phew, that was something.”

“I could have hurt you.”

“Not much more than sore hips and some scratches, which isn’t a bad thing.” Cassandra slowly sat up, letting out a hiss. “Oof...can you go run a bath? I think I’ll be here for a bit…”

“And leave you alone? Never.” He swiftly picked her up, earning a hiss from her.

“Yowch! Jeez, rail my brains out and all that gentleman behavior goes out the window.”

“You were all for it.” He pointed out. She noticed the hint of a playful smile on his lips.

“Yeah yeah…” Cassandra waved her hand as he slipped back into the shop. Stepping into the bathroom, he laid her in the bathtub. He turned on the water, letting cool water pour from the faucet into the tub. “So, uh…” Vergil glanced at her. “Do I still smell of Draco?”

“No, thankfully.” Vergil sighed.

“Good. I’d rather smell of you than of an old bully.” Vergil wondered if she knew the implication of her words. He turned off the faucet. “I’ll be ok here, you should go get everything up on the roof.”

“Are you sure? It would be remiss if I left you her-”

“Vergil. I’ll be fine. I can bathe myself. You should get that basket of snacks and put it next to our bed so we can munch on those before dozing off.” Cassandra told him firmly. Vergil sighed and stood.

“As you wish.” He left the room. Cassandra went to work on bathing herself, humming softly. She swore she heard swift footsteps, perhaps Vergil pulling on some unknown demon ability. Super speed or something, she didn’t worry herself with it. She continued to wash her body.

“It’s done.” Cassandra jumped and looked up, seeing Vergil back by her side in pants. She stared at him, still shocked at his sudden appearance.

“...fucking hell.” She ran her hand through her damp hair. “I love you Vergil but there’s just some things that surprise me about you.” He chuckled at her mild frustration. Cassandra finished bathing and stepped out of the tub, right into a towel Vergil had for her. She leaned into his strong arms as he dried her body, relaxing. When her body was dry, she leaned against the wall as he drained the tub. As the tub drained, he picked her up bridal style and carried her to their bedroom.

“Would you like me to read to you?” He asked, setting her down on their shared bed.

“Of course.” She smiled at him. “But I’d like to hear some of your works.” Vergil blinked at her before nodding, sliding into bed next to her. He pulled out the notebook and allowed her to cuddle up against his side.

“As you wish, my wild rose.”

#devil may cry #devil may cry oc #devil may cry vergil #spicy #lemon

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cum-a-calla · 5 years

Text

a commission :)

inside: Bob Gray/female reader, humiliation, piss, mindfuck, denial, general clownery

It’s hard to judge just how long you’ve been in the cage.

On top, there are two heavy boots, legs crossed at the ankle. The bars of the cage tremble and clink, chains around the door shimmying like bells. The sound joins his uneven breath, it joins the metallic rattling and your own blood rushing in your ears, and the sight of him petting the ridiculous bulge in his slacks while he squirms. He’s slack-jawed, drooling, eyes heavy and focused, unfocused, focused again.

There are empty seats and risers in a semi-circle around you, rusted with age. You can practically hear the creaking despite the lack of an audience. In your head, it sounds hollow, warped, just the thought of it creepy enough to make you shudder. Goosebumps ripple down your arms, over your ribs and thighs.

“Wish there were people in here, little creature?”

He grins and saliva dribbles down his chin. Around you is aching, echoing emptiness, like a vacuum. Sounds within the tent are magnified, caught in the low, insectile buzz in the background, and focusing on it only forces it to retreat. Hiding. Chittering. Beyond the ragged flaps of the entrance, wind whips banners and flags around, shakes the trees in the distance and sends leaves and carnival garbage whirling around the midway. Not a sound penetrates the perimeter of the tent. It’s like watching a movie on mute, the world moving on behind some invisible barrier. You’re isolated here.

Trapped.

The cage is small. It’s barely big enough for you to be on your hands and knees, naked, shivering under his constant watch. Between your thighs, your pulse makes itself known. Each throb brings you a little closer to release, but it’s a race to see which releases first – your dripping cunt or your full, tight bladder, feeling fuller every passing minute.

“No,” you breathe. The thought of anyone seeing you like this, locked up and trembling with your bare ass in the air, is beyond anything you could handle. You peek at the risers and they shimmer. They seem to slip in and out of focus, and in the weird blur, there are shapes. People. Loads of them, faces smeared and unclear, blipping in and out like a glitch.

Glancing at Bob Gray treats you to the sight of his big hands around his cock, leaking down around his knuckles. He’s sneering down at you, tugging leisurely at himself while you flicker between him and the spectral audience, and it seems that with each passing glance, they disappear and reappear, refusing to conform to your perception of the room around you. It’s scary. The people don’t really look like people, only like they’re trying to.

Like Bob. Bob, with his wet snarl, his sleepy eyes and sharp teeth. His eyes glimmer at you, snapping orange like a wildfire. He lifts his boots off the cage and spreads his thighs, pumping his cock with a little more purpose. He swipes his fingers up over the slippery head and shudders, giggling, his soft belly peeking from under his untucked shirt. It’s nearly threadbare with age.

“Can see ya shakin.” He sucks his teeth, mocking you with a violent shiver that shakes his massive frame. “Ooh, tiny thing, can see how bad you want it. Stupid little pet. Does it hurt? Does it feel sooo bad to hold... it... in?”

Eyes on the floor. It’s all you can focus on aside from the burning ache. The more it aches, the worse it gets. The worse it gets, the more you throb.

“Can I... please... go to the bathroom?”

He shakes his head, a thread of drool breaking off to patter into the dirt near his feet. He’s swollen, dripping just like you are. He moans and shakes his head harder, the laughter bubbling up from deep in his chest.

“No, no, I want you to hold it. Be a good girl, hm? Don’t make a big fuckin’ mess in my tent, you hear? Do ya kennit, little animal, does it do ya well?”

“Please, I really – it... hurts –”

He stands so suddenly that his chair topples behind him, and he towers over the cage like you’re the smallest thing in the world. He’s enormous. He takes the step until his big boots are toeing the edge of the cage, knocking into the thin bars, and not once does he stop touching his cock. He bends low and watches you, looks at you from every angle. His saliva drips down onto your back. It’s warm, unbearably so as it slides down the curve of your ribcage to your belly. He reaches into the cage, shoves his hand between your legs.

There, he rubs at your clit. It’s sloppy and quick, less about teasing and more about piling on the pressure. It’s searing. It feels like a molten ball in your belly, twisting, pressing down, down, down against your bladder, each contraction deep in your cunt only dragging your misery to the surface. It’s getting harder to ignore, harder to push down below.

“Does it hurt so, so bad? Is this old man huuurting you?”

“Ohmygodohmygod...”

Bucking your hips away is impossible. You can only fall back against his fingers, and the more you worm away from him, the more he giggles. The more he strays from your clit, teasing you where you can’t have him. Not now. Not with all that bright pain inside, ready to burst, and yet here he is, cooing at you with his fingers sliding inside.

“No gods here. Not even close. Nothing but me, nothing but your slimy little cunt. You smell so good, too... come out, tiny thing. Come on out. Let. Me. Smell. You.”

“No, I can’t, I can’t!” Your voice draws high, so whiny and pathetic that it doesn’t take looking him in the face to know that he’s enjoying it. His smirk shapes his words, spits them at you like his fucking drool. They float through the air like a miasma, circling your mind, like moths. Smell you let me smell you come out tiny thing come out you scared does it hurt does it hurt doesitHURT

“Oh.” He moans the word, like it rumbles up from his body, and his breath flutters through your hair. Sweat prickles at your hairline, and the first drip travels down over your temple. He takes the cage in both hands, so many slippery fingers, and takes a steadying breath. You can’t look away from him, crouched over the cage with his heavy cock out, with his big hands gripping the enclosure like he means to twist the metal. He glares down at you with a smile on his face. “Oooh, you can’t? But this... is the circus. Anything can happen here.”

He takes his hands, pounds his fists on the top of the cage. It rattles around you and you jump, yelping, and after all, you do feel like a dumb animal. He pounds them again, again, and all you can do is freeze up. Your bladder burns. Your cunt aches.

“Anything! Let me show you.”

With each strike, he grunts, and those melt off into laughter as he starts to count down with each smack of his big hands, slamming against the metal until they scrape open, the meat of his palms tearing and bleeding freely. SIX. FIVE. FOURRRR, THHRREEEEEEE, TWWOOOO.....

“ONE!”

A final, heavy slam of his fists and the cage is gone.

He stops just short of your back, hands coming to a complete halt as you brace for impact, and then his red, shredded palms lay flat against you. His blood feels scalding. The cage is just gone, absent from the tent entirely. You look around, frantic, looking up, looking at him, but there’s nothing to see. Nothing but his broad shoulders, his knowing smirk.

“What do you think?” He winks at you, slow, like you’re sharing a secret.

“It’s - that’s... where did it... go?”

“Gone the way of many other things in my time, filthy thing. Don’t worry about that. It’s been taken care of, and now you should be.”

There’s no grace to the way he yanks you by the hips, no thought to how you fight a losing fight, barely squirming out of reach when he pulls you flush against him. He grabs handfuls of your ass, spreads you open, grinds his cock up against every inch of you.

“Gunna fuck you full, fuller than you could imagine. Isn’t that nice? Don’t act like you don’t want it. I know. I know you do, even though you need to go oh so bad.”

He dissolves into a fit of manic laughter and it bounces off the walls of the tent. Beyond them, the world still moves. The storm has picked up, but none of that is perceptible in here, nothing except the snatches of midway as the flap waves in the wind. Sometimes there are people walking in the distance, and sometimes there are people close by, people that barely resemble people. Watching. Smiling, pointing.

His cock is massive as he is, but with how utterly soaked your cunt is, he forces it inside with little issue. It’s mind-numbing how good it is, how he’s right – you are full, so blissfully full, every inch of his cock spreading you open and finding nerves you barely know of. He tilts his hips and pounds into you, like he’s going to fuck through to your guts and into your bladder. It’s too much. It’s way too much pressure, and the first warning pangs of loss of control are flooding your nervous system, face burning with the effort, voice drawn so high and sharp you could cut him with it.

“I can’t I can’t I can’t, I’m gunna – please – oh my god PLEASE let me go,” you sputter. Words leave in no specific order, rushed, clear only in their desperation.

He pulls you closer.

“Hold it,” he demands. He doesn’t let up. It’s a strange sensation that travels all the way down to your feet, like hot wire, and you start crying. He leans over your body and folds over you until he can grab your face, tilt it toward him. He licks your tears off your face and laughs, breath like smoke, like old meat and dead leaves and something else, something familiar. He’s inescapable. “Aren’t you a big girl? Can’t hold it for me, baby, can’t be a big girl? Don’t wet yourself! Don’t have an aaaaccident all over Daaaddy!”

He laughs and your body betrays you. It’s inevitable. He slows his hips after the initial break in concentration, the warm dribble in the dust, and then he’s howling as you piss yourself. His cock throbs, balls-deep, holding you as tight against his body as he can manage as it wets through his slacks and over his thighs, puddles below the two of you. You hang your head with your eyes squeezed shut, trying to ignore the orgasmic rush of release, like a climax of its very own. It feels good. It feels so good.

“Filthy fucking creature. Nasty slut. Disobedient little thing, aren’t you?”

Bladder relieved, the reality of your situation caves in around you. Fuck. You stammer apologies, over and over and over, shaking with them, coming apart underneath his stilled form. He still has his fingers buried in your flesh. He squeezes them and you moan, and his cock throbs.

“You’re sorry. You’re sooo sorry. Oh, tell me, tell me how goddamn sorry you are.”

As you continue gushing your apologies, there’s a tickle in the back of your throat. Coughing takes it away for a moment, but it comes back, an itch unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Coughing turns into gagging, into hacking over the floor until you’re the one drooling, dry-heaving, shaking in the dirt with piss down your legs and a cunt full of him, and.... something... touching the back of your tongue. Something in your throat. There’s something in your fucking throat, rising up, and Bob sticks his fingers in your mouth.

He reaches back, stuffs his long fingers back there until he grabs it and PULLS. He drags the thing over your tongue and out from your throat like he’s doing an act, and half of you expects to see multicolored scarves when your vision stabilizes, when you’re not stuck behind a screen of tears as you try not to vomit on his hand. An eternal, painful moment later, he shows you.

He’s holding a crop. An entire crop, wet and slippery with your saliva, your mucus.

“You ready to be so, so sorry?”

He lands the crop on your back. It stings and pulls you back to life, and his hips start moving again. There’s no rhythm to lead into; he fucks you open until you’re moaning and crying and begging, throwing nonsense words into the hot, muggy atmosphere of the tent. You can smell your own piss, his breath on the back of your neck. He rains blows down with the crop and each stings more than the last, forcing your tired throat to shriek, to yelp, to make all manner of embarrassing sounds under his ministrations. He rolls his hips like he knows your flesh from the inside, knows exactly where to nudge, how to adjust his vicious pace.

“I can feel that nasty cunt tightening up on my cock. You gunna cum soon? Would you like that, to cum all over Bob Gray’s big, mean dick? Want Daddy to let you have it?”

“Yes.” It’s the most honest, most coherent word you’ve spoken, clear as a bell, slicing up through his frenzied breaths and grunts. He giggles and hums, hits you over and over in the same spot with the crop. Your back glows with it, marks up and down your spine, blooming, warping your flesh into a purpled, welted landscape.

“That’s too bad, because if you disobey me and cum without permission, I’ll do more than beat you. I’ll take this pretty skin right off, see what’s underneath. Oh, yes, I will. I’ll see what you’re really made of. You’ll see just how messy and disgusting I can make you. So... don’t... cum.”

He rubs your clit, giggling, knocking your weak hands away when you reach down to grab at him, to twist away. There’s no escaping. There never was, not at any point. Beyond the flapping tent, everything is now still. Birds hang midair, people mid-walk, and everything is staring through the frozen tent-flap. The people aren’t people. Things watch you with their unchanging non-faces, expressions beyond what you can really understand as human. Terror grows inside you like ice, turning your blood cold, and yet Bob Gray ruts into you all the same and plays with your clit until you’re fighting a different kind of pressure than before.

"Better not cum, little thing, you better fucking not cum."

Finally, his movements become erratic, his hand stalling. He throws the crop and wraps his arms around your waist, down by your hips, and squeezes. He holds you in that vice-grip and it’s almost more painful than the crop wounds, crushing against your pelvis, against your hipbones as he bottoms out with each thrust. It feels like you may come apart in his arms, and that delicious knot of heat gets tighter and tighter and tighter and he’s beating you to the punch.

His cock seems to expand, filling any last inch of flesh he can manage before he’s moaning, growling in your ear. Cum fills your cunt, shoots so deep you can’t stand it. Wriggling against him only milks him further. He rocks and rides out his climax while you whine.

After he’s done with you, he pulls out, shoving you by the hip so that you fall over in the dirt. Urine soaks your legs. His cum drools out of your cunt and he leans down to peer at it, to spread it open so he can watch, fingers tracing as you throb with neglect. He swipes at your clit and you shudder.

“Good girl. In the end, you all listen. You all want to be good, at the end of it.”

He stands up and fixes himself up, wipes his chin free of his spit, watches you catching your breath. He bends to pick up a pile of your clothing and he tosses the articles at your face, cruel laughter spilling from his lips as you peel them back and attempt to sit up. Your body aches. Everything hurts, everything wants.

“Get the fuck out of my tent and clean yourself up.”

You pull your shirt back over your head, and... he’s gone.

The tent is empty.

There’s barely a swirl in the dust, no footprints, just your own piss and clothes and your filthy legs, just his cum dripping down your thighs and smearing there. Beyond the tent flaps, the storm is over. There’s barely a cloud in the sky, just the deepening evening, the sunset. It’s bright orange. It bleeds over the landscape and casts the windless trees in an eerie light. Birds chitter and games go off deeper in the midway, and it’s like your ears are unblocked. It feels... normal.

You pull your clothes on and go around to grab a bucket – before you leave for the night, you’ll have to wash away the... spot. Seeing it there sets your cheeks aflame all over again, feeling the sticky dirt on your legs.

Just outside of the tent is the bucket, a single red balloon lifting the handle.

#n sfw #commission #bob gray x reader #bob gray/reader #nnnaaaasssty #nasty old bitch #thank you so much for the commission!!!#god i love bob i hope i did it justice for you

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4jimin · 7 years

Note

21 jikook

Anonymous said: 21, jikook please! Smut would be very appreciated btw I love your writing, figthing!

Anonymous said: 21 + jikook

ps: since three ppl requested this one, i made this mini jikook fic a bit longer. i lov u all, thanks for sending!

Send me a pairing + a number: “wow i did not know you had a weak spot like that” - jikook

canon compliant | smut (kinda) | body massages

Taehyung walked in the room when the pinkish red hues of the sunset were washing the ground through the open window. It had been a stuffy day, the air sticking to everyone’s skin in damp sweat on the streets, making it gross to walk beside so many people. However, by the time the sun started hiding behind the thicker clouds and the mountais, the atmosphere was suddenly fresher, cool and soft blows of wind swinging the leaves of the trees and brightening people’s grumpy expressions from the later heat.

Jimin was seeming to enjoy the sudden change in the weather, body sprawled on his bed in front of the window. When he noticed Taehyung’s presence in the room he quickly turned to face him, the subtle pout on his lips telling Taehyung he was having a please-love-me-and-give-me-affection day. Not that any other day was different, but some were especially more intense.

“Taehyungie…” he whined. “Please, massage my legs, they hurt…”

Taehyung avoided his gaze under the pretext of searching for his wallet, knowing he couldn’t be influenced by the shining puppy eyes. Hoseok was waiting for him.

“Sorry, Chim. Hobi-hyung is waiting for me, we’re out to eat something.”

Jimin moaned in frustration.

“But I’m huuurt…”

“Call Jungkookie, he’s on his bedroom doing… Well, nothing.”

Jimin frowned and crossed his arms. “Don’t want to, Jungkook is acting weird.”

Taehyung took a second to spare him a glance after finding his black wallet. “Weird how?” he asked, but Jimin remained silent, eyes staring at the ceiling in a 5-year-old attempt of seeming angry. He was really having those days. Taehyung sighed, shaking his head and heading to the door. “Just ask him, okay? I’m sure he won’t say no. If anything, I massage you when I come back.”

He closed the door, but not before listening to Jimin complaining in a grumpy tone. “My legs will have already fallen by that time.” He smiled, the door shutting as he walked to the living room.

“Hyung?” Jungkook sneaked in the room, his head peaking inside to search for Jimin. “Hyung, you here?”

He completely entered the bedroom, looking around the empty place. Maybe he left? But that was quick, Taehyung had just asked for him to go take care of Jimin. Jungkook took five or ten minutes to finish his game before doing what he was told.

“Jimin?” he called again, feeling just a little stupid since there was really no one there. He was about to leave and go look in the bathroom, when the mass of blankets on Jimin’s bed moved.

Oh…

He didn’t fight his smile when only Jimin’s head popped out of the bigger duvet, his brows furrowed and a cute pout on his lips. “It’s Jimin-hyung, you brat.”

He laughed, his feet moving at his direction, almost unconsciously pulled by his tiny figure.

“Tae-hyung told me to come here and take care of you.”

Jimin’s frown seemed to worsen.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” He recoiled more inside his shelter of blankets when Jungkook sat on the border of the matress. “You also didn’t have to come just because Taehyung asked you to.” Jimin mumbled, eyes on the carpet floor.

Jungkook pushed the sheets off him, exposing his body to the cool air of the room. “Stop being stubborn, I came ‘cause I wanted to.” But that wasn’t enough for Jimin to look him in the eyes, neither for him to uncross his arms or soften the scowl between his brows. “Where does it hurt?” he tried a different approach, hands sliding over Jimin’s arms and then down his legs.

The touch made his heart skip a beat, he wasn’t going to lie, but it also made Jimin’s arms loosen in front of his chest and his eyes to slowly fall closed – Jungkook knowing he hit the right spot when he pressed his fingers around Jimin’s calf, the older squeezing his eyes a little harder while letting out a pleasant hum from the back of his throat.

Jungkook wrapped his other hand around Jimin’s ankle, massaging the muscles and watching Jimin’s expressions change depending on where he pressed his fingers deeper. He settled his body better on the bed, finding a position where he was comfortable and his torso was completely turned to Jimin, feeling somehow eager to catch all the transitions on the older’s face, maybe intoxicated by the way Jimin’s lips parted in silent whines of pleasure, the way his cheeks turned pink when Jungkook tightened his grip.

Jimin opened his eyes and licked his lips, Jungkook knowing he wanted to ask something but was hesitant. So, instead of making use of words, Jimin simply placed his hands over his thighs, showing were he wanted for Jungkook to massage. The younger’s eyes followed his fingers and remained there, even after Jimin took them off. He gulped, remembering the reason why he had been avoiding Jimin these past few days. He wasn’t quite feeling on control of his actions anymore. And it wasn’t like he had never gave Jimin a massage that settled a nerve-wracking sensation on his gut before. Like the time he massaged his naked back – hot muscles tensioning under Jungkook’s palms, his own fingertips burning when he dragged his hands too low on Jimin’s spine, close to where his back curved into his ass. He had done it before. More than once. It was okay, he could do it.

Jungkook released his breath unconsciously confined in his lungs, Jimin still staring at him with mild expectation on his eyes – cheeks almost as red as his lips. It was okay, he could do it.

He placed his hands on Jimin’s thighs before the moment lasted longer enough to be awkward. Jimin closed his eyes and tilted his head back almost instantly, providing a sight Jungkook didn’t really know how to deal with. He started moving his hands, though, fingers sinking on Jimin’s thick muscles, going up and down, leaving imprints behind just so he could go back a second later and replace it for new ones. Jungkook was barely breathing, but when his fingertips digged deeper on a specific spot on the inner part of the older’s thighs, a moan crawled out of Jimin’s lips, getting him to completely forget what oxygen was. His body froze for a moment, Jimin lifting his head just enough to look at him. He was redder than before, lips parted in an – apparently failed – attempt to drag air inside his lungs, and chest rosing up and down unrhythmically.

“N…Not there.” Jungkook heard Jimin’s voice resounding low on his ears.

“Why?” he asked on the same tone as he pressed harder, dizzy thoughts clouding his mind. Jimin gasped, leaning his head back again.

“J…Jungkook…”

“I asked why, hyung.” Jungkook murmured, bending forward not entirely aware of what had gotten into him – but he’d rather keep going than stop to wonder what. He completely climbed the bed, both legs on it now, hands still pressing down Jimin’s thighs when he straddled him. He didn’t sit on Jimin’s lap, though. Instead, he inclined his body torwards the breathless boy in front of him, dragging one hand up his waist and putting the other by the side of his head so he wouldn’t lose his balance.

“What are you doing?” Jimin breathed out, but got no answer.

“You like the pressure there?” Jungkook asked, leaning closer.

Jimin turned his face away, exposing his jawline and the side of his neck, which forced Jungkook to bite his bottom lip hard in order to hold himself back. He fisted the sheets under his palm. “Fuck off.” The older mumbled, and for some reason, it only incited Jungkook to be bolder.

He lowered his face until his mouth was an inch away from Jimin’s ear, his left hand sliding down and invading his tshirt to squeeze his hip, thumb drawing circles over his hipbone. “Is it your weak spot, hyung?” Jungkook whispered – hot breath on Jimin’s ear –, switching his right hand for his elbow to support his weight, body consequently closer to Jimin’s, chests flush against each other.

“Shut up.” Jimin managed out, a hand going up Jungkook’s chest to pull him away. “Stop joking around.”

“Who’s joking here?” he allowed his weight to completely fall on Jimin, their bodies finally touching and getting Jimin to gasp when Jungkook’s semi hard on clashed below his bellybutton, hands closing around the fabric of the younger’s tshirt.

He tightened his grip on Jimin’s hips until he had him moaning, closing his lips around his neck to catch the vibrations of his voice, sucking one time only, slow and sweet, his tongue pressing down Jimin’s jugular. Jungkook had his own stomach swirling in arousal, the skin in contact with Jimin’s getting hotter, their hearts pouding against each other’s chest and providing him a sort of reassurance – he wasn’t the only one feeling like he could burst at any moment, right?

Jungkook mouthed his way down Jimin’s collarbones, kissing the skin with a delicacy he didn’t know he had, Jimin’s sweet scent intoxicating his lungs. He kept going lower until he was facing Jimin’s stomach – rising up and down increasingly faster, his breath more uneven than before.

“Jungkookie, what are you doing?” Jimin whined, trying to reluct but having already gave in long ago.

Jungkook fingertips traced its way inside Jimin’s tshirt – the fabric rolling up as a happy consequence. The sight caught his oxygen locked in his throat. He slided his hands lower, grabbing Jimin’s thighs and positioning his fingers on the sensitive spot from earlier. He didn’t answer the question – much because he didn’t know, but also because he didn’t want to. He bended down instead, mouthing the bulge of Jimin’s last rib, licking it and feeling him arch his back under Jungkook. It didn’t make him stop, open mouthed kisses being placed everywhere Jimin’s torso along with his fingers sinking deeper in the flesh of Jimin’s thighs, Jungkook drinking every moan out of him. His lips touched the edge of Jimin’s pants, which forced himself to stop and look up, heart beating so loud it was all it resounded on his ears for a moment.

Jimin’s eyes were on him, dark and dangerous, glare so intense it ran a shiver down his spine. The older sat straight and before Jungkook could understand what was happening, his back hit the matress, Jimin being the one straddling him. He let out a surprised squeaky sound, which was completely swallowed by Jimin’s hot mouth on his lips.

He kissed Jungkook so roughly his mind wasn’t able to think, going blank the moment Jimin’s tongue touched his own, mouth moving in a thirsty lust for the younger’s taste. Jungkook grabbed his waist – needing to hold on something to steady his sanity –, but he unconsciously pushed Jimin’s body down, their erections meeting, just some pieces of clothing apart.

He growled in Jimin’s mouth, a tiny wave of pleasure shooting his stomach, while Jimin clutched his shoulder and whimpered.

It was when Jungkook’s phone vibrated on his pocket, the loud ringtone filling the room.

“Ignore it.” Jimin murmured, bitting Jungkook’s bottom lip and rolling his hips against him. He gasped.

“Hyung–“ he choked out.

“Ignore it.” The older repeated, lower this time, kissing his chin and jawline.

Jungkook was going crazy. He didn’t know how much of all that he could take it, every single thing about Jimin inebriating his senses and clouding his mind.

But reality was punched back into them when they heard loud knocks on the front door followed by Namjoon’s voice. “Jeon Jungkook! Is your phone only useful for playing games?!” Namjoon repeatedly pressed the bell button, the high-pitched sound mixing with Jungkook’s ringtone. “I forgot my keys, open the door!”

Both him and Jimin sighed – sexually – frustrated, bodies sinking on the bed in disappointment.

“I think I should go open it.” Jungkook let out, halfheartedly squeezing Jimin’s waist for him to get off him.

“Yeah…” Jimin trailed off, not moving a muscle. “Will… Will you come back after you do it?”

Jungkook pretended his heart wasn’t beating on his throat.

“Namjoon-hyung is here now, hyung.”

“I know.” Jimin snuggled up to his neck for a second, breathing in Jungkook’s scent. “I just want to be with you.” He paused, waiting for the younger’s answer. “Please?”

“Yah! Is anyone there?” Namjoon’s voice surged again, making both of them laugh.

“Okay.” Jungkook mumbled against Jimin’s hair, cupping his nape and allowing himself to feel the so familiar warmness spreading over his chest for a while longer. “Okay.”

#for everyone who can't read whats below the read more bc its using the tumblr app try opening it on your mobile browse!#jikook fic #jikook #kookmin fic #kookmin #bts fic #bts

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