“you know my husband’s going to find me right?” you drawl with your chin resting on your cupped hand, which rested on your knee.
a pose much alike your beloved.
“and he won’t be haaappyy” you elongated your words clearly weighed down by boredom and also the shackles around your waist tied to the wall.
you’d been ambushed, caught off guard wandering outside of sukuna’s shrine, clearly past the waypoint he’d told you to stay in.
was it your fault the night sky was clearer away from the ominous aura of your husband’s residence?
“shut up, wretched woman!” your abductor shrieked, you couldn’t see his face, the blindfold obstructed any such view, however you flinched under his voice. not from the volume or fear but rather the unpleasantness of the sound.
you tapped your foot impatient, surely your husband had noticed your absence, why was he stalling?
the ropes had started to dig into your waist indicating how much time had past since you’d been misplaced.
your time was precious, you ought to have a word with him about his lack of regard for his poor wife!
“m-master we ought to sell her” one of the lackeys probably, spoke up. such a brilliant idea, you thought, your husband would have their heads for even the suggestion.
the sound of footsteps approached you with a gust of wind bringing such stench! you recoiled away from the presence, the man infront of you seized your chin, inspecting your face.
“hm, pretty, she’ll fetch a good price”
slash—
the piercing sound reverberated, your shoulders sagged with relief and recognition.
“tch.” a sound you knew all too well.
“took you long enough, my lord” you teased trying to hide your smile. sukuna was here.
“remove her blindfold”
you blink hard, the cloth now removed, eyes adjusting to the surroundings, some dark dungeon with low visibility, a few chains along the wall and your savior at the centre of it all.
the four-armed beast, your beloved husband.
you furrow your brows at uraume, waiting for them to untie you, but they don’t as if already instructed not to.
“careless woman, you find much humor acquainting yourself with trouble.” sukuna states, a teasing lilt to his voice.
“release me at once” you pout.
“i have started to turn gray from your antics” he continues, ignoring your request.
“my wedded lord,” you whine, “to care for one’s appearance.. is it not much beneath your likeness?”
“hmm, perhaps i am a changed man” he drops to his haunches infront of you, his much welcome manly musk invading your senses.
“consider me a changed woman too” you grin at him, waiting for him to inquire further.
his lower hands move forward to untie the ropes around your waist, his care with it showcasing such tenderness. his upper hand comes to caress your face, four eyes darting about checking for harm.
“hm?” he inquires.
“well, i don’t fear anything now” released from the shackles you rub your waist trying to soothe out the pain from being tied up all this time “because i know you’ll always find me”
a low chuckles escapes his lips, eyes glinting he gazes into yours and just as effortlessly his lower arms grab you by your legs.
lifted off the ground into his arms, you melt, easily pliable to his touch, his following words making you shudder:
“i’ll save you” said much heavier than before, a tone he reserved for your private chambers, as he carried you home.
firefly; to my fellow pittlings please imagine that last sentence by kuna in the same tone as “i’ll pay for it” by dr abbot (iykyk)
pairing. trueform && heian-era sukuna x wife!reader
summary. being the wife of ryōmen sukuna, the undisputed king of curses, is a wild feat in itself, and yet you still you find yourself at a standstill with the staff of his shrine of all things to worry about. kimono’s are left strewn and unkept across your chambers, snarky smirks whisper and persist, and insubordinate glares are now practically drilled in your routine. they all detest you, and you have no fucking clue why. but, you're sure as hell going to find out—with or without your husband's help.
warnings. NSFW/MDNI, explicit sexual content, smut, light angst, fluff, mild gore and violence, dismemberment, jealousy, yorozu mention, canon-typical violence, misogyny, heian period, rough sex, overstimulation, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, choking, degradation, pussy slapping, some bdsm elements, spitting, sukuna is a little shit, but he’s also a pretty good husband, sukuna's extra mouths, 8.1k words. (repost) art
Cold.
Cold is what you wake up to. The shoji panel doors to your chambers are pulled wide open like some grand entryway sometime around dawn and a draft spiraling in, sharp and passionless. The biting chill nips at your skin, a wave of goosebumps pebbling over you, leaving your teeth to chatter and shoulders to shiver. You grit your teeth, curling yourself into the woven quilt resting on your shoulders, padding over the tatami mat to slide the door shut. The iron charcoal brazier has long gone cold, no coals gone replaced or tended to. You do what you must, sifting the coals and allowing the warmth to reach your hands after sometime, bent beside the small contraption.
You know why the door was slid open, and the brazier left neglected. You may be placid, but what you are not is a moron.
Before the sun kissed the horizon, Sukuna’s attendants got him ready for the day like routine. Bringing in a fresh set of clothes to your shared chambers, strips of human flesh awaiting him in the dining area for breakfast. The same before you got here, and after the matrimony. And in these very chambers do they leave a sloppy mess for you to deal with, along with a sideways glance to a brazier they’ll abandon. Clothes strewn across the floor, chests popped open and spilling with silks, partition still propped open.
All for you to deal with. The wife of the King of Curses.
“Impudent, bare-faced aides,” you mutter, expression caving inwards. And oh, do you realize how much you’re starting to sound like your husband.
It was only your first season here, and you’d been made a pushover. Initially, you hadn’t thought too much on it. They’d been contemptuous when you were simply the lowly courtesan that Ryomen Sukuna brought to his shrine to fuck on occasion.
Not a soul in these walls had reckoned that Ryomen Sukuna would ever take on a wife, much less you, so you welcomed the transition with grace.
You’d dressed yourself, bathed yourself, on occasion offering a hand in the kitchen to the faint servants even when your husband sneered at your docility. You had taken their adverseness as unfamiliarity, hoping that with time the tensions would ease up as they’d gotten to know you and slowly come around. But it hadn’t, they hadn’t welcomed you. If anything, the mistreatment only mounted.
And their abuse can only go so far, a woman pushed to her wits end.
Propping your chest open, you dress yourself in your kimono and paint your lips red. A fierce look contrasting the serenity coloring your face than you are used to.
Your husband is out hunting. His mount galloping through the mountains as he crosses either dwellers or game, bringing back whatever he can by mid-afternoon. This winter has been rather harsh, so it isn’t uncommon for him to unleash his blaze across an unsuspecting village and bring home treasures.
That gives you enough time to set things right, and if all else fails, you’ll at least avoid your husbands taunts while he basks in your humiliation. It seems you’ve married a cruel bastard. He’d lounge on his chair and guffaw at the thought of you standing up for yourself and failing.
Additionally, he’s resided with these people long before he’d come to know you, so who knows if he’ll take their side in such an accusation.
No, this is something you want to fix yourself.
—
“I have come to fetch you, My Lady. Is there assistance you require?”
With your posture ramrod straight, you pace the length of the serving room in the east wing of the shrine. Ages ago, it was built for guests, though Sukuna hosts nothing of the sort. It is simply ornamentation now, left to collect dust and wither.
“These zabutons. They have been eaten away by moths,” you express, tone level. “Replace them at once.”
Tsumigi, one of Sukuna’s attendants, dips her head, arms slipped into the sleeves of her kimono. “I see, My Lady. But it seems that Master Sukuna asked to keep this room untouched.”
Your gaze meets hers over your shoulder, lips thinned. You can hear the smirk playing in her tone. “And I am ordering you to find replacements. Do you dare to defy me?”
By now, you would have expected her to give in. Toss aside the harsh theatrics, and obey her lady. But instead, she meets your gaze with a grin.
“If it is to satisfy Master Sukuna, then yes.”
She excuses herself as you seethe, your eye twitching in disdain.
This is going to be harder than you thought. But you musn’t give up. This is as much your home as it is there’s, and you tend to see this through.
—
You arrive in the dining room for breakfast—the scent of steamed rice and dashi stock broth wafting into your nose and blossoming a hunger deep in your gut. For the most part, your breakfasts are uneventful, though they can be rather lonely.
You drum your fingers across the low table you’re seated at on a cushion, taking a sip of your steeped tea and allowing it to diffuse through your frayed nerves.
A new plan. One that will assert your authority over the attendants…
Or, you can gain their favor.
Both routes are rather humiliating. Attempting to mirror your husbands attitudes, or grovel as what he despises. You can picture his mocking of you crystal clear.
The soft taps of your fingers increase, sounding into the mahogany finish, cogs and wheels churning in your mind.
The vapor from your untouched and lively miso soup curls upwards, soft tendrils billowing up before dissipating.
Your gaze thins on a partition across the room, mindlessly studying the decorative flora.
Appeasement or authority.
You turn it over a countless number of times, chalking up half-witted plans, mentally cursing yourself out. It shouldn’t be this hard, seeing as you’d scavenged around half of your life for scraps before joining a brothel once you’d come of age.
Though you find yourself at a standstill with the people who call this place home.
And it is unbelievably infuriating.
Snap!
Suddenly, your chopsticks break in half in your hand, small fractures of splintered wood flinging across the table and littering the clean surface.
You mutter curses as a small girl finds her way to your side, deeply bowing her head and attempting to atone.
“I apologize, My Lady. Is the food not up to your standards?”
You find yourself stilling at her soft tone. Huh. Her sincerity is refreshing.
“Uh, no. It seems I am lacking an appetite this morning, but I can assure you that the food is plenty flavorful every other morning.”
You give her a half hearted smile as she wipes the table with a rag that was tucked into her apron. It seems she is part of the kitchen staff.
A groove hooks between your eyebrows. “I’m sorry, it seems that I do not recognize you. What is your name?” you offer her a tilt of your head, the corners of your lips twitching upwards when she nearly topples over her feet and straightens beside you.
“Furi, My Lady.”
You chuckle, soft, your eyes forming crows feet from how fitting her name is.
振り. A shake. A tremble.
A fall.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Furi. Now, tell me. Why is it that I have yet to come across you? After all, we share these walls,” you express, a genuine yet perplexed smile creasing your cheeks.
She lifts her gaze from the hem of her kimono, reddened ears and hazel eyes locking with yours. “It is a long story, but I am the chef, My Lady.”
Your eyebrows lift in intrigue. “So you say? A girl this young with such a knack for cuisine,” you smirk, lifting a spoon to dip it into the miso soup. You bring it back to your mouth and feel yourself slacken, your tensed up muscles unkinking. A sigh of relief puffs from your lips, lashes nearly dusting shut.
“You are too kind, My Lady.”
There is a beat of silence where she retreats to her previous spot, off in the corner. She makes herself undetectable, like how you didn’t notice her while your breakfast was served. The new sets of chopsticks find their way to your hands, before you begin working away at your steamed rice.
“If I may,” Furi starts again, and you find yourself glancing over your shoulder see her. “Is everything alright, My Lady?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” you lie through a bite, globs of chewed rice sliding down your throat.
She hesitates, swaying where she stands. “The last thing I would want to do is overstep and upset you… but you seem quite… untuned as of late. Are you sure nothing is out of the sort?”
This young girl is quite attentive, though the intention of her actions escape you. Does she really seek to console you? Are you questioning her sincerity as it’s been so long since you felt something of that likeness?
You place your chopsticks down, turning to face her. You’ve met young girls like her during your time at the brothel—innocent yet capturing a word of compassion. Naturally, you would beckon her to come sit beside you, however you do not want to offend not scare her. So you speak to her from where you sit.
“How long have you been living her, Furi?”
“Just over two years now, My Lady.”
You nod, inwardly noting this information. She’s been here quite some time, and you’re wondering if she’s pissed someone off for being secluded to the kitchen but out of your sight.
“And what can you tell me of this shrine?”
She sways again, her feet doing a sort of dance beneath the flounce of her skirt. She’s nervous.
“There is no one here to punish you. You may speak freely,” you offer, eyeing as she smooths out the creases of outfit.
She is still reluctant, so you hope the silence will prompt her to speak. Swiftly, it does.
“Though I am confined to the kitchen, I am not without notice,” she begins, swallowing thickly and avoiding eye contact while she twists her hands between each other. “I see the way the attendants treat you.”
Her directness makes you falter, your mouth parting to say something but words fail you. What exactly are you supposed to say? Defend your tormentors? Complain about their aggression?
“I see,” you resort to acknowledgment, biting the inside of your cheek. “For a moment, I believed it was all in my head.” The chuckle that leaves you is dry, coating the inside of your throat like raw honey. Thick, uncomfortable.
“I apologize for it. On their behalf, you have done nothing to deserve such treatment,” she hastens her words, eyes widening as she watches you carefully. “However, a bit of context might prove beneficial.”
Context?
You cock your head to the side at her cryptic words, watching as she takes a tentative step forward.
“Well, then. Do tell,” you say, clearing your throat ad adjusting your posture. “It seems I am always outside of some long running, cruel joke.”
Furi glances past her shoulder, eyes squinting when she sees a shadow pass the parchment of the sliding doors. “Not here. Not now. I will tell you everything I know in due time,” she affirms, biting the inside of her cheek.
There are far too many attendants lurking nearby, and not enough time as the allotted duration for breakfast is already coming to an end.
“Very well. I hope to speak to you soon,” you reckon, returning to your cold rice and stale tea.
Furi bows and dismisses herself, and another attendant steps into the room to replace her.
It is Tsumigi yet again, a frequent contender to your misery. Her cheeks are flushed as if she’d been outside in the relentless cold tending to something, the hem of her skirt riding up and tucked into her sock awkwardly.
Bowing, she greets you and offers to clean the table, a snarl playing at her face. Most likely, the attendants are aware of your humiliation that unfolded in the serving room just an hour ago.
Gathering your bearings, you get to your feet, smothering a huff, and step past Tsumigi.
Wordlessly, you dismiss yourself before you offer her any more gossip for tea time.
—
The next few days, you find yourself in a bleak routine. Each morning grows colder, Sukuna’s place beside you empty every morning as he tends to foreign affairs. Scorching villages or plaguing the capital. Doing whatever he does to satisfy his insatiable hungers as the lands grow fallow.
It doesn’t help that you have to tend to the brazier on your own through the night as winter harshens, but you’ve endured worse.
Furi doesn’t serves you breakfast personally, that day she spoke to you serving as a fluke. The attendants seemed to be understaffed and placed the catering on the chef. But it comes to your attention that Tsumigi was busy with her stableboy that clarifying morning, the whispers of gossip curling through the shrine walls easier to pick up on as you attempt to make yourself as imperceptible as Furi.
Tsumigi is making a ridicule of you, and for why? You cannot come to fathom. The two of you barely exchange words aside from repulsing pleasantries.
It is late one night when Sukuna is bathing after coming home soaked in sweat and caked in dirt when you linger towards the kitchen.
You discover Furi hunched over a large pot, dipping her finger in to taste a broth that makes your stomach growl despite having dinner a mere few hours before.
“It smells wonderful,” you offer, tugging your obi loosely over your yukata after quickly throwing it on.
She nearly jumps out of her skin, setting her ladle down and bowing her head. “M-My Lady… I wasn’t expecting you at this hour,” she mutters, folding her hands into her kimono.
You close the proximity, leaning over to get a whiff of tomorrow’s lunch. “It seems you weren’t expecting me at all,” you press, lifting an eyebrow giving her a slow appraisal. “Is something of the matter? I have been waiting to speak with you.”
It wouldn’t be far-fetched for this young girl to avoid you after telling you such secrets, regretting every letting you in or offering clarification.
Furi cringes, her brunette bangs falling over her forehead. “I believe that one of the attendants might have been privy to our conversation.”
Your careless grin drops. “Is that so?”
She nods, again with her swaying.
You sigh, tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Are you safe? Have the attendants been mistreating you in anyway?”
Weakly, she shrugs. “Not any more than they already have.”
You deflate at her words. Her situation doesn’t seem much better than yours, except she doesn’t have a title to protect her. You endure passivity, while she very well may endure aggression. “I sincerely apologize, Furi. It was not my intention to get you tangled up in my troubles, but it seems that we have a lot to discuss.”
The attendants, besides the ones tending to Sukuna in the bath, have retired to their quarters, leaving the kitchen open for the two of you. Nabbing a stool, you rest beside her while she makes you a cup of tea and tends to her broth.
“There was a woman before you,” she starts, a look painting her face as if she wants to bite her tone off, “just three change of the seasons ago. With bushy eyebrows and hair as long as a yōkai and believed her nudity to be a pastime.”
An ache blooms behind your ribs, but you bite it down. It’d be foolish to think that you were Sukuna’s first anything, seeing as your occupation before this marriage had been as a courtesan.
Still, it hurts.
You smother a sigh but it escapes you.
A pang to dwell upon for another time.
You nod for her to continue.
“She was incredibly beautiful, a sorcerer just the same. A daughter of the Fugiwara clan with a technique to their standard. But…” she cocks her head to the side, as if reliving her memories in real time. “Master Sukuna spared no interest in her. He simply tolerated her. Her slaughter meant a headache in the capital that he had no patience to deal with.”
The broth simmers on a low kindled heat, the sound of ash sparking and wood shifting.
“She was wildly obsessed with Master Sukuna, clinging to his side and attempting to seduce him at every corner. He pried off her pawing hands when they grew too grabby, and, unsuccessfully, I tried to warn her. Her attitudes were dangerous, and she believed she formed a friendship with me when I wanted to avoid the spilling of blood across these tatami mats.”
Ah. Benevolence had been her fall from grace.
“The attendants here had quickly grown tired of her, irritated that her mood swings affected the Master’s, which in turn made their livelihoods all the more difficult.”
You drop your head, a sigh wound of stress tricking from your lips. “And they took their grievances out on you…”
Furi nods carefully, tending to the flickering flames beneath the pot.
“… and what they’re doing now is all the same. I am just another disposable woman they’ve come to reject.”
She doesn’t confirm your words, but her silence says enough. “There is more, My Lady.”
You find yourself tapping your bare foot against the cold flooring.
“One morning, she had challenged him to a fight, expressing her undying love and desire to be the individual to take his last breath.”
Her words, thick with distress, slam into you.
It is very clear how the result of the fight came out, seeing as Sukuna still breathes and she is nowhere to be found.
Your blood roars in your ears, your foot now at a bouncing cadence on the floor. You drown out her next words, but catch bits and pieces of it. It seems that following the slaughter of his past admirer, the capital had unleashed an outcry. Sukuna had no interest in hazing the capital as it brought him a plethora of benefits, but it was inevitable. The result of the achingly long war had been catastrophic—hundreds and thousands of men slaughtered by his hand before he stalked into the capital with the head of their general. The shrine itself reaped the consequences, attendants beheaded for a single misstep and food running scarce as hunting had been replaced with frequent battles.
It is a possibility that a battle near the capital had been when he’d first spotted you in your pleasure house.
“Furi, I must thank you,” you confess, running your fingers through your hair and getting to your feet. Move, you need to move. “There is plenty that I must do now, so I will dismiss myself. But make it known, I will not let this insubordination and blustery ravage on.”
You lean forward, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Your heart clenches at the thought of this young girl enduring such harassment without a single shoulder to lean on.
“Leave it to me. I shall mend the divide that splinters the shrine.”
Furi’s tense expression melts away into something of relief, and you want to commit this image to memory to ensure you see this through.
“However, before I go, I have one last thing to ask of you.”
“Anything, My Lady.”
You release a strained breath.
“The name of this woman. What was it?”
—
You leave Furi in the kitchen, your bare feet slapping against the narrow corridors. The sconces adorning the walls flicker, flames licking at each other and casting your shadow long and obtuse across the ground.
Once you realize you’ve reached your husbands chambers, you realize how much time has passed between dinner and the present.
He will be curious as to where you’d gone off to. Often times, he grows restless in your absence.
You sigh. In all of the time you’d known Sukuna, he’d been vexingly talented at reading you and picking up on your mannerisms. You only pray that he is exhausted from his eventful day to spend his time analyzing you.
Though it seems you are woefully ignorant of just how energetic your husband tends to be, the sight you open his chambers to jarring.
He’s in nothing but his pale sirwal, his lower pair of arms crossed behind his back while he presses himself to the floor, and back up. His upper pair of arms flex, palms splayed on the ground, hands massive enough to curl around your throat and then some.
Push-ups.
Realistically, there has to be a way to maintain such a massive physique, so it isn’t outlandish that he works out. But still, you find yourself caught off guard. Innocent as ever, but heat still manages to fist low in your loins. Your gaze trails the length of his corded forearms, veins bulging across his biceps, deltoids rippling through effort.
Not the first instance to cross your mind, but you’d find immense pleasure in biting his arms.
You are well aware that he has sensed your presence ever since you found yourself in the kitchen up until you were standing outside his chamber doors, so he doesn’t flinch when you gawk at him from just a few feet away.
“Where did you run off to?” he presses through a grunt, lowering himself where his chin nearly brushes the straw mat.
Straight to the point.
“I was hungry, there were some fruits left in the kitchen,” you lie, steeling your nerves and praying you don’t betray yourself.
He continues his repetition, though he finally slides his attention upwards towards you. Deep pools of blood red assess you, his brow line furrowing in thought. “We had dinner merely an hour ago. Do not tell me you are with child and stuffing yourself for two.”
You splutter, shaking your hands, a nervous chuckle leaving you. “N-no, My Lord. Nothing of the sort.”
He finishes his workout, before standing to his feet and rolling his shoulders back, looking everything but convinced. “That title from your lips disgusts me and you know it. Do not address me as such again,” he mutters in mild irritation, padding over to the door and peeling his socks off.
You deflate, wanting to slap yourself for how easily you squirm under his scrutinizing attention. But, you cannot tell Sukuna of your current situation. There are a number of ways it could go once it is in his orbit, and you want to avoid majority of them.
Untying your obi, you toss it on the top of your chest before making your way towards the bed when a pair of heavy arms snake around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.
“It seems that my efforts have gone to waste,” Sukuna mutters, the lower pair of his hands settling on your waist while the others work their way towards your breasts. Melting, you toss your head back against his torso, lashes dusting shut. He leans forward, sniffing the plush of your cheeks, of your lips. He has a thing for your scent, an admission you were privy to when he had you squirming beneath him. “This womb isn’t swollen with my heir.”
Weakly, you giggle through the butterflies, scrunching your nose. “We have yet to discuss such matters,” you deflect, reaching a hand up to grab a fistful of his silky, salmon-colored hair. “Take this up with me another time.”
Sukuna cocks his head thoughtfully, then spins you around and tosses you over his shoulder with terrifying ease. “Foolish woman. You think I do not see how you gawk at the stable hands son, how you beam with such idiocy at the thought of carrying your own?” He lands a harsh slap against your ass, punching a squeal out of your throat, before tossing you onto the bed.
“Speaking in circles. Tch. We might as well practice tonight,” he prompts, fingers curling around the waistband of his sirwal before dropping it, leaving only his loincloth.
Two heavy cocks straining against the too-small fabric. Two cocks you’ve felt slipping down your tongue, dragging inside your cunt, stretching your ass—.
You shake away the dizzy feeling mounting you, all splayed out with your parted yukata, your bare form his to feast his gaze upon. And he does so unabashedly, canines clicking as four crimson slits rest heavy on your lips, your breasts, dancing down your navel, to your spread legs pooling with arousal.
You wonder if he’s looked at her this way.
Inwardly, you cringe. You shouldn’t be thinking of her when you’re about to be taken by him.
The mouth rending his stomach grins with earnest, drool coating its lips in a sheer shine. The tongue hangs out limply, desperate for a taste of your sex.
“Come,” he mutters, two arms folded across his chest with the other two propped at his hips. His voice, impossibly deep and raspy, sends heat prickling over your skin, coupled with a flush that suits you.
You crawl to him, slowly and allowing your hips to sway freely beneath your yukata, not once tearing your gaze from his hardened stare. His pectoral muscles shift, a muscle in his jaw pulsing like he’s holding back from pouncing at you.
You come to a slow before him, lifting off of your haunches and kneeling. Your eyeline barely meets his chest, allowing you to bask in the immense size difference between the both of you.
Sukuna chuckles low, running his tattooed tongue over his teeth. “You have always been a bad liar.”
You feel your heart dip behind your ribs.
“Excuse me?”
His lower pair of hands come down to grab your wrists, holding them up beside your head. He leans forward, face mere inches from yours, his warm and iron-laced breath fanning over your lips. “Your breath smells the same as it did during dinner. I didn’t take my wife for a cheat,” he grunts, upper lip peeling back in disgust to bare his teeth. It’s true, there are no remnants of citrus or sweetness hanging from your lips. “Now tell me. What affairs were you tending to between dinner and now?”
Unbearably, your pulse quickens.
You twist in his grip, but his fingers only tighten, nearly bruising your skin. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grit out.
The seams of his mouth curl upwards, before he’s closing the distance between his cheek and yours, rubbing them against each other. His facial crest, the texture like roughened and cracked tree bark, digs into your flesh and you bite back a curse. “My wife, stubborn and obstinate as always,” he grumbles into your ear before catching your lobe with his teeth. You hiss, casting a cheek away from his cruelty, before one of his hands fly towards your chin and connects your lips.
Betraying yourself, you hum into the kiss, your spine arching backwards as he folds you impossibly. His tongue, heavy and slick, presses down on your own and strokes it reverently. Hands—everywhere—begin to tug your yukata off and discard it, before something wet laps at your pebbled nipples.
You pull away, sliding your gaze down to your wet areola, Sukuna’s stomach mouth desperate for a taste of you. You peer back up to your husband, something perverse and frantic coiling between your silky folds. “W-we’ve never…”
Never used the stomach mouth in bed, is what you were going to say. Though you won’t lie and say you haven’t thought of it.
Sukuna’s nostrils flare, lower pair of eyes focused on your saliva-slick lips while the upper pair glower at you, releasing the unrelenting grip from your wrists. “Afraid? The brat wants to take it slow and easy, huh?” he taunts, head cocked to an angle.
You scoff, arms falling by your side. “Nothing of the sort.” Your coital acts through the last couple of seasons have been raw, and debauched—Sukuna lapping the blood of his freshest kill from your navel before devouring your sex, to taking you with both cocks, your obscene noises loud enough for the entire shrine to bear witness to.
So, no. Slow and easy wouldn’t make much sense seeing how he handles you with those four hands of his.
“Then quiet that fucking mouth of yours,” he scowls, before he’s on you again.
Teeth crashing, saliva swapping, noses bumping.
Hungry. So fucking hungry.
And angry. What Sukuna does not tolerate, especially from his betrothed, is deceit.
The tongue mouth laps at your tits, occasionally tweaking an erect bud between it’s teeth and tugging just to earn a whimper from you, your maw parting open for Sukuna to gag you on his tongue. Writhing and squirming in his grasp, you attempt to tamp down the pleasure darting down your spine, nearly leaking your essence onto the sheets, but it is inevitable. You surrender to his touch like a sinner seeking repentance.
Two hands cradle your face while the other two knead the flesh of your ass like dough, squeezing and groping. His stomach tongue slathers spit across your chest, and you mewl through the sensitivity, hips rocking and thighs rubbing together for friction.
“That desperate, huh?” your husband mutters against your lips, and in your urgency, you nod quickly. The two hands cradling your head shift—one to grip the back of your neck and face your gaze upwards to meet his, and the other drags down between the valley of your breasts, down your navel, until he’s sliding the meaty digit across your swollen clit.
You jolt at the contact, but much movement isn’t possible as he keeps you place at the nape and the waist.
“Is this amusing?” he quizzes, unfurling to his full height and staring at your nude form down the bridge of his crooked nose. “Running circles around your husband like some charlatan.”
Cruel bastard.
“I-I am not—.”
“I can feel your pulse jumping under my thumb,” he snaps, leaning into your face with a snarl. “Have these walls kept you bored in my absence?”
You frown, a muscle in your jaw ticking. “Something like that.”
He clicks his tongue at your vague reply, clearly unimpressed. “Tch. Still as cryptic as ever.”
Quickly, his open palm slaps sharply against your clit, before two fingers push past the ring of resistance in your cunt and stretch you open. A mouth forms on his palm, a drooling mess, lapping at your hood and prying apart your silky folds.
“Looks like I’ll just have to coax it out of you.”
As if the brazier has been finally warmed, coals tended to and sifted, the heat in the room mounts as he splits you on his hand. Calloused digits from decades of labor and torment drag down your gummy walls, all while the open maw on his palm collects your juices and nibbles at your clit.
He doesn’t stop open-mouth kissing you. He barely allows you to come up for air, tamping down your noises with his mouth. Your breasts are aching and wet, the nubs perky and sensitive from the continuous stimulation.
His towering form pushes you down onto the sheets, slotting his massive body between your legs. The stretch is painful, but you curl your legs around his waist and dig your ankles into the divots on the small of his back.
“You’re a pretty little thing, bird,” he mutters against your lips, his wrist picking up a brutal cadence as his fingers reach places that make you whine and tense. “It’s a shame you’re a fool.”
His words carry a heat behind them, adamant on undoing you to figure out what you're keeping from him. He knows you may be anserine, but you're not an utter idiot, so the sin you’d committed and are keeping from him cannot be too great.
Still, he will have his fun breaking you.
It’d been a bit of time since he’d had his hands on you—sorely exhausted from the long days and even longer nights, reserved to his chambers once he returns from the bathing house over the last couple of weeks—so the stimulation has you huffing and puffing. Clit woefully sensitive, mounds on your chest sore, and a heat fisted low in your gut that only Sukuna has managed to unspool compared to the men you’ve been with back at the brothel. Pathetically, you claw at his chest, pushing to slow his brutal pace, scissoring motions inside your cunt and stretching your walls wide. After all, you’ll need to accommodate his girth in time.
“Oi. Paws off,” he complains disgruntled, lower pair of eyes widening. One hand finds both of yours, pinning them down above your head while he laughs sardonically.
And oh, how he enjoys such a debauched sight. Your bare form, flushed and wet and squirming beneath him while he taunts you. Whittles you down to some hapless mutt.
He works you through your first orgasm, finger pads repeatedly swiping over that tender spot and feeling the plush muscle jump. A strangled moan is punched out of you, legs trembling over his thighs and stomach caving inwards. Your cunt squeezes his two digits like a snare, sucking him in as you buck your hips into his palm.
But the King of Curses does not stop there, no. Giving your cunt a few slaps, he works his two fingers back in while his other hand finds your puckering hole. You freeze up, muscles spasming as you lock eyes with him, slick finger coated in your arousal rubbing over the entrance.
“B-both?”
“The idiocy of you,” he scoffs, one of his upper hands gripping your cheeks to squish them together. You pout, lower lip jutting out, before you feel the burning stretch. A finger, pushing into your ass. “I’ve no patience for stupid questions.”
He peers down, a glob of spit trickling from his lips pelting your cunt. It sloshes with your juices, before you feel the slick wetness cascade down to your asshole.
“M-my god!” you squeal, back arching up off of the mattress, now being speared from both holes. The curl and flex of his fingers as he finds all those sensitive spots is hypnotizing, drool leaking from the seam of your lips, eyes rolling back into your skull until all you see is black.
“Not my name,” he sneers, pressing another inch deeper while you wriggle.
Another orgasm. And another. And another.
You’ve made a wet, sloppy mess across his sheets, completely unaware of how many blissful peaks he’s worked you over and through, each more mind-numbing than the last. Your ears ring dully, eyes glossing over with a thing gossamer of wet luster. When you meet his pumps, he praises you, kissing the bevel of your jaw. When you sob and squirm against him, he clicks his tongue and gazes at you with blown pupils and a look of pity.
Your form is perspired, covered in a thick coat of sweat and cum, nearly breathless as you huff and puff. Nothing coherent leaves your lips, arousal stuffing the ridges of your brain like cotton.
Fucked dumb by his fingers.
“N-no more, ‘Kuna,” you mumble out, your holes aching and still stretched open. How he has not cramped in his fingers is beyond you.
The raspy chuckle from your husband is enough evidence that he’s nearly at his wits end—hefty cocks hard against the fabric of his loincloth, brushing against the inside of your quivering thigh. But one thing about Ryomen Sukuna is that he will never yield first, even if it’s dragging him up a wall. “The dove is spent, hm?” he cooes, the side of his lip curling upwards. “I can stop anytime. Just tell me the truth and I can release you from this exertion.”
You muffle a whine into his pillow, wrists aching from where he keeps them pinned above your head. “It is n-nothing, Sukuna.”
His eye twitches, before his wrists starts to pick up a speed and you squeal. “Okay, okay! …I visited the c-chef in the kitchen.”
His eyebrows dart inwards. “The scrawny girl? What for?”
“Release me first.” you mumble, Sukuna’s fingers nearly brushing against your womb.
Your scowl has mirth swirling in those thinned crimson irises. “Do not think that you are in the position to make demands.”
A beat passes before you puff air from your nose. The sooner you tell him, the sooner he’ll release you and you can figure out a plan for Tsumigi and the other attendants. “Fine. Why didn’t you tell me about Yorozu?”
His smile falters for a moment, nearly imperceptible, before he releases your hold and peels away from you. Fingers slip from your holes and you collapse in exhaustion, keeping your eyes trained on your husbands rolling shoulders. He’s silent for a few moments, while he finds his discarded kimono and slides his arms through them. “It is insignificant. Besides you.” He waves a dismissive hand, bare feet padding over to a chest propped open.
That does nothing to soothe the ache unfurling around your heart and squeezing the organ. “If it is so “besides me,” then I do not understand why I had to be kept in the dark.”
He chuckles, searching for his pipe. Two of his fingers rub together, kindling a flame he uses to smoke the pipe. “Former lovers are trivial. You are my wife while she was just some,” he inhales, smoke billowing in his lungs. “Whore I kept around for my affairs.”
“She was in love with you and you murdered her. This wasn’t some fucking concubine.”
He stirs, folding his lower pair of arms over his chest. The silence has you feeling filthy, the cum between your lungs a sticky mess.
Sukuna pads over to the low table, a bowl of nuts awaiting him. He sits down, legs folded beneath him, mildly entertained while he stares bleakly at you. He pops a nut into his mouth, then smokes his pipe. Casual, insouciant.
You attempt to smother a groan but it escapes you, lifting from the bed to get dressed. You slip your yukata on, then tie your obi across your waist. “If nothing but silence is what you offer me, then I shall retire to my chambers.”
The silence is deafening while you adorn yourself.
“Name.” Sukuna suddenly grumbles from the dark corner, moonlight filtering through the drapes distorting him in the shadows. He looks menacing, like the beast he is.
“What?” you blurt out, fixing your hair and attempting to look semi-normal before you enter the halls. Who knows what’s waiting out there, if your disheveled image will be even more fuel to gossip?
“I want a fucking name. Who told you of Yorozu? Was it that chef girl?”
You roll your eyes, before you parrot his words right back to him with a pinched smirk over your shoulder. “It is insignificant. Besides you.”
You don’t know how, but in the blink of an eye, Sukuna closes the proximity between the two of you. One hand curls around your throat before he’s pushing you against a wall, his face contorting in utter disdain and disgust. He regards you like a slab of meat to be devoured come morning.
“What I tell you, and what I keep from you is up to my discretion. Mine,” he snarls, fingers tightening around your throat. Not choking, just firm. Keeping you in place. “What I won’t tolerate are attendants that poke and prod into my history then blab to my wife. Now…” the corner of his lip twitches upwards, as if he is enjoying this. “Name.”
Your husband is a sadist.
You hold his gaze, inexorable, unwilling to yield to his cruelty. “She told me you didn’t love her.”
“She’s got something right,” Sukuna jeers, another hand coming to tilt your chin up. Yet, something in his gaze almost… softens. The sharp edges of his russet eyes melting away, curled and mocking smirk sliding into something else. “The only time I’d felt anything for her was when I’d slashed her in the chest, and then ate her for dinner.”
You freeze, feeling your heart cinch.
“And what reason do I have to lie?” he adds on, head tilting when his lower pair of eyes slide down to your lips, then to the door. “There is a shrine I have to look after. Her presence threatened it.”
Your fingers twitch at your side, not quite sure what to do with his seemingly genuine confession.
He clears his throat, returning his gaze to you. Now, he regards you like something delicate. “If she had meant anything to me, wouldn’t you think she’d still be with us, bird?”
Ryomen Sukuna truly has no reason to lie to you.
He can bed anyone he wants. Yet, instead of keeping you as some concubine, he chose to seal this relationship with matrimony. With titles. With an unspoken promise.
He chose to be with you.
You don’t address the suffocating tension between the two of you. You heart slamming against your ribcage and a lump nestling into your throat, dropping your gaze. “Furi, the chef. She is not at fault, Ryomen.”
Your husband eyes you, waiting for you to continue.
Coughing the lump in your throat away, you fidget with your kimono, chin still held up. “The attendants have been… undutiful,” you settle on that word, not quite sure how to tread upon the unfamiliar territory.
You wait for his reaction, but he just continues to watch you. Like a predator studying its prey.
“Clothing left a mess, glares across the halls, insubordination,” you emphasize the last word in disdain. “I have been left to deal with their ostracization in your absence, Sukuna. Furi only told me why they may feel this disdain towards me.”
You bite the inside of your cheek.
“She’s been the only friend I have.”
Sukuna’s grip loosens on your chin and throat, his expression settling into something you’ve seen when his advisors approach him. Before he mounts his horse and heads into battle.
Something hungry for war, for a need to unleash his fiery wrath.
“I need names. Or shall I just turn this fucking shrine upside down and start anew?” he chuckles maniacally in sheer rage, padding towards the door.
Fuck.
Leaping forward, you grab his wrist and halt him, eyes staring up at him and practically pleading. “Sukuna! Wait, before you do something rash—.”
“When they insult you, they insult me,” he growls, shoulders rippling with effort and you know that all he sees is red.
It seems you misjudged him. Ryomen Sukuna would go to the ends of the earths for you. To hell and back.
“Sukuna, just— give me a moment,” you emphasize, nearly begging him back inside the chambers. Fire radiates off of him in shudders, like he’s prepared to set this shrine ablaze for you.
Scorned, he stares at you for a few moments before stepping back inside, arms folded over his chest. “So this is what you were so fucking adamant on keeping from me? What, was your pride threatened?” It almost seems laughable to him, you of all people worried about humiliation.
You married a beast at the end of the day.
Dejectedly, you sigh, orbs darting between Sukuna’s left and right ones. “I… I didn’t think,” you nibble on your lip. “I was worried you would take their side.”
Ryomen Sukuna practically gawks at you now, before a huff of humored air jumps from his chest. “What?”
You toss your head back, running your hands through your hair. “Tsumigi, she’s one of your oldest servants. How am I supposed to complain to you about her when I’ve barely been here half the year?”
Another laugh tumbles from him. “You must be the asinine person I’ve come across.”
“Enough of the jokes, Sukuna, I—.”
You freeze.
Sukuna’s lips are on yours, his hands cupping your cheeks. His tongue swiping against your lower lip and tugging on the plump skin.
Not soft, but rough. Possessive.
You don’t know how long it takes for him to pull back. Slightly breathless, pupils that were pinpricks a moment ago now saucer wide.
“You. I chose you, brat,” he huffs, large palms splayed on the side of your head and digging into your scalp. “That Tsuragi servant means absolutely nothing to me.”
“Tsumigi,” you correct, but he ignores you.
“When I had decided that marriage was the best option for this… relationship, I was also ready to call this place your home. And being the wife of the King of Curses…” he snarls, hooking a thumb into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue. You can’t bite down the whimper that resonates from you. “… means your word matters just as much as mine here.”
Despite yourself, your lip trembles, warmth unfurling over your skin.
Hearing the rare affection in his words makes you wonder why you ever doubted him in the first place.
He tugs his thumb out from between your lips, swiping your cheek, head cocked to the side while his four eyes appraise you in the moonlight.
“This… I must mend myself, Sukuna,” you whisper, form leaning in towards him, into his heat.
He chuckles, all raspy and taunting. “It is not yours to fix, you foolish bird. A disobedient, mouthy whore is not someone I will allow to reside within the shrine walls.” A beat. “Unless it’s you.”
You giggle, a hand coming down to smack his chest, but he catches it with a sly grin. “No, really. I have to make an impression on them. Make them remember who they respond to.”
His four eyes search for dubiety, before he retires. “My, my. It seems that my influence here is rubbing off on you,” he points out, a hand finding the small of your back and pulling you flush against him.
You feel his two hardened cocks, needy and begging for your attention, press into your abdomen.
He leans down, his coppery and nutty breath fanning over the crown of your ear.
“And I must say… jealousy does not suit you, sweetheart.”
—
The days that follow, you keep your head held up high.
Sukuna returns to his daily retreats, but ensures that he will cleave whoever missteps dare you speak up. If he hears of it, whether or not you like it, he’ll be feasting on an attendant for dinner.
But you, you find your cadence.
You accompany Furi in the mornings, legs dangling off of a large stool while she chats your ear off, broth and meat lilting in the air, all tantalizing. She’s been promoted to head of the kitchen, meaning all servants must answer to her.
Most do not reject it, heads bowed in genuine reverence and tones amicable.
Tsumigi has been demoted from kitchen staff to the stables—where her stable hand lover can see her scooping up horse excrement's. It isn’t long that you here that he has moved returned to his wife at home, and she has grown cold and bitter.
It isn’t perfect, but your actions against Tsumigi have other attendants treating you kinder. In turn, they learn what kind of person you are.
Cordial, organized, timely.
A friend to most.
You simply have to wait for everyone to fall into step.
Sukuna grows irritated easier than before, more and more missteps he’d scowl at resulting in a severed limb he could gnaw on.
You do what you can to placate him, but he’s kept an ear open for who has mistreated you. The so-called gossip he rejects keeps him well-informed as to who he needs to split open.
And not long after, you come back from the forest to find Tsumigi’s decapitated head held up by your husband like some trophy.
A ghastly sight.
Your husband— the cruel, detestable bastard.
One that would kill and haze the entire world for you.
One that ensures your safety, and your comfort in the place you can now safely call home.
He may not be a picture perfect companion seeing as he refers to himself as a king and finds pleasure in your soreness, but one thing he won’t allow is some measly human being to cross you.
Free food, a fresh kill, and a happy wife he gets to come home to at night.
A small figure crawls onto his lap. A scroll with a multitude of ink strokes is within his hand, four eyes scrutinising the tinted paper as if it had personally attacked him. In reality, he is just trying to cover up the fact that his heart slightly, slightly softens when his wife becomes needy.
Your eyes peek at Sukuna’s face which holds a feigned concentration. A bit displeased with his lack of attention, your hands come to softly tug his hand, to which he quirks a brow and shoots you a pointed look. You purposefully lean into his herculean-like figure, the bump on your belly pressed against his maw. It forms a small pout before softly kissing the swell covered with a layer of silk. A hand is placed upon the wide span of your hip, rubbing circles with his thumb on the plump flesh.
“I would request you of something.” You utter, leaning your head on his bicep. He lets out a soft grumble, quirking a brow at your plea before placing the scroll down to give his full attention to his wife, “What, woman?”
“Could you please cut up some peaches for me?” You give him the most sweetest puppy eyes look you could muster, a look which has gotten you out of many, many things with him. The king of curses purses his lips before allowing you to shuffle off him to retrieve your beloved peaches, specifically diced into small cubes.
But as soon as he’s about to exit through the sliding door of your private quarters, you sheepishly call out to further extend your request, “…And can you also add soybeans and tofu with it?”
Silence ensures, and you know he’s making a mental note in his head to not question the love of his life when her hormones are all over the place. His head did not turn back. He is ready to leave to get your cravings sort but then you continued, “…With eggplant and boiled eggs also diced into cubes—”
That is what makes him snap his head back to stare at you, “What kind of abomination are you making me cook? Do you intend to eat this?” The words come quicker out of his mouth than processing it through his mind.
The stifle of giggles makes him snarl, stomping back towards you before leaning in to try and intimidate you, “Do you enjoy ordering me around like a slave? What else do you want me to fetch, hm? Fuckin’.. beetroot from the ground now?”
“..Well, now that you’ve mentioned it-”
“For fuck sake, woman.” He growls before sauntering off and slamming the sliding door shut.
Yes, he’s going to collect beetroot straight from the soil.
"i don't lower myself to that human filth," he sneers, four crimson eyes glaring down at you sprawled on his silk futon like you're the one who suggested it. "tongues are for commands and curses, not for lapping at some mortal cunt like a starved dog."
you just blink up at him, thighs casually parted, already wet from the way he'd been manhandling you earlier—four massive hands pinning, groping, bruising you. "okay," you say sweetly. "no problem. we can skip it."
his upper lip curls. stomach mouth twitches like it's offended on his behalf. "what?"
"if you hate it so much," you shrug, fingers trailing lazily down your own stomach, teasing just above your clit, "we won't do it my lord."
the room goes dead silent except for the faint crackle of the oil lamps. sukuna's tattoos seem to pulse darker. "insolent wench," he growls, but his voice cracks just the tiniest bit. "you think i care? i could snap you in half and find better entertainment."
"cool. go find it then." you close your thighs deliberately.
he freezes. all four eyes widen fractionally. his stomach mouth lets out a low, involuntary rumble—like a growl mixed with a whine.
you bite back a laugh. "what's wrong, my lord? stomach feeling empty?"
"silence." he lunges—two upper hands slamming your wrists above your head, lower ones prying your thighs apart so wide your hips ache. his face hovers inches from yours, fangs glinting. "you dare taunt me?"
"me? never." you tilt your head innocently. "you're the one who hates it."
he snarls leaning down. hot breath ghosts over your neck. "i'll show you hate."
then he drops.
dives between your legs like a man on a mission he swears he despises. his tongue drags a rough stripe up your slit, slow at first, like he's testing poison. then faster. hungrier.
"fuck—disgusting," he mutters against you, voice muffled, vibrating straight to your core. "tastes like weakness. like desperation."
but he doesn't stop. if anything, he buries deeper—nose pressed to your clit, tongue fucking inside like he's trying to carve you out from the inside.
you moan loud and his whole body jolts. one of his cocks twitches against your thigh. the lower one throbs visibly.
"see?" you gasp, fingers tangling in his pink hair. "you hate it so much you're rock hard."
"shut up." he growls, but it's wrecked. he sucks your clit hard, pulling a cry from you that echoes off the walls.
he's a mess. spit everywhere. cheeks flushed under the tattoos. eyes half-lidded, pupils blown. he groans into your pussy like it's the best meal he's had in centuries—and maybe it is.
"i—hate—this—" he pants between licks, but his hips are grinding uselessly against the futon, chasing friction. "hate how you—drip for me—hate how you clench—fuck—"
you cum hard...thighs shaking, back arching, screaming his name. he doesn't pull away. laps it all up like he's starved, stomach mouth humming in approval while the main one keeps going, overstimulating until you're shoving at his head.
he finally lifts—lips shiny, his four eyes dazed and furious. "that... was nothing," he rasps, voice hoarse. "just proving a point."
you laugh breathlessly. "point proven. you hate it."
he glares. wipes his mouth with the back of one hand. "get on your knees," he orders, but his voice cracks again. "since you made me do shit i dont like, you'll make up for it by choking on both."
synopsis: on a dark, cloudy night, you're clashing of fists against this wolf has you unravelling at the seams with ravenous hunger to win. but one whiff of your scent from valko and the script crumples up. oh well, might as well skip to the best part.
warnings: roleplay, choking, masochist!valko, scent kink, heavy sniffing, biting, licking, blood tasting (from the lips, it's not anything crazy i swear–), dry humping, good boy!valko and he's a major tease, switch!valko + switch!reader (slightly subtle), fingering, slight thigh-fucking, exhibitionism, semi-turned-actual public sex, wolf-like behaviour (snarling and growling), creampies, light mention of knotting, his tail and second ears are present
wc: 4,5k
a/n: play fighting turned extreme? yes. i've figured out he tends to say stuff like 'gonna', 'wanna', 'ya', ' 'cause', all from the livestream– obviously not all the time, but it's worthy to note. and now i want to write about cuddles with koko. oh, i wanna brush his tail so bad!! i've got two more in the works from my reqs so just know i will be drooling over our wolfie the entire day
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
All it takes is a single whiff.
A single whiff and Valko’s brain switches off. His senses become fully attuned to one singular point, so sure and certain that he can suffer no form of doubt. It is invigorating, it is exact, it completes him.
His grandmother and aunt have told him about this more times than he can remember, especially when he got stronger with age. “You’ll soon find a mate, Valko. And that will be most recognisable through her scent. We’ll know if you hide it from us! ”
He didn’t think it would be this soon.
Especially not while you’re beating his ass.
And now all he wants is to drown in your scent.
You, on the other hand, are wondering why this idiot finds it so necessary to be cheeky. Your hands block his blows and strike when the window opens. But this foe isn’t like all the others you’ve dealt with.
“You sure do pack a punch.” He grins, dodging another one of your swats as he steps back. “Maybe getting in my way wasn’t the best idea?”
Dickhead!
Your fist cracks his jaw hard enough for you to feel it in your knuckles. It won't affect him that much, you know that. However, the pain is so worth it to see that bewildered look on his face. And the slight blush that dusts his cheeks.
“Aw, did you bite your tongue?” You gibe, dropping to slide your leg under his to throw him off balance. “Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to blabber while fighting!”
Somehow, somehow in ways that rattle you, he stumbles back, burgundy eyebrows wiggling as he bares his canines in a smile. “A little taunting doesn’t hurt.”
A little taunting. A little.
You have to laugh. It bubbles out of you in a disbelieving huff, then a low chuckle, growing in hysterics as you rise to your feet. He flinches back, he actually flinches at the sight and his ears— the fluffy ones on top of his head— twitch too, leaning back the more you stagger close. His biceps are tense, veins bulging against his skin, practically itching to engage the moment you strike him with an attack.
“Just a little taunting, right?” The smile stretching your lips is wide enough to make your cheeks ache. “Then take this!”
You aim for his gut and almost make the strike, but he intercepts. He catches your hand, his grip gentle but firm. Good.
In a heartbeat, you’re quick to pivot on your feet and spin back to aim your free arm, elbow-to-face. To a chiselled, pretty-eyed, soft-lipped face. But Valko catches on, his clawed hand already raised to block your elbow from breaking his nose.
He tackles your arm, locking it behind you to keep you from moving. “Smooth,” he says, his tone genuine in his sentiment. “I didn’t think the Hunters trained their own this well.”
If it weren’t for the lack of distance between you, you’d be cussing him out and writhing hard enough to free yourself. The thing is, you can’t help yourself to not do it. His breath falls on your nape so soft and warm it feels like a caress. Your eyes flutter, for a mere moment, entranced by how close he is; enchanted by his grip, so firm yet so hesitant to press too hard.
Your defences soften, sensing that he’s literally looming over you with his height. He’s fucking huge, those muscles in his arms could rival the size of your own thighs— you’d need a more thorough look for that. Waves of heat brush off him directly onto you, toasting you up like a heater in the middle of winter.
“Did you bite your tongue?” He hums. You can literally hear him pout from his high lilt. Fucking tease. A soft, bristly tail brushes your leg, curling up your calf and tensing up your muscles as you squirm.
“Was thinking about biting yours off.” You struggle in his grip, butting your head against the base of his neck, pulling a gasp from his lips— and not for the reason you’d think.
His hesitation is more than enough leeway for you to move. You jab your elbow in his gut and pivot as soon as his grip loosens, turning to face him with your hands shooting right towards his neck. You both tumble down to the wet tar road, his body cushioning you as he groans from the impact.
“Are you insane— hrrrk!” You squeeze his neck tight. The jump of his pulse becomes frantic beneath your fingers as you press him down, your knees bracketed over his hips.
“If that’s what we’re calling an instinct for defence, then by all means.” You snarl, slowly squeezing tighter. A choked gasp coughs out of him as his golden eyes flutter and start to roll back.
Shit.
It can’t be that tight of a hold, you haven’t started interrogating him yet.
Ever so slowly, you loosen your hold to grace him with enough air to breathe. The joints in your fingers barely twitch to ease your grip on his windpipe and, in a single blink, his hand clamps down completely over yours and presses down harder.
“Don’t back out when you’re in so deep.” He wheezes. He can’t stop himself from giving you his signature grin even in this state. It infuriates you almost as much as it titillates you.
“Oh, you are insufferable!”
Despite the fact that you’re on top of him, Valko crunches his weight and curls upwards until your noses are just a breath away from bumping. He nudges his head away, leaning to your ear. “Look, I was trying to help…”
Valko’s breath catches in his throat, and he slackens for a split second, his head bowing to your neck. Right beneath your fingers, his pulse jumps through his veins.
Sniff.
It’s like his whole body freezes up and relaxes, following a single instinct in response to something you can’t notice.
Sniiiffff. His sculpted nose cards up your scalp, deeply inhaling all the way to the soft shell of your ear. And when he finally releases that breath after a tense, bated ten seconds, a soft moan slips out.
“What… are you doing?”
“Your scent.” His whisper brushes down your spine. You can feel something gently pressing against your crotch that wasn’t there before. Your hips circle around it, familiar with the hard tenting ridge greeting you, a knee-jerk reaction as natural as breathing.
“Mm-mm.” You push at his chest, curving your hand from his neck to his nape as he hits the ground, taking you with him. His hands find purchase in your hips, pressing you down onto the throbbing erection beneath you.
It seems you’ve reached the peak of your game for the night. Your dear wolf won’t be able to hold on if you keep going like this.
“I’m sorry, baby.” Valko takes your wrist and presses his nose right there, dragging his flaring nostrils across your skin.
The muscles of his jaw tick beneath the neon street lights, his soft lips parting as his brows twitch. He pouts, tongue poking out to lather your bare skin in his saliva. “You just smell incredibly… good.”
“Val,” You relax completely on top of him, lightly smacking his chest. He’s too cute for you to chastise. “We were almost there.”
“I know,” He sighs that pathetic sigh of his, similar to when he nerds out on something you already know. Poor man loves to impress you. “But you’re so hot when you choke me. Can’t expect a wolf not to react to his mate.”
He grinds his hips upwards, emphasising his point. His cock must be fully hard by now. You can feel it twitching to be freed and reunited with the warmth of your pussy.
“Not to mention how wet ya must be.” It’s now a continuous rhythm, up and down, slow, gracious rolls of his hips into yours to let the electric pulses between your arousals meet. “It smells divine. Wanna drown my face in ya.”
A gust of the night breeze flows through your clothes, whispering a warning of incoming rain. Valko naturally runs hot. The cold wouldn’t bother him nor you. So long as you remain close to him, of course.
Valko, like every other time, does not let anything get between him and you during your fun hours. He won’t let a sliver of light pass through you if he had anything to say about it. He definitely won’t let a few lucky witnesses change the tempo— if anything, it’s a compliment to find themselves witnessing him fornicate with his mate.
“The roads are busy tonight.” You murmur, tracing circles on his broad chest, over his heart.
“Bustling with people.” Valko agrees, nodding his head so eagerly it makes you laugh.
“This alleyway isn’t that secluded from the main road. Anyone could walk by.”
“I think I recall you choosing where we’d play around with our scenario— ow!”
“Say that again for me, baby,” You croon with loving eyes, all while you pinch and twist his ear. “Couldn’t hear you over your tail slapping the road.”
“It is not— ow! Quit it!“
“Sorry, what was that?” You twist harder to hear him whine and jut his hips up harder, and that gives you all the confirmation you need.
Control turns into a concept, curling into the air like smoke. Valko rubs circles into your hips, smiling through the tantalising agony of your teasing. Little by little, he guides your hips back and forth over his own, slotting the slit of your clothed cunt above his length. Just like that.
“We.” He hisses, tongue darting out to collect the drool running down his chin. “You and I chose a risky spot, baby.” He fondles the plush flesh of your ass, letting it ripple in his hands as he pats it. “But it wouldn’t be a first.”
“Yeah?” You follow his rhythm, letting the worry ease away for the thrill to rush in. Thank goodness you opted to wear a skirt. “It’d be such a shame if we put it to waste.”
“Say it like that again.” Valko snarls.
Has he realised how much you enjoy it when he snarls? Probably not. It does something carnal to you, it makes you feral like him whenever he’s in the midst of a rut. Between wanting to tear off his clothes and kissing him senseless, you genuinely can’t pick.
So Valko chooses for you.
“Let’s make the best of it then.” His lips are on yours in a split second, nipping you with his sharp canines exactly how you want it. His skilled hands hike up your skirt, soothing your skin with the heat of his hands as the cool air makes you arch into him.
Down wanders your hand, over the huge muscle of his chest, raking your nails down his sensitive peaked nipples. Valko takes in a sharp breath as you pinch one, rubbing it in small, rough circles.
“Is teasing really necessary?” He groans against your lips, taking the lower between his teeth to graze. Maybe he should make you bleed a little and drink it right from you like the last time. He wants all of it, your nectar. In every form.
“You like to do it,” You lick his teeth as he bites you, and hiss when he sucks the small crimson drops out. Your hands wander down his abdomen, tracing over each ridge until you find the cool metal of his belt.
Clink.
“Consider it poetic justice.”
His laughs fill the nighttime air with unrestrained glee, a contrast to how gentle he is turning you over to your back. His lips find every open patch of skin, sucking and licking his way back to your face.
“Smells like you got new perfume,” Valko’s muffled voice notes, nuzzling into your neck for what won’t be the last time tonight. Your legs hook around his waist with ease, your skirt hiked up well above your hips.
His pants and boxers are shoved down his thick, muscular thighs with haste, and his cock springs out so hard that a steady stream of precum slides down the jugular vein running down his shaft. It’s practically steaming, proudly bobbing towards your pulsating cunt like a compass to its true north.
The power of a mate’s scent has always been known as an excessive stimulant to the senses, which Valko understands. To experience it in practice, even after being with you for months, is still so jarring. He wants to be engulfed in everything that is you.
“Is it?”
“Hmm?” You’d been so blissed out by the sheer heat of his cockhead glossing your lace-covered entrance that you weren’t listening. There's no way you can be blamed for it, especially when you’ve got Valko all over you like this!
“You.” Valko licks a long stripe up your neck to your jaw, moaning at your taste. “Smell.” His nose rubs all over your cheek, deeply inhaling your natural aroma. “Ravishing.”
The gusset of your lacy panties hooks over his finger for him to push aside, and he finally moves.
No matter how often you have sex, the sheer size of him will always make your eyes widen with a pitched gasp. It’s a homecoming of its own lewd design, heavy with its thickness stretching you beyond your mind’s capacity to keep up.
It always takes a minute for you to adjust, barely letting yourself move lest you wish to feel his length nudge every sensitive spot it touches.
“S’it too much?” Valko huffs, his pretty gold eyes wide. The vein on his temple bulges as you clench around him.
“Perfect.” You pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, lapping the drool dripping down the corner of his lip. “Might just cum like this.”
He pulls his hips back slowly, dragging each inch of him out until the bulbous tip remains. “Can’t have that, can we?”
He slams his hips into yours, stuffing his cock balls-deep, leaving no space for anything that isn’t him. Moans slip from your lips lustily, punctuated by each deep thrust as Valko picks up the pace. Your neck gets speckled with sharp bites and heated licks, his breath hot and fanning your skin.
The rumble of the nighttime traffic turns into pure noise, a trivial concern second to the spine-shivering pleasure of hearing Valko’s husky, raw groans right in your ear.
“So loud tonight, Ko.” You coo, but your hypocrisy is palpable.
“Not gonna be quiet when you—“ Valko draws his cock back only to swiftly prod as deep as he can go, his heavy sacks roughly rubbing against your mounds. “—are trying to milk me dry.”
His thrusts turn pointed, constantly pounding in that same delicious spot and that makes your eyes roll back in lascivious glee. Every bounce of impact has you skid across the tar and Valko pulls you back to him, hands tight on your waist.
You’re bunching your hands up his top, reaching to claw and scratch the taut muscles from his waist, to his shoulders, marking him in you until he bleeds. “Ssss—oh my—“ Valko hisses and pulls himself up to sit on his heels.
Angling his hips forward, he pulls you on him, raising your rump so high that your back is stuck in a mean arch. He’s back at it, driving his fat cock in and out of your weeping cunt like a piston, relishing the noisy squelches you make for him as he slides right back into your warm, sopping cavern.
“You’re gulping me up,” Valko jerks his head to the side, burgundy hair plastered to his forehead. “Don’t wanna let me leave, do you?”
Barely a short distance away from you, the blinding shine of headlights halt and a car door bangs shut. Low murmurs from two— no, three people catch your wavering attention. You should seriously be quiet, avoid being seen. You really, really should.
But Valko’s so deep inside you, circling his hips ‘round yours nice and slow every time he bottoms out. You can feel him twitching and throbbing, you can feel that mushroom tip bumping each soft crevice of your walls so precisely that you can’t silence the ecstasy he pulls out of you.
Dammit, he needs to feel you cum around his cock. The only thing he can clearly envision is your pretty face going slack, your smooth back arching, your voice pitching up so high only he would be able to hear it.
Merely thinking about it has even more spit slobbering down his chin. Now he has to achieve that at least three times. Fuck the nocturnal snoops lurking by. Neither of you are gonna stop.
They can get a front seat on how a wolf makes his beloved mate cum hard enough to feel like he's in rut.
The noises are getting louder now. Your heart is pounding your chest, anxious with the nerves and the sick desire to be seen with your Valko. What would they do about it?
“…think this is the right way…”
“You sure we aren’t lost?”
“Course I’m sure—“
“Wait. Do you guys hear that?”
Droplets of rain bounce on you, slowly sinking into the fabric of your clothes. Impeccable timing for a shower of rain to come pouring in.
“I told you we should have taken the umbrella!” One voice complains as heavy shoes and heels on gravel crunch closer. Neither of you stop— if anything, you do the opposite.
“Relax.” The other says. “We just need to check if the club’s here, and we’ll be fine.”
“Guys, do you not hear that squelching noise—“
“It’s raining, you’re probably hearing things again.”
“I don’t think I’d be hearing moans.”
“You seriously need to stop listening to those boyfriend audios.”
You raise your leg, pressing it against Valko’s side, and he quickly hooks it over his shoulder. “Val, ohh— we’ve got visitors… passing by.” You tease, barely able to speak through the hiccups breaking through each word.
“Let them come.” Valko throws his head back, groaning so loud you can’t tell if he’s deliberately getting louder or if he’s close.
The telltale signs rush in hastily, his constant rhythm faltering. “Baby— baby!” His thumb finds your clit and presses down, rubbing your sensitive bud in wet circles as his thrusts grow sloppy. “Can you cum for me? Need to feel you, need you—“
You crane your head back, turning it just a bit to see three pairs of legs planted on the tar by the corner turning right in the direction of your copulating forms. The looks of pure shock on their faces are too blurry from the rain for you to see, and yet your back’s arching at the thought of it. You can’t help yourself, you have to writhe and jut your hips for more.
“What the—“
“Holy shit.”
A low, animalistic growl from Valko sends them sprinting back to their car, cussing their disbelief into the air before the engine bursts to life. The dull shine from the headlights disappear not long after, leaving only the crimson shine of the neon lights above you.
“Oh, fuck!” He laughs wildly into the air, skin steaming despite the cool pelts of rain hitting him. His hands rub soothing circles on the swell of your thighs, tugging you closer. “Was that good? I felt so territorial, had my blood boiling seeing them stand there.”
All you can do is nod enthusiastically. You’d been at a loss for words up to this point, with moans and breathless sighs being your only communion to him. Though Valko is fluent in your lustful cadences and joyously obeys your every command.
Scream after a sharp thrust? He’ll do it ten more times, each time harder than the last.
Hum serenely when he stops to kiss you? He’ll slip his tongue in and have you taste him.
Pull his hair? He’ll moan so loud he might as well start howling.
“Oh, so — hah— fucking good. Want your knot—“ You push your fingers into Valko’s mouth before he can speak. “Why can’t it be a fucking full moon— oh…Val—ah! Want you so swollen and full inside you can’t pull out."
“Mmphh—“ His cock slips out completely, hips still bucking into yours without a second thought. The hot, crying, dusty pink tip of his gorgeous, hot girth keeps on tapping your clit with a trail of precum keeping you together.
“Would turn the fucking moon for you, make myself go into rut.” He laps at your fingers, grazing each one with his sharp teeth. “Fuck I’d do it all just to hear you scream my name.”
“You’d do that for me, Ko?” You pout, your hips already sore from bucking back and forth to keep his cock inside. “You’d be such a good boy—“
“ ‘m I not being good already?” His golden eyes are already starting to glow bright. “Thought I was givin’ it to you how you want it? Is my cock not deep enough?”
Those large, hot hands grab at your soft globes, hiking you higher up his muscular, corded thighs. You can barely see his face from how the air that leaves his kiss-swollen lips instantly condenses.
You’re both completely soaked— from the rain, from your sweat, from the sheer arousal pooling out of you both. The sensation of cold is a tickle to you; Valko’s body heat is more than abundant, amplifying the hot burn rushing through you.
“Valko, want you back inside.” You moan, veering your hips up to catch his cock as he grinds, but you miss. And this stubborn wolf humps your thigh instead. He keeps going at it, pressing himself deeper into your flesh, moaning as if pure bliss rests upon you— which it does.
“Is my thigh that good?” You tease, rubbing your ankle by his jaw. The groan that rumbles through his chest vibrates right down to your cunt, gushing out another fountain of slick nectar.
“Every part of ya is,” Valko moans. “Wanna paint you with my cum, with my spit, until ya smell only me.” His hips quiver as the underside of his fat girth rubs your soft, plush skin, slathering you in his pre. You can practically smell it over the rain— he wants you to smell like him.
“It’s more than good,” Valko traces the lightest shapes over your swollen red clit, pressing down in short pulses in tune with his humping. “Love that everything smells like you. But the source is better.”
His fingers trail down the path of your puffy lips, squeezing them, then collects your slick from your cunt and brings his fingers to his nose. Sniff.
Sniiiiiifff. He sucks your milky juices right off his fingers, moaning at the taste. “Fucking delicious.”
Then his fingers slip right into you, three thick fingers, and pump in and out while his cock rubs on your thigh. You arch, drawn tight and ready to burst the second he curves his digits exactly where they should be.
“Valko!”
“Uh-huh.” He nods into your calf, scenting you before he sinks his teeth into you. You yelp from the shock, the pain quickly easing into pleasure as your climax rushes to you in a raging tempest of need.
“You’ll praise me if I put it back in, right?” He nudges his cock on your entrance, missing with every fucking thrust. “Call me a good boy?”
Placing all your weight on one arm, you shoot up and grip his jaw. “You’ll have to prove it, and right now you’re being the opposite.” You take his cheek between your cheek and bite hard. “But you can make up for it. I’m feeling very generous tonight.”
Valko’s chest rumbles with a low, gruff growl. “Harder.” His fingers slip out of you and plunge back in harder, curling up faster than before. “I’ll be good, just hold me harder.”
You squeeze his square, slack jaw and bite harder. “Put it in.”
“Yes, baby, oh fuck yes.” His fingers are out instantly, leaving your cunt gaping and clenching for him. But you don’t even get to whine from the loss— he fills you up just as fast with his cock, pulling you into his lap so every inch of him is completely inside.
“Ohhh, good boy.” You cry out, hips instantly circling above him as he bounces you up and down his cock in time with his thrusts. “So precious… mhm, right there!”
You’re both babbling and clinging, rutting wild and without restraint. Every kiss you share is wet with your thick saliva and the cool rain, the steam rising from Valko’s heated tanned skin mixes with your breathless pants. “So big and strong, my Valko— more!”
“Ya choking me.” Valko smiles into another biting kiss, full of your tongues sliding over teeth. He guides your hand down and presses on your pelvis. Each rut, each grind, has his length pushing and bulging out. The print of him on your hand and his own covering yours completely might be your breaking point.
“Love being good— hnn!” Your foreheads press together, breaths mingling as the world fades to only you and him. You and Valko, that is all there is. “Love you, I love you.”
“Mmh, ‘nd I love you—“ The affirmation triggers the coil to finally snap, releasing a flood of blissful heat. “Fuck!”
You clamp down on him firm and tight, your rain-soaked body tenses up completely in his arms as your nails claw down his face and neck— so tender yet so unrestrained. His creamy sap bursts in hefty pulses, hot and thick, his hips bucking up so much mushroom head keeps butting it.
There are no words that exist other than your name and Valko’s. There is no sense other than that of recognising him and he, you.
Without a single thought in mind, you're both still clawing visible skin, tugging at your clammy clothes, dragging your hands down each others’ faces. The sensation alone soothes the violent pounding of your chest, letting the haze of carnal passion simmer away.
“Wanna stay like this forever.” Valko nuzzles you, hot to the touch, and holds you close. The mere act of flexing his biceps around your waist moves his half-hard cock just a little, jolting breathless croons from you.
“We’ll get sick.” You gently object, poking and prodding his cheeks until a snort bubbles out of him. “Aren’t you feeling cold?”
Valko pouts, pressing sloppy open kisses all over your face. You’re so mean. It’s just a little rain! Since when has the weather stopped him? “I feel like that’s a joke.”
“Might be.” Stroking circles onto his broad back, you let your short pause drag. Let him think you’re considering it. “If you’re up for it—“
The speed that he lights up almost gives you whiplash. His tail slaps the wet tar road, his shaft already thick and twitching in you, ready for another electrifying round. “Can we do it again?”
valko, valko, VALKO! as you can see, the full moon has affected me.
WC: 881 | sfw, slice of life, fluff, valko being clingy, desperate and dramatic af | I don't support infold's bs
Valko who absolutely loves head scratches.
Valko who's upset because you stopped crawling and scratching his head but your hand is so tired. After all you've been doing this for hours now, but seems like the big body on yours just can't have enough!
Valko who looks up at you with his sad puppy eyes. His head is on your stomach, his whole body weight practically stopping blood flow to the rest of your body as he lays on there, but you so very much like this feeling as well as the fact his big and strong arms hug your waist. His soft looking lips frown a little, even pout if you squint. Even his fluffy ears folded.
"Oh come on.. my hand's hurting" you chuckle, resting your hand on his back.
Valko let out the most dramatic sigh you had ever heard, the kind that belonged in a stage play rather than your tiny living room. His shoulders slumped even further, somehow making the giant of a man look heartbreakingly small despite the fact he was currently crushing you into the couch.
"But..." he mumbled, his voice muffled against your shirt. "You were doing such a good job." A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "Oh? Was I?"
"Mhm." He nodded with complete seriousness. "Five-star service. Best head scratches in the whole world." His fingers absentmindedly traced little circles against your waist as if he hoped the affectionate gesture would somehow convince your hand to keep going. "I'd even leave a glowing review."
"You are unbelievable."
"I've been told I'm unforgettable."
"You've also been told you're heavy."
"I choose to ignore that feedback."
He flashed you a grin that lasted all of two seconds before melting back into another exaggerated pout. Those warm yellow-green orbs found yours again, impossibly soft, practically shimmering with theatrical betrayal. His tail, as fluffy and long as can be, was dragging dramatically across the floor.
"Please?" he asked, stretching the word into something almost pitiful. "Just... a little?"
"My hand is cramping, Valko.."
"I can kiss it better."
You raised an eyebrow.
"I can kiss both hands better, actually."
"...That doesn't actually solve the problem."
"Okay, but it solves morale."
You snorted so hard your chest shook beneath him.
Valko whose smile returned instantly and ears perked up at the sound, victorious. He always looked happiest when he managed to make you laugh. His forehead nudged gently against your stomach in a lazy little nuzzle before he tilted his head to look at you again.
"I don't need scratches," he said after a thoughtful pause. "Oh, now you don't?"
"...I would also accept for you to play with my hair."
"That's the same thing, Valko." You slyly smile.
"I'd also accept forehead rubs."
"Valko."
"..Ear rubs?"
You couldn't help it. Another laugh bubbled out of you, and Valko beamed like he'd won an award.
"There it is," he whispered proudly. "Worth it."
Your tired hand drifted from his back to his messy hair almost on instinct, fingers brushing through the soft strands just once. Valko froze. His eyes fluttered shut. His head lifted a little to rub itself deeper into your hand.
A pleased hum rumbled deep in his chest, low and content, vibrating against you. Every bit of tension seemed to melt from his broad frame in an instant. He leaned harder into your touch, careful this time not to put quite as much weight on you, though his arms never loosened around your waist.
"There..." you murmured, combing your fingers through his hair one last time. "Happy?". He nodded. "So happy..for now. I might ask you for more later. Tomorrow if I'm merciful."
You rolled your eyes fondly, trying to look angry but your lips curling up to form a smile betrayed you. "I never agreed to daily appointments."
"You don't have to." His smile softened into something so warm it made your heart ache. "I already know you'll spoil me anyway."
"You are spoiled, that is true."
Valko who says he prefers the term 'enthusiastically loved'. You stared at him for a second before reaching over with your other hand to gently squish one of his cheeks. "You know," you sighed, "you're impossible."
"And yet..." Valko turned just enough to press a quick kiss into your palm, lingering there for a heartbeat. "...you still let me lay on you."
"Well, mostly because if I wanted to move you, I'd need a construction crew."
Valko whose laughter came easily, rich and warm enough that you felt it vibrate through his chest where it rested against you. It was infectious. Before long, you were laughing too, the room filling with the easy sound of two people who had long since stopped caring how ridiculous they looked.
Eventually the laughter faded into a comfortable silence. Valko rested his chin on your stomach again, absentmindedly tracing lazy patterns against your side with his thumb. The earlier theatrics were gone now, replaced by the quiet contentment that always seemed to settle over him whenever the two of you had nowhere else to be.
"You know..." he murmured, "I like this." You opened your eyes, looking down to him. "Being squashed?". He shook his head. "Being here.." His gaze wandered around the room before returning to you, softer than before.
"No running around. No errands. No people bothering us." He smiled faintly. "Just you."
Warnings: Post dmc1 dante / somewhere between dmc 2 and 4 dante personality and lore wise. porn with plot / feelings. reference to the dmc novel, use of petnames (angel, sweetheart, baby, te), pussyjob, dry humping, p in v, creampie, an instance of biting. song title ref x
Wordcount: 7.3k
He teased but not in the typical conventional way, not in the way most of your friends said their partners did; hell, not even in the way most people speculated he would.
Dante had an alluring spirit to match his handsome features, a personality most people were drawn to and got along with in one way or another. He was helpful and considerate to women and children, guiding to the boys and men that seemed genuinely interested in helping though taunting to those that seemed haughty.
He always knew what to say to everyone, how to work groups and crowds, devoid of malicious intent; more performative yet not so disingenuous. Women that fawned over him were no exception, leaving them swooning but still he somehow got across to have no expectation of him. Subtle rejections that both did and didn’t feel like one at all.
It made the feelings you harbor for him sit heavy on your ribcage, threatening to collapse it and pierce the organ it was meant to protect. Continuously convincing yourself that you were no exception to his order of operations when it came to interactions.
How silly of you to omit the subtleties of his handling of you, refusing to acknowledge the nuance of your relationship with him. How you’re the only woman his hands hold and linger on further than a heroic rescue, steadying hand or comforting touch.
Lying to yourself and downplaying any sort of meaningful moment you’ve had with him in the years you’ve known him.
Telling yourself he lacked inhibitions in his inebriation when he rested his head on your thighs with his arms locked tightly around your waist and laid in silence. That it was the alcohol in his system that eased the tension in his shoulders, that it wasn’t the gentle rake of your nails along his scalp that soothed his shuddering breaths. That the material of your jeans weren’t dampened by tepid drops shed as he whispered the name of his brother and called softly for his mother in the sanctity of your skin.
Even if you were honest with yourself, what sort of person would you be to feel like you had the upper hand on prospective lovers for the man when he demonstrates a deep vulnerability?
Never knowing how, come morning after you’ve laid unmoving for hours as to not disturb him, neck angled in a way that would surely reward you with little more than a crick just so you could maintain his comfort, would impact Dante. How he detangles himself from you with dread gradually settling in his chest when your lashes flutter open only for you to smile at him innocently; almost shyly.
“You’re awake, how did you sleep? No hangover right?” Spoken softly, just in case, as you sit up slightly straighter, rolling your shoulders back and fixing your posture.
Astonishment flashing over his features when he’s not met with taunting words or a pitying gaze. Greeted with tenderness instead of beguiled with malicious intent he’d have to relive a second time.
“Just fine sweetheart,” responded in a feather soft tone you don’t hear from him often, not that his words were ever truly harsh, that leaves your stomach fluttering in a way you couldn’t blame on the drink from hours earlier.
He allows himself to linger a moment longer before sitting up, stretching his limbs like he'd slept the best he had in ages despite how he'd seemed uncomfortable curled.
Too long for the couch you usually find him strew across or the antique chair severely lacking any upholstered reprieve. You weren't aware of how his discomfort felt like a deserved punishment for the crime of merely being too young, too small, too weak on that fateful night. For the crime of surviving.
The crime of being a child.
Though one could doubt he ever even saw himself as an innocent victim, sharing half of the same biology of the very creatures that stole everthing from him.
Dante shakes away those feelings for now, dispelling them with the roll of his shoulders in signal the impromptu 'wake up routine' was complete before he turned towards you.
You stretch yourself, lifting one arm above your head as you hold it with the opposite, back arched slightly as a few quiet cracks sound from the motion. You breathe a relieved sigh, tilting your head side to side next as Dante coos playfully, "oh, big stretch" as you wind down from it. Pretty smile gracing full lips before it falters at his next action.
He reaches for you, broad palm cupping the curve of your throat, kneading gently before the pads of his fingers touch at your jawline. A silent bid for you to turn further in his direction.
"You sleep like that all night angel?" His thumb rests gently on your chin, body scooting closer to you in what you assume is subconsciously rather than deliberately.
"That couldn't have been comfortable, take it from me," his voice is somewhat breathless, that sort of soft suspire he always takes in when he's expressing himself genuinely instead of perpetuating the persona he's perfectly curated over the years.
You smile at him tenderly, as you always seem to do but you look different to him in a way you refuse to believe yourself. Something that's been quietly festering between the pair of you that neither have actively acknowledged, dancing around it while drawing closer. Your fingers ghost over the forearm that crosses your body as you reassure him easily, "oh, it's fine."
It's worth it, left unsaid as you peer into expressive crystalline hues. Worth it to see the creases of his brows fade as his fitful slumber melts into something peaceful; restful, you hope.
He smiles at your answer, lashes fluttering as he shakes his head. He causes you trouble, he knows he does, it's some sort of cosmic requirement for the people in his life to suffer in some way.
Hell, the suffering precedes him in your case, meeting you in a stroke of sheer fortune that he arrived on time to rescue you from a demon attack. He should've left you alone then, shouldn't have lingered, shouldn't have allowed fate to keep crossing your paths. To save you any suffering he'd surely cause, it was always an eventuality, at least for now it was something standard; minor.
Even still, it was one reason, probably the main reason, that he did his upmost best to keep as many people as he could at arms reach.
He couldn't do it again, couldn't mourn another death Dante would intrinsically be responsible for. Dante had already experienced more than two decades of death, his heart to heavy by now.
But even still, perhaps foolishly, he always held space for love, to care, no matter how hard he tried not to. How he tried to bury it with the bodies he's had to watch be laid to rest.
Buried or scattered on the wind with the ones that burned away before his very eyes, taking another piece with them on the wind.
Dante told himself he couldn't love someone the way they wanted to be, the way they deserved.
But still, he was a man, a handsome one at that, devilishly so. He would date, but only casually, never for very long; weeks at least, months at most but nothing more than three.
It felt routine, normal in a way, like it was something he was supposed to do.
Movies and TV dramas, hell even comics he read dictated as much. When he was a teen, when he was Tony, he perpetuated that sort of thing a lot, naturally falling into that stereotype.
Cool, edgily dressed badass guy gets all the ladies, he'd even picked out a few that fit his fancy. Dates he couldn't afford, women whose personalities he wasn't particularly interested in but found aesthetically pleasing.
But a few things changed after her, after Kerry.
And while he still didn't find women distasteful, he was less cavalier with how he interacted with them; most certainly watched his alcohol intact whenever he was within mixed company.
Women weren't the only creatures that sought to take advantage of him.
Dante met Lady a short time later, flirted with her loosely, noncommittally; and it was even better that she inherently had no interest in him sexually. She was a perfect friend for him, broken in a similar sort of manner, operated in the same line of work as him.
She'd be even better if she'd stop pestering him about his damn debt. Plus, he was pretty sure she swung for the other team, Dante just wished she weren't so obvious about the nature of her relationship with the woman that was his mothers spitting image.
Then there was Lucia, an incredibly prospective lover for Dante. A woman capable of protecting herself, also acting in the same profession. In love with him overtly but even still he couldn't return her affections, not in the way she wanted him to.
She was a demon, full fledged, like his father, but not quite. She was fabricated, created by man's insatiable need to play at god or play him entirely. Lucia was unaging, nearly wholly unaffected by the passage of time.
Dante's father loved his mother, Eva, despite their compositions only to depart from the world likely due to sacrificing himself to keep his family safe. Now that he was older, Dante can recall the longing his mother tried to hide from her twin sons, too young to understand.
Vergil might've though, he was always the more observant one, more articulate in his feelings than his little brother.
But Dante wasn't like Sparda, wasn't like Lucia. He aged, the passage of time will affect his body, likely in egregious ways with the reckless, hedonistic nature in which he behaved. He grows older, his body creaks when he wakes in the morning (or late afternoon… or dusk, depending).
He isn't immortal in that regard, something he considers comical. Dante can sustain typically mortal wounds and survive but his probable cause of death will be the inescapable, arbitrary construct of time? How lame was that?
He didn't want to leave his partner holding his shriveled hand as he heaved his last, leaving them alone in this world.
And though there were a number of reasons he didn't actively pursue or legitimately consider Lucia, her being at his deathbed as a woman that still appeared to be in her mid to late twenties was a major contributing factor.
But there's an opposite side of the coin to his mortality specifically, the one that affects you.
You who is "normal" in your own respect, despite the trauma's you've endured that he's learned about in the time he's known you. You who has so too suffered at the whim of a heartless demon early on in your life.
Would he age at a slower rate than you? Something he ponders even now as he cups your face delicately. You take better care of yourself than he does, evident in how the only wrinkles your skin bares are from joy, etched from memory around your lips.
His thumb swipes gently along the skin of your cheek, an action that makes you lean into his touch; resting your hand over his as silence blankets the space between you. Comfortable and familiar.
Would he steal that joy from you? Not fully aware of how much of a contributor to it that he was.
A foolish man. A cruel man, he'd been called before, by Lucia. A selfish man, all of which he could agree on.
But, only because in this moment, he chooses to close the gap between you thoughtlessly after carefully brushing your hair over your shoulder. Leaning slowly with a lidded gaze, slipping shut gradually before they close completely upon contact with the slope of your throat.
The kiss is chaste in nature, gentle and fleeting but he doesn't remove himself from you. Instead, oh instead, he indulges for a minute longer, his free arm snaking around your waist as you make a surprised sound. One that earns a placating hum from Dante as he presses another kiss to your flesh, inhaling the scent of you as you adjust to the movement.
Your back arches forward, chest pressing against his as you're tucked casually into his throat.
He's handled you before, heroically on the night that you met, husking a breathless and caring 'you okay?' as he carried you in his arms after dispatching a low level demon.
Dante has also almost handled you intimately, a drunken encounter after he'd come to your assistance once again by chance alone. Pulling you from the path of a speeding vehicle in such a manner that was reminiscent of some corny Lifetime daytime telivision movie moment.
You'd insisted on thanking him for saving your skin again, this time because of your own carelessness and lack of environmental awareness and who was he to deny your thanks?
Or a free beer. One that turned into two, then four, then a number you can't recall until you'd both stumbled over the threshold of your studio apartment before he'd placed you securely onto your mattress. It was innocent, truly, when you'd asked him to stay, that it was late, that it was your fault he'd had to go out of his way to take you home.
So he stayed, let himself be tugged down to lay with you, to wrap around you with his security in his warmth. You'd turned to look over your shoulder, he wasn't blind, he could see the way your gaze flitted between his lips and his eyes, how your ass wiggled against his crotch.
He'd have been lying if he'd said he wasn't interested, but you were intoxicated, far more inebriated than Dante had been and he refused to be your Kerry.
He turned you towards him, tucked you closely, almost like he was currently, cradled your skull as he tucked you into his chest, and bid you goodnight.
Dante didn't have to stay, but he wanted to, he always wanted to with you— even when he knows he shouldn't.
He didn't have to be there when you woke up either, strewn over your couch like he'd slept there all night so, just in case you didn't remember anything, you wouldn't have worried anything unsavory had occurred.
But dammit, he didn't know all you could think about, all you can think about, is how damn good he smells and how much you adored him. How gentlemanly he can be, how stupid you might be right now.
But, neither of you were drunk like you were last time, and you weren't making the first move. You're glaringly sober this time, so is he, so there's nothing to worry about, right?
Then why is your heart hammering in your chest as you feel his lips, higher this time, against the column of your throat? You almost worry he'll register the hastened pace of your pulse, you hope he won't tease about it if he does.
Or, worst yet, stop entirely. Detangle from you too soon for the third time; but he doesn't. His warm breath fans over your own heated skin as he chuckles, giving you no time to question why before he kisses your pulse point with a delightful amount of pressure.
You tilt your head to the side to grant more access as you sight, body untensing subtly as you drape your arm over his opposite shoulder, letting him do as he pleases.
Dante sets a trail, climbing along your throat to the juncture of your jaw before the hand that cups your cheek moves to cradle your chin; thumb resting just below your bottom lip. He kisses your temple before your cheek, testingly pressing a peck to the apple of your cheek first, tenderly and affectionately.
Each one is slow but not stalling, they build a suspense in you before Dante's gaze flits up to yours. An extended look is shared, like a silent bid for consent and an instantaneous granting of it before his grip grows a tad firmer. Swiping gently, tapping tenderly on the plump flesh of your bottom lip before he leans closer. Parting the seam of your mouth just before he seals the kiss.
Tentative initially but he grows more confident seconds after you sigh. His tongue swipes at over your own quickly, earning a surprised meal that has him smiling into the exchange.
Dante chuckles lowly, adjusting his hold on you in a way that you perceive as him pulling back that urges your forward, clutching at him reflexively. Fingers fisting into the material of his shirt as you whine needily, tongue pressing against his again as you arch into him.
"M not goin anywhere angel," purred between chasing kisses. Dante's hands take hold of your hips, tugging you into his lap, breathlessly cooing a sweet 'come here' as he does.
You adjust your position to straddle him easily, settling your cunt comfortably over his clothed cock.
Everything feels like an intense blur from there, Dante slouching lower against the arm of the couch as he cants his hips for you as you drape along him. Hands settled daintily over his chest as if you weren't stealing the breath from his lungs from how you respond to him.
Tongue flicking over his, your own hips twitching into his pelvis that urges Dante to grasp at the firmly. Holding onto you as you gasp while grinding down into his crotch with his assistance, pressing you down a little more forcefully for better feeling through thick fabrics.
There's an extended period of this, of the pair of you tasting and experiencing one another fervently yet unhurriedly. Filling the space with muted moans and low but soft suspires along with the occasional whimper she your body bucks out of sync of his ministrations.
"Wait," you gasp breathily against his lips, halfheartedly pushing at Dante's broad shoulders but it falls on deaf ears with its lack of urgency. Though, it isn't like you do little more than that anyway, less than a protest as you persist as you have been thus far before your body heats further.
"Te, wait," you finally urge a bit more, despite the sinful whine he swallows hungrily shortly after his hum of acknowledgment. Your clit throbs familiarly, lower abdomen fluttering just as you shove away from him insistently.
"Fuck, no, wait, fu—" you throw your head back with a sharp inhale that jars Dante from his reverie, reaching for you protectively, reflexively. Worry threatening to thrust his veins and dampen his high.
Before you emit a saccharine sound you try and swallow while your nails bite lovingly into his chest. Body tense as his hand rub knowingly along your natural waist, smirking subtly before you melt in his hold a few moments later.
"You okay?" He coos against the flesh of your temple, placing a comforting, chaste, peck there and then another to the juncture of your jaw; because, would he truly be Dante if he didn't tease even a little? It was an accomplishment to have a pretty girl like you cum nearly untouched, after all. A clear boost to his ego.
You slump against him, groaning near petulantly as you bury your face in his throat, hiding away and he simply holds you.
"Stupid," you huff, humid breath fanning over his throat, pouting more to yourself as Dante's broad palms stroke the length of your spine sweetly. He hums in question, head lolling back slightly as if that would grant him sight of you.
"You say somethin sweetheart?" It's playful in nature, his typical tone though you do catch the subtle notes of sincere tenderness and care in the sound, "didn't answer my question either."
Because of course he was going to wait for that reassurance, he always has when it came to you.
"Well," you scoff bereftly as you finally retreat from your temporary sanctuary, "I'm a grown woman that just came from dry humping with a hot guy for a few minutes. What do you think?"
Dante's smile is wide, cerulean hues rolling to the upper left field of vision as if he were in serious thought as he hums in mock deliberation. You roll your eyes at him in turn, balking at him when his hand taps the curve of your ass flirtatiously, "I think that's pretty good then, wouldn't ya say?"
"No!?" You screech incredulously, unable to even properly register his appreciation for your body. His brow quirks as he frowns, face falling cutely somehow, "oh c'mon, why's that?"
"You're not even hard! That's why! And it's embarrassing!"
Both of Dante's brows creep higher on his forehead at that, "I'm not?"
His incessantly teasing lilt nearly agitates you, preparing to lift from your perch when Dante firmly presses you down onto his lap by your hips, earning a cute yelp.
"Go ahead, ask if that's ebony in my pocket or if I'm just happy to see you."
Insufferable but adorable, you roll your eyes, the joke making you giggle for a moment until you really shift your weight. Grinding your sensitive slit along the rigid length that tents his pants with Dante's aid.
Your eyes must widen noticeably, that or your stunned silence must amuse Dante immensely because his lopsided smirk only grows into a lazy grin.
"I—" you stammer, palms splaying out over his diaphragm, unable to fully vocalize your thought. You'd thought the… firmness beneath you was likely one of his gaudy belt buckles; not that you'd been truly, consciously paying attention to it enough to register or consider it. Far too wrapped up in your quickly realized euphoria to even make an attempt at it.
Dante tilts his head at you, peeking into your view despite your far away gaze, "yooou~ what? Couldn't figure out how it was going to fit?"
"Dante!" You nearly squeal, cheeks aflame and a rush of heat consumes you. He laughs joyously, which does little to quell the slight flusterment he's caused; and, though you do so enjoy the sound, you grasp at his jaw in a halfhearted attempt to silence him. Pads of your fingers pressing into the windows of his cheeks, pursing his lips but it fails to stifle the belly laughs you've stoked from your reaction alone.
You rest your forehead against his, butting it gently before returning to your safe haven that was his throat with a sigh.
His laughter gradually dies down to a handful of scattered chuckles while you calm yourself. Returning to a normal temperature, heaving in a prolonged and steadying breath.
"Well," you start slowly, feeling Dante shift beneath you in a nonverbal cue that he was listening. You trace indistinct patterns against the plane of his chest, deliberating on if you want to complete the thought.
You wiggle your hips once you've come to your decision, stealing a kiss to his adams apple as your tone takes on a sultry tinge as you purr, "now I am. But, I am persistent, never shied from a challenge yet."
It's Dante's turn to feel that pleasant rush of warmth he's infected you with multiple times today alone. The affect only worsened whenever you finally grant him your pretty face again.
Deceptive innocence painted over your pretty features, perpetuated perfectly with your gorgeous eyes paired with your kiss swollen lips parted in waiting.
"That you are, beautiful," an affectionate petname somewhat sighed as he brushes hair from your face lovingly. Grip loose as he cups the nape of your neck to bring you into another kiss that has you melting in his hold once again.
Dante readjusts you without parting from the kiss, setting you over his neglected cock. Stealing the breath from your lungs with ease just for him to pull back to see that hazy look in your eyes when he slouches lower into his sofa.
You look so cute with that semi confused glaze over your soft features. It has him mimicking your action from earlier, cradling your jaw in his capable hand and pressing his fingers into pliant flesh to produce a precious pout.
Smirking hungrily as he steals a fleeting kiss, hovering a hairsbreadth from your lips as he murmurs, "but it's my job to figure that part out."
He relishes in how you shiver before he can feel how your muscles attempt to smile in response to him.
Good, he's glad you're receptive to him still, that he's something, someone, you want. As if there weren't plenty of evidence to that fact in no short supply long before this very encounter.
And he wants to take his time with you now that Dante was aware of your affections, really aware and not just speculative.
He feels like that's how it should be, that it's something someone like you deserved. He has every intention to thoroughly take care of you, to see to your needs while exploring you like he's shamelessly dreamt about.
Though, that might not be something that occurs at present, however, out the proverbial window the moment you capture his lips in a kiss laden with unmitigated desire.
Then, everything just feels like making up for lost time, catching up on all that's been missed now that you've both had a taste.
Surely there will be more after this, that this won't be some insignificant one off. You're the only one he even cares to dare for that selfish notion of having a deeper form of companionship. He's taking more than he should, wanting more than he felt he was allowed.
Right now he doesn't care, not with how responsive you are. How eager, obvious in the way your fingers fumble with pulling up his shirt to fiddle with the button and zipper to his jeans.
Forehead pressed to his when you whine in frustration, warm breath fanning over his skin as you scoff triumphantly once you've succeeded unaided in your endeavor.
"Fucking buttons," you groan before dipping to litter his throat in adoration.
"Your worst enemy," quipped cutely as his hands have a much easier time with your own bottoms. Slipping beneath your shirt to glide along your skin, "it's pretty strong though. Gotta be to hold back a real monster."
"Shut up," you scoff but it bares no bite, lips tugging upwards at the corners because, much to everyone's dismay, you quite enjoy his humor. He smiles against your lips as you slot them to his, though you whine before long as you try and shimmy your pants off without leaving your rightful place on his lap; settling for shedding your shirt instead for right now.
Whimpering a lamentful sound when Dante lifts you off of him, setting you on your feet as you look at him with a befuddled expression. He can only exhale a disbelieving laugh as his thick digits hook into both bands hugging along your hips as he leans forward to place a kiss to the tender flesh of your tummy, just below your navel.
Directly over your womb.
Your abdomen tenses at the contact, muscle flinches and roll beneath the surface but you don't shy from him so he steals another. Bleeding into blazing a loving smattering along the halo of your ribcage. It's just when your fingers thread into starlit locks as you melt into the action that Dante strips you in one swift motion, earning a surprised yelp and gentle tug at his scalp.
"Easy there, angel," he hums impishly against your skin, palming your now bare ass with a single hand as he pulls you closer to him. Glancing up at you to gauge your comfort when you kiss his forehead sweetly with a breathless apology.
"You're the one pulling ahead," you retort softly, a hint of seduction in the sound as you delicately demand his gaze by touching your index to the tip of his chin. Bending at the waist, deliberately flaunting your full chest (accentuated nicely in one of your favorite bras at that) in his face, while placing your hands on his shoulders before gently urging him backwards.
You allow your hands to ghost down Dante's torso as he complies easily with your nonverbal demand. You thoroughly enjoy the lopsided grin on his face as his cants his hips forwards, spreading his legs to make room for you to stand between.
He takes the liberty of shimmying his own pants and boxers down once you've draped into his view. Heavy cock springing free and you hope you do well enough to mask your overt shock at the size of him.
Saliva gathering on your tongue as you take in the sight quickly. Mushroomed tip flushed an angry red while it leaks precum needily from neglect, drinking in the prominent veins that snake from his abdominal line to his girthy shaft.
You'd heard the salacious susurrus of a few of Dante's old lovers, that his endowment was nothing short of memorable, that it was worth a level of covenant; but, you hadn't imagined anything like this.
A deliciously proportional ratio of length to girth for his physique, "god," you huff unintentionally, "can one thing about you not be perfect?"
You'd think he'd be marginally less intimidating in this moment he were. Ogling him further as you splay your palms over his exposed flesh before pushing upward to glide over the well sculpted expanse of his chest. Hem of his shirt resting over your wrists before the fabric pools on them before you lift it up and Dante takes it upon himself to rid you both of the article.
Hands finding your hips when you move to straddle him once more. Bare cunt hovering his cock leisurely despite the tension that subtly seizes your mostly nude form, even as you lazily drape your arms over his shoulders.
Dante must sense this, as he always seeks to keen on when it comes to you, so he jests to lighten the mood. Tilting his head slightly, pursing his lips as if in thought, "pretty sure my nose is crooked from all those breaks as a kid. Just makes me more handsome though, sorry sweetheart."
He shrugs noncommittally but his heart flutters at the sound of your airy giggle, elated when you overtly relax in his hold. He doesn't want you to be nervous, doesn't want you uncomfortable, doesn't want you scared.
Not of him.
"That it does," purred prettily but it feels sultry to Dante just because it's you, because you're in your (near) barest form to him, though not your most vulnerable.
No, he thinks you've been your most vulnerable whilst fully clothed, in the light of day at an inoccuous part of the week, as he has been with you. Reminded of that connection when you kiss the slightly hooked bridge of his nose before laying another to the tip.
It reminds him of how you two have gotten here in the first place. How it feels worth the wait when you lower yourself further, sinking until his rigid length slots snuggly along the folds of your soaking slit.
Dante's lashes flutter at the feel but you equate it to the intimate gesture, expertly masking your shuddering breath when you're experiencing the same sort of feeling as him.
"I'm stalling," you out yourself, leaning forward to retreat to the sanctuary that was the crook of his neck, shifting your weight in a way that has his tip gliding through slick folds.
"I'll take it slow," somewhat hissed from the ghosting sensation, pleasure taunting his synapses. He cradles the curve of your skull while he ruts his hips to replicate that same accidental motion. Inhaling through his teeth while you whine sweetly. You twitch out of since when he finds a steady pace with ease, slick clicking gradually growing in volume all as Dante listens carefully for any of you wanting to stop the few moments he catches on your hole without entering.
His grunts are muted, low and mostly to himself but you hear them clearly in your respective space, affording Dante with the same effect. Skin warming and his actions encouraged by every sweet sound he draws from you. Learning along the way he can trigger an uninhibited moan when his cockhead kisses your clit, leaving you shaking before long.
Your nails bite pleasantly into his bare shoulders, branding him in loving crescent moons. Goading Dante by the notion of making you climax for the second time before he's even buried to the hilt in you.
"I need you," comes your muted mumble once he's set his personal goal. Breath hitching as his pace hastens and you repeat yourself again with a bit more volume than before.
Dante's arms wrap around you, palming your nape and hip, forcing you closer against him as he plants his feet for a better, more languid stroke. Exhaling a long breath over the shell of your ear, sending a delightful tingle down your spine that works in tandem with his stimulation to drag you closer to the edge of euphoria.
You're already sticking to one another, humid breaths fanning over heated skin baring a glistening sheen of sweat.
"I need you," you gasp once again, louder this time, nipping at the lobe of Dante's ear when another harsh rut catches your needy hole. You clench around nothing from sheer anticipation but all he responds with is a rumbling growl and breathless, "I know baby. I want one more first, gimme one more, okay?"
Your eyes roll from a shock of pleasure, shaking your head with a whimper but he truly doesn't give you much other choice. Near crazed when he nearly lays supine as he thrusts upwards, lewd squelches sounding with every pass of his length before you're shuddering over top him.
"That's my girl," Dante coos the second you arch and gasp sharply. Body tense in his embrace, allowing you to fully ride out your high with a lazy pace that leaves you whimpering and twitching each deliberate nudge to your swollen bud.
"Pretty baby," a playful tone laden with sincerity as you pant, coasting on the climax as he opts to watch in prideful contentment.
"Te," you manage that adorable shortening of his name while you lean your tired body over him. He imagines you're spent, at least for the moment but Dante knows he'd be fine if this was as far as you two get now. The door is open for more, he had no intention of shutting it with you on the outside.
"You okay?" He asks again, index finger brushing fall away strands of hair slicked to your skin lovingly.
You surprise him when he feels your fingers grasp at his shaft, reached between your bodies as you finally give him your gaze.
Wanting as you stretch to slot your lips to his, simultaneously aligning Dante's pulsing length with your cunt, brows furrow when you part.
“I need you” and it isn’t anything like anyone has said before. It isn’t a demand that makes him feel hot like the moments he can’t help but shift into his devil trigger form, moments that makes his smile want to falter and fade, moments he loathes.
No, your I need you is sweet, breathy; like a plea, like you can’t wait any longer. I need you sinfully sighed on a shaky exhale in a way that makes the blood in his veins pleasantly warm instead. His cock twitches, a throb from his heart to his groin that could almost make him shy.
“Anything you need, remember, sweetheart?” A teasing reminder of a promise supposedly lost to time (one you’d once figured was a pleasantry at most) that makes you whine even as he complies.
After all, you look cute like, impossibly more so than this entire exchange, needy but not desperate.
Until he finally, finally, finally sinks into your divine cunt, unable to stifle the long relieved groan that rumbles in his chest and reverberates against your own, vibrating you pleasantly. His appreciative curse is a high praise as you adjust to the size of him, earned by the clench of velvet walls that accommodate the decent stretch despite substantial prep.
And he waits, still within your wet warmth for both of your sakes. Yours because, even with two orgasms and extensive foreplay, he hadn't gotten to take the time to properly prime you; to prepare you for the accommodation your body would have to make for him.
Dante was well aware of his endowment, you'd had your own speculations but still, experiencing it was a different beast. Dante was certainly the biggest you've had before, feeling ruined already by how perfectly full you feel like this alone.
You need more, impatiently writhing and at cost of his own reasoning aside from simply soaking you in.
It's in the hopes of lasting as long as he typically did the times he warmed someone's bed. He hadn't considered the prospect of his sac prematurely tightening within the first glorious moments even with his gratuitous foreplay. He figured without how centric to your pleasure he'd made it, it would be fine.
Dante hadn't considered a few key factors contributing to his current conundrum.
He was sober, for one, unpressured, for another. Two substantial indicators of his enjoyment but the final reasoning that he couldn't have really foreseen was you.
Everything about you, how you handle him, care for and react, all precursors to his predicament. He sees that clearly now as he props himself up on his forearms after lowering you to the cushions for comfort. Figurng riding him might cause some unnecessary pain he isn't yet privy of your enjoyment of.
"Easy angel," he huffs against your skin in a strained tone as you writhe beneath him. Hips bucking up shallowly and jerkily that sends a shock of pleasure through his body. "What's the rush?" Playful and teasing but he does acquiesce to you, if only marginally.
But even still, you arch and you moan at the movement, one languid roll of his hips letting you feel every inch of his rigid length and how you contour to him. Dante exhales a subdued groan in turn, control waning as he repeats the motion again, another to follow.
You make it so hard for him as a delicious rhythm is found. You spread your legs further, knees coming to frame his waist as your heels come to press insistently at the small of his back as you hook your ankles.
Falling into sync with him with such natural ease it should be maddening for him and it is. Dante chokes on a grunt, jaw set tightly as you loop your arms over his shoulders like you had earlier. Embracing him as he curls over you and it's his turn now to bury his face in your throat as he gets lost in the gradual build to ecstasy.
"It's your turn," you coo sweetly, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. Panting as you adjust your hips, taking Dante impossibly deeper, punctuated by an impossibly loud, lewd squelch of your cunt as his pubic bone grinds into your clit.
It stings delightfully, a dull ache felt at the base of your spine from every intense plunge. Inhaling a slow, steadying breath before you continue; nipping cutely at the lone of his ear, tone feathersoft and loving, "you're close right? H-have been for awhile, yeah?"
A shiver runs down his spine, gooseflesh threatening to pimple tanned skin as the coil in his lower belly screams demanding to buckle. Of course you knew, you always seemed to be able to read Dante like an open book instead of the cover he presents to the world around him.
"Cum in me, te," you whisper hotly in his ear, flexing your thighs as you meet his increasingly erratic thrusts. Whimpering subtly with every body jostling rut.
"Oh baby, don't," Dante shudders for breath, scooping his arm between you and the couch cushions to press you impossibly closer to him, "don't say that."
The furniture groans beneath your combined weight, protesting every harsh movement you both make. Your heels dig into his back, keeping him close to you as if he had any intention of withdrawing at this point.
He doubts he could leave you if he tried, even before hearing every honeyed call, each saccharine suspire as you both hurdled towards your demise.
But, the most damning sound you could make was yet to come, delayed by the mounting pleasure that Dante does well to supply you with once again.
Your nails claw into his back, raking slightly down his shoulder blades as you tremble and shake beneath him.
"Please, Dante," you finally moan, a pitchy plea as he delivers you relieving rapture. A near mind shattering orgasm that leave you overwhelmed in the best of ways. Tears welling in your eyes you don't give him the chance to kiss away, leaning forward to sink your teeth into the sculpted muscle of his trapezius.
"Fuck," Dante curses sharply, gripping the nape of your neck as he finally submits to the euphoria he's held at bay for an admirable amount of time considering the circumstances.
A condom likely should've been used, pulling out and coating your cunt was another alternative; but, Dante would be lying if he hadn't preferred painting your velvety walls pearly white in thick ropes.
You preen to pretty too at the deep, gasping for breath as he grits his teeth and grips at the back of his couch so forcefully the wooden frame groans worriedly.
"Fuck, angel," sighed a final time as Dante works you both through your respective climaxes, giving a few teasing ruts that have you both twitching in overstimulation.
Your limbs go lax first, palms splaying over the hard planes of his back, soothing over the raised lines you'd caused apologetically, though you know that's one of the more favorable wounds he's earned. Your knees fall away slightly, feet resting between his thighs. You feel light, body worn from how thoroughly you've been tended to.
Skin tacky with sweat and sticking to Dante as he lowers himself, finally resting more of his weight on top of you now that he's also, if not more so, spent than you are.
You make and airy oof that Dante chuckles over before rolling more to the side to lay against the weathered cushions of his sofa. He pulls you alone with him, pivoting you on your side, pawing at your thigh to keep it hiked over his hip.
Still snuggly buried in you as he slowly softens, kissing your temple soothinfly as you slump into his chest. Head lolling along his collarbone as your breathing gradually evens to a steady rhythm.
A comfortable silence blankets the space between you, nothing but the sound of your slowly synchronizing breathing and the sound of Dante's heartbeat from where you lay can be heard.
He lays a kiss to your crown, warming your attention as you tilt up to gauge his reactions post sex.
There was a slight fear for his reaction sitting at the back of your mind but it's dispelled the second your eyes meet his. His signature smirk spreads over his lips, the one that spells his true feelings over his features instead of the mask he often defaulted to.
"You okay?" He asks again, cupping your cheek as he gives you that sincere tone that's never failed to leave your heart fluttering. You nod, asking the same question of him when you rest your hand over his sternum.
"M great angel," sighs as he shifts on the couch once again. Turning fully on his back, rolling you with him to have you sprawled over him. He wasn't quite ready to lose the closeness yet, even with his cock now fully flaccid, chest to chest as you lazily cockwarm him.
"But, yknow," he starts, leaving you to lift your head to hear him, cocking it curiously when a grin splits his handsome features.
"I'm starving," you scoff, playfully slapping at his chest. Of course he was, even with his naturallyinsanely large appetite, he more
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