the cheering from your students made you bite back a chuckle as you stood before your husband in the middle of the training field. the two of you had been pushed into an unexpected position — your second years and his first years betting on who would win in a fight.
whilst you were an experienced sorcerer as well — strong and capable with a powerful technique — you couldn’t act like beating your husband was something realistic. not when your husband was satoru gojo. even though he was very clearly going easy on you (neither of you wanted to hurt each other after all) it was impossible to touch him thanks to his infinity, and as much as you were having fun, you wanted to show off a little more in front of your students. he couldn’t have the spotlight all the time after all.
“c’mon,” you groaned through pants, a small grin still glued to your face because the whole thing really was amusing. “ditch the infinity already you coward.”
the word hit him like a slap to the face coming from you, and like the masochist he was, his expression exploded into something dangerously amused, six eyes gleaming at you like a predator would lock onto prey, blindfold long discarded. you were putting up a good fight so far, and god was he enjoying himself.
“coward, huh?” he snorted, releasing his infinity in the same breath and making the other students hold their breath. “fine. let’s do this fist to fist.”
“that means no cursed energy from you either~”
it was hard to tell who struck first with how fast fists were flying and bodies were moving, your students struggling to keep up with who was doing what. what was clear, however, was how right the two of you were together. where he excelled in brute force and speed, you dominated in stealth and precision, both of you struggling to land punches on each other.
that was when it happened.
you didn’t have time to blink as he faked that sweep and instead grabbed you by your collar before you could gloat about dodging such an obvious attack, your body hitting the ground with a thud after being thrown to the ground face first. everyone fell silent at that, watching eagerly as you tried to get up just to be shoved back to the ground again by a large hand on your shoulder blade and his knee beside your hip, trapping you.
“got you,” he sneered, watching as you squirmed and struggled uselessly beneath him before accepting your fate and falling limp to the ground. “i win.”
as much as you wanted to say something smart in retaliation, the words died on your tongue the second he pressed you down with just a little more pressure, and suddenly you felt a strange heat fill your stomach. it was weirdly thrilling — both of you panting and sweaty while he practically manhandled you to the ground beneath him. your heart was racing both from the adrenaline of the fight and the thoughts swirling into your mind. he was always such a gentle man with you, so this? this was new. exciting.
it was something you couldn’t stop thinking about even hours later when you returned home, darting straight to the bedroom to change out of your uniform. you’d been sweating in it after all. it desperately needed to be washed and so did you.
you weren’t surprised when satoru had entered shortly after you, just as you had peeled off your shirt, revealing your bra to his already hungry eyes. he didn’t say anything at first, just placed his hands on your hips to pull you in for a kiss, huffing like a child when you pulled away. “i’m all sweaty and gross from you pushing me into the ground earlier,” you teased, making him pout.
“you make it sound so cruel,” satoru murmured. “i didn’t push you — i gracefully pinned my gorgeous wife after an epic battle.” he pulled you flush against him again and you scoffed at his words.
“it was far from graceful. you were crushing me. you’re not exactly light you know.” satoru laughed against your lips at that, a low rumbling sound, before he leaned in to nip at your bottom lip playfully.
“crushing you?” he repeated, feigning horror. “i was gentle! delicate even — like i was handling a flower!” to emphasise his point, he fluttered his lashes at you like he was the picture of innocence itself, his heart fluttering seeing you laugh at his poor attempt at a defence.
you leaned in to press a quick pick to his lips. “i wasn’t complaining,” you hummed with a smirk that undid him entirely — mischief masking itself behind such a sweet smile like you know exactly what you were doing to him. “is that so?”
satoru kept his hands on your hips, walking you back until your legs hit the edge of the bed and you had no choice but to sit, leaning back on your hands as he towered over you, a thick air of tension suddenly filling the room while his eyes bore into yours.
“if i’m being honest, i actually liked it,” you confessed, watching the way his lips twitched into a wider smirk. just thinking about it all made your stomach pool with heat. the way his big hands held you down…how easily he had overpowered you..that slightly crazed smile when you’d managed to land a punch on him earlier…
he didn’t miss the way your thighs shifted together in an attempt to relieve that familiar ache between them, his cock twitching in his pants at the knowledge that you’d enjoyed (and were most definitely turned on by) him pinning you down. that you liked his strength. naturally it went to his head. both of them
seeing you like this — cheeks slightly flushed from just the memory alone, both of you still a little hot from earlier, and your lips parted slightly as you looked up at him — he couldn’t hold back anymore, pushing you onto the bed properly while he began lifting his shirt off, throwing it somewhere across the room. “liked it, huh?” his voice was half growl, half teasing lilt, but his eyes were intense, a sign he wasn’t just joking around anymore. the boner he was sporting further affirmed that, brushing against your thigh when he leaned in to press hungry kisses to your jaw, grazing you with his teeth just to hear you make those pretty noises for him.
his breath was warm against you, fingers reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra so he could feel every inch of you. he lived for the way you whimpered when his lips wrapped around one of your already pebbled nipples, groaning at the salty taste of your skin. if anything it turned him on more. “toru…” your body arched up into his without thinking, breathy and needy.
“what is it baby? what do you need, hm?” he released your nipple just to meet those eyes of yours staring down at him with raw want. “want it rough…please?”
and god, how could he say no to a request like that? especially after finding out how much you’d like it earlier when he got a little rough with you. without giving you any form of a warning, he flipped your over onto your stomach, manhandling you so that you were in a prone position with just your ass lifted up a little for him. a gasp left your lips when he tugged your skirt off, throwing it somewhere behind him so he could see your panties, along with the clear wet patch you’d left on them.
“you sure you can take it?” satoru jeered, a final sort of warning so you couldn’t say you didn’t know what you were getting into asking for this. at your desperate nod he reached for the waistband of those black panties, tugging on them until they ripped off of you, making your breath hitch.
“it’s your funeral~”
and he really wasn’t joking.
you hardly knew where you were or even who you were at this point. all you knew was that his hips were ramming into you without mercy, ignoring your whines and the way you were clawing at the sheets beside you. satoru had a hand gripping your hips tightly, nails digging into the plush skin there as he held you down, making you take it while he grunted above you. his other hand was tangled in your hair, keeping your face flat against the mattress where you were already drooling.
“ah-ah, no running,” he tisked, an almost cruel lilt to his voice when he felt you squirming beneath him. he was pounding into you with a pace so relentless you could hardly form any thoughts, let alone beg him to slow down. “you wanted this didn’t you?” still, you tried to say something. a plea for…well..you didn’t really know what it was you wanted. either way it didn’t matter because the moment you tried lifting your head to talk he had shoved your face right back into the sheets, making you moan.
“fuck, you’re so filthy,” he groaned, feeling how your walls squeezed him tighter after that. your body alone told him everything. how much you were enjoying this. “you love being treated like this, don’t you? being held down and manhandled..” the broken whine you let out made his hips stutter for a moment, head tipping back with another groan because this was so fucking hot.
a loud crack filled the room as he let go of your hair to deliver a slap to your ass, an action that made you jerk slightly in surprise, even as another moan was dragged out of you at a second slap. “god, i’m gonna ruin you,” he growled, clearly getting as carried away as you were, a large hand splaying across your lower back, pulling you back against each of his thrusts.
tears began to fill your eyes from just how good, yet how overwhelming everything felt — his cock stretching you out and hitting the deepest parts of you that only he could reach. each dirty grumble of his as he made you take everything. the desperate need to cum already. “don’t cry baby,” he cooed, but you knew better than to think he was serious. “you can take it. you will.”
and something about him saying it like that, like he would make sure if it, had you mewling like a stray cat against the sheets, fingers digging into the fabric with such force he almost wished you were marking up his back with those nails instead. “gonna fill this pussy up…fuck, you want that right?”
both hands slid up your back until they reached the back of your neck, wrapping around it with just enough force to keep you pinned down and restrict some of your air flow, but nowhere near enough to really hurt. as much as he was getting off on this power play he didn’t feel like harming his wife. “you’ll take it all for me, won’t you?”
the noises you were making were sinful as you neared your orgasm, legs shaking slightly as he began to speed up his pace, groans being pulled from his throat more frequently now, and you could tell his orgasm was approaching soon too. a few more strokes was all you needed before you were crying out in pleasure, clamping down around him as you saw white. it was intense and dizzying, hitting you so suddenly and causing your whole body to jerk while satoru continued to grind into you until he found himself cumming too.
you were too tight, too warm, and with a final, deep thrust he was spilling himself inside of you. filling you up just like he said he would and leaving you lying limply against the bed as you tried to come too. you hadn’t even felt him collapse on top of you until he was peppering kisses down from the back of your neck to your shoulder, whispering sweet nothings.
you were utterly spent and probably close to passing out, but god did you love it.
Synopsis: Scar!jo's wife misses her husband's touch.
Pairing: Scar!jo x wife!reader.
Tags: [MDNI] Slow and intimate SMUT some fluff and angst sprinkled, voyarism, public sex, exhibitionism, breeding, p in v, reader is a horny little shit, praise kink ig, missionary, overstimulation (can people learn the diff between this and overwhelmed..?) cunnilingus.
From Shibuya and Shinjuku's ruins to the Italian coast is a long, dreadful and sorrowful journey you embarked on with your husband.
Freshly scarred and high from the adrenaline after the showdown, Satoru hadn't realised just who he was after defeating Sukuna.
He wasn't just the strongest anymore.
He was a survivor.
The winner.
But he came crashing down from the peak sooner than he expected.
One look in the mirror.
And he wasn't anyone.
Not your husband, and most definitely not Gojo Satoru anymore.
So for months, he hid.
The characteristic charming and confident man you married was nowhere to be seen the last three months. Buried in the rubble that consumes what Tokyo once was.
Satoru is still somewhat a ghost of himself—you watch him as he stays rooted at the shore, tall frame swallowed by his orange oversized sweatshirt to hide the dents in his canvas underneath that follow his skin until his mid thighs.
Just staring at the horizon of azure blue, a mirror of his own eyes.
Though you can't see his face, or read his thoughts from where you lay on the sunbed shaded behind the creamy, semi-see through curtains, you can tell his gaze is void—empty like it's been for some time now.
Or perhaps foggy with his everlasting fear. Paranoia of ever having to relieve what he did. Unfortunately for you, as much as you've tried to be a reassuring and wife, nothing has quite helped your husband with abolishing that mindset just yet—that he's on the battlefield.
You don't dare to say it out loud.
But you miss your husband.
Your Satoru.
So much.
Not how he looks.
Never that.
But the cheerful, loud and lively version of him. It pains you far too much to see him so far away despite being right next to you.
You press your face further into the plush white pillow beneath your cheek and try to find comfort in it—to no avail, you can only fall asleep on your husband's chest but he's refused physical contact ever since he came home.
It breaks your heart every time.
Because you love him either way—scarred or not—maybe now even more than before after he kept his promise of coming back to you.
He doesn't see it that way though. And he avoids you like it's better for you to stay away and not see the outcome of the events carved into him.
Says he's "not worthy for you anymore." or "unattractive." So you won't need to force intimacy onto him because he hates the feeling of your fingers brushing every dip of his skin that wasn't there before and that only serves as a reminder that he was still weak.
You wish he'd understand he's anything but weak.
In the distance he's still watching the waves, you begin to wonder if today, on the third day of your vacation—the one you forcefully dragged him on, far away from Japan so he'd have a change of scenery (a positive one)—he will finally get inside the water.
Tug off his cover-up, dip himself beyond his feet in the blue and lose himself in the ocean.
The answer lingers in the back of your mind like a pest, you're sure he's not ready yet, but there's a sliver of hope in your chest.
Which disappears and gets overtaken by vast disappointment once he turns around and makes his way to you. A few long strikes and he reaches where you're bundled up on the bed, hair messily sprawled out on the sheets, curtains half drawn to sheild you from the sun.
And he would usually cling onto you immediately. Throw a hand over your waist, press himself against your back and curl into you. Cuddle you until you both fell asleep in this nice weather.
Instead, now he takes the other end of the bed. Swinging his feet up after dusting the sand off and leaning against the headboard—quiet as a church mouse.
Sadness pools in your stomach, an uneasy feeling taking over your every fiber. You try to be strong knowing he has it so hard—but you can't help but feel undesirable at some point.
Swallowing the prickling feeling of wanting to cry, you try to keep your voice leveled—clear of any sentimental emotions—when you attempt small talk with him.
"How's the water, honey?"
He's quiet for a beat before mumbling "I didn't go in."
You hum, a sorry excuse of a smile on your face.
And you can't help it when the tears bubble quickly in you and you accidentally choke out a sob you were meant to push down.
Satoru’s head whips over to your sideways curled up figure on the bed when the sound reaches his ear.
You feel pathetic.
Making small talk with your husband.
Helpless, and feeling incredibly selfish.
For the first time in months, Satoru feels himself live in an emotional fully. Worry spreading through his whole body.
He pushes himself off his side of the bed and circles the bed till he reaches your side and crouches right where your face is hidden in the pillow and from where tiny whimpers are muffled.
"Baby, what's wrong?" You start sobbing at the sound of the nickname. He has no idea just how much it means to you to just hear him talk or look at you.
The tears spill past your waterline like a waterfall with no direction or limit, dampening your cheeks, soon turning your eyes raw from the dryness.
You hiccup into the pillow, muffle sobs that rip straight from your chest while your husband stays crouched next to the bed and rubs your back—unaware of the inner turmoil you actually fight everyday because of him.
Because he’s there.
Yet, he’s not.
And it stings.
“It’s okay, tell me why you’re crying.” His voice soothes in your ear, questioning softly with the underlying care in his words that he always had with you.
That has your heart clenching even more, your chest tightening at how the man you knew only shows up every once a never now.
You feel like a terrible wife for wanting him back.
“I miss you.” You frailly cry out, voice a pitch higher and shaky.
Though you can’t see him, you know he’s probably wearing that face of indescribable confusion. He’s there, so what are you talking about?
“I’m right here, sweetheart..?” He’s unsure as he points out the obvious.
You don’t miss a beat in replying. “No, I miss my husband.”
His mind slowly wraps around the idea he has about what your talking about and something shifts in him.
For the first time since he’s gotten back from the shore, you show your face again. Mascara smudged around the corners, hair messy, cheeks glossy and lips puffy.
“You don’t look at me anymore. You don’t let me touch you. We barely talk. You don’t let me help. We are married for fucks sake, Satoru.”
Your voice breaks as you spill your hearts content out through the tip of your tongue. Months of frustration and loneliness piercing right at the one man you love most in the world.
Satoru falls quiet with a frozen tongue and a paralysed mind. Internally, he feels the gears shift, his mind rewire as he understands you.
And he gets it.
Shit.
Where has he been these last months?
Back at the battlefield while his wife desperately tried to cling onto his consciousness and ground him like the tether she always was to him in his world of curses?
Uneasiness washes over him at the realisation that he can’t erase the past—the last months you’ve spent in solitude with an absent husband at home, constantly nurturing it without reward.
So all he can offer and pray you accept are apologies.
“Shit, babe, I’m so sorry.” His long fingers clasp around your hand against the pillow. Holding tight enough for you to feel your bones being squished against his.
“I’m so sorry.”
But you don’t need his apologies.
He has no need to apologise for. After all, you’re not the only one grieving him. He is too. The life he had, who he was, who the mirror showed him before the slashes.
It’s different though. He doesn’t love who he is now, while you still do.
He’s still your husband. You said “I do.” 4 years ago with the same confidence you’d say it today. Even after all of the hardships and even after all of the forgiving.
“Don’t apologise.” You mutter, shifting on the mattress and sitting upward—moving your weight to sit on your legs—and cup his cheek with your right hand to caress it.
Only now do you realise his eyes are glossy too, guilt swimming in them—regret. The kind that eats at your bones for mistakes you didn’t mean.
Quietly, you confess with the sound of the waves in the background supporting you.
“I’ll always be by your side, Satoru. But you need to let me in. I’m your wife.”
Your eyes follow the way his Adams apple bobs as he swallows your honest words. Their meaning sinking into his marked skin with permission this time.
He nods once—slow and sure—and the knot in your chest loosens. In the blink of an eye, he’s getting off his knees.
The matress dips where he sits down next to you, hand still in hand, his body fully turned to you while your legs—folded beneath you—still are angled straight ahead.
In a slow pace, he draws himself closer to you. The smell of his natural musk that always drove you crazy mixed with the ocean breeze in his milky white hair filling your senses.
His lips brush against you in the comforting way they always did before meeting.
And slowly, he whispers.
“You are so much more than my wife.”
You hum once, curtly.
“You’re my everything.”
And the man you thought you no longer recognised, kissed you like the man you know by heart.
The kiss is impossibly soft. Tender and warm. Electrifying all of your dormant atoms to life, cells buzzing under his touch.
It’s magical. An open door to the world you thought you were shut out of entirely—one with him and your love.
His lips move slowly against yours. Plush skin meeting plush skin in a desperate yet patient reunion.
You didn’t realise you missed it so much till now.
It hurts to part.
Satoru only pulls away for a second to look in your eyes.
Neither of you exchange words before diving back into each other’s essences.
His hands find your waist, your body turns to him completely—back pressing against the headboard as he holds you, your hands fitting on his broad shoulders.
Beneath the tips of your delicate fingers, you feel the dips and uneven surfaces under the thin layer of his sweatshirt.
The kiss deepens once he swipes his tongue under your lip and you grant him that quiet access like you always have under the sun or moon.
You’ve always been Satoru’s.
From the day you saw him on the other side of the train station.
Till now.
And you always will be his.
Your nails slightly dig into his flesh as he explores your mouth, one of his hands now on your chin—tilting your face up—so he can follow the same path he always did.
Tongues fighting, bodies heating up under the daylight, you feel the need to reduce the layers between your thin white cover-up dress and his sweatshirt.
Hesitantly, the pressure on his shoulders caused by your fingers lessens and your hands migrate to the collar of the orange material.
He’s still kissing you as you tug on the zipper.
Then he freezes.
Tongue retreating and lips separating from the heated kiss. Eyes locking together.
You see the fear and hesitation in his baby blues. A silent prayer for you to not see him.
“Satoru, I love you.” You croak out. Voice scratchy and hoarse. The remaining few drops of tears spill from the corners of your eyes.
“I love you so much you have no idea. And I have always loved you and I always will. Even when you change.”
Your husband’s heart shatters.
Loud, like glass breaking against the floor. Unmendable.
But he trusts you.
So he dries your face with the buds of his fingers. Kisses the corner of your damp eye, and pulls the zipper down himself—showing the tainted and raw outcome of his fight.
Pink scars, painfully painted stars in his history.
You see beyond them. See the chiseled body he worked for, the defined v-line that you go crazy for, his rock-hard abs. His determination.
The scars are mere decorations you wish he accepts someday.
“You’re beautiful, honey. Even more now.”
Satoru has doubled in mass since being in the prison realm.
There’s nothing unattractive about him.
Your mind momentarily flashes to the promises of him giving you a family after the fight if he made it.
Every time you think about it, nausea overtakes you.
That dangerous what if that haunted you for nights before the showdown.
What if he didn’t…
No, he’s home.
And that matters so much to you.
That he could come home missing half of his body and you’d still cherish him to death.
Because you know there were others without the gift or the fortune to see their loved ones faces ever again.
Your hands press against the hard surface of his pecks before peeling your back off the headboard and reaching up to kiss him.
You’re caged in between his arms that hold himself up against the headrest. He happily accepts the kiss, lighter than a few seconds ago.
He melts into you again. Your back presses against the cushioned board again as he hovers over you once more.
Hands dipping, your nails feel every dip of his abs. Your legs subconsciously closing as the heat in between them grows.
Satoru bites your bottom lip so he can slip inside your mouth this time, his confidence recovering little by little as he sees the effect he still has on you.
You rein back a whimper that almost escapes once he lowers his lower body onto you. Hard boner pressing against your thinly covered clit—slotting himself perfectly against her.
With the palms of your hands, you push the orange sweatshirt off Satoru and he pulls his hands back quickly to throw it off before latching them on your breasts.
Your mouths dance a ballad you’ve both practiced across different lives.
With no regard for even considering that people might walk by and catch what’s happening through the slightly agape curtains, you slowly plunge your hands inside your husband’s swim trunks.
He hisses against your mouth as your hands wrap around his shaft, sensitive from not being touched or touching himself at all these last months.
Every fiber in you is on fire. His lips leave yours and attach to your neck—peppering your skin with love bites that show you’re his as he works on kneading your tits.
You start pumping his girth at a rhythmic pace, swiping your index finger to collect the small amount of pre-cum oozing out of his tip to stroke him.
Satoru’s face lifts to see you spit on your hand while maintaining eye contact and he feels himself grow harder even when it’s not even possible anymore.
His hand messily pushes down his swim shorts and his cock springs up, hitting him in his lower belly where you immediately grab it and coat it in your spit.
He lets out a deep rumble from his chest that has you twitching around nothing. One large hand pushing your cover up just enough for your bikini-covered breasts to meet the light of day.
A finger hooks under the thin strap underneath them and he sets them free once he tugs the string over your tits.
Your stroking falters when he moves to your nipple, biting as a greeting and then sooting the sensitive bundle of nerves.
You’re dripping—soaking the expensive material of your bathing suit under your cover.
Satoru’s still working on your nipple when his hand pushes up your cover up and moves aside your panties. Long fingers pressing against your warm wetness.
He swears he could cum just for the fact that you’re this wet over him.
A thick, rough digit of his pokes at your entrance before slipping inside. You gasp at the stretch, not having had sex in a long time.
Satoru relishes in the small sound. He pumps the finger once, twice and on the third thrust he unexpectedly adds another finger.
Now, his middle and ring finger stretch you. Wedding ring pressing against your cunt whenever he bottoms his hand out.
His palm rubs against your clit in a way that has you twitching beneath him. Your body jerks at his tongue swirling around your nipple and his palm slapping your bud.
Small moans ring in his ear. With your hands still wrapped around him, he starts thrusting against the mattress, chasing that friction while your mind crashes.
He feels you tense up when your walls start to flutter around his fingers so he pulls them out before you can reach your release.
You feel him lower and latch his mouth onto your pussy before you can process it and whimper for the loss of his digits. Hands letting go of his length as he lowered himself.
Immediately, your hips buck when he flattens his tongue—trying to lap up and consume relish in every taste of his wife’s nectar that she’ll offer him.
You lose all control over the moans and whimpers that leave your mouth—too far gone to even think about others now when your husband eats you up so messily.
Your juices mixed with his saliva soak into the white mattress, staining it, yet the two of you couldn’t care less.
Satoru laps up like a starved man. As he is. His tongue slips past your ring of resistance at times, teasing. Testing to see if you’re ready.
Your nails cling at his back, scratching new redness that he doesn’t mind—not in the way he does with his scars.
His hands are now under your plush ass, angling you upwards and holding you in place as he devours you with the reverence and need he has always had with you.
Your orgasm approaches quickly once he reignites it. Satoru holds the need to smirk against you once he feels your clit twitch and your sweet cunt start to flutter all alone.
He looks up with your bud in between his lips to see the heavenly sight of you propped on your elbows, tits out and glistening, your head thrown back.
His rutting against the bed stops.
You come undone on his tone aggressively. It hits you all at once, shivers overtaking you as your mind falls into pure euphoria.
Satoru doesn’t let a single drop spill.
Not giving you much time to recover, too eager to melt his body with yours, and with you all over his face, your husband climbs over your body again and captures your lips in a kiss.
Tasting yourself on his glistening lips, you shudder and whimper from how sensitive you are once you feel him rub his tip against your entrance.
“ ‘toruuu.” You whine, tears brimming your eyes.
A mock pity pout spawns on his face. His head lolls to the side as he watches your struggled expression—mouth parted, eyes fluttering open and shut when he brushes himself against your overstimulated clit.
“Didn’t you miss me, baby?” He teases.
"I—did-I missed you so much, mmh!" You mewl out in high-pitched stutters. Eyes falling shut and letting the tears spill from your clamped shut eyelids once he bottoms out in one go.
“Oh fuck.” Satoru bites back a low groan that escapes straight from his chest, his thighs pressing against the round and plush skin of your ass.
He wastes no time in pulling back and snapping himself back home. Letting his length disappear inside of you with little to no resistance. “Yeah, baby. Take all of me.”
Electricity sparks every once-dormant nerve in your body back to life.
Your mind momentarily flashes back to the promises he had vowed to keep before the fight. How he’d retire if he won, give you a family and spend the rest of his days cherishing the moments he spends in your arms.
And you snap out of your thoughts once you feel his two hands slide under your thighs, strong forearms locking them against your hamstrings so he can snugly wrap your legs around his textured waist—carved skin firmed up from days in a dark realm where he fought against time and his own mind.
You feel him everywhere. To the veins harshly reminding you how they have a place within your velvety walls ever since he vowed to be the only one who would ever walk the earth to please you—to the heat swirling in your chest out of profound and raw love you have for your husband.
It’s not supposed to be such a bittersweetly beautiful moment as Satoru is keeping your legs folded around him—forcing him to voluntarily slam down and dip his bulging cock back down home, juices welcoming him and kissing his length goodbye when he pulls back—but it’s so painfully good.
The way he’s back within your reach—caging you under his huffing, feral state where you can see the light color of his eyes sparkling as his body is electrified with life for the first time in months—and the way he’s stretching you out so deliciously.
Making you mewl out incomprehensible words that end up being letters melted into each other with no real meaning because your brain can barely form a real thought.
He’s finding the love you have for him in every crevice of you as your tongues mesh together again. Saliva on saliva as he connects his hips to yours without faltering once.
Begrudgingly, he pulls back. Your eyes fall down to his plush baby pink swollen lips that once shined with your release.
His breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling—occasionally shaking as a deep groan escapes him when you suck him in so greedily—for a second, you catch his stare falling to your bodies connecting.
Then he snaps back up—face levelling to you where you’re still giving him that fucked out doe-eyed look that he swears will have him falling over the edge sooner than he intends to.
“Baby?” He softly calls out, the four-lettered word spilling out of his mouth with ease that comes out of the habit he has of calling you that loving name.
You barely hear the sound of his voice, mind somewhere over the clouds. His tip is pushing past your cervix soo nicely. Kissing that little spot that makes your muscles start to spasm in uneven waves—your eyesight blur and the tears streak down the sides of your face quick.
Unbeknownst to you, Satoru is a lot more pleased with himself than he’d admit right now. Even after the noise, the trauma and the ashes—he still has it in him.
Still has it inside of him to unravel you with the simples touches, to have you with your mouth parted open and your eyes rhythmically rolling back as he plunges inside of you—searching for your release.
It fills his body with a tingling sensation—a lingering hot feeling right where his heart sits at the realisation that you’re his wife in every sense of the word.
That you’re still here and still so loving.
All for him.
“M-mhm?” He hears you barely make out, nails moving from his back and onto his forearms where your nails subconsciously dig into his tainted skin.
A cannined smile pulls on his handsome face, almost resembling one of his characteristic smirks that has you knowing—even in your haze—that something is coming.
“Remember the promise I made you?”
Instantly, you scramble around your mind to try and filter to the thousands of promises you’ve offered each other and that he has yet to break.
There are so many, and you don’t have enough mind to run through them all.
“Which—ngh, ‘toru!” In the middle of your attempt to speak, he shifts, hooking both legs over his shoulders. Drawing his chest down, the strong surface of his chest weighing down on your smooth skin.
“—right there! Oh—“
You’re loud. Too loud for someone on a sunbed in a public place. Satoru probably knows it. Yet he makes no effort in shutting you up—he doesn’t muffle your real moans with a kiss, doesn’t silence your babbles with his hand. He lets them pour out into the open.
He lets the world know you’re his.
And that he’s back.
Either way, you don’t make any effort to stop the shore from knowing your lover is back.
His calloused hands, detailed with resilience and his unmatched strength, go delicate as he tries to wipe the stream of tears on the sides of your face.
“C’mon baby, you know which one.”
Seeing the way you fall quiet—half losing the fight between yourself and climaxing too early as your orgasm holds you by your throat, and half winning over the chaos of your mind—he “aids” you just a bit as his left hand drops and finds your clit with soft circles.
He’s teasing you, worsening the internal struggle he’s putting you through—setting every nerve in your body on fire as he pulls your release by the reins.
“What do you want from me?”
His words find a place in your disoriented head, clicking with his previous question.
A baby.
You wanted a baby with him before the fight.
A family.
Something to remember him by
Every night before that godforsaken day.
You tried.
Clung onto his body with a different—more painful kind of desperation than the one you have right now.
Tried for a baby.
Tried to leave a part of him within you just in case he—
The answer spills out of your mouth before your mind dips to darker places.
“A family.” You breathe out, eyes clamping shut for a second.
He muses, face dipping to press soft kisses to your pulsing temple. “Yeah?”
“Y—yeah!”
Your voice pitches higher at the last second as he presses down on your clit.
“Please—please, ‘toru—don’t leave me. Give me a baby.”
You don’t realise just how your fear is spilling through the cracks as you beg to finish and for him to never be done with you.
And Satoru goes soft.
Pace stuttering, abs tightening—he’s so close, you’re so close too.
With slow strokes, already high off demolishing you the past moments—Satoru rides the last moments of the roller coaster as he reaches his end.
“I’ll give you everything, honey.” He whispers, the bed creaking less beneath the both of you as he takes you to the edge.
And you titter to your orgasm that crashes over you twice as strong the second time once he completes his sentence. “Just take it all.”
He places a soft kiss to your lips as he buries himself inside, ropes and ropes of white milky cum filing your womb—overflowing right out of your walls while he remains inside, twitching and unwilling to leave.
A choked sob is muffled as Satoru’s lips catch it, right hand caressing your cheek.
Everything falls quiet, the smell of sex in the open air quickly settles back into the horizon as the sea overtakes the atmosphere and your ears hear the waves crashing against the sand.
The birds sing a song that relaxes your muscles. Your husband goes limp inside of you before pulling out—no longer having anything left of his to give that’s not love.
He plops down to you, the bed dipping in two sides now—but it quickly goes back to only one spot when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you over his warm body, letting you hear his heartbeat underneath the layers of skin.
Thud thud thud.
The sound goes straight to your veins, travelling through arteries and shifting your own heartbeat till it follows his.
He’s home.
Your Satoru is home.
And you fall asleep in his arms.
Safe, the way you both deserve to be.
Three hours later, Satoru walks over to the rim of the sea, stares off into the distance as the sun kisses his pale skin.
He’s uncovered, letting the salty breeze greet his open and slowly healing scars.
But he’s real.
And you join him when he goes inside the water.
Because this is just the first step out of the trenches.
And you’ll be there with him every stretch of the way.
Please excuse the way this turned out, tumblr has been deleting my completed drafts and not saving anything I write and it has been killing my motivation to write. Nonetheless, thank you to the 800 of u who have been patient w me, satosugu x reader and suguru x reader smut coming soon~ bye loves. More <3 Taglist.
Not proofread cause im scared it will get deleted.
𝒮atoru begging for a little cockwarming, claiming it’s the only thing that'll help him drift off to sleep…
1.2k words, quick read 𝑓𝑡. byf!toru ( +18 )
Satoru tossed and turned for the fifteenth time in ten minutes. The mattress groaned under him, and honestly, so did you.
"If you don't anchor your ass down in the next two seconds, I’m sleeping on the couch," you muttered into your pillow, your voice thick with sleep and irritated as hell. Your acrylics clicked against your phone screen as you checked the time. 3:42 AM. Fantastic.
Satoru flopped onto his back, sighing like he’d just run a marathon instead of just lying in a climate-controlled room. He rolled over, propping his chin on your shoulder, his hair poking you right in the cheek.
"I can't sleep, babe. It’s a medical emergency at this point," he whined, his voice doing that annoying, high-pitched drag he used whenever he wanted something. "My brain is literally frying. You gotta help me out."
"Go count sheep or something, Satoru. Or better yet, go do some push-ups in the living room till you pass out." You shoved his face away, but he just slid right back, wrapping a heavy arm around your waist and pulling you against him.
"Sheep are boring. Plus, I have a way better solution," he said, a slow, cocky grin spreading across his face even in the dark. He gave your hip a suggestive nudge, flipping effortlessly onto his back and dragging you right along with him until you were sprawled over his chest. "Come on. Just a quick cockwarm. Just climb up and park it so I can drift off. You don't even have to do any work. Just lay on me and look pretty."
You let out a long, exhausted groan, staring down at his stupidly handsome face. "Are you for real right now? It is almost four in the morning and you’re tryna use me like a heated blanket?"
"I mean, you are warm," he teased, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, guiding you up his torso. "And you love me. And I’ll literally buy you those shoes you were barking at on Instagram earlier. The ugly ones with the spikes."
"They are not ugly, they're archive fashion, you uncultured brain," you snapped, though your defense lacked any real venom because, honestly, the shoes were expensive. You sighed, rolling your eyes. "Fine. Whatever. But if you start doing too much and wake me up completely, I’m biting you."
"Deal. You’re the best, seriously, a literal angel," Satoru cheered, already shifting beneath you and tugging his sweatpants down with zero shame.
He didn't waste any time. His hands stayed firmly on your hips, helping you lift yourself just enough to line things up before his fingers hooked into the fabric of your panties, pushing the lace firmly to the side so he could slide smoothly inside you. The sudden fullness made you catch your breath for a second, your hands coming down to rest on his broad chest for balance. You slumped forward, letting your forehead rest right against his shoulder.
"Uuugh, fuck," Satoru muttered, his arms immediately wrapping around your back, locking you against him. He let out a long, shaky breath, all that restless energy he’d been carrying for the last hour suddenly evaporating the second you completely enclosed him. He didn't move, didn't try to lift his hips, he just stayed perfectly still, letting out a deep, contented sigh that vibrated right through your chest. "See? Perfect. I'm already curing my insomnia."
"Mmm.. wrap it up," you mumbled, adjusting your legs so you were comfortably straddling his thighs, completely deadweight on top of him. Your nails lightly scratched at the skin of his chest, mostly just out of habit to keep him settled. "If you start twitching or doing that weird leg-shake thing you do when you dream, I’m getting off."
"I don't twitch," he mumbled, his voice already dropping an octave, thick with growing drowsiness. He tightened his hold around your waist, burying his face in your hair, his breathing already starting to slow down. One of his hands moved in a lazy, comforting circle on your lower back. "You're soft."
"I know that," you replied, closing your eyes and finally feeling the pull of sleep yourself now that he was anchored and quiet. "Don't forget the shoes."
"Mmm. Spiky shoes. Got it," he slurred.
Within five minutes, his breathing completely evened out, turning into heavy, rhythmic thuds beneath you. He was completely dead to the world, holding you secure against him while he snored softly into your neck. You gave a small, half-annoyed huff, melting completely into his chest, and finally fell asleep with his cock buried inside you.
᭡ kali’s notes ⸻ I’ve been thinking about writing about cockwarming for a while now… I’m just experimenting tbh guys, but yeah hope y’all enjoyed it ?? mwahh !
♡ summary: after two terrible days, all you want is to use your boyfriend as a mattress. unfortunately for you, gojo satoru is very easily distracted.
♡ warnings: 18+ mdni • explicit sexual content • established relationship • oral (f!receiving) • multiple orgasms • piv sex • praise • possessive language • dirty talk • creampie • fluff
♡ author’s note: this was inspired by a post from @silentlunarkiss based on this fanart 😭 i screenshotted it immediately because i knew i wanted to write it, then somehow lost the original post before i could tag them. finally found them again!! ♡
banner by @pixopix
The apartment is quiet when you finally drag yourself through the door, your work bag feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. Your feet are killing you, your brain is fried, and all you want is to collapse into bed and not move for approximately twelve hours.
You kick off your shoes and shuffle down the hallway, already pulling your hair out of the bun you'd done up that morning, now mostly falling out on its own. The bedroom door is cracked open, and when you push it wider, you find exactly what you were hoping for.
Satoru is sprawled across the bed like a starfish, still wearing his teaching clothes—black pants and a rumpled button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His blindfold is tossed carelessly on the nightstand, and his white hair is an absolute disaster, sticking up in every direction like he's been running his hands through it all day. His eyes are closed, one arm thrown over his face.
He looks as exhausted as you feel.
"Rough day?" you ask, and he groans without moving.
"The first years tried to fight a curse three grades above their level because Yuji said it 'looked easy,'" he mumbles into his arm. "I had to bail them out. Again. Then Megumi and Nobara got into an argument about mission protocol that somehow turned into a full-blown screaming match about who ate whose leftovers from the fridge. I had to separate them like they were toddlers."
Despite your exhaustion, you snort. "Sounds about right."
"And then," he continues, finally moving his arm to peek at you with one brilliant blue eye, "Yaga cornered me about paperwork I was supposed to file last week. Do you know how much I hate paperwork?"
"I'm aware." You're already moving toward the bed, unbuttoning your work pants. "You complain about it literally every time."
"Because it's the worst. I'm the strongest sorcerer alive. I shouldn't have to file incident reports."
"Mm-hmm, very tragic." You shimmy out of your pants and leave them in a heap on the floor—a problem for future you. Your blouse follows, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. "My day was also shit, for the record."
"Yeah?" He's watching you now with lazy interest, too tired to even sit up but still tracking your movements.
"My boss is an idiot, the coffee machine broke, I had to sit through a two-hour meeting that could've been an email, and Janet from accounting passive-aggressively cc'd the entire department on an email about someone stealing her lunch. Which, for the record, I didn't do, but she definitely thinks I did based on the way she was glaring at me."
"Want me to hollow purple Janet from accounting?" he offers, completely serious.
"Tempting, but no." You crawl onto the bed and without ceremony, flop directly on top of him, your full weight pressing him into the mattress. You bury your face in his chest with a long, dramatic groan. "I'm dead. This is me, dead."
"Hi, dead. I'm also dead." His arms come around you automatically, wrapping you up even though you're both too tired to really move. "We're both corpses now. This is our life."
"Our death," you correct, muffled against his shirt.
"Our death," he agrees solemnly.
For a moment, you just lie there, breathing in sync. He smells like his cologne mixed with the faint scent of the training grounds—sweat and grass and something distinctly him. It's comforting in a way you can't quite articulate. This exhausted, collapsed-together moment feels like home.
His hand starts moving on your back, slow and gentle, rubbing up and down your spine. It feels incredible, and you make an embarrassing sound of contentment that you'll deny later.
"You're tense as hell," he murmurs, fingers working at a knot between your shoulder blades.
"You try dealing with Janet's accusatory emails and see how relaxed you are," you mumble, but you're already melting into his touch.
"I'd just block her."
"You can't block coworkers, Satoru."
"You can if you're powerful enough." His hand slides lower, still rubbing your back, and you feel some of the day's tension starting to ease. "This okay?"
"It's perfect. You're my favorite human pillow."
"Just human pillow? Not devastatingly handsome boyfriend who you're lucky to have?"
"That's implied," you say, but you're smiling against his chest.
His other hand joins the first, both of them working at your tired muscles, and you honest-to-god almost start purring. This is exactly what you needed. Just this—him, the quiet apartment, his hands on you, the weight of the day slowly lifting.
But then his hands start to wander.
It's subtle at first. His fingers drift from your back to your sides, tracing the curve of your waist. Then lower, skimming over your hips. And then—
He grabs your ass. Both hands, full handfuls, squeezing appreciatively.
"Really?" you ask, lifting your head to look at him. "We're both dead, remember? Corpses don't grope."
"I'm a very motivated corpse." He squeezes again, shameless, and there's a grin tugging at his lips now. "Can't help it. You're lying on top of me in your underwear. What did you expect?"
"Self-control? Restraint? Basic human decency?"
"Baby, you know me better than that." His hands are still kneading your ass, and despite your sass, you can feel heat starting to pool low in your belly. "Besides, you love it."
"I love that you can't even wait until we've recovered from our respective terrible days before getting handsy?"
"Exactly." He's fully grinning now, that cocky, insufferable grin that makes you want to kiss him and smack him at the same time. "Your ass is the best stress relief. It's science."
"That's not science, you idiot."
"It's my science."
You snort, but you're not moving away. His hands are warm and familiar, and honestly, after the day you've had, this isn't the worst thing in the world. You let your head drop back to his chest, eyes drifting closed.
"Comfortable?" he asks, voice softer now.
"Mmm," you hum in agreement. "Don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it."
For a while, it's just quiet. His hands keep moving—sometimes squeezing, sometimes just resting there, thumbs drawing lazy circles. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear, steady and strong. The tension in your shoulders is almost completely gone now, replaced by a different kind of warmth, something slower and heavier.
You're half-asleep when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness pressing against your hip.
"Satoru," you mumble, not even opening your eyes.
"Hmm?"
"Are you seriously getting hard right now?"
There's a pause. Then he says, "...Maybe."
You lift your head to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He has the decency to look slightly sheepish, but there's heat in his eyes now, that familiar hunger that never really goes away when it comes to you.
"We were having a nice moment."
"We still are."
"You've got a boner."
"I do…That doesn't cancel the nice moment."
You stare at him for another second before letting out a laugh.
"Seriously?"
"What?"
"I come home exhausted, use you as a human mattress for ten minutes, and somehow I'm the problem?"
"You are absolutely the problem."
"I literally haven't done anything."
"You climbed on top of me, got all comfy, made that little happy humming noise, and then fell asleep on my chest."
"I hummed?"
"You hummed."
"I don't hum."
"You do when you're really comfortable."
You narrow your eyes. "I've never noticed that."
"I have."
You glare at him.
"…Baby." He exhales dramatically, like he's carrying the weight of the world. "You're makin' me so hard."
You snort. "You're unbelievable."
"I'm trying to be respectful."
"Are you?"
Silence.
"…No." He grins without an ounce of shame. "Not really."
Despite yourself, you laugh again, dropping your forehead back against his shoulder.
"You're ridiculous."
"I know."
His arms tighten around you just a little. "But you look so comfortable."
His voice is quieter now. "So happy."
You burrow your face further into his shoulder.
"…I like when you're like this."
You feel yourself smile before you can stop it. "You're such a sap."
"Only for you."
There's a comfortable silence. Then his hands drift just a little bit lower again.
"…Okay," you mumble. "Now you're definitely not being respectful."
"No." He gives your ass another shameless squeeze. "I'm definitely not."
Before you can respond, he's sitting up, keeping you in his lap, and capturing your mouth in a kiss that's hungry and demanding. You can taste his desperation, feel it in the way his hands grip you like he's afraid you're going to disappear.
When he pulls back, his lips are already swollen, his eyes are dark with want. "I need to taste you," he says, and it's not a request. "Get up here."
"Up where—"
But he's already moving, sliding down the bed and pulling you with him. "On my face. Come on."
"Satoru—"
"Please." And there it is, that needy edge that makes your stomach flip. "I've been thinking about this all day. About you sitting on my face, riding my tongue until you come. Please, baby. I need it."
How are you supposed to say no to that?
"You're ridiculous," you say, but you're already moving, letting him position you. He's lying flat on his back now, looking up at you with such raw want that it makes you shiver.
"Not ridiculous. Desperate." His hands come up to grip your thighs, pulling you forward. "Now stop stalling and sit on my face."
"Bossy," you mutter, but you're lowering yourself down, and then—
"Oh fuck," you gasp as his tongue makes contact, sliding through your folds in one long, deliberate stroke.
He groans under you, the vibration going straight to your core, and his hands tighten on your thighs. "That's it," he mumbles against you. "Right there. Don't move."
But you're already moving, you can't help it, grinding down against his mouth as he licks and sucks and devours you like a man starving. His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, holding you exactly where he wants you, and when you try to lift up, worried about suffocating him, about being too much—he just pulls you back down harder.
"Satoru—"
"Stay," he demands, voice muffled. He pulls his face back to look up at you. "Fuck my face. Come on, baby, I can take it. Give it to me." Then he lowers his mouth to you again.
It's obscene, the wet sounds of his mouth on you, the way he's completely lost in it. His tongue circles your clit, then dips inside you, then back to your clit, and you're already shaking, already so close.
"That's it," he encourages, and you can hear the smugness in his voice even now. "You're dripping, baby. such a mess on my face."
"Shut—up," you gasp, but there's no heat in it because he's right—you can feel how wet you are, can feel it on his chin, his lips, and it should be embarrassing but it's just hot.
"Make me," he challenges, and then he's sucking your clit into his mouth, hard, and you cry out.
Your hands fly to the headboard, gripping the edge to steady yourself as the pleasure intensifies. You start to really move now, riding his face with purpose, and he moans underneath you like this is exactly what he wanted all along.
"Fuck, yes," he groans against you, the vibration making you gasp. "Just like that. Use me, baby. Take what you need."
His hands guide your hips, encouraging the rhythm, and his tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, pressing flat against you in a way that makes your thighs shake. You can feel yourself getting closer, that coil of heat tightening in your belly.
"Satoru, I'm—fuck—"
"Do it," he demands, voice rough. "Come on my face.”
His tongue flicks rapidly over your clit, and that's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, pleasure rolling through your entire body. You're grinding down against his mouth, riding it out, and he's groaning underneath you like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.
When you finally come down, shaking and oversensitive, you try to move off him, but his hands tighten on your thighs.
"Not yet," he mumbles, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, your hip bones, anywhere he can reach. "Just—give me a second. You taste so fucking good."
"You're gonna kill me," you pant, but you're smiling.
But he's already diving back in, and you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again. Your whole body jolts at the sensitivity, but he doesn't let up—he's relentless, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he works you over. The pleasure is almost too much, bordering on overwhelming, and you're already moaning his name.
"Satoru—fuck—it's too much—"
"I know, baby," he groans against you, the vibration sending another wave through you. "But you can take it."
He's eating you out like he's starving, like he can't get enough, and your whole body is shaking. Your hands grip the headboard tighter, your hips moving against his mouth almost involuntarily. The pleasure is building again, impossibly fast, and you're gasping and moaning as he works you toward another orgasm.
"Oh god—Satoru—I'm gonna—"
"That's it," he encourages, his tongue flicking faster.
Your second orgasm hits you like a wave, even more intense than the first, and you're crying out as pleasure crashes through you. Your thighs are shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up, and he's groaning underneath you, clearly getting off on how much he's affecting you.
When you finally collapse, completely spent and oversensitive, he finally releases you, and you fall onto the bed next to him, breathing hard and trembling.
"And I'm dramatic?" He's grinning like he just won the lottery, his face wet, his hair a complete disaster. "That was—fuck. I love you, baby."
"You're insane," you say, but you're pulling him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.
"About you? Absolutely." His hands are already roaming again, cupping your face, then sliding down your sides. "But I'm not done with you yet."
"Oh really?"
"Really." He's kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. When he pulls back, there's something vulnerable in his expression beneath all the confidence. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"Then show me," you challenge, and his eyes darken.
"Oh, baby."
He's fumbling with his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers, and his cock springs free—flushed and hard and already leaking. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, and he hisses.
"Fuck, baby—"
"What?" You stroke him slowly, base to tip, and he's already trembling.
"Your hands—shit—they're so much smaller than mine. Look so good wrapped around my cock."
"Yeah?" you tease, giving him another slow stroke.
"Yeah." His voice is strained.
He gently removes your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, and then he's pulling you against him. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip possessively. You can feel him, hard and hot against your thigh, and he's just... holding you there.
"Satoru—"
"Give me a second," he murmurs, his voice already rough. His breathing is uneven against your neck, and you can feel the tension in his body—the way he's trying to maintain control. "Just—fuck—you feel so good.”
His hips shift slightly, and you feel the length of him drag against you—not entering, just the pressure of him sliding through your wetness. The friction makes you gasp, and he groans.
"There it is," he breathes. "That sound. The little gasp you make when I—" He does it again, a slow roll of his hips, grinding against you. "When I touch you just right."
"Satoru, please—"
"Please what?" His hand slides down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. "Tell me what you want, baby."
"You know what I want."
"I do." Another slow grind, and you can feel how wet you are, how easily he slides against you. "But I wanna hear you say it. Love the way your voice gets all breathy when you're desperate for me."
"You're killing me—"
"Good." He's kissing your neck now, teeth grazing your pulse point. "You've been killing me all day. All week. Every time you look at me with those eyes, every time you smile at me like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, baby, you have no idea."
His voice is shaking now, and you realize he's not teasing anymore—he's barely holding on. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, and you both freeze.
"I can't—" His forehead drops to your shoulder. "I can't think straight around you. Can't control myself. You just—you exist, and I'm gone."
"Then stop trying to control it," you whisper, and you feel him shudder.
"Fuck." He shifts, lining himself up properly, and then he's pushing in—slowly, so slowly. The stretch is intense, pleasure edged with the sweetest hint of pressure as he fills you inch by inch. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good. So tight. So perfect."
"Satoru—"
"I know. I've got you." He's only halfway in, taking his time, letting you adjust. His forehead is still pressed to your shoulder, and you can feel how much restraint this is taking him—the way his muscles are tense, the way his breath comes in short gasps. "You're taking me so well. You always take me so well."
Finally, finally, he's fully seated inside you, and you both just breathe for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of being completely connected.
"Okay?" he asks, lifting his head to look at you.
"Yes baby," you manage. "You can move.”
"Thank fuck." He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you gasp, and he groans. "That sound. Fuck, I love that sound."
He sets a steady rhythm, deep and deliberate, each thrust making you feel impossibly full. His hands are everywhere—cupping your face, tangling in your hair, gripping your hips—like he can't decide where he wants to touch you most.
"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, watching your face. "All flushed and breathless. The way your eyes get all hazy when I'm inside you—fuck, it drives me crazy."
"Satoru—"
"I love you so much." His voice is rough with emotion now, not just desire. "Love everything about you. The way you feel, the way you look at me, the way you let me have you like this—"
"I love you too," you gasp, and his hips stutter.
His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, there's something raw there.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
"Fuck." His pace falters, becomes less controlled. "You can't—you can't just say it like that when I'm inside you. You're gonna—shit—"
"You feel so good," you tell him, cupping his face. "So perfect. You always make me feel so good."
His breath catches, and suddenly he's kissing you desperately, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, less measured.
"You're everything," he gasps against your mouth. "Everything to me. The way you trust me, the way you look at me like I'm—fuck, baby, I can't—"
"You are," you insist, and his composure cracks completely.
"Fuck—" He's moving faster now, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Love how you fit around me. Like you were made for me. Like we were made for each other."
"We were," you gasp, and his eyes flash with something fierce and possessive.
"Damn right we were." He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly every thrust is devastating. "There it is. That's the spot, isn't it?"
"Yes—fuck—right there—"
"I know, baby. I know." His voice is breaking now, emotion and desire tangled together. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna watch your face when you—fuck—when you come because of me."
The pleasure is building so quickly you can barely breathe. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, his back, trying to anchor yourself as he drives into you again and again.
"That's it," he encourages, watching your face like he's memorizing it. "I can feel you getting tighter. You're close, aren't you? So fucking close."
"Don't stop—"
"Never." One of his hands slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it. Let me see you."
The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot and his thumb on your clit is too much. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure crashing through you in waves that make your whole body tense and shake. You're clenching around him, and he groans at the sensation.
"Fuck, yes," he breathes, still moving, fucking you through it. "That's it. That's my girl. You're so good. So beautiful. Fuck, I love you so much."
When you finally start to come down, gasping and trembling, you expect him to follow you over the edge. But instead, he slows his movements, pressing soft kisses to your face.
"Satoru—"
"Not done with you yet," he murmurs against your lips.
Before you can respond, he's pulling out and lifting your legs, draping them over his shoulders. The new position opens you up completely, and when he pushes back in, he's somehow even deeper than before.
"Oh fuck—" you gasp, and he groans.
"There we go." He starts moving again, and this angle is devastating. Every thrust feels impossibly deep, hitting places that make your toes curl. "How's that, baby? That good?"
"Yes—fuck—Satoru—"
"I love you so much," he says, his voice rough. "You know that? I'm never letting you go. You're mine. Always gonna be mine."
"Yours," you agree breathlessly, and something in his expression goes even more intense.
"That's right." His thrusts are harder now, more purposeful. "Gonna take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna love you for the rest of my life."
His hand moves to your stomach, pressing down, and suddenly his eyes go wide. He can feel himself inside you, the bulge of his cock with each thrust, and something feral takes over his expression.
"Holy shit," he breathes, completely mesmerized. His hand traces the outline, feeling himself move in and out of you, and he starts fucking you even harder, unable to look away. "Look at that. Look at you taking me so deep."
You're already building toward another orgasm, the intensity of this angle and his words and the way he's looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen—it's all too much.
He's transfixed, watching his cock disappear inside you again and again, feeling the movement under his palm. His breathing is ragged, his movements becoming more frantic.
"Can you feel that, baby?" he asks breathlessly, his voice completely wrecked. "Fuck—I'm so fucking deep—you feel that?"
You look up at him with half-shut glazed eyes, your mouth parted open, completely fucked out. "Yes—fuck—yes, Satoru, I feel it—"
He groans at the sight of you—at how thoroughly wrecked you look, at the way you're falling apart beneath him. "You're so hot. So fucking hot. The way you look right now—fuck—I'm obsessed with you."
He's fucking you harder now, more urgently, his hand still on your stomach feeling himself move inside you with each thrust. The visual seems to drive him wild, and his movements become almost desperate.
"Come for me again," he demands, his other hand finding your oversensitive clit. "I know you can. I know you've got one more in you. Come on, baby. Give it to me."
"Satoru—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can." His thumb presses harder, circling your clit. "You can, baby. I need you to.”
The pleasure is building impossibly fast, almost painful in its intensity. You're so sensitive from your first two orgasms that every thrust, every touch feels magnified.
"That's it," he encourages, watching your face. "I can see it. You're right there. Just let go, baby.”
His voice is breaking, his control completely shattered, and then something raw escapes from him.
"I want you—" His hips snap forward harder. "Fuck—want all of you.”
His composure finally snaps.
"They've been on my ass my whole life about the bloodline. About heirs. About duty." Another hard thrust, his voice is cracking. "And I never—fuck—never wanted it."
He's breathing hard, almost gasping between words.
"Not until you."
His forehead drops closer to yours, his movements becoming more frantic.
"Only you. Want to marry you—want to wake up to you every day—want to call you my wife and—ah—know you're mine—"
Your orgasm crashes through you even harder, triggered by his words, by the desperation in his voice, by the sight of him completely undone above you. You're clenching around him so tight he gasps, your whole body shaking with the intensity.
"Fuck, yes—" He's just… staring at you, still moving, still feeling himself inside you. "So beautiful—The way your face—the way you sound—fuck—"
The sight of you completely wrecked under him, the feeling of you clenching around him, the way you gasp his name—it pushes him over the edge.
"Ah—fuck—fuck—fuuckk—" He buries himself as deep as he can go and comes hard, spilling into you in hot pulses. His whole body shudders with the intensity of it, and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel the warmth spreading.
He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you but clearly boneless. For a while, you just breathe together, sweaty and satisfied.
"Holy shit," you mumble.
"Yeah." He's pressing kisses all over your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He can’t seem to stop touching you, his hands running over your skin like he needs the contact. "You're amazing. Incredible. Best girlfriend in the entire world."
"Best girlfriend, or best pussy?" you tease, and he pulls back to look at you with mock offense.
"Both. Definitely both." He's grinning now, that soft, genuine smile that he only gives you. "But mostly you. I love you. Like, so much. An embarrassing amount."
"I love you too, you needy disaster."
"Your needy disaster," he corrects, and he's still touching you, hands running over your skin like he can't bear to stop. "Mine now. No takebacks."
"Wouldn't dream of it," you say softly, and you mean it.
He pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, and you can hear his heartbeat starting to slow. The exhaustion from earlier is creeping back in, but it's different now—satisfied, content, the good kind of tired.
"We should probably shower," you murmur, but you're already half-asleep.
"Later," he mumbles into your hair. "Right now I just wanna hold you."
"Clingy."
"Yep." He doesn't even sound ashamed. "You're stuck with me. Forever. Hope you're ready for that."
"I think I can manage," you say, smiling against his chest.
And as you drift off in his arms, you think that yeah… you can definitely manage. This ridiculous, needy, perfect man is yours, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
i think we should start openly mocking male creatives who can't figure out how to write women. like actually i think it's embarrassing that it took elliot page transitioning for christopher nolan to give him a good role. why did it take like ten years to get the first female lead in a marvel movie? why is it a Known Fact that stephen king can't write women? why is 50% of the population omitted from large ensemble works? i asked my friend to name a movie directed by a man with a majority female cast and he said ghostbusters 2016. ghostbusters. ghostbusters. g
Title: What You Deserve ~ Sanji x f!reader
genre: comfort/fluff
warnings: not really proof read. use of y/n. reading being mentioned as female. sanji may be a bit ooc.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You had no idea how this was going to work.
You were fairly certain Sanji wasn't your biggest fan. So why in the world had he agreed to this? There were other women on the crew who would've made far more convincing partners than the two of you.
Sanji was always fawning over Nami and Robin, making sure they were comfortable, showering them with compliments, and doing just about anything to earn their attention, no matter how ridiculous he looked.
But when it comes to you...
He always seemed distant.
He never lavished you with compliments. Conversations between you rarely lasted long before an awkward silence settled in. Half the time, it felt like he was actively avoiding you.
That's why you had hoped either Nami or Robin would go undercover with him instead.
Unfortunately, Nami had outright refused.
Robin, on the other hand, had simply smiled that mysterious smile of hers.
"I think you'd be a much better fit."
The knowing look she'd given you still didn't make any sense.
So now you stood in front of the mirror in the hotel room you were sharing with Sanji, smoothing out the last wrinkles in your outfit and trying to look presentable.
Sanji was out on the balcony having one last cigarette before the mission.
He hadn't spoken much since you'd arrived.
Not that he'd been rude.
Quite the opposite.
He'd opened every door for you, insisted on carrying anything heavy, and treated you with perfect gentlemanly manners.
But somehow… It all felt rehearsed.
Like he was doing it because he thought he should, not because he wanted to.
You adjusted your hair one last time.
Just then, the balcony door slid open.
You hadn't heard him come inside.
When you glanced toward the mirror, your eyes met his.
Sanji had stopped dead in his tracks.
His gaze lingered on you, wide with surprise.
The moment he realized you'd noticed, he turned away with a cough that fooled absolutely no one.
A rosy blush spread across his cheeks.
"You look..." he murmured. "...Beautiful."
Despite how softly he'd spoken, you heard every word.
Heat bloomed across your own face.
"Thank you."
Silence settled between you once more.
Eventually, Sanji cleared his throat.
"We should get going."
"Right."
You stood from the vanity and walked toward him.
"We wouldn't want to miss anything important."
As always, he opened the door for you.
"I'm thinking I'll mingle with the guests," you said as you walked down the hallway. "You talk to the staff. We should cover more ground that way."
"Sounds brilliant, my love."
A smile tugged at your lips.
Before you could point out that there was no need to stay in character yet, Sanji gently took your hand.
The elevator doors opened before you could say a word.
A couple stepped inside with you.
Ah, that's why.
Sanji kept your hand in his as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
If only he knew what it was doing to your heart.
Sanji wanted to say more. He wanted to tell you that you were breathtaking. That no one else in the room could possibly compare. That every time you smiled, he forgot how to breathe.
But every compliment died in his throat before it ever reached his lips.
He'd been rejected by hundreds of women.
He could laugh those off.
But if you rejected him...
He wasn't sure his heart would recover.
When the elevator doors opened, your fingers slowly slipped from his.
"I'll go mingle," you said.
You'd barely taken two steps before he caught your hand again.
You turned, following his arm until your eyes met his.
There was something conflicted between them.
"Is something wrong?"
He hesitated.
"...Just be careful."
A small laugh escaped you.
Covering his hand with your own, you gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"You don't have to worry about me, Sanji."
"I know."
His smile was soft.
"I know you can take care of yourself."
His thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles.
"I still worry anyway."
Your heart skipped.
Not painfully. Warmly.
The kind of warmth that settled deep inside your chest, "thank you."
You reluctantly let go.
"We should get started."
"Meet back here in a couple of hours?" he asked.
You glanced toward the bar.
"Sounds good."
His smile became just a little brighter.
"I'll be looking forward to it."
You laughed, "I'm holding you to that."
Hours passed.
Talking to wealthy socialites was every bit as exhausting as you'd imagined.
Fortunately, they loved gossip.
By the time you'd gathered everything you needed, your social battery had completely drained.
You made your way to the bar and ordered a glass of wine while you waited for Sanji.
It wasn't long before someone approached from behind.
Smiling, you turned on your stool.
"Took you long enough-"
The words died on your tongue.
It wasn't Sanji.
Instead, a man with slicked-back dark hair and far too much hair gel grinned at you.
"You've been waiting for me?" he asked, flashing a crooked smile full of yellowed teeth.
"Oh." You forced a polite smile.
"Sorry. I thought you were someone else."
Unfortunately, he didn't take the hint.
He slid onto the stool beside you.
"So," he drawled, "what's a pretty little thing like you doing here all alone?"
"I'm not alone."
"I'm here with someone."
He looked around theatrically.
"Funny, I don't see anyone."
"They'll be here soon."
You picked up your wine, "so I'd appreciate it if you left."
He scoffed,"you women always have an excuse."
Before you could react, his hand landed on your thigh.
Your wine glass slammed against the counter.
The bartender jumped.
You stared at the man's hand in disbelief. "Excuse me?"
His grin only widened.
"I suggest you remove your hand."
"And if I don't?"
"You'll lose it."
"I like a challenge."
Before you could make good on your threat,someone grabbed his wrist.
"What the hell?!"
You turned around to see who it was.
Sanji.
His expression was unlike anything you'd ever seen. His jaw was tight, his brows furrowed. There wasn't a hint of his usual playful smile.
"The lady already told you no."
The man laughed. "And who are you?"
Sanji's gaze never left him.
"Her boyfriend."
A heartbeat passed.
"Now back off."
With one swift kick, Sanji knocked the chair out from beneath him.
The man crashed onto the floor with a loud yelp.
His nose hit first.
Blood immediately poured onto the carpet.
Around the room, heads turned.
"...Oh no."
You quickly placed enough beri on the counter to cover your drink.
"Come on, Sanji."
He slipped an arm around your waist without hesitation.
Looking down at the groaning man, his voice was cold.
"You should learn to respect women."
Then he guided you out of the ballroom.
The moment the hotel room door clicked shut behind you...
You burst into laughter.
The adrenaline finally caught up with you.
Sanji simply stared.
He was still furious. Not with you. Never with you. With that man. How dare he put his hands on you?
"Why are you laughing?"
His voice was sharper than usual, "he treated you with absolutely no respect."
Your laughter faded.
"I don't care if he respects me. He means nothing to me.”
"You should care."
You tilted your head.
"Why?"
"Because..." His voice softened, “you deserve better than that."
You folded your arms."Oh? And what exactly do I deserve?"
The words were there.
He could feel them. You deserve the world. You deserve kindness. You deserve someone who loves you more than anything. But none of them would come out.
You let out a disappointed scoff.
"That's what I thought."
You brushed past him.
He couldn't let you leave. Not again. His hand wrapped gently around your wrist.
You turned, ready to protest. Then you saw his face.
"I..."
That single word held everything he couldn't say.
Frustration. Fear. Hope.
You sighed.
"What is it, Sanji?"
Your voice was quieter now.
"Why is it that whenever I'm around, you can barely talk to me? You flirt with everyone else, but with me… you keep your distance."
Your eyes searched his.
"Did I do something wrong?"
His heart broke.
"No." His answer came immediately, "never. You could never do anything wrong."
"Then what is it?"
Your voice barely rose above a whisper.
"Because from where I'm standing...it feels like you don't even like me."
His grip loosened.
He looked at you as though he couldn't believe you'd ever thought that.
"It's the exact opposite."
You blinked.
"What do you mean?"
He stepped closer.
So close that your hand instinctively rested against his chest to steady yourself.
His heartbeat pounded beneath your palm. Fast,completely out of control.
"(Y/N)..."
His voice trembled. "I don't know how to act around you. You deserve more than empty flirting. You deserve sincerity. You deserve someone who means every word they say."
He swallowed hard.
"And I don't know how to show you that."
You searched his eyes.
"Why would you want to?"
A shaky laugh escaped him.
"Because...I love you."
His voice was barely audible.
"I've loved you for a long time.I know it's selfish to hope you might feel the same, and I don't expect-"
You cut him off.
Standing on your toes, you pressed your lips against his.
Sanji froze.
His brain completely stopped working.
When you finally pulled away, he was staring at you with wide blue eyes.
His face had turned an impressive shade of crimson.
"Did you just kiss me?"
You laughed.
"That's usually what it's called."
His grin slowly spread across his face.
"So..."
He leaned closer.
"Can I have a redo?"
You smiled up at him.
"You can have as many redos as you want."
His forehead rested against yours.
"I'm the luckiest man alive."
Then, with far more confidence than before, he kissed you again.
not me coming back to post anything but the third chapter of my priest vergil fic …. anyways, have this in the meantime while i wrestle with writer’s block.
i’d love to do this for dante and possibly whomever else, if there’s any want for it - my inbox is open!
obv nsfw warning for below, tried to keep it gender neutral as well - enjoy!
xoxo, obscura
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
The eternal gentleman, Vergil is doting and attentive - making sure you’re satisfied, cleaned, and content after intimacy. He’ll always clean you before himself, offering water, back rubs, and maybe even a nice bath to get you feeling right again. If it’s in bed, cuddles are mandatory - Vergil sees sex as a bonding activity, and holding you in his arms or lying on your chest is necessary to connect with one another.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Vergil has spent years training to get the perfect physique for fighting. He takes great pride in how he looks, and is not shy about it - but a favorite thing about him? I don’t think Vergil has given it much thought.
It’s a different story with his partner. I will gladly die on the hill that Vergil is an ass man. Vergil loves to grab it, smack it, bite it - just overall handsy. Speaking of, he’s got a thing for hands. He will worship his partner’s hands, seeing them as divine devices capable of such grace and care.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Despite Vergil’s disdain for firearms, this man’s a shooter. He’s unfortunately hit an eye or two during oral with some straggling ropes, and he always feels bad but can’t help it.
He has a preference for coming inside (he will demand it most times, unless you’re adamant for something else). Though, he does appreciate the occasional facial. Something about marking his territory…
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Something tells me that Vergil picks up photography as a hobby when he returns back from hell. It’s harmless, mostly, but it’s strayed into the bedroom and he’s assembling his own photo diary of your sexual rendezvouses. On each page is detailed entries of what happened, what he found interesting, what made you tick, all alongside a photo of you folded like a pretzel or sitting pretty in a new set he bought you. ‘It’s for science’, he’ll say when you find it hidden under some other books on his desk.
I also think Vergil genuinely would love exploring being a sub to some extent. The man’s whole life has been a quest for power and control. But if he found someone he trusted enough, I think he would be willing to relinquish that control for a little bit and be at the whims of someone else. Call him a good boy? Tell him how good he’s making you feel? He’s melting like soft-serve in summer.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Vergil has experience, but it’s limited. The man is not a dog like others are quick to assume due to Nero’s conception, but he did experiment a little in his 20s.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Lotus, standing dragon, and ol’ reliable: missionary
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Vergil is a perfectionist at heart and sex isn’t an exception. It’s very few and between that you’ll have him acting silly during such an intimate act. I think the only time he’d truly be more loose and laughing is if he was inebriated in some way.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Well groomed, may let it grow in if he’s been with someone for a long time due to comfortability. I don’t think he cares how his partner grooms themselves, as long as they are cleanly - to each their own.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Sex is about devotion to Vergil. He takes it seriously and ensures his partner feels absolutely valued and worshiped. If time permits, Vergil is taking the time to set the scene. You’ll come home to freshly washed bedsheets, lit candles, and dinner already made and prepared for serving. It’s all-encompassing for him, more about the bond between you two than the result.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
I feel like he edges when he’s frustrated. Just to punish himself for whatever it is that is bothering him. However, I don’t think he masturbates often, as he finds it a waste of energy.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Bdsm is a given, duh. A rope junkie - loves to tie you down in impossible positions, or to be tied up himself, forcing himself to put his trust in you. Body worship, breeding, temperature play, pet play. Handcuffs, gags, cameras, leashes. The voices are also telling me he’s into blood play……much to think about. But ONLY on him - he’s not too keen on actually hurting you outside of hickeys and bruises.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
The bedroom, absolutely. Again, sex is not trivial to him. If not in bed, definitely in the bath. However, even the devil in him gets the best of his control sometimes and he’ll squeeze a quickie in the back of the car or the bathroom of a bar.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Seeing you do mundane tasks drives Vergil up the wall. He’ll stand there and watch you bend over the washing machine, doing paperwork, fixing your hair, and it’ll be more of a turn on than any lewd act. Something about seeing you so blissfully unaware of your natural state is too much for him. Bonus points if you’re doing housework and disheveled - clothes a mess, sweat on your brow. He’s practically foaming at the mouth.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Carelessness in any regard is a huge no for him, whether it’s out of ignorance or stubbornness. He’s a proud man and doesn’t tolerate blatant disrespect.
I mentioned it briefly above, but hurting you seriously is off the table. Safety is the utmost priority when it comes to you for him - he will not jeopardize that in any way.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
MUUUUUUNCH. He is a munch, I swear it. It’s mostly out of greed, if we’re being honest. He loves to watch you squirm, see how many times he can make you come alone from his mouth before he dares to fuck you. Loves face-sitting, he sees it as a challenge. Will also view oral as a form of body worship - he will take his damn time.
Vergil will never admit it, but he also loves to be on the receiving end. Loves to see you on your knees, taking him to the hilt and feeling you gulp around him. Careful, though! He’s a head-pusher.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Varies on the mood. If it’s more of a loving, sensual session, he will drag it out for as long as he feels necessary unless you tap out or flip him over out of impatience. Rougher, heated goes are another story. His movements will be unforgiving and staccato, ramming into your slick with purpose and ferocity.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Mentioned above. It’s only really if he physically can’t get you home quick enough. Or if you have an argument. He loves a good post-fight fuck.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Vergil is always looking for ways to push his own boundaries. He’s spent years honing his strengths and learning his every weakness - of course he’s gonna want to put them to the test. Whether that’s trying something new or getting a more risqué.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Demon genes go crazy. I think he could easily go back to back a few rounds before calling it quits. Any less would more so be for the wellbeing of his partner. I think Vergil purposely tries to last as long as physically possible to push himself, but sometimes he gets a little too lost in how soft your skin feels or how tightly your squeezing around him to hold back any longer.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Vergil wouldn’t be too knowledgeable about toys, but if he had a partner that was, he would be open to exploration. (Honey, go get the strap)
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
HE IS A BRATTTT (365 party girl)! Whether it’s orgasm denial or straight up refusal to even touch you, he’s playing the long game.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Grunts and growls, for sureeeee. It’s more animalistic than anything. Not a talker, really, as he gets near silent when he’s in the zone, but he’ll make sure to pepper in some praise or instruction here and there so you stay present.
When Vergil is on the receiving end/subbing, it’s a different story. WHINY. So, so whiny and blubbers out nonsense. Whimpers and moans so unlike the stoic warrior, you have to do a double-take to even be sure the sounds are coming from him.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Oral fixation.
Also secretly a big fan of pet names: darling, sweet, love, little one/bird, sweetheart.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Vergil is a big man. 6’5, to be exact. Add devil genes in the mix and the man’s packin’. I don’t think it’s anything ridiculous, but I’m betting on a good 8 when hard. Uncut with a slight left curve. Definitely nothing to be shy about.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Vergil spent years in solitude - I think he can handle a lot of pining. He’s patient and panther-esque, ever waiting for the right time to strike. That being said, if you and him were long-term, I think he’d make it a point to have sex integrated into your regular routine, to keep your relationship and minds secure. Health is wealth, after all.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)
He has a hard time sleeping in general, but it’s a little easier when you’re tucked in his side, bare and satisfied. He’d probably lie awake for a while, even after you dozed off, just to hold you close and remind himself you’re really there and he’s safe from harm.
writing these is so funnnn. i lowkey want to make nsfw headcanons for their devil triggers, too, but we’ll see.
as always, thank you for reading and hope you enjoy !
yours, obscura
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Dante is literally a lap dog. He’s the more needy one after sex - hands glued to your limbs, head buried in your skin. He’s a sensitive guy deep down, and he needs the reassurance that you’re not just gonna up and leave him after getting what you wanted. He’ll go as far to lay on top of you just to ensure you don’t leave the bed too soon.
He’ll of course make sure you’re okay after. He’s already got a drawer in his nightstand filled with snacks and water on hand to feed you, replenishing any nutrients he might’ve sucked out of your body. Big on post-sex cuddles and pillow-talk.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Dante loves his arms, but more specifically: he loves your face when he flexes his muscles or lifts a piece of furniture without breaking a sweat. He walks around the house and office shirtless just to show them off.
If we know Vergil to be an ass man, it’s only right that his twin is a tits guy. I mean, we’ve seen Dante ogle at those adult magazines - the man loves a good rack. But with Dante, all tits are in fact created equal. Any shape, size, color - doesn’t matter. He’s grabbing them, squishing them, shoving his face in them. I think he also has a thing for thighs. Let him lay between them and he’s in heaven. He’s even offered you a crumpled five dollar bill to squeeze the life out of him with them.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
This man is FILTHYYYY. You know Deepthroat by Cupcakke? Yeah, he’s blowin’ bubbles with sperm. No matter the gender, Dante is a fiend - begging to be covered in your release.
When Dante comes, it’s more of a dribble/gush, than a straight shoot of ropes. ‘The fountain of youth’, he calls it. Dante doesn’t care where it goes as long as you’re happy, though he’s partial to covering your chest in cum, watching it drip down only to lick it off himself.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Panty thief. ((God, I hate the word ‘panty’)). BUT IT’S TRUE. Your favorite pair will always go missing and sure enough, Dante has it either in a drawer at the office or stuffed into the inner pocket of his coat. It’s mostly for the reason you think, but he also keeps it for sentimental reasons. He’s a sentimental guy, after all. You two always squeeze in a good fuck before he leaves for a job, and he’s sure to swipe up the pair you wore that night as a reminder of you and what he’s fighting for, keeping it zipped up in the pocket by his heart.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Dante ACTS like a Casanova, a real playboy, but in reality, he’s scared as hell of intimacy. He’s had a handful of one night stands and drunken hookups but they served more as distractions than actual points of experience.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Cowgirl, sideways 69, leapfrog (variation of doggy)
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Laughter is necessary in the bedroom for Dante. His job is awful, his life is literally hell - he needs the light moments with you to unwind and remind himself that there’s more to life than killing and being miserable.
This man thinks he’s a comedian. He’s telling you a damn knock-knock joke, expecting you to say ‘who’s there?’ while your mouth is wrapped around him. This being said, Dante is excellent at reading a room. If the situation calls for more serious or passionate love-making, he can switch off his playful side for a while.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
C’mon, we’ve all seen the man - he’s hairy. Soft silver hair starts at the stubble on his chin and goes allllll the way down to his damn ankles. Would probably be inclined to trim his nethers, if he was home more often or if you had a preference for it. Otherwise, it’s homegrown and all-American, babeeyyyy.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Big ol’ teddy bear - kisses all over, sweet words murmured in your ear. Dante isn’t the most materialistic or showy lover, but he’ll make you feel like you’re the most prized diamond in the world. Takes his time with you, makes sure you’re comfortable and he’s doing everything right before he even thinks about getting off. Big on communication, wants you to talk him through it as he does to you. He’s not the most romantic man, but he’ll definitely do his best to keep you happy and loved.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Dante will jack off if the wind hits him wrong. It’s an outlet for him. When he’s sad, angry, happy, whatever. He’s not all that good at expressing his emotions, so having a moment of release sort of helps him let go of whatever is on his mind.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Breeding, humiliation, edging, impact play, pet play. Anything where Dante can let loose and let his guard down. All of these are reciprocal - he’s a true switch. Loves to have you bent over his knee, hand marking up your ass as punishment one moment, to flipping the tables and having you walk him around the house with a leash.
PRAISE KINK. Dante is a glutton for your words. He’ll sit and pout til you tell him he’s a good boy, or how pretty he is. There have been multiple occasions where he’s come just from praise alone, cock twitching in the air as you whisper compliments to him.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Really anywhere he can have you, doesn’t matter to him. He’s always busy, so he’s taking any chance he can get. The default is usually the leather couch in his office, since he’s there more than he is home.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Dante loves a good sext. Send him a picture of you in an old band shirt of his or a message about how much you miss him, and he’s almost causing a five-car pile up on the freeway just to turn the car around as fast as physically possible.
Is also stereotypical in that if he comes home to you splayed out on the bed in a piece of lingerie, he’ll literally (and I mean, literally) tear his clothes off as he scrambles to you.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Sex for the sake of sex is borderline a no for him. If you two have been together for a while, it’s different, but if not, he’s not putting out. Not only does he have trust issues, Dante has a lot of insecurities and trauma. He’s not fucking someone just to watch them leave him - it hurts too much.
Dante’s a pretty easy-going man otherwise. If you’re happy, he’s happy.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
I know I said Vergil is a munch, but man, so is Dante. But in a different way. Dante is a tease, and loves to get you riled up in the most mundane situations. He’ll be stationed between your legs while you watch a movie in the living room, lazily licking stripes just to keep you on edge, or squatted behind you as you try to cook dinner. He’s a nuisance, really, but there’s no use trying to shake him off. He’ll get whiny and huff around til you let him keep going.
Dante is more of a giver. He almost never asks for oral and usually dismisses it, unless you ask specifically. But if anything, it’s more for you than him, knowing how much you love to gulp down his seed.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Dante has a tendency to get a little too enthusiastic, unless he’s purposefully trying to play the long-game and tease you. He’ll try oh so hard to go slow for you, make it last, but he just gets too excited. He can’t fathom that someone is actually letting him fuck them, and damn, you look perfect underneath him. If he slows down at all, it’s only because he’s trying to have a sliver of self-control as to not come prematurely.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Quickies are the norm for you two, not that Dante minds. Again, he’s often shuffling a lot so it’s rare that he can set aside a whole lot of time for you two. Any opportunity with you is fair game.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
I feel like it’s obvious that Dante is an adrenaline junkie. He loves the thrill of new things. He’ll go as far as his partner will take him, as long as it’s within reason and no one gets seriously hurt (or arrested).
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Back to back to back to back. The devil blood in him works overtime when he’s in the mood. Even if you’re wiped after two rounds, he’s pulling you back down by your ankles, asking you in that bedroom voice you love so much to give him one more, to show him how good and sweet you can be.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Dante is a big fan of toys. He’s holding a vibrator to you while he does paperwork, or he’s shackled to the bedframe with a gag and cage around his tip. Probably wouldn’t be all that experienced with them initially, but once you two are comfortable, he’s happy to acquire a good collection.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
The most annoying, frustrating man you will ever let into your bedroom. Dante loves to tease more than he might even love fucking you. He’ll spend hours saying suggestive things, grabbing your ass, toying with your clothes, only to walk away and act indifferent until you beg him to give in. It’s borderline evil.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Dante never shuts the fuck up. Ever. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, who’s on top, where you are - he’s either talking or moaning. He’s an extremely vocal lover. The neighbors have already put in two noise complaints from how loudly Dante groans and swears when you two are together.
Constantly in your ear, mumbling nonsense and praise. Whiny, loud, and obnoxious - and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
There’s no section here for top/bottom, unfortunately, so I’ll put this here: loves to get fucked as much as he loves to do it himself. Whether you got the parts, or you gotta use a strap for it, the man is more than happy to have his head pressed into the pillows as you ram into him. He’s a sloppy, whiny, needy bottom, and I’ll die by that.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
As with Vergil, Dante is not a small man. Only an inch shorter than his twin, he carries a lot of height. I think it’s canon (?) that Dante is not as big as Vergil in the meat department. I’m banking on a hard 7, soft 5. Grower, for sure. What he lacks in length is made up for in girth.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
It’s damn near incessant, even as he ages. Dante hasn’t honed in his devil side as much as Vergil, which means he has less control of his hormones. If he’s not too stressed, he’s constantly waiting for the next moment to get his hands on you.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Dante will literally pass out the second his head hits the pillow. He’ll stay awake for a bit to make sure you’re all good, but the second he lays down, it’s lights out. And he’s out for the entire night, snuggled into your side and snoring away til late morning.
I loove your fics and lately I've been begging for some new Nero fics 🫡🫡
Could I request a fic with Nero and fem!reader where they're really good friends and yknow It's really cold outside and they both have to stay in an inn. Maybe one of the two offers their bed? And they both finally give in after a long while of hidding their feelings.
I really really crave some cute fluffy Nero smut, reader being her first🤭
Don't stress too much about this, and of course you can choose to write it or not!!
Thank you sweetie🫶🫶
ty for this !! i love a good ‘oh noooo, there’s only one bed’ trope.
tbh im not the biggest nero lover so this was a slight challenge but it ended up pretty good and a lot longer than expected lol. i also didn’t know how to end it but i hope you enjoy !!!!
Two Pals, One Bed
an unexpected storm puts you and nero in an unlikely situation
The sheets of rain pounded on the windshield of the van, making visibility hard on the patchy road. You flicked out the wrinkles in the map, squinting in the light of your phone to see the web of routes.
“Can’t see a damn foot in front of me like this.”, Nero grumbled from the driver’s seat. “No thanks to you, by the way.”
His pointed blame made you crinkle the map in your hands. You both had been driving for seemingly hours, trying to make it home from a job, but the storm was making it hard to navigate the backroads.
“There’s an inn after the next right, we’ll duck from the rain til morning.”
Nero sighed and shook his head. “We would’ve been home by now, if it wasn’t for your dumbass.” He peered over the steering wheel, on the lookout for the upcoming turn.
“Nuh uh,”, you started, a scowl on your face, “don’t pin this on me! I don’t control the weather.”
“Whatever.”
Nero makes the right and after a couple miles of silence, the faint beacon of lit windows pierces through the gloom. Pulling into the lot in front of the inn, Nero parks the car and hops out. You follow suit and hastily trail behind him, using your bag as cover from the harsh rain. Entering the inn, you walk slowly to examine the tacky decor - artificial fish and paintings of sunny beaches mocking your drenched clothes. Nero makes a beeline to the front desk and is quick to return with a set of keys in hand.
“We got lucky. Seems like everyone had the same idea, but they had one room left.” Nero pats you on the shoulder and cocks his head toward the direction of the stairs. “C’mon.”
You nod and follow Nero up the stairs to your appointed room, sighing in relief to be out of the storm. Nero drops his backpack on the desk and stares at the single queen-sized bed in the center of the room.
“……..one bed.”
“One bed.”, you repeat. It seems that the universe thought it would be funny if you two shared a bed after a night of endless bickering and side-eyes. You eventually shrug and flop down on the bed, looking up at Nero. “I mean, we’ve slept in worse conditions, right? You remember the cyclops cave?”
That earns a tiny smile from him, chiseling away at the tension from earlier.
“Thanks for reminding me. It’s not like I spend every waking moment trying to forget the smell of decay and ball sweat.”
You both laugh and you feel the frustration slowly leave your body. Nero digs around his bag for a change of clothes and heads to the bathroom to change. You take this as your cue to do the same, pulling out a clean shirt and pair of underwear and discarding your old ones in the corner of the room. You crawl into the bed, flicking on the tv and settling in. Nero returns a few minutes later, changed and seemingly back to his easy-going self. He switches off the lights and gets into the bed, leaving some space between you both. You both watch a rerun of an old sitcom before Nero breaks the silence.
“I’m sorry for being an asshole to you. You were only trying to help, and I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.”
The apology doesn’t take you completely by surprise, considering that Nero is the most levelheaded person you know, but you appreciate it nonetheless. You pull the covers up over you, sinking down to lay on your pillow as you address him.
“Don’t worry about it, Nero. We’ve had a long day and have gotten thrown every which way - it’s no one’s fault. Besides, I’m happy it was with you and not with anyone else, it could’ve gone a lot worse.”
Nero nods in agreement but he’s not lost on the subtle flirting in your last sentence. Nero glances down at you resting form, your eyes trained on the tv mounted to the wall. For the past few weeks, it seems you two have been dancing around the obvious for the sake of staying focused on work. But considering that you both are literally in the same bed, it’s hard to ignore now. You look up to him, his face turning a pretty pink from being caught staring.
“Was there something else?”, you ask, noting his blush.
“You’re really pretty.”
Nero blurts out the compliment, heart starting to pick up from embarrassment. ‘Reaaaal smooth, Nero. Bet Dante would get a kick out of this’, he thinks to himself. Your own face turns red in response, a shy smile on your face.
“You really think so?”
“I know so.” Nero starts, sliding down to be beside you under the covers. “And smart, funny, brave.”
You stare at him with awe, in disbelief that those words left his mouth. Without another breath, you lean to the side where he’s laying and kiss him. It’s a gentle, tentative kiss, but full of meaning and longing. Nero’s brain short-circuits and it takes a second before he returns the kiss. Slow and cautious, your mouths explore this newfound feeling. Without breaking away, Nero rolls on top of you, hands running up your sides. Feelings of excitement and anxiety intermingle in your stomach and you break the kiss to look up at him, eyes wide. Nero returns the look with concern, his hand cupping your face.
“You okay? Did…did I do something wrong?”
“No, I-“, you cut yourself off, building up confidence before speaking again. “I need to tell you something.”
Nero raises his eyebrows, interest piqued. “You know you can tell me anything.”
You gulp and take a deep breath, making sure that this is really happening. You look down at the empty space between the two of you as you speak. “I’ve never gone this far with anyone.” You pause, frowning slightly. “I mean, I’ve messed around but I’ve never actually….slept with anyone before.”
Nero runs a hand over your hair and kisses your forehead sweetly. There’s a clear look of understanding on his face. “Y/N, you don’t have anything to be sorry about. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. And if you don’t wanna do anything now, I won’t hold that against you either.”
“I want to, I’m just nervous.” Your eyes have a vulnerability to them, like you’re already standing there naked in front of him.
“It’s okay to be nervous. Fuck, I’m nervous. But, it’ll be okay, as long as you enjoy it. And if you change your mind or need me to stop, that’s okay, too.”
With his reassurance, you nod and pull him back down to reinstate the kiss. Nero sighs into your mouth, happy to be connected again. You feel his hands snake down to your thighs, running over the exposed skin with light touches. As scared as you were, everything felt right in this moment. Your own shaky hands moved to tug at his shirt to help him out of it. Nero yanks the shirt over his head before reaching to pull down your underwear. He stops and looks up at you, waiting for the green light from you; you give him an eager nod and he proceeds. You feel his fingers brush against your sensitive bud and your breathing hitches in your chest. His fingers move slow, tracing circles into your flesh as his mouth trails sweet kisses to your ear.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
Nero’s soft voice and tender touches elicits a moan from you, almost forgetting to reply to him. You turn to look at him and mumble a ‘yes’ out, hips rocking against his hand. Nero hums in content, moving his fingers to your already wet slit. He toys with the hole for a moment, testing the waters in case you change your mind. By the way you’re sighing and whimpering, he takes it as his sign to go on, pushing in two fingers slowly. Your back arches, jaw dropping silently. Pumping slowly in and out, his strong, slender fingers tease your g-spot. Your hands fly to his shoulders, gripping onto him for support. Minutes go by as your climax builds up, your walls pulsing around his fingers. Before you can warn him of the oncoming wave, his fingers slip out, making you groan in disappointment. He laughs at your noise, slipping off the rest of his clothes.
“Easy, tiger. I got more to give, believe me.”, he chuckles. Leaning down to kiss you once more, he positions himself between your legs. “Ready, pretty girl?”
You nod and smile into his mouth. “Ready.”
Aligning with your slick, Nero pushes into you with a moan of satisfaction. You bury your head in his neck, stifling a cry from being stretched. Nero’s arm comes up to wrap around your head protectively, cradling you in comfort. Once fully in, he stays still to let you adjust to the new feeling. You feel your breathing slow down and you nod again, letting him know it’s okay to move. His cock slips almost completely out of you until he pushes it back in, repeating this until he creates a steady, sensual rhythm. Mewls from you are muffled by how close Nero’s holding you - his free hand hooking under one of your knees to lift you ever so slightly. Over and over, the head of his cock hits that sweet spot and you feel your orgasm start to build back up, ready to satisfy the delay from earlier. The moment feels surreal, considering how many times you’ve dreamt of this moment, and you flex your fingers every now and then to remind yourself it’s really happening.
You look out from your safe place in Nero’s neck and see him above you - eyes shut, mouth ajar, and a sheen layer of sweat making him glisten in the light of the tv still playing. The display from him is what sets you off, knowing that you’re the cause of it. Your core tightens and those familiar electric pulses make your body quiver with pleasure.
“O-oh, god, that feels so good…. I’m gonna…gonna…”
“Let it out, I’ve got you.”
The encouragement from Nero is all you need to let go, a wave of pleasure taking over all of your senses. Your legs shake around Nero and a sound you’ve never heard from yourself before fills the room. Fuelled by your reactions, Nero chases after his own high, fucking into you passionately. Sweat dripping down his face, he looks down at you with an adoring smile before his eyes squeeze shut, followed by a series of whimpers and curses. Your walls milk him free of every drop of seed, the feeling overwhelming for him. You stare up at him in awe, your vision going in and out from your own orgasm.
His thrusts slow to a stop, allowing him to collapse on you. Both of you lay there panting, the heat of your bodies almost overbearing. You run your hand up and down Nero’s back, soothing him through the end of his orgasm. Eventually, Nero lifts his head and gives you a weak kiss, bumping his nose to yours.
“You did great, y/n. Seriously, that was….”
“Amazing.”, you finish for him, a giggle following it.
“Yeah, that.”
Nero pushes himself up and out of you, rolling onto his back beside you. He reaches over and pulls you into his arms, stationing you to lay on his chest. You can hear his heart thumping strongly, beating a lullaby to you.
“Get some rest, beautiful. You’ve earned it after that.”
You start to protest sleep but a yawn betrays you, realizing how warm and safe you feel in Nero’s arms. As minutes pass, your eyes grow heavier and soon close for the night, your breathing deep and slow. Nero’s hands tangle in the strands of your hair, twirling them mindlessly until sleep triumphs over him as well.
I'm new to making requests so I'm sorry if i do it wrong 😓
Could I request a Vergil x Reader enemies to lovers smut? Kind of like hate sex but halfway through they realize they like eachother? Maybe with some breeding too
I'm in a Vergil phase right now and I love the way you write him 💕
Sidetracked
you and vergil release some tension while on a mission / enemies to lovers trope
pairing: vergil x gn!reader
wc: 870
warnings: nsfw! - typical smut, no extreme warnings
author’s note: YES THANK YOU FOR THE ASK !I LOVED THIS ! kept this somewhat short and more of a vergil pov . there’s a lack of breeding, but i pinky promise i’ll make it up to you when i get around to finishing my vergil mating fic. enjoy !!
links: ao3
Dirty fingernails dig into the flesh of your hips, thumbs hooked into your hip-bones with cosmic strength. Vergil had you lifted in his arms against the cavern wall, demon carcasses still bleeding out and twitching some feet away. This was happening far too frequently: Dante forcing Vergil to take you on missions to gain experience, you pestering him the entire time by simply breathing in his direction, and Vergil stuffing himself into you as a form of punishment. But was it really a punishment, if you both harmonized each other’s names with every orgasm?
“You petulant, ignorant, disgusting insect,” Vergil snarls in your ear, face flushed and dripping sweat. “Your entire life is a waste, and spending any moment of it with you is worse than damnation.”
”Disgusting?” You frown up at him, hands gripping his coat like reigns. “You don’t really mea- MMPPH! HHMMPPPHH!!”
Vergil moves a hand to clamp it over your mouth roughly, your head rattling against the cave wall from the impact. He couldn’t take the incessant whining, moaning, complaining - it was driving him to the brink of insanity. Weeks and weeks of ‘Vergil, I’m tired’, or ‘this sucks, can we go home?’, or his least favorite: ‘I don’t even know why you’re here’. He had half a mind to drag you back to the agency and dump you back onto Dante, washing his hands of you. But there was a major downside to that that outweighed all the pros of ridding himself of you.
He would have to put an end to these satiating quickies.
No more delightful moans, no more watching you waddle back onto the battlefield, no more seeing that angelic smile shine up at him in the final seconds of your release. Despite himself, he often looked forward to it every week - a single moment of joy in his desolate world. And he knew, deep down, you did too, often finding new ways to ‘torture’ him just so he’ll pin you beneath him. Vergil convinced himself that it was purely for logical, beneficial reasons. He always performed better on the field after gushing into you. Something about the adrenaline, the endorphins, made his demon blood go crazy. He often found himself swinging Yamato with more precision, or dodging attacks with impeccable reaction times. How could he give up something that made him a better fighter? A better hunter?
No. He needed to put an end to this. The line between a ‘quick fuck’ and a ‘meaningful connection’ was getting too blurry for his liking. This was the last time, no more after this. He was a seasoned warrior, one that could fight just as well without you. This had to stop. It must-
“Don’t stop. God, pl-please don’t stop.”
Vergil hadn’t noticed his hand over your mouth fall to cradle your head, too lost in his thoughts. The sound of your wanton begging lobotomizes his brain, him gazing down at you dumbly with lust. All he could focus on now was how pretty you looked taking him, head drooping back and eyelashings kissing your cheeks. His eyes fall to his hips moving like an automaton, snapping in and out your impossibly warm walls. The sight alone is heaven - he figures people die to achieve this level of nirvana, and yet, he has it right in his fingers.
Damn it, he can’t put an end to this.
Swallowing his pride, Vergil relents to his desires and speeds up, the primitive sounds of fluids and skin-on-skin bouncing around the cave like an echo-chamber. His hand on your hip tightens, nails forming crescents on the skin as he runts his cock into you, pelvic bones slamming together. Vergil thinks you’ve already come by the way you’re squirming under him - he feels a little bad for not noticing earlier, too consumed in his own world to hear your moans clearly. He doesn’t care enough to ask though, the sirens blaring in his body that he’s about to come himself. With one, two, three more pumps, Vergil growls and bites down on his lip, pulling out just in time to cum over your sex rather than in it. The head of his cock twitches as white spurts out of it, ropes making a Pollock on your skin. WIth a shuddering breath, he slowly lowers your legs back to the ground, allowing you to hold his arms as you steady your shaking legs.
“…Are you alright?”
You answer with a small nod, still trying to regulate your breathing. You squat down and gather your pants, pulling them back on. “Yeah, m’good.”
”Good, good,” Vergil returns your nod and zips up his fly, averting his eyes from you. There was a voice in the back of his mind pleading with him to say more, to show you more of his human side. He wanted to, gods be damned, he really wanted to. But not now, not like this. Instead, he kneels down and scoops your weapon off the cave floor, wiping the blade clean with the end of his coat. He offers it back to you with an imperceivable smile, eyes meeting yours for a heartbeat. “Let us continue on. There are four more caverns to clear.”
author’s note: i just randomly wrote this right now and it’s almost 5am…..so uh, do with that information what you will. if there’re mistakes, i’ll proofread when i wake up lol
The blue apparition shackled your wrists together with one hand, the other holding a vice-like grip on the back of your head, keeping you from wriggling away from Vergil. Drool seeped out of your mouth in long strings, lips stretched around Vergil’s cock as he impaled your throat.
It had been four hours since you two started.
Four.
Doppelgänger showed up around the three-hour mark, assisting Vergil’s every whim, and was a daunting reminder of how easily Vergil could take what he wanted.
Every muscle in your body ached from being folded and bent and thrown around by your boyfriend. Vergil went into heat three days ago and he had refrained from using you like his personal fleshlight until he couldn’t take it anymore, making you call out of work just to service him. Not that you minded, really. But the ache in your core from relentless abuse had caused you to tap out early, leaving Vergil with the only hole left to defile - your mouth.
Big, teary eyes looked up at Vergil as he crammed himself into your throat, sweat parading down his forehead. Your jaw was throbbing with pain, which wasn’t helped by the hair-pulling. Vergil opened his eyes briefly to glance down at you after hearing a muffled gag, silently checking in with you despite his demon blood roaring through his veins. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to take, take, take, and it took admittedly too much concentration and energy to remind himself of your fragile state. He slowed his hips to a rhythmic pump and eventually to a stop, catching his breath and swallowing back a gulp of air to clear his head.
Doppelgänger thrummed behind you, feeling the energy and warmth from the summoned being vibrate against the skin of your back. It made a mellow growl as a clawed finger reached from behind your head to rub at your cheek - a show of acknowledgment. You hum around Vergil, eyes shutting as you lean into the lucent mirage of a finger, appreciative of the gesture. Doppelgänger releases your head and runs its hand along your shoulder, talons faintly dragging along flesh as it trails its hand down your front. Vergil’s own hands move to hold either side of your head, thumbs caressing your scalp. You feel claws pinch at one of your nipples, tugging on it as heat ripples off the apparition. A moan gets stuck in your throat but Vergil groans at the vibration around his length, the head twitching inside you.
“Ah, there you are…still with me, my dear?”
Opening your eyes, you nod the best you can in your compromised state, fatigue evident in your eyes. Vergil smiles fondly down at you, a satisfied hum echoing in the quiet room.
“You’re taking me so well, little one…so well-behaved,” Vergil sighs out, voice exasperated and scratchy. “Give me one more…one more time, and you can rest.”
At the mention of rest, you nod again, but a little more enthusiastically. With a hushed laugh, Vergil’s grip on your head becomes taut and Doppelgänger moves its hand back to hair, grabbing a fistful. Vergil holds nothing back, jumping immediately into a harsh pace. His throaty grunts meld together with the ever-constant droning sound of Doppelgänger’s presence. Your jaw slacks unwillingly to compensate for Vergil’s size, the head of his cock ramming against the back of your throat. You gag beneath him, tears trickling down your face as you wince from the impact. With a few more ruthless thrusts, Vergil shudders and growls deeply, warm seed nearly choking you as it gushes down your throat. Doppelgänger yanks your head back by the hair, your mouth hanging open as you gulp down the cum and gasp for oxygen. Vergil nearly falls on his ass when you’re pulled back, legs trembling from the fifth and final release of the day. He manages to limp over to sit down on the edge of the bed, pouring sweat and heaving. See-through hands scoop you up off the ground and cradle you against a vibrating chest of blue light, offering you comfort while Vergil gains his own footing. Doppelgänger soon sets you down in Vergil’s lap, his arms coming out to accept you. Vergil presses a kiss into your head, face lingering in your hair as he takes in your scent. You slump over in Vergil’s arms, just as exhausted and spent as he is. There’s a few heartbeats of stillness before you feel a horn poke at your leg that’s dangling off the bed. Looking down, you find Doppelgänger sat at Vergil’s feet, head resting against you as it thumps its tail lightly against the floorboards. You reach out and pat the mirage’s head, eliciting a loud purr from the creature. Vergil chuckles at the display and tightens his arms around you, wordlessly expressing his love and gratitude to you.
Can I request Dante and the reader having a shooting contest on their off day from hunting demons? (Platonic or romantic, your choice)
Headshot
pairing: dante x reader (gn)
wc: 1300
warnings: drug and alcohol use
author’s note: i’ve literally been meaning to answer this for so long, but could not, for the life of me, figure out a plot. and then this morning, the story randomly manifested in my mind’s eye. i kept it mostly platonic, with just a dash of flirting/angst. ugh, i love writing for dante - especially his dialogue. it’s always so fun. anywayyssss, i hope you like this !!!! let’s go old man lover nation !!!!!!
Smoke hazes the room, swirls of gray muddying your view of Dante as he cocks the chamber of Ebony. He stares down the end of the barrel, trying to pinpoint the head of the swinging cutout you two tied to the shitty ceiling fan. He looks over his shoulder to you on the couch, Ivory sat in your lap and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s warmed in your hand. You quirk an eyebrow up at him, as if to ask ‘well?’.
“Just makin’ sure you’re watchin’, angel,” he chortles, blunt bobbing between his lips as he smiles back at you.
The end of the blunt sparkles as he drags from it, inhaling deeply and refocusing back to the rotating target. With an exhale through his nose, he pulls the trigger, watching the gunpowder mix with the fragrant smoke of the herb. The bullet hits its mark, jolting the cutout to sway off kilter, but as it falls back into its previous rhythm, Dante can see that it’s off by a millimeter. The bullet hole permeates the head of the sacrificed celebrity, but it’s just off to the left - enough to dissatisfy Dante.
“Damn it, I’m gettin’ sloppy,” Dante sighs with a shake of silver hair, pulling the blunt from his mouth and flopping down beside you. You two trade off the substances and he takes a hearty swig from the bottle, leaning back with an arm over the couch.
“Mmm, not sloppy. Just careless,” you laugh lightly, pulling a drag and feeling the smoke coat the back of your throat. You tap the ash off the blunt and set it down in the ashtray on the table, exhaling and standing up with a stretch.
“Oh, you gonna show me how it’s done then, hotshot?” Dante sits back and ogles at your backside as you roll the stiffness out your shoulders, his drawl exaggerated in his inebriated state. He reaches forward and pinches the inch of your hip exposed from your ridden up shirt, making you jump and whip around.
“Watch it, dumbass,” you point Ivory at him with a heartless threat, giving him a scolding glare. Dante only chuckles in return, sitting up and pressing his forehead to the end of the gun he so graciously let you borrow for the game.
“Shootin’ the guy that saved your ass yesterday? Not very nice, sweetheart. And with my own baby, at that,” he teases, flashing you a dreamy, coy smile.
“Hands to yourself, and maybe I won’t have to use it against you,” you say smartly, staring down at him over your nose. Despite the remark, you reciprocated his smile with a fond one of your own, the liquor and drugs in your system making it hard to even pretend to be mad at him. You lower the gun and turn back around, zeroing in on the rotating cutout. Raising Ivory, you squint and take a few centering breaths, aiming for the head. A ‘bang’ echos in the office as you shoot, the bullet going through the chin of its face.
“This game is stupid,” you huff, throwing the gun back at Dante with an indignant pout.
“What happened, buddy? I thought you were a pro!” Dante laughs heartily and catches the gun, standing up from his seat. He strides over to you and pats your back, gun held in his other hand.
“Ain’t gonna kill anyone when you’re all frowny like that,” he remarks, handing the gun back to you. “You gotta loosen up - be one with the gun.”
“I am ‘loosened up’,” you frown even harder and look at him over your shoulder as he moves behind you, strong hands massaging your tense traps almost mockingly. “Your gun just sucks.”
“Hey! She can hear you, ya know?!”
Dante swats the back of your head lightly in punishment, offended that you’d diss one of his beloved firearms, before resting his hands back on your shoulders.
“Give it another go,” he murmurs beside your ear. “Really try this time.”
With a sigh, you cock Ivory and raise your arm again, eyeing the target. Dante can feel the hesitation in your body as you try and pinpoint the shot, doubt creeping into your system. His hand slides down your arm and holds the gun along with you, body caging you from behind.
“It ain’t all that hard. Just point it a little higher, like this-“
He gently moves your hand up an inch or two, his chin lowered to your shoulder to be at your eye level. His fingers are warm and firm around yours, slightly distracting your intoxicated mind and making your heart do a somersault from the gentle contact. You clear your throat to refocus, peering over the gun.
“Pull the trigger half a second sooner than you think you should,” Dante whispers beside you, the smell of whiskey fanning off of him, caressing your sense of smell. “You got it.”
Sucking in another deep breath, you laser-focus on the cardboard cutout, trying to block out the warm body holding you behind. Following his advice, your finger pulls the trigger a little early than you normally would and the bullet sounds off. The cutout jerks and swings as you hit your mark, a hole forming right between its eyes.
“I did it!”
You whip around and beam proudly up at Dante, all traces of your defeated frown gone. He takes Ivory from you with a chuckle and tosses it back to sit beside her sister on the couch.
“I told ya! You just gotta have a little faith,” he muses, cupping your face and squishing your cheeks together. “Probably could’ve done it without my help, if you focused more the first time.”
“No, I don’t think so,” you laugh and shake your head loose of him, though his hand remains, opting to tenderly hold your face instead.
“Yeah, me neither. I was just tryna be nice.”
Dante gives you a lopsided smile and brushes your cheek with his thumb, his eyes giving away his usually airtight thoughts. His smile waivers and he averts his eyes for a breath, returning them to you with a more sincere gaze.
“I, uh…wanted to thank you,” he starts, a wrinkle on his forehead creasing as he tries to formulate a coherent sentiment. “-for coming over. We don’t get a lotta downtime these days, and I know these jobs really take it out of you. Not that I blame you for wanting some space from me outside of hunting, because I know I’m a handful and all that jazz. But y’know, I-“
“Dante.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s okay,” you smile earnestly and rest your hands on his arms, knowing he has the tendency to ramble when he’s nervous or out of his element. “I wanted to come.”
“Right - yeah, I know…I just-“
“I know.”
You let out a hum of a laugh and slide your hands down to hold his, giving them a reassuring squeeze. Dante visibly relaxes and lets out a weighted breath, his expression softening up. There’s so much more he wanted to say, but he knew you knew without even verbalizing it - and he was thankful for that. Feelings weren’t really his forte, especially with someone so pretty looking up at him like he was the only man in the world.
“…I got a crossbow upstairs, if you’re feeling plucky,” he finally resolves in saying, putting the heavy conversation aside for now.
A big smile spreads on your face and you giggle at his stupid pun, nodding and swaying his hands in yours.
“Can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me this whole time,” you snort, dropping his hands. “Well, what’re you waiting for? Go grab it
oct 3: car sex (kinda), overstimulation (24) - dante sparda
dante takes you out for a ride
pairing: dante (devil may cry) x reader (female anatomy)
wc: 611
warnings: nsfw
notes: i say 'kinda' bc technically it's not a car at all - it's his bike lol. also, i don't know how realistic this is ?? i feel like it would be hella uncomfortable, but the idea seemed hot sooooo..
part of kinktober 2025
Dante had dragged you out for a joyride on one of his bikes, his schedule clear and mind set on you. There was nothing quite like having the wind in your hair and miles between you and home, embracing the temporary escape from the hellscape of the city. Quickies here and there were nothing abnormal between you two; in a bar bathroom, in the back of a theater – hell, even just at home in odd places. So of course, when Dante pulled the bike over at a decrepit, abandoned service station to have his way with you, there were no complaints from you.
It was when he stuffed your underwear into his jean pocket after that you found pause. Still trying to find your footing after a sudden climax, you blink at him with puzzled, hazy eyes.
“Hey, that’s mine,” you pout, lamely trying to swipe it back. He sidesteps you with a ring of laughter, only to walk back to steady you with a firm hold. Strong hands grip at your hips to stop your teetering, only for one hand to slip under your dress and thumb at the still swollen clit – a silent dare to try and argue some more.
“And you can have them back after we get home,” Dante purrs back, lips curling into a smile – equally cruel and loving. “Now get your ass on the bike, pretty lady!”
Yanking away his hand and swatting your behind, you’re redirected to the bike, getting on with his help. You were too aware of the cool leather bared against your heated flesh, already feeling the concoction of yours and Dante’s releases slick the seat. It’s when he jerks the bike to life that you keel slightly forward into him, a feeble whimper escaping you. You can’t hear it over the purr of the engine, but you can feel Dante’s ribcage shake with laughter under your arms like he had planned this from the start. It only worsens once he steers the bike back onto the road, the constant hum and subsequent rattle of the seat making you squirm with addictive discomfort. Your already tired heat throbs against the vibrating leather, moans beckoned out of you whenever he revs the bike.
It was pure torture and yet, you found yourself rocking into it. Dante can feel your fingers curl around his coat as you duck your face into his back. He drops a hand from the handlebar when he stops at a light, reaching for your hand and giving it a squeeze. You clutch it back, peeking out to catch him looking over his shoulder down at you, staring back long enough to admire the sexed glaze of your eyes and the bit of drool hanging on your lip. The remainder of the ride home is uncomfortable and overstimulating, making you squirm and whine behind him as he weaves the bike through city streets. By the time he pulls into the garage and kills the engine, it doesn't matter. You can still feel the thrum radiating through your lower half, legs quivering as you step off. You hear Dante whistle, turning back around to find him inspecting a pool of slick you left behind on the seat.
“It must be Christmas, considering this very lovely gift you left me,” Dante breathes out a laugh with a wolf grin before crossing over to you. He cups your face and tilts it back to get a good look at the weak, flushed expression you were wearing.
“Why don’t we get you cleaned up, hmm, sweetheart?” He murmurs down with a gentler tone, slowly turning you in the direction of the door inside.
you convince vergil to let you two stay in a hotel for the night after a long demon-hunting job.
pairing: vergil x reader (afab)
wc: 2k
warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, wound care, play-fighting, orgasm denial, penetration
notes: woke up and thought of this bc i miss my beautiful wife, vergil . anyways, enjoy !!
link: ao3
Vergil often detested booking hotels during or after jobs, finding the need for human commodities as a frivolous expense. However, a year of adjusting to civilian life and the last two weeks on the road for this pesky mission, he didn't object this time when you proposed the idea of a night in, already imagining a hot shower and room service. Despite the sideways looks you two got from reception, the keycards were secured and your filthy forms made it up to your designated floor. The room was beige and simple, but it was clean, safe, and quiet—which is all either of you could ask for after such a demanding job.
You stepped in first, coat slinking off to be hung up in the wooden closet by the door. As Vergil bolted the chains, he attempted to follow suit, a wince of pain making my scrunch his features.
“Here, let me,” you mumbled as you turned to help. Stubborn as ever, he stepped back and scowled, the sting of pain revoking his manners.
“I am more than capable of—”
“Let me do it.”
Vergil’s features wilted at your tone, losing his bite and dropping his arms to let you have your way. It’s not that he didn’t trust you, but more than he had gotten so comfortable in your presence that he often tried to find ways of still establishing his individuality. He refused to be seen as anything less, but it was hard to uphold his stuffy values when you doted on him with the utmost sincerity. As you pulled his coat off, Vergil watched you over his shoulder, ocean eyes wordlessly conveying gratitude despite the wrinkle in his brow. With the leather jacket off and away, you could see the slits in his vest where the demon you two had vanquished struck a few good blows in. Led to the edge of bed, he sits down and waits til you’re sat behind him before he starts at the vest’s fastenings.
“It’ll all heal, you know,” he grunts between words, the lining of the vest slowly peeling away from bloodied skin. “I can’t imagine why you feel the need to fret over surface cuts.”
Even so, you watch his back muscles ripple as the vest is shed, reopening the wounds as it peels away healing skin. The inside of the vest was, well, disgusting. Bloodied, with pieces of his flesh stickered onto it, due to the duration of having it on working against his regenerative abilities. You make a face at the nasty sight, sighing as you toss the vest away to the floor.
“Any longer, and we would’ve had to cut you out of it. Again.”
Only a hum of acknowledgement—or dismissal—rumbles back to you. Sliding off the bed, you pad to the adjoined bathroom and wet a rag. You study your own battered appearance in the mirror as the water runs. Dirt darkened your skin, caking into some of the cuts. You looked rough, but never as bad as he usually did; he would never allow you to fight harder than him, to be in harm’s way when he could stand as a shield for you. That wasn’t to say he doubted your fighting abilities. In fact, the only reason you two had partnered up was because of the respect he had for you. But, as emotions and attachments grew, Vergil found it harder to watch you limp and writhe in pain after jobs, much preferring to take the brunt of the damage.
You find your way back to him, seeing him already tending to his wounds himself. He expunges saliva onto his fingers to rub into the cuts, the skin already rebuilding itself as the saliva encourages the swelling to fade—an old trick he learned from a demon many moons ago. Passing the damp towel over his back, he makes a sound in the back of his throat, tense as he goes still for you. Vergil watches silently as you rub away grime from his skin, eyes following the patterned route your hand made with the rag. The rhythmic motions lull your own thoughts away from the present, mind drifting to planning out the next courses of actions after returning from the job. A touch to your face summons you back, eyes focusing to find his already trained on you. Vergil’s thumb swiped over the bone that cradled your eye, gently smearing away a streak of blood.
“Where’d you go?” His voice came out tentative, as if worried his disturbance would upset you. His eyes searched yours to attempt to steal a peek behind them, wishing he could read your thoughts.
You shake your head gently, lowering the rag. “I’m here.”
His stare remained courteous, yet you could tell he wanted to pry, ever the attentive partner. Instead, though, the half-demon sighs from his nose and lets his features soften.
“You fought bravely tonight. I’m beside myself, with how well you’re beginning to carry yourself in battle. I often must force my reflexes to heed and allow you to take point, as you have earned that right,” Vergil’s throat bobs with a faint swallow, finger tips still tracing the side of your face. “Thank you, for being by my side.”
Praise from Vergil is always genuine, and it never fails to make you feel singular. Your eyes crinkle slightly as a smile warms up your tired face. “The blood loss is making you sentimental. But, it’s nothing, really. I love you, and I love fighting with you.”
“And I love you, very much,” He lets his hand slip down to your shoulder briefly before sitting himself up and facing you properly. “Enough to feel compelled to take care of you, now that I am no longer bleeding to death.”
A huff of a chuckle leaves him as he stands, hand pulling you along.
“Up. A shower would do us good.”
—
Between the food in his stomach and the robe warming his aching body, Vergil felt like he could melt through the mattress. He watched the back of your head while you ate, preferring to observe the way you chewed french fries over whatever nonsense you had put on the hotel TV. As much as he enjoyed the rush of endorphins he got from demon hunting with you, he found the quieter part of himself started to crave this kind of intimacy more. There were no expectations or watchful eyes—just the certainty of company and the solace it brought him.
As you licked salt from your fingers, a calloused hand yanked you back towards the headboard. Giggles filled the room as Vergil pulled you to him, his own mouth latching onto the greased fingers with a shake of laughter. Despite weak protests of faux disgust, you didn’t try very hard to stave off the attack, practically letting him coil around you. Long, lean legs cage you in as he releases your fingers, only to bite at your wrist.
“Nuh-uh—you can’t leave now.”
“Get off of me, you freak,” you snort and squirm against him, lamely trying to wriggle free amidst the play-fight. He cares little for your insult, mouthing his way up your arm instead. Laughter mingles between you two until a moan makes you still, his lips suctioning to a spot on your neck. Blood rushes to the area as he sucks on the tender skin, staccato breaths from his nose puffing over you as he laughs at your complicity.
“That’s all you got? No more verbal abuse or grabbing?” He unlatches from your neck to peer down at your face, flashing imperfect teeth in an exultant smile.
You start to give quick excuses, only to be shut up by a desirous kiss. Your limbs betray you, turning to jelly as he shifts against you, tongue knocking for entry. You greet it with enthusiasm, only to fail at returning the kiss once a hand parts your legs. Eager fingers pet at the growing heat of your sex, gentle despite the obvious intent. When you've proven too pliant to kiss back, he trails his lips back down to your throat, teeth threatening to break the skin.
Vergil pushes off your robe enough to grant him skin-to-skin contact, his own slipping open and exposing an already hardening cock. Deep inhales against your skin fill his senses with your scent, only encouraging him to keep going and feed the need for connection. The hand between your legs alternates between familiar circles and strokes, knowing exactly what rhythm gets you worked up enough without pushing. As you arch into his hand in response, he grinds into from behind, the head of his length rubbing against your ass for much needed friction. Your breathing hitches as your gut twists with approaching, lazy pleasure, head lulled back into him as you welcome the onslaught. Compared to the grit of demon-hunting, this was easy bliss, and you had no problem giving into the temporary gluttony.
Just as your body was about to fall over the peak, his hand withdraws to rest on your hip. A mewl of denial slips out from you as you rut against nothing, painfully close to coming. “God—, Vergil, wait—”
“Patience,” Vergil’s body vibrates with a laugh, low and taunting in your ear as he sucks on the lobe. His hand slides up your front, fragrant with your sex, and holds your chin taut. “I will not deprive you, sweet girl. I merely wish to be selfish, just for a moment.”
With one more nip to your ear, he releases your jaw to guide his cock behind you to your warmth. His breath ghosts over your shoulder as he pushes himself in, silver strands of hair tickling your cheek. Vergil hides in the privacy of your neck, thankful you’re unable to see the look of relief on his face as he bottoms out. Your hips urge him to move with little syncopated rolls, walls throbbing around him from the previously stunted release. If you two were home, and the day hadn’t been so long, he might’ve prolonged the moment, dragged out the denial til you were sputtering tears for him to kiss away. But, god, you were so tight, and so very warm—he couldn’t fight it.
“Oh, I missed you, missed this,” the words come out muffled against your skin, his hands returning to your hips to grind into you. Calloused hands flex against the supple flesh of your hips, adjusting his grip as he works up to a steady pace behind you. The hotel bed moans with you as you stretch back towards him, jaw slacked as the coils of an orgasm curl back up. Vergil pokes his head out to accommodate your head leaning back, opting to watch your lashes flutter.
As his fervor increases, he snakes a hand under your thigh and lifts your leg, allowing for more room to accommodate his size. The kisses pressed into the side of your face draw you back to the world of the living, foggy eyes opening to find him. You’re greeted by a blissful smile, Vergil planting a kiss under a dopey eye.
“I know, sweetheart, I know. You can come, it’s okay; I won’t stop you.”
The orgasm shakes you soon after, teary eyes locked on him as you feel that little death claim you. Vergil doesn’t fight his own release either, letting you milk out the seed with shaky ruts. His hand under you finds its way to your perked clit, helping you ride out the much needed reprieve and ensure you’re satisfied. Cock slipping out of your folds, electric pulses hum through his body as he lets himself rest between your thighs, dripping shaft sandwiched between the pillowy flesh. He doesn’t attempt to move, even after your immediate seizing has slowed, savoring the sacred sights and smells of bonding with you once more. In the morning, he could sort his thoughts and practice discipline—tonight, this was enough.
Small stories out of nowhere @maellem - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
