yeah sorry i couldn’t stop myself from requesting another thing 😭😭
🥟 anon back to annoy you further my queen
yeahh uhhh i’ll have one plate of NSFW jofoe headcanons with a really shy reader who struggles to do things like keep eye contact, limit their… noises, etc
i’m sorry im too freaky for my own good you should put me down LMFAOOA 😭😭 i promise this is the last request for now. im sending you love and hugs rn, make sure you’re taking care of yourself and taking breaks ❤️❤️
⋆.𐙚 ̊ jofoes with a shy!reader !
Pairing: jofoes x reader
Content: jofoes with a reader just cant seem to keep eye contact or keep their voice down...
A/n: Haii 🥟 anon 😈 thank you for another amazing request ! AND DW ABOUT REQUESTING TOO MUCH I LOVE DOING REQUESTSS
Dio⸝⸝
⤷ He hates when you don't look him in the eyes while he's deep inside you.
- He'll grab your chin, forcing you to look up at him.
- As for the noise, he loves to hear it, so he's pinning your hand against the sheet so that you can't cover your mouth.
- He purposefully thrusts a little harder so that you can't help but let out a moan or a yelp.
- He loves the sounds you make. It boosts his ego, so he does everything he can so that you'll get louder; he loves that shit.
Kars⸝⸝
⤷ He analyzes everything, the way you move, squirm, and even the way your chest heaves up and down rapidly.
- He's calm and steady as he cups your face, yet his grip is firm.
- He wants to analyze every little bit of your face.
- He takes you trying to hold your sounds in as a challenge.
- He's going to do what it takes to find the right spot that will make you grip his back and cry out uncontrollably.
Kira⸝⸝
⤷ Unlike the others, Kira doesn't mind that you're quiet. Maybe it's because he likes the quiet life.
- Kira loves to at least know that when he's fucking you, it's good to the point where you can barely contain your sounds.
- He loves watching your hands cover your mouth, palms facing upwards. As for eye contact, he doesn't mind that either.
- It gives him a chance to really look at you when you're in a state like this.
Diavolo⸝⸝
⤷ God, those whimpers; he craves them.
- He wants to hear more; he needs it.
- He's tossing your hands to the side, pinning them above your head.
- Diavolo craves that desire to dominate, so when you do look at him, he takes that as you submitting to him.
- He may like that you're submitting to him, but as much as he likes that, he wants you to see what he's doing to you.
Doppio⸝⸝
⤷ He immediately thinks something is wrong if you try to hold in your whimpers.
- He's constantly asking if he's doing alright, because he can't hear you.
- He's all whimpering while he moves your hand away from your mouth, thrusting fast like he just can't help himself.
- He'll gently cup your face, pushing you to look at him even if it's just for a second.
- Somehow that only makes him wanna go faster.
Pucci⸝⸝
⤷ He wants to hear every whine, every plea for him to keep going; he just wants to know that he's making you feel good.
- If you're covering your mouth, he'll just take your hand, kissing the back of it and pressing it into the mattress.
- He honestly gets a little whiny when you try and hold back the sounds that he's helping you make.
- He already treats you as something sacred, so it's only natural that he hears you.
- He NEEDS eye contact; it gets him off. Just the thought of you making eye contact with him as he's slowly pounding into your walls gets him beyond hard.
- If you're not looking at him, he's begging you to, gently guiding your face towards his own.
👽 anon returning because I got hit by an idea before bed! Jojos and Jofoes love triangle! Aside from their part's plots they'd also be fighting to win reader's heart! (No I am not greedy, I just like attention lol)
This is less a rivalry and more a moral battle for your affection.
Jonathan approaches you with warmth and sincerity. He brings flowers, offers his arm when walking, and treats you like someone precious. Dio?
Dio is the complete opposite.
He leans against doorways watching Jonathan court you like it's a show meant to amuse him. “Tell me,” Dio says one evening, voice smooth as velvet. “Do you truly prefer a man who worships you… or one who could give you the world?”
Jonathan’s jaw tightens immediately. “You should leave them alone, Dio.” Dio smirks, his eyes never leaving Jonathan “Oh? Are you afraid they might choose me?”
Jonathan isn’t afraid. But the way your eyes flick between them makes him nervous. Because Dio doesn’t just flirt.
He hunts.
Jonathan wants your love.
Dio wants your devotion.
Kars vs Joseph:
Joseph’s method of romance is simple:
Chaos.
He flirts constantly, tells dumb jokes, and tries to impress you with ridiculous Hamon tricks.
“Watch this!” he says proudly, lighting a spoon on fire.
You clap politely.
Kars watches from across the room like a disapproving god.
“You court them like a clown,” Kars finally says.
Joseph gasps.
“A clown?? This is charm!”
Kars approaches you instead, calm and elegant.
He kneels slightly, taking your hand with unsettling grace.
“If you wish to see the world, I could show you civilizations older than humanity.”
Joseph sputters.
“HEY THAT'S CHEATING— YOU'RE LIKE 10,000 YEARS OLD!”
Kars doesn’t even acknowledge him.
Because unlike Joseph’s loud affection, Kars’ attention feels dangerously intense.
Joseph makes you laugh.
Kars makes your heart race.
Josuke vs Kira:
Josuke’s crush is obvious.
He gets flustered, buys you snacks, and punches anyone who makes you uncomfortable.
“Anyone bothering you?” he asks immediately.
Kira watches this like a man studying insects.
His attraction to you is quieter.
Controlled.
He admires your hands when you gesture while talking.
The shape of your fingers.
The way you hold things.
One day he calmly tells you:
“You have beautiful hands.”
Josuke nearly explodes.
“WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT THEIR HANDS LIKE THAT?!”
Kira simply adjusts his tie.
“I appreciate aesthetics.”
Josuke drags you away immediately.
“Don't listen to that guy!”
But unfortunately for him…
Kira’s calm composure has its own strange charm.
Giorno vs Diavolo
This rivalry is dangerous.
Giorno treats you with quiet devotion.
His attention is gentle, protective, sincere.
“You deserve peace,” he tells you.
Then there’s Diavolo.
You rarely see him.
But when you do…
His gaze is intense enough to make the air feel heavy.
“You interest me,” he says one night.
Giorno steps between you immediately.
“You should leave.”
Diavolo smiles faintly.
“I merely wished to see what captivated my successor.”
Giorno’s voice becomes ice.
“You will not involve them in this.”
Diavolo only chuckles.
Because if there’s one thing he enjoys…
It’s watching Giorno lose composure.
Jolyne vs Pucci
Jolyne flirts like a gremlin.
She steals your hoodie.
Sits too close.
Smirks whenever you blush.
“Relax,” she says. “I'm just being friendly.”
Pucci watches from the background with unnerving calm.
Unlike the others, Pucci sees your relationship as destiny.
“You and I were meant to meet,” he tells you quietly.
Jolyne nearly throws something at him.
“STOP SAYING WEIRD CULT STUFF TO THEM.”
Pucci only smiles slightly.
Because he genuinely believes it.
Jolyne wants to date you.
Pucci believes the universe itself arranged your meeting.
Johnny vs Valentine
Johnny is awkward with feelings.
He stares.
Gets jealous easily.
And absolutely refuses to admit he likes you.
Valentine?
Valentine is extremely confident.
“My dear,” he says smoothly, kissing your hand.
“You deserve someone capable of protecting your future.”
Johnny rolls his eyes.
“Yeah because dating the president isn't suspicious at all.”
Valentine smiles politely.
Johnny mutters to Gyro later:
“I swear he's flirting like he's campaigning.”
Gappy vs Tooru
Gappy approaches romance with pure confusion.
He studies relationships like a science experiment.
“Is this… flirting?” he asks while holding your hand.
You shrug.
“Maybe.”
Tooru appears whenever things seem peaceful.
He leans against walls like he’s always been there.
hallo……. might be a freak for this buuut can i ask for some nsfw with the jofoe stands? im sorry if i need to be more specific!!
and can i be 🚨 anon??!
Seven Minutes In Heaven - JoFoe Stands x Fem!Reader
A/N - Ohhhhh 🚨 anon, my sweet little 🚨 anon... you have no idea how LONG I've been waiting for someone to request this one oh boy... I don't think yall are ready... Don't look at that word count I WAS TRYING TO NOT GO OVERBOARD oopsies. Thank you so much for the request heheheh! I hope you enjoy it <33
Also just in case people don't know I always write stands as if they're kinda a separate thing from the user, yes they follow what they want but they're sentient... hehe
Warning - Biting (feeding on DIO's) + Just Pucci as a whole being a priest... we blur the vow of celibacy idc...
Characters - DIO, Kira, Diavolo, Pucci
♡ Smut ♡
Word Count - 5700... you looked :(
.MINORS DNI.
DIO -
Dio is powerful, such godlike strength held calmly in his sharp fangs and clawed fingers.
No one expects him to be gentle.
They think that he isn’t capable of being soft.
You thought the same thing at the beginning while you worked for him.
Until he sank into you for the first time, loving praises with a careful roll of his hips. He knows the damage he could cause if he’s too rough with you, hands gentle on your waist as he drags you over the edge with pretty moans on your lips.
The World however, does not love gently.
Dio watches you with amusement, head resting on his hand as his stand loomed over you, your eyes staring up at him with adoration, legs spread as he stood between your thighs, face as uncaring as it usually is.
“Please?”
It’s barely a whisper from your parted lips as his fingers thrust inside of you slowly, not speeding up even when you beg, your head turning to Dio to look to him for him to make his stand stop teasing you so sweetly.
The World frowns the second your eyes move, hand grabbing your jaw to make you look back at him, grip almost tender as he forces your eyes back onto him.
“Interesting.”
Dio’s voice makes you whine as his stand keeps the same pace as it has for the last 10 minutes, not bringing you close to the edge but just toying with you like you’re his prey.
He’s enjoying it.
“You have a question. Ask it.”
You hate that he can always tell, your eyes staying fixed on the stand as you swallow weakly, a moan on your lips as you blush before you even ask.
“Does he have…”
You don’t finish the sentence before Dio laughs, it's not cold, nor is it cruel.
It's amused.
“You’re asking if he can fuck you, my love?”
“Does he want to?”
He doesn’t answer you, not with words anyway, a pleased hum on his lips as The World takes his fingers out of you and presses them against your lips.
You open your mouth immediately, keeping eye contact with him as you suck on his fingers with a faint moan. With your mouth closed around him your moan catches in your throat, the tip of his cock slipping into your soaked entrance making you jerk in shock.
Your eyes roll back as he sinks into you, softly humming around his fingers when he bottoms out, making sure he isn’t hurting you even after having his thick fingers inside you.
Even if Dio isn’t controlling him he holds the same love and care for you, he doesn’t want to hurt you, you’re the only one that gets them as soft as this.
The World watches you just as cold as ever as he pulls his fingers from your mouth, holding your hips and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. Your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he leans over you, its almost intimate how close he is to you before he fucks you, not kissing you, just watching you.
Loving.
Until it isn’t.
His thrusts rip the air from your lungs, one hand on your jaw so your head doesn’t fall back as he drives his cock deep into you, hard fast strokes inside you that leave you a moaning mess under him.
“Does it feel good, hmm?
Dio’s voice is mocking as he sits next to you on the bed, watching his stand dragging you violently towards your orgasm, its hand tightening where it cups your face so you can't look at his user.
“Yes… So good.”
“Do you want to cum?”
Your moaning peaks as Dio rakes his nails through your hair, tugging lightly as his stand lets go, making you look at him instead.
“Answer.”
“Please… Let me cum, so close.” The grin on his lips is almost sadistic, fangs sharp and eyes cruel as he leans close to you, mouth pressed to your skin as he kisses your throat, teeth grazing gently with a hum.
“I’m not the one to ask, my love.”
His fingers let go of your hair as he moves away just slightly, watching you look teary eyed up at the stand above you, your words catching in your throat when he pulls you closer, cock pressing deeper into you with every thrust.
“Please…”
It’s a pathetic beg as the pleasure becomes overwhelming, broken whines slipping from your lips loudly in the dim room, you don’t care that the others in the mansion can hear the sobbing moans while you get pounded into the soft covers.
His eyes don’t leave you, he doesn’t nod, doesn’t speak.
Just silently pushes your shoulder so you’re flat against the bed, his fingers wrapping around your thigh with a squeeze as his thrusts hit harder.
Your eyes roll back in your head when you feel Dio’s mouth against your neck, sharp fangs piercing your skin as you cum hard around his stand with a shattered cry, twitching as he doesn’t slow down in the slightest.
The drag of his cock makes you see stars in your vision, walls trembling around him as your orgasm is dragged through you. Desperate moans on your lips as your fingers curl into Dio’s hair making him groan, his hips stuttering as he grinds softly against the mattress, tongue gentle as licks at the blood on your throat.
A broken hiss on his lips as he comes untouched, all while he can feel the tight clench of you around his stand, mouth moving from your neck as The World overstimulates the both of you with soft gasps as his lips meet yours.
The kiss is soft and needy even while the throb of the length inside of you makes you sob into his mouth, you can taste your own blood on his tongue making you clench softly around his stand.
Pathetic pants on your lips when he finally stills inside you, his fingers gentle as they rub against where he held your hips so tightly.
Your body drops limp against the bed when Dio breaks the kiss, watching you with gentle eyes as you catch your breath in a blissful daze.
“Does that answer your question, my love?”
Kira -
You can tell he’s annoyed long before he says that he is, eyes narrowed slightly as he types at his laptop, answering another email with a shake of his head.
“Would you like a cup of tea, love?”
His eyes soften as soon as they raise to you, a gentle sigh on his lips as he relaxes, moving the laptop off of his lap to stand and pull you close to him.
“Morning, darling. I would love that, do you need help?”
“Good morning… No it’s okay, are they still demanding you to come in on your day off?”
There's a soft huff on his lips as he presses his face into your throat with a hum, fingers gentle against your back while he holds you.
“They sent more clients to me out of nowhere, so now I have to answer dozens of emails. Nothing to worry about, darling.”
His voice is doing nothing to ease the ache in your stomach, nuzzling into his neck with a sigh as you press your thighs together before parting with a gentle kiss to his lips, heading into the kitchen to make him tea.
You don’t want to bother him while he’s working but your breathing still catches in your throat while you watch him type another email, so serious as he stares down at the screen.
You can feel how soaked you are as you turn away with a deep breath.
He’s working.
When you slip back into the room with his tea you notice Killer Queen is sitting patiently on the couch across from Kira, you place the cup gently on the table next to him with a tilt of your head.
He meets your eyes with a knowing look, lips twitching into a small smirk as he glances to his stand and then back to you.
“You don’t think I notice when you’re turned on, darling?”
“Oh…It’s okay, you’re working.”
“Use my stand, I'm still working. What kind of a husband would I be if I didn't help you, hmm?”
You hesitate with a surprised look on your face, his smile widening when you jump, feeling Queens hands rest on your waist and pull you back towards the couch.
“But you’ll feel it…”
“Is that a bad thing?”
You don't get to answer as Queen sits, fingers against yours as he pulls you lightly, wanting you to straddle him, a tilt of his head when you glance back to Kira.
“Take your pants off, darling.”
Shit.
He’s being serious…
Your hands slip to your pants as you push them down, soft fabric pooling on the floor as you step out of them, debating if you should take your underwear off.
Queen makes the decision for you, his fingers curling under the hem and pulling them down for you, letting them fall to the floor as you straddle his lap with a blush on your cheeks.
You feel suddenly shy pressed against his stand while its ominous eyes stare down at you, a swallow when you look away embarrassed, his hands find your waist almost impatiently as he pulls you down against him.
You’re really glad he removed his belt before he let you press yourself down on him.
A shuddered gasp leaving your lips as you start to grind your hips down, the friction feels perfect against your sensitive clit every time you rub up against the leather.
You don’t need to look at Kira to know he isn’t working, the typing stopped as soon as he felt how soaked you were as you rock your hips into his stand.
You can’t help your head falling back as you chase your own pleasure, Queen pulling your hips down just slightly with every rock dragging moans from your lips.
“Ride him.”
“...What?”
You glance at him confused, brows furrowed as Queen keeps dragging your hips against him, a whine leaving your mouth when you meet Kira’s gaze.
The grin on his face widens as your hips still against his stand, Queen nudging you up slightly so he could reach down between you, pulling out his erection as you watch with wide eyes.
“Did you not notice?”
“I never paid attention…”
“Ride him.”
Your eyes stay on Queen's length for a beat too long as he begins to get impatient, fingers twitching on your waist as you admire him. He’s huge.
He doesn’t pull you fully onto him but he drags you down, his tip pressing against your entrance as you drip onto him.
“Take it slow, he’s a lot bigger than I am.”
“I, uh… I’m not sure if I can take him…”
“You will.”
He says it like its a fact.
That you will take it, no matter how long it takes you.
A soft exhale as you look into Queen’s eyes, nervous as you rock your hips slightly, the tip rubbing so perfectly against your clit before you pull back and drop down a little.
“Shit…”
The stretch of him is intense as you bounce slowly on his cock, taking a little more every time you sink back down with soft moans.
Kira almost wishes he hadn’t let you, his work completely forgotten about as he feels you clenching around his stand, head resting against the back of his chair at how tight you are around him.
You watch Queen in a daze as he stares at you sinking onto him, he looks almost bored while you struggle to take every inch of him.
You almost question if it even feels good for him before you get embarrassed and bury your head into the stands shoulder, the tip pressed so deep inside you when you finally take it all.
“You’re doing so good, darling.”
Kira’s voice makes you jump as you turn your head from his stand to see him, his breathing heavy as he runs a hand through his hair, you can see his erection pressed against the fabric of his pyjamas making you clench around Queen and dragging a groan from your husband.
“He looks bored… Doesn’t it feel good?”
Kira doesn’t get a chance to say anything in response as his stand flips you, pinning you to the couch in one movement, almost annoyed you would dare to insinuate you don’t feel good around him.
“Queen. I wanted her to ride you.”
The glare he gets in response is deadly making Kira freeze at how angry his normally stoic stand looks, he doesn’t stop Queen from slipping out of you.
Just to snap his hips back against you with a soft purr when you cry out and grab his arms where they rest on either side of your head.
His thrusts aren’t fast or rough, Kira watches as he fucks you slow.
Deep.
His eyes don't leave the way your head falls back and your moans break with every time he sinks back inside of you, breath catching in your throat as the pressure builds quickly.
“Please… Love?”
For a second your husband looks confused, your fingers reaching out to him from under his stand as he walks to you, slipping his fingers into yours before you shake your head with a whine.
Just for your hand to press against his erection with a glance up at him, eyes hopeful as you pull his pants down softly.
“What do you want, darling?”
“Want you in my mouth, close… Please.”
“How could I say no when you’re asking so nicely?”
He regrets it immediately.
The feel of your tongue on him only adding to the way you clench around his stand pushing him too close too fast, fingers in your hair as he tries not to thrust into your mouth. Your pretty moans vibrating against the tip every time you bob your head and it nudges the back of your throat.
God how tempting it was to jerk his hips forward and pump his cum down your throat.
His control slips quickly as you tremble under them, Queen’s thrusts speeding up just to watch your back arch off of the couch.
“Darling let me pull out, you feel too good.”
No way were you going to let him pull out.
Before he can even attempt to move, your own stand materialises behind him, arms wrapping around him as it presses its face into his throat, nudging his hips back into you with its own.
The moan that falls from his lips is obscene, tip of his cock slipping down your throat as he thrusts gently into you, eyes watching your reaction.
He shouldn’t have looked. Eyes rolling back as you whine pathetically at the pleasure, Queen’s thrusts brutal as tears drip down your cheeks.
“Close?”
He can’t help the soft breathless laugh that slips out when you sob around him, mouth too full to answer as Queen moves its hand so he can rub your clit with a gentle hum when you immediately jerk your hips up to chase the feeling, just for him to press down hard as he drags his thumb across the sensitive bud.
You clench so hard around him that Kira almost cums first, watching you choking on his cock as your orgasm splinters in your grip, eyes falling on where Queen still rocks his hips into you.
Slower this time as you make a mess on the couch below you, soft pathetic whines muffled by the length down your throat as he tries desperately to warn you, breath shaky as he tries to pull out of your throat.
Even in your blissful haze when your legs go limp in Queens arms you refuse to let him move back, your stand activating again, rougher this time and forcing him fully down your throat.
Queen’s eyes watching his user with slow thrusts, making sure not to push you too far but chasing his own pleasure at the same time.
Kira groans out soft pleas as his control shatters, hips jerking unintentionally as he cums hard down your throat, cock throbbing as he fucks himself through it, pants being ripped from him when you keep swallowing around him.
His fingers gentle in your hair as he keeps you pressed against him until the twitching stops, realising quickly that he could hurt you as he pulls out with a hiss.
Queens hips stilling inside of you as he leans over you to nuzzle into your throat, hands gentle as he keeps you pressed close to him.
“I told you that you’d feel it…”
Diavolo -
“Beloved. Behave yourself.”
His voice sounds annoyed as you lay on his lap, his hands typing absentmindedly as he looked for something unimportant. Normal boring Mafia work. But he can’t focus when you keep gently palming him through his pants.
“If you weren’t hard I wouldn't be touching you.”
“You were touching me before that. Why do you think I'm hard in the first place?”
He doesn’t even look like he cares, eyes uninterested as he stares at the screen with an annoyed exhale at your antics.
He isn’t actually annoyed, but watching your cute little pout when he tells you off gives him so much enjoyment he can’t help himself.
“Don’t make me tell you again.”
Your fingers stop against his underwear as you undo his pants, a soft grin on your face as you look up at him. He isn’t even looking at you, eyes still set forward on whatever was so much more important than you.
“Is it important?”
“Not really, I’ll play with you soon, just let me finish this, beloved.”
A gentle huff on your lips as you lay back down, cheek pressed to his erection as you wait patiently.
You aren’t patient.
A hiss slipping from Diavolo as he glares down at you, watching in annoyance as your tongue licks the tip of his length through his underwear, a moan on your lips when you taste his precum through the fabric.
His hand grabs your hair with such softness, not wanting to hurt you but needing you to stop, a sigh as you look up at him almost sadly when he pulls you away.
“I’m working, Y/N.”
“You can’t work with your cock in my mouth?”
“Beloved.”
His tone was deadly, a warning that if you keep pushing him he won’t let you get away with it further, letting go of your hair and continuing to type on the keyboard.
Until you lean and suck his tip this time, hips jerking slightly in a pleasured shock, disbelief on his face as time shudders around you.
“I warned you.”
“Wait! No, I'm sorry!”
He’s amused by your immediate panicked back-pedalling as King Crimson throws you over his shoulder.
A little giddy squeal from you as he drops you gently on the couch away from Diavolo, you can see the grin on your boyfriends lips as he looks back to his computer.
“Behave or I’ll let him have his fun with you.”
Your eyes gaze up at Crimson as he tilts his head with a little smile, kneeling next to you as he takes your hand in his, a thumb running gently across your knuckles,
it almost made you feel bad for wanting to push him further with how cute his stand was being.
But you don’t get to push him before Crimson leans into you, lips connecting to yours as he presses your shoulder back into the cushions, a soft gasp on your lips as he keeps you underneath him.
“Didn’t I ask you to… Oh.”
Diavolo glances over his shoulder to tell you off with a smile on his lips, only to see his stand pinning you onto the couch, his hands pulling you further down so he can move to kneel between your legs.
“You’ve corrupted my stand.”
You moan softly into his mouth when he presses his hips into yours, grinding slowly on you as you break the kiss with a gasp.
“I wasn’t even doing anything this time…”
“Do you want him to stop, beloved?”
Your eyes meet Diavolo’s as he turns to watch you fully, grinning when you shake your head with a sweet smile.
“Then I’ll let him have his fun, shall I?”
You try to open your mouth to reply, a soft tease of that he’ll get distracted, only to yelp when Crimson leans down to bite your shoulder, not enough to bleed but you feel the ache in your stomach at the gentle pain licking at you. His hips still rocking into you while he kisses down your throat.
You’re suddenly hyper aware of how little clothing you’re wearing, only bothering to put on a loose shirt and underwear this morning.
King Crimson notices at the same time you do with a grin against your neck, hand slipping into your underwear with a pleased hum at how wet you already are and a soft nip to your pulse point when he sinks his fingers into you.
Your eyes widen in shock, glancing at Diavolo with a shaky moan, he looks just as surprised as you that his stand has its fingers buried in you, gentle thrusts making you pant underneath him while he sucks love bites into your skin.
Diavolo looks ecstatic.
He has no intention of stopping him.
The way he’s touching you is akin to worship, lips pressed to your throat while he lets you grind down onto his fingers, he can feel the soft trembling in your body as you chase your orgasm, the way your hips start to speed up with breathy whines.
He waits til the second you’re on the edge, a twitch of his lips as you push yourself down on his hand as your walls flutter around him.
And time shatters with you.
It shudders inside of you as he completely erases your orgasm with a grin, your chest is heaving softly with a complaint on your lips already.
"Hey! Why did you do that? That’s so mean…”
You hear Diavolo’s amused laugh from his seat, watching as his stand starts moving his fingers inside of you again, thumb rubbing your clit in quick circles to get you close as fast as he can.
The pleasure masking the overstimulation as you fall apart in his hands, shaky moans slipping from your lips as your head falls back.
Hips unintentionally rolling against his hand right when you get close with a broken cry right as you’re about to cum.
And time skips again.
Just to be dragged to the floor below King Crimson before you can complain, fingers pulling out before he sinks his cock into your trembling walls, head falling to your throat as he bites softly at your skin as you gasp for breath.
“Now that’s interesting.”
“Shut… Up.”
“Do it again, Crimson. For as long as she complains.”
The grin on his stands lips makes your heart rate pick up, fear crawling in your veins that you might never get to actually cum with him being so cruel.
The thought doesn’t last long when he starts thrusting into you, cock dragging so perfectly against your overstimulated walls, so wet that you can feel it dripping down onto the floor.
“Please… Crimson... Don't stop.”
Your soft begging comes out in broken moans as he leans further over you, pulling your leg up against his waist, lips pressing against your own as he thrusts harder, tip pressing against your cervix with every thrust.
His length fills you so perfectly as you moan pathetically into his mouth, until he pulls out completely, hands on your waist as he makes you get on your knees.
“Shit…”
Diavolo’s voice was ragged, you can’t even see him to know he’s close as well, watching the way his stand bends you over and sinks his cock back into you.
His eyes don’t leave you as he watches where you meet, staring at the way you drip onto the carpet and all over Crimson’s thighs with every thrust.
Fuck he can feel it.
His breathing heavy as he feels your trembling around his stand, fingers stroking himself through the fabric, he’s closer than you are.
“Diavolo… Please.”
Its a broken sob into the plush carpet as you beg him not to skip your orgasm again, he can see the way your body shakes below his stand, its hand against your back to keep you arched so perfectly for him as he fucks you into the floor.
He wants to reply, to give you a snippy little answer that you should have thought about that before teasing him.
Until you cum.
And Crimson chooses to let you, sobbing moans ripping from you as he speeds up, leaning forward to bite your shoulder hard as you clench around him, a muffled scream tearing from your throat as his stand covers your mouth.
A small kindness in between the brutal snap of his hips, the last thing any of you want is for someone to think you’re being murdered.
With how desperate your cries are it’s close, body limp as Crimson strokes your clit when his thrusts slow, lips soft against your back in adoration, like he’s praising you for taking it.
Diavolo’s hand wraps fully around his length as he sits right against the edge, his name sweet from your lips right as he’s about to cum.
And time skips.
Pucci -
He couldn’t help the trail of his eyes across your figure standing in the kitchen, apron wrapped tight around your waist, wearing nothing but your underwear.
You were tempting him, not intentionally, or perhaps you were.
Humming softly as you walk around the kitchen while you bake something in the oven, something sweet it smells like, a deep breath catching in his throat as he looks away from you.
“Y/N, my dear?”
You jump slightly when you hear his voice, turning with a smile as you place down the pan and dart over to your boyfriend to wrap your arms around his neck with a gentle kiss to his lips.
“I’ve missed you… You’ve been gone so long.”
The soft pout on your lips making him laugh lightly, it’s only been a few days.
But he missed you too, curling his arms around you and pulling you snug against him. Just to stiffen slightly when he feels your breasts pressing against him, soft and warm as you hum in his ear sweetly with a kiss to his cheek.
Fate is cruel.
A tender kiss pressed to your forehead as he lets you go back to the kitchen, incredibly flustered at how close you were pressed against him and insanely glad you don’t notice how hard he is already in his pants.
A gentle call over his shoulder that he’s going to take a shower before he heads quickly into the bedroom. This is going to be a long night if you don’t put some clothes on.
The shower was not nearly as relaxing as he wanted it to be, thoughts drifting back to you as his hand rests against the tile, fingers twitching as he debates just dealing with it, a huff on his lips as he gets out anyway and heads to his room.
Somehow harder than he started.
His eyes flutter shut when he feels you pressing up against him, more specifically, you pressing up against Whitesnake.
The smell of your perfume makes his problem worse as he lays down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if he could will it away, it almost works. Deep grounding breathing as he calms himself, hands resting on his stomach as he relaxes completely.
Until a soft groan slips from his lips when he feels you press faintly against his erection, eyes wide as he throws a shirt on and slips from the room.
You’re in the kitchen still softly humming, Whitesnake pressed against your back as he pushes you softly into the counter, you don’t even realise what he’s actually doing.
So used to getting affection from him whenever he’s out that you don't notice the light roll of his hips pressed against your ass.
“Whitesnake. Stop it…”
You jump surprised at hearing Pucci’s voice, annoyance lacing his tone, confusion flickering on your face as you try to turn.
Try.
Just for Whitesnake to tighten his arms around you with a breathy groan, pushing your hips further against the counter as he rocks into your ass, soft panted breathing in your ear as he presses his head against your throat.
“Uh… Pucci?”
“I’m sorry, my dear. It’s my fault…”
He gasps softly as he tries to pull Whitesnake back into himself, every nerve in his body on fire with how good it feels, hand resting on the counter as he tries to focus on anything but you.
“You don’t have to.”
“Please don’t tempt me…Y/N”
Your name falls from his lips as a groan rather than a warning, Whitesnake nudging your legs apart to roll his hips into you better.
Sharp teeth biting into your lip as you try not to moan at the friction, not wanting to make it harder for Pucci to control himself.
His lips press against your neck while he unties the apron with quick hands, fingers slipping into your underwear as you gasp out softly when he starts rubbing your clit with every roll of his hips.
The soft groaning in your ear makes you even wetter as Pucci watches, at war with himself over even putting his stand away when he has you moaning so beautifully against the worktop.
And then it's gone as fast as it started, Whitesnake pulling back as he looked down as you turned to face him before dropping to his knees and gazing up at you, almost asking for permission.
Your eyes find Pucci’s as he straightens up with ragged breaths, gaze dropping to his stand before looking back up to you, your pupils blown wide as the apron hangs loosely around your neck.
“Do you want this?”
He didn’t answer right away, thinking about whether he even cared that it was a sin. Even being with you was a sin, going against everything that he vowed. But your pretty eyes are tempting him more than anything,
“Pucci, it’s okay. We can stop, let’s go watch a movie?”
“Take the apron off… Please? Let me watch you.”
Your fingers hesitate as you pull the apron off, you’ve barely been undressed in front of your boyfriend and now he wants to…
Watch what exactly?
You swallow softly as you place the apron on the counter, eyes wide as you watch his gaze fall across your body, before groaning when he sees your soaked underwear, licking his lips unconsciously as he moves to sit in the chair by the kitchen island.
Whitesnake’s head turns to look at him once before pushing your hips back against the counter as he moves in between your thighs, your chest rising and falling rapidly when he slips your underwear down your legs.
“Do you want this?”
Your head raises from watching his stand to look into his eyes, a quick nod as he smiles sweetly at you. Whitesnake wasting no time to pull your leg over his shoulder as he leans forward and licks at your clit with a hum, Pucci’s eyes fluttering slightly as he tastes you on his tongue.
Whitesnake’s fingers are loving as they entwine with yours, pressing his face fully into you, his lips sucking softly against you as your head falls back with a whine.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Your head drops back to look at him right as Whitesnake slides his fingers inside of you, a whimper on your lips as you watch Pucci press his palm against his cock through his pants, his eyes lidded and mouth open in soft gasps as he watches you softly fall apart on his stands fingers.
“Pucci… You can touch me…”
“Please, let me watch you like this first.”
Whitesnake’s fingers thrust a little faster when your hand falls to his head, palm curling around his crown as you pull him closer, your moans getting louder while he drags you closer to the edge.
A soft groan falls from Pucci’s lips when he wraps his hand around himself, his eyes refusing to drop from you.
“Can you… I want to taste you when you finish.”
“Are you… Fuck don’t…”
Your attempt at questioning cuts off with a broken moan when Whitesnake curls his fingers inside of you as he sucks hard on your clit.
A small whine falling from your lips as you try to push him away, an almost growl in his throat as he drops your hand and grips your waist, pulling you down to grind on his tongue with a pleased hum.
Your eyes meet Pucci’s with a breathy moan, a plea on your lips, he can’t tell if you want him to stop or let you cum with how teary your eyes are as his stand devours you.
“Pucci, I can’t… so close.”
His hand speeds up as his cock twitches in his grip, pleasure overwhelming as he watches you roll your hips against his stands mouth with a pathetic moan.
“With me? Please.”
The pure desperation in his voice making you cum on Whitesnakes fingers, eyes rolling back as he sucks hard on your sensitive clit, a breathy moan falling from you as you try to keep your eyes focused on Pucci in front of you.
His hips jerking weakly into his hand as he comes with a low groan, the taste of you dragging him over the edge violently. Cum slipping down his fingers as you watch every drop with excitement at the thought of slipping to your knees and lick it off of him.
Your fingers gently push Whitesnake away from your overstimulated clit, pulling away with one last soft lick as you move, Pucci panting in front of you like its the only time in his life he’s even touched himself.
It is.
He watches in mild horror when you drop to your knees in front of the chair with a sweet smile on your lips.
So Joestars/Jojos with a significant other whose main form of showing love is buying them gifts and presents. A Partner who learns their likes + interests just to buy stuff similar just to show their affection even if their partner insists they don’t have to buy so much for them and tells them to stop
sure, hope you enjoy ^^ ♡
edit: i misread and thought u said joestars/jofoes lol sorry, i wrote more characters than u asked for 😭😭
Jonathan Joestar
Jonathan notices the pattern almost immediately, but he doesn’t say anything at first because he thinks it’s incredibly sweet that you put so much thought into what he likes.
The first time you give him a gift related to something he casually mentioned weeks ago, he’s genuinely stunned that you remembered.
He’s the type who feels a little guilty receiving so much, so he’ll try to repay you with gestures rather than objects, like writing heartfelt letters or planning proper outings. Still, every gift you give him ends up carefully stored, cleaned, and preserved like a treasure.
What really gets to him is knowing you study his interests just to make him happy. He starts making sure to talk about the things he likes more openly, not because he wants more gifts, but because he loves the way your face lights up when you realize you found something perfect for him.
Joseph Joestar
Joseph acts like he has no idea what you’re doing, but he absolutely notices that every gift somehow matches his interests perfectly.
He’ll joke about you spoiling him rotten, but he secretly brags about it to everyone he knows.
If you buy him something related to one of his hobbies, he’ll immediately start using it in the most dramatic way possible just to show how much he likes it. He also starts purposely mentioning random things he likes just to see if you’ll pick up on it, and when you do, he gets this smug, proud look like he just proved something.
Deep down it makes him feel really loved because he knows you pay attention to every little detail about him. He keeps even the dumb gifts because to him they’re proof that you listen to him more than anyone else does.
Jotaro Kujo
Jotaro pretends he doesn’t care, but he notices every single thing you give him.
At first he thinks it’s unnecessary, and he’ll mutter that you don’t need to keep buying him stuff, but he never actually tells you to stop.
The fact that the gifts always match his interests perfectly makes it impossible for him to brush off. If you give him something related to marine biology, music, detective novels, or anything he mentioned once in passing, he gets quiet for a moment because he realizes you were paying attention the whole time. He keeps everything, even if he acts like he forgot about it.
The more you do it, the more protective he gets of you, because to him that kind of effort means you care more than most people. He won’t say thank you every time, but you’ll notice he uses the things you buy him more than anything else he owns.
Josuke Higashikata
Josuke loves it immediately. He’ll get excited every single time you show up with something, even if it’s small.
The fact that you specifically look for things you know he likes makes him feel understood in a way he’s not used to. If you buy him anything related to fashion, games, or other stuff he talked about liking, he’ll go on and on about how perfect it is.
He also starts doing the same thing back, but in a more impulsive way, like buying you random things the moment he sees them. He tells everyone that you’re the best partner ever because you actually pay attention to him.
Sometimes he’ll purposely talk about things he likes just because he knows you’ll remember later, and he finds that really cute. He keeps all the gifts, even the silly ones, and refuses to throw anything away.
Giorno Giovanna
Giorno notices the pattern very quickly, but he doesn’t bring it up right away because he wants to understand your intentions. Once he realizes you’re doing it purely to show affection, he finds it incredibly touching.
He’s used to people giving him things for power or status, so the fact that your gifts are based on what he personally likes means more than he lets on.
If you buy him something connected to his interests, he’ll hold onto it carefully and keep it somewhere safe. He also starts paying closer attention to what you like in return, because he wants to show love in a way you understand.
He doesn’t need expensive gifts, but the thought behind them makes him feel valued. Over time, he begins subtly mentioning things he enjoys, not to get more, but because he likes knowing you’re listening.
Jolyne Cujoh
Jolyne notices the pattern after the third or fourth time you hand her something that perfectly matches one of her interests, and she immediately calls you out on it in the most amused way possible. She’ll narrow her eyes, grin, and ask how the hell you keep finding stuff she actually likes, because she knows she only mentioned half of those things once.
When she realizes you’ve been paying attention on purpose just so you can buy her things that make her happy, she gets this soft, touched look she tries to hide by joking about you being a stalker. She absolutely loves it though, especially when the gifts are things she can wear, decorate with, or mess with when she’s bored.
She starts purposely talking about stuff she likes just to see if you’ll remember later, and when you do, she gets really smug about it, like she trained you or something.
Even if she teases you, she keeps every gift, and the ones she likes most end up being used all the time because she likes the feeling that you picked them out just for her.
Johnny Joestar
Johnny is confused at first because he’s not used to someone showing affection that way.
When you start giving him things based on his interests, he gets suspicious, wondering why you’re going out of your way for him. Once he realizes you do it because you care, it hits him harder than he expected.
He keeps every gift close, even if it’s something small, because to him it feels like proof that someone chose him on purpose.
If you buy him something related to horses, racing, or anything he mentioned liking, he gets quiet but noticeably softer. He starts talking more about his interests without realizing it, and Gyro definitely notices. He may not always react loudly, but the way he looks at you when you hand him something thoughtful says everything.
Josuke Higashikata (Gappy)
Josuke doesn’t realize what you’re doing at first, but once he notices that every gift somehow matches something he likes, he gets really curious about how much you pay attention to him.
He keeps all the gifts in his room and looks at them more often than he admits.
Since he struggles with his identity, the fact that you learn his preferences on purpose makes him feel more real somehow. He starts wanting to learn everything about you too, just so he can return the feeling. He also thinks your gifts might help him figure out who he was in the past.
Jodio Joestar
Jodio immediately realizes what you’re doing, and he thinks it’s cute. He’s not used to people caring enough to study his interests, so every time you give him something that fits his taste perfectly, he just stares at you for a second like he’s trying to figure you out.
He won’t make a big deal out of it in front of others, but when you’re alone he’ll admit he likes that you pay attention to him like that.
He likes the idea that you’re listening that closely.
He keeps the things you buy, even if he pretends they’re not important. To him, your gifts feel less like objects and more like proof that you chose him specifically.
Dio
Dio notices immediately, of course. The fact that every gift you give him perfectly matches his tastes makes him realize you’ve been studying him, and he finds that extremely pleasing.
He sees it as devotion, and he absolutely encourages it without saying so directly. If you bring him something luxurious or something connected to his interests, he accepts it like it’s his right, but the look he gives you afterward is softer than usual.
To him, your gifts are proof of loyalty, and he keeps the ones he likes most somewhere private.
He may act like he expects it, but deep down he enjoys knowing your affection shows in such a deliberate way.
Kars
Kars finds your habit fascinating. At first he thinks it’s just human behavior, but when he realizes you specifically learn his interests just to give him things he likes, he becomes genuinely intrigued.
He’s not someone who needs possessions, but the effort behind your gifts catches his attention. If you bring him something related to nature, science, or anything he finds beautiful, he actually keeps it instead of discarding it.
He starts watching you more closely, noticing how carefully you observe him to figure out what he enjoys.
Your way of showing love makes him see you as far more perceptive than most humans.
Yoshikage Kira
Kira notices the pattern almost immediately, and it makes him nervous at first because he doesn’t like people paying too much attention to him. But when he realizes your gifts are always harmless things related to what he likes, he slowly starts to relax.
If you give him something connected to his routines or hobbies, he feels strangely comforted by it.
He keeps the gifts neatly organized and takes very good care of them. The fact that you quietly learn his preferences without making a scene fits perfectly with the kind of life he wants.
Over time, he starts to appreciate your habit more than he expected, because it makes him feel understood without forcing him to explain himself. He may never say it directly, but your thoughtful gifts make you one of the few people he actually feels at ease with.
Diavolo
Diavolo is suspicious at first. He wonders how you know so much about him.
Once he understands that you’ve been paying attention on purpose, he finds it strangely comforting, even if he doesn’t admit it. He isn’t used to affection that isn’t tied to fear or power, so your gifts feel unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
If you give him something he genuinely likes, he keeps it somewhere private where no one else can touch it.
Your way of showing love makes him feel like you know him without threatening him.
Pucci
Pucci notices your habit quickly and understands the meaning behind it right away.
The fact that you study his interests just to make him happy feels very sincere to him. He accepts your gifts politely, but he treasures them more than he shows.
If you give him books, music, or anything connected to his beliefs, he takes it as proof that you truly listen to him.
He starts being more open about the things he likes because he enjoys the feeling of being understood. To him, your gifts feel almost symbolic, like small acts of devotion. He keeps them in perfect condition and remembers exactly when you gave each one to him.
Funny Valentine
Valentine immediately recognizes that your gifts are intentional, and he finds it very charming that you go out of your way to learn what he likes. People usually give him things out of obligation, so the personal thought behind yours stands out.
If you bring him something related to his interests or his work, he thanks you formally but with a warmer tone than usual.
He keeps everything carefully stored, treating each gift like something meaningful rather than disposable. He also starts paying closer attention to what you like, because he believes affection should be returned properly.
The fact that you show love through effort rather than words makes him respect you more, and he becomes noticeably softer with you than with anyone else.
Diego Brando
Diego notices almost immediately, and he definitely teases you about it. He’ll smirk and ask if you’ve been spying on him when you give him something that perfectly matches his interests.
But even while he’s making fun of you, he’s clearly pleased. He likes knowing you pay that much attention to him.
He gets this smug, satisfied look like he won something. He actually keeps the gifts he likes the most, even if he pretends he doesn’t care.
Your habit makes him feel important, like he’s worth studying, and that’s something he secretly loves.
Tooru
Tooru figures it out very quickly, and instead of being surprised, he finds it adorable that you go to such lengths just to make him happy.
He notices that every gift somehow matches his tastes perfectly, and he realizes you’ve been paying close attention to everything he says.
He starts mentioning things he likes on purpose cause he honestly likes getting free stuff, and when you do, he gives you that amused smile like he expected it.
He keeps the gifts he likes most somewhere private, even if he acts casual about it. Tooru enjoys the feeling that you’re always thinking about him, even when he’s not around. It makes him feel like he’s constantly on your mind, and he finds that more satisfying than he’d ever admit.
Tags: Gender neutral reader, SFW, possessiveness and fluff (in a way?)
Dio Brando P1
- In Phantom Blood era, marriage for Dio is never about softness - it is about ownership, status, and proof that he has “won” something precious the world wanted to deny him.
- If you are human, he marries you only after you prove you are utterly unafraid of him and his power - someone who chooses him knowing exactly what he is, not a naïve victim. He finds that defiance intoxicating.
- If he is already a vampire, the idea of a “wedding” amuses him at first, until he realizes he likes the symbolism of binding you to him in front of others, like a public declaration that you belong to him forever.
- Setting is Victorian England, so the backdrop is all stone, gaslights, fog, and looming architecture; Dio either takes over a once-noble manor or uses his castle at Windknight’s Lot as the site, turning it into a twisted parody of a proper society wedding.
- The ceremony is at night, lit entirely by candlelight and ornate candelabras, more like a gothic mass than a church wedding: high ceilings, stained glass, shadows pooling around the pews, and a long aisle that feels like walking into a throne room. Everything is arranged to elevate him visually - he sits or stands above everyone, like a king rather than a groom.
- There is likely a trail of subtle menace surrounding the place: guests swear the air feels unnaturally cold, some people swear they saw “something” on the walls, and a few of the servants never show up again after the preparations.
- The guests are a mix of terrified nobles, bought-off social climbers, and hidden monsters; if he is already a vampire, some attendees are his subordinates or zombies dressed in finery, unnervingly still and obedient.
- The officiant is either a corrupt priest he has blackmailed or enthralled, or some “respectable” figure whose cooperation is guaranteed by fear - the man’s hands shake as he opens the book, but he does not dare flee.
- Dio’s “vows” are not tender - he promises to raise you above all others, to make sure you never suffer weakness or poverty, and to destroy anyone who would so much as think of taking you from him. Your part is less about promising love and more about openly choosing him in front of everyone, something he watches for with laser focus.
- You are dressed like a figure out of a painting: layers of lace, corsetry, long gloves, and jewelry that Dio either stole or acquired through dubious means - he likes seeing you drenched in the wealth he clawed his way up to get, as if you wear proof of his rise on your body.
- You are dressed like a figure out of a painting: layers of lace, corsetry, long gloves, and jewelry that Dio either stole or acquired through dubious means - he likes seeing you drenched in the wealth he clawed his way up to get, as if you wear proof of his rise on your body.
- He goes for a sharply tailored Victorian suit or frock coat in black or deep red, with a white cravat or high collar, looking more like an aristocrat or dark prince than a normal groom - everything about his outfit screams control and power rather than softness.
- The rings are heavy, ornate, and expensive, probably bearing an engraved motif like thorns, snakes, or a crest he intends to be your “new” family emblem - an attempt to overwrite the Joestar-like nobility he despises with his own symbol.
- The reception is opulent but uneasy: lavish food, live string music, and dancing that feels like a performance for Dio’s ego - people laugh too quickly and drink too much, because everyone senses they are in the presence of something predatory.
- Dio is startlingly attentive to you in public, almost theatrically gentlemanly - pulling out your chair, kissing your hand, guiding you through the crowd - partly to flaunt you, partly to remind everyone that this is the one person he will not tolerate disrespect toward.
- When you are alone, the tone shifts from grand spectacle to suffocating intimacy: he asks if you regret nothing, stares at you like he is trying to carve you into memory, and tells you that from this night onward, your fate is bound to his - whether that means ruling from the shadows as his human spouse, or eventually becoming something inhuman at his side.
Kars
- Kars sees human marriage as a small ritual compared to his quest for perfection, so if he gives it meaning, it is because he chooses to recognize your bond as something worthy of eternity.
- He frames it less as “till death do us part” and more as “you will stand beside the ultimate being as long as the stars burn,” turning the idea into a declaration that you belong with him beyond any normal lifespan.
- The wedding would be set somewhere that reflects both his ancient Pillar Man origins and his love of beauty: an immense stone temple or natural arena carved into a cliff, lit by moonlight and bioluminescent plants, surrounded by intricate carvings and murals of his people.
- The environment is carefully chosen to be timeless - high arches, ancient stone, a view of the sky so clear you can see the Milky Way - because he wants the place itself to feel like it could exist unchanged for millennia, just like him.
- Kars does not like crowds of humans, so at most, it is a very small gathering: only the other surviving Pillar Men, a few handpicked witnesses, or even just the two of you with the night as your only audience.
- If Esidisi, Wamuu, or Santana are there, Kars treats it as a rare, solemn occasion - they stand as silent witnesses, recognizing you as someone their leader values enough to formally bind himself to.
- Kars keeps his usual regal, almost statuesque look but elevates it: ornamental armor-like pieces, precious metals, and fabrics that echo his tribal and ancient heritage - something that makes him look like a god being crowned rather than a groom.
- Your attire is chosen or designed by him: something that flatters your form and moves beautifully in the wind, decorated with gemstones or motifs that reference his people’s art, making you look like the living embodiment of his “new world” ideal.
- His “vows” are straightforward but overwhelming: he speaks about how he has watched countless humans come and go, yet decided you are the one he will keep by his side as he transcends every boundary of life, evolution, and time.
- Instead of simple rings, there might be a more primal, ancient exchange: carved bands of stone or metal inscribed with Pillar Man symbols, a shared mark on your skin, or a ritual where you both place your hands on an ancient pillar to “record” this union in his people’s history.
- He may let a glimpse of his more monstrous, ultimate side slip through during the ritual - shifting his body in an elegant but terrifying display - to show that he is not hiding what he truly is from you, and that he expects you to accept all of him.
- Rather than a noisy reception, there is a quiet, almost reverent aftermath: walking through the temple grounds or along a cliff’s edge together while Kars explains bits of his long history he has never shared with anyone else.
- He makes it very clear - in word and in the way he touches you, protective and possessive - that from this point on, anyone who threatens you is, in his eyes, challenging the “ultimate life form,” and that is not something he allows to exist for long.
Dio Brando P3
- Dio sees marriage less as a human institution and more as formal proof that you belong to him above any god, Stand, or bloodline, the same way he seized Jonathan’s body and the Joestar fate for himself.
- He is arrogantly certain that no one alive is worthy of standing beside him unless they can endure his world of terror and glory, so the fact that he chooses you becomes another sign of his self-proclaimed “divinity.”
- He frames it as: “Even time itself will stop and witness that you are mine,” tying the idea of marriage to The World and his obsession with power, control, and eternity.
- The ceremony is set inside his Cairo mansion, in a space reshaped to look like a throne room - chapel: towering pillars, darkness broken by red and gold candlelight, and an aisle that leads not to an altar, but to his seat like a sovereign receiving fealty.
- The normal luxury interior is twisted into something decadent and ominous: velvet drapes, polished marble, and strange symbols carved into the floor around where you stand together, making the room feel like both a royal hall and a ritual chamber.
- Almost no one is allowed to witness it; most of his followers are beneath the occasion, and he considers their gaze unworthy of something so “intimate” and “sacred” between you and him.
- At most, a handful of trusted Stand users (like Enya’s ghostly presence in his mind, a tarot-like priest figure, or one or two elite agents) serve as silent witnesses, standing far back as if they’re attending the coronation of an emperor rather than a romantic ceremony.
- Dio leans into a regal, almost divine aesthetic: his already striking, beautiful appearance is embellished with rich fabrics - deep black and gold or blood-red and gold - accentuating that he is something more than human, with jewelry that looks like relics scavenged from dead kings.
- Your clothes are chosen to frame you as the counterpart to his self-styled godhood: dramatic silhouette, luxurious fabric, and an almost altar-offering vibe - something that makes it clear you are the one person elevated to stand at his side rather than kneel.
- Instead of gentle vows, he speaks like a conqueror-king: promising that your name will be etched into the new world he plans to rule, that every moment of history after this belongs to you and him standing above all others.
- As a “wedding ring,” he gives you something symbolic of his power - perhaps a custom accessory tied to The World’s motif, or an artifact marked with his crest - that marks you as untouchable under his protection and wrath.
- For one terrifyingly intimate moment, he stops time and draws you into that frozen world with him, letting you see the universe at a standstill while he murmurs that this silent, motionless eternity is the true witness to your union.
- The “reception” is more of a private audience: a dark feast in the mansion where any subordinate who dares attend must bow to you as well, learning very quickly that harming or disrespecting you is equivalent to challenging Dio himself.
- Later, when the mansion is quiet and Cairo’s streets are still, he likes to stand with you at a window or balcony overlooking the city, one arm around you as he talks about the future world he will reshape, speaking as if this marriage is the first step in rewriting destiny itself.
Kira Yoshikage
- He agrees to marriage only because it fits into his idea of a safe, stable, “normal” cover and because his attachment to you has grown into a craving he wants to lock into routine forever.
- He tells himself it’s practical - socially acceptable, harder for anyone to suspect him if he looks like a devoted spouse - but there is also a possessive undercurrent: the ring and papers are proof that you are his, neatly and legally.
- The ceremony is small and intentionally unremarkable: a tasteful but modest venue in or near Morioh, limited guests, nothing flashy - just enough flowers, music, and decor to look perfectly average in photos, the kind of thing no one remembers the details of.
- He chooses everything to avoid attention: neutral colors, simple arrangements, a short ceremony script, and absolutely no dramatic speeches or over-the-top displays; he wants people to think, “Oh, that was nice,” and then forget it.
- Only a tight circle of people is invited: necessary family, a few coworkers, maybe one or two acquaintances - no one who asks too many questions or likes chaos - the mood is politely warm but slightly stiff.
- Kira is charming but measured, careful not to show too much emotion - he smiles just enough, holds your hand, says the right words, but there is always the sense that he is curating the atmosphere like a perfectly arranged desk.
- Kira goes for a well-tailored suit, likely in light colors or soft tones, impeccably neat, with a tie or accessory that nods to his usual style - something that still makes him look like a refined salaryman blending into the crowd.
- Your outfit is something he quietly encourages: elegant but not loud, flattering yet not so striking that people focus on you for weeks afterward; he wants you to feel beautiful, but also safe inside his carefully built anonymity.
- During the vows, he keeps his voice steady and calm, choosing simple, traditional phrasing; he doesn’t like improvisation, but there are tiny moments - a softened gaze, the way his fingers linger around yours - that betray how intensely he actually feels.
- The rings are simple and classic, comfortable to wear every day; he’s slightly fixated on the way yours sits on your hand, occasionally brushing his thumb over it later like he’s reassuring himself that it’s still there.
- If he’s stressed, he might briefly rub his own ring or adjust his cuff as a grounding gesture, turning the symbols of marriage into part of his controlled, repetitive rituals.
- The reception is short and tidy: a sit-down meal, soft background music, polite conversation - no wild dancing, no drunken speeches - he’s relieved when guests start to leave and the noise level drops.
- His favorite part is when it is finally just the two of you in a quiet room or your new shared home: shoes off, jacket folded, the world shut out while he carefully hangs up his suit and then comes to sit beside you, looking at your ring with a faint, satisfied calm like a puzzle piece finally locked into place.
Diavolo
- He does not see marriage as romance first - it is a control mechanism and a binding, a way to ensure you can never fully leave his orbit, spiritually or practically. He is obsessive, paranoid, and terrified of losing what he has decided is his.
- On some level, he is disgusted by the idea of exposing this vulnerable attachment, so he insists the union be something private, secret, and almost ritualistic - something only you and he fully understand, never the world at large.
- A public wedding is out of the question - too much risk, too many witnesses, too much chaos he cannot predict. Instead, the ceremony feels more like an underworld rite: hidden, controlled, and threaded into his life as Boss of Passione.
- It might take place in a secluded, luxurious but tightly secured location - an old Italian church no longer in public use, a private chapel on an estate, or a candlelit room deep in one of his safehouses, heavy with incense, shadow, and stained glass colors spilling across the floor.
- Almost no one is allowed to attend; the fewer who know, the safer he feels. At most, there is a discreet officiant bound by fear or loyalty, and perhaps one or two trusted subordinates who understand how suicidal it would be to ever mention it.
- Even if his other self, Doppio, is part of your lives, Diavolo keeps the ceremony under his control - if Doppio appears at all, it’s in fragmented, confused pieces, with Diavolo reasserting dominance whenever anything feels too emotional or exposed.
- Diavolo’s attire amplifies his intimidating, almost ritualistic aura: dark, fitted, and expensive, with sharp lines and just enough color or pattern to echo his usual style - something that makes him look like both mafia royalty and an executioner.
- Your outfit is chosen to complement him: dramatic enough to feel ceremonial, but practical enough for a hasty exit if needed - rich fabrics, deep colors, and details that make you look like someone who belongs at the side of a king of the underworld.
- His “vows” are not soft or flowery. He speaks in low, steady words about how you are now tied to him beyond anything the law or church could define, that no one will ever touch what belongs to him without having their future erased.
- King Crimson’s presence hangs over the moment: he might skip tiny slivers of time around the vows so that certain words are heard only by you, never by the officiant or witnesses, as if he is carving out a private dimension just for this bond.
- Instead of simple rings, there might be dual symbols: a ring for the world to see if necessary, and a hidden mark - jewelry worn under your clothes, a scar, or a small shared token only you and he know the meaning of - that anchors you to him in a way no one else can decode.
- The “reception” is just a quiet, tense stillness after everyone else is gone: doors locked, guards posted far away, and Diavolo finally exhaling as the pressure of being seen lifts off his shoulders.
- In private, he is more physically close but still intense - fingers at your throat feeling your pulse, thumb brushing the ring or hidden token, as if reassuring himself that you are real, bound, and not a future he’ll have to erase to stay safe.
Enrico Pucci
- He treats the bond as sacramental before anything else: not just legal or romantic, but a covenant wrapped into his theology and his pursuit of “heaven,” where being with you becomes part of his divinely ordained path rather than a distraction from it.
- There is guilt and tension under the surface - he worries about attachment clouding his duty - so he resolves it by convincing himself that God intended him to walk this path with you, and that your suffering, growth, and love will all be tools for reaching his perfect world.
- The ceremony is held in a chapel - ideally a quiet, old one with high ceilings, stained glass, and the smell of candles and incense - somewhere that feels removed from the world and yet deeply rooted in faith.
- If his status as a priest makes a public wedding impossible or scandalous, he chooses a more private, almost cloistered setting: a side chapel at night, doors locked, only a few trusted witnesses and the presence of the divine as he understands it.
- The guest list is extremely limited: perhaps a few members of the congregation who respect him, or none at all beyond an officiant and you - the atmosphere is reverent, hushed, with more prayerful silence than chatter.
- People who attend feel like they are watching something both beautiful and unsettling - a priest whose faith is palpable exchanging vows that sound less like “happily ever after” and more like promises made under the eyes of a severe, watching heaven.
- Pucci’s attire leans heavily into his religious identity: clerical clothing or a formal dark suit with subtle religious symbols, looking every bit the composed, devout man of God even as he binds himself to you.
- Your outfit is elegant but modest in a way that fits the church setting: clean lines, soft fabrics, and maybe subtle religious or celestial motifs, making you look more like a partner in a pilgrimage than a fairytale spouse.
- His vows are deeply theological: he speaks about walking together through suffering, sin, and grace, about accepting whatever “end” God has set, and about loving you in a way that is supposed to mirror divine love - unyielding, unwavering, sometimes painfully demanding.
- The rings are simple but blessed; he insists on prayers over them, perhaps sprinkling holy water, turning them into tangible symbols of a vow he fully believes is recorded in heaven - and therefore cannot be undone lightly.
- There is an unsettling undercurrent when he mentions the future: he may allude to a time when the world’s gravity will change, when everything will be “made right,” and promises that your soul will be guided through that storm by his hand, even if the path is agonizing.
- The “reception” is subdued: maybe a small meal in a church hall or a quiet walk on the grounds at dusk - he seems relieved that the noisy part is over and is most at ease when it is just you, him, and the sound of distant bells or cicadas.
- In private, he is gentle but intense - fingers tracing your ring, murmuring prayers of thanks and protection over you - as if he is trying to seal this bond not just emotionally but spiritually, so that when he finally reaches his version of heaven, you will be pulled into that orbit with him, whether you are ready or not.
Funny Valentine
- He does not separate love from duty; if he marries you, it is because he believes you can stand beside the “ideal president” and that your bond serves his greater purpose for the nation, not just his heart.
- There is a possessive, patriotic twist to it: you are not just his spouse but a symbol - someone he plans to protect at any cost, even if that means using his Stand or sacrificing countless others to keep you and his dream intact.
- The wedding is formal and steeped in national symbolism: held in a stately building or grand hall, with flags, polished wood, and a layout that feels more like a state function than something out of a romance novel.
- He choreographs everything to project stability and dignity: a carefully chosen officiant, a concise ceremony, no chaos or unpredictability - every moment calculated to say, “This is the union of a leader and someone worthy of standing at his side.”
- Publicly, the guest list includes politicians, military figures, influential families, and carefully vetted media; the mood is patriotic, full of polite applause, and speeches about unity, destiny, and the future.
- Privately, away from the spotlight, the mood shifts; he drops the polished speech pattern and speaks to you in a more honest, intense way, making it very clear that beneath the public story, this is a deeply personal vow he expects to outlast every alternate world he steps through.
- Valentine wears an immaculate formal suit or ceremonial attire echoing his usual striped aesthetic - elegant, old-fashioned, and unmistakably presidential, as if he stepped out of a painting of historical American leaders.
- Your outfit balances prestige and intimacy: refined, tailored, and camera-ready, but with subtle personal touches he insisted on - a color, a brooch, a motif - that marks you as his rather than just an ornament for the cameras.
- His vows are eloquent and heavy with ideals: talk of “standing together through all possible histories,” “defending our shared home,” and “never allowing this country or this bond to fall to misfortune.”
- The wedding rings may incorporate national motifs - stars, stripes, or an emblem - turning your marriage into a symbol of the world he wants to protect - he watches yours slide onto your finger with a look that is equal parts tenderness and strategic satisfaction.
- D4C’s presence is felt like a pressure in the air; there is an unspoken implication that across multiple worlds, he will find you, choose you, and bind himself to you again and again if he has to, because this union has become part of his “correct” timeline.
- The reception has two layers: public toasts and smiles, then a carefully controlled, more intimate gathering with only the most trusted allies, where he relaxes slightly but still keeps one eye on the room and exits.
- When he finally gets you alone, away from cameras and witnesses, he is quietly intense - thumb brushing over your ring, voice low as he tells you that from this point forward, your safety and happiness are woven directly into the fate of the nation he’s willing to warp reality itself to protect.
Toru
- He plays it off like it’s no big deal - “just the next step, right?” - but the fact he agrees to marriage at all means he has quietly decided you are part of the future he wants to drag into his weird, calamity‑ridden orbit.
- There’s a possessive streak under the lazy charm: he likes the idea that you are officially “his person,” someone who will come back to him no matter how many subtle emotional landmines he leaves lying around.
- The wedding skews modern and understated, probably at a trendy but not too flashy venue - rooftop, minimalist hall, or chic restaurant - with lots of glass, warm lighting, and indie music that makes everything feel a bit like a Pinterest board come to life.
- On the surface, it is relaxed and stylish: fairy lights, simple floral arrangements, maybe a small live band - underneath, there are little glitches - minor accidents, weird timing, a glass shattering at the exact wrong moment - that feel like the universe tripping over itself around you two.
- The guest list is small but curated: some coworkers, a few old “friends,” people who know Toru as the vaguely unreliable but charming guy, not as someone tied to disaster itself.
- The vibe is casual, conversational, and just slightly off - people laugh and drink and post aesthetic stories, but a few guests leave with the inexplicable feeling that something about the night was…odd, like they brushed against bad luck and got away in time.
- Tooru goes for effortless cool: a well‑cut suit or semi‑formal outfit that looks like he barely tried but somehow nailed; his hair styled just enough to look good in photos without losing that “I woke up like this” charm.
- Your outfit matches the modern, airy vibe - clean lines, flattering silhouette, maybe unconventional details (colors, patterns, or accessories) that make you look like the main character of an artsy romance film.
- His vows are deceptively simple and honest‑sounding - talking about how you “make life interesting” and how he “doesn’t want anyone else at the end of the day” - but there’s a slightly unsettling subtext of, “You’re the one I want, so that’s how it is.”
- He slips in private comments only you can really parse, little callbacks to things you went through together that no one else would understand, using inside jokes to mask how intensely he’s actually tying himself to you.
- You can almost feel Wonder of U lingering at the edges of the day, not doing anything overt, but making certain mishaps occur with too-perfect timing - someone nearly tripping, a light flickering at a key line - as if the Stand is watching and acknowledging this bond.
- The reception is more like a long hangout than a formal party: drinks, chatting, some dancing if the mood strikes; Toru drifts in and out of conversations but always circles back to you, hand at your waist or fingers laced with yours, like he’s making sure no one pulls you too far away.
- When it’s finally just the two of you - maybe in a quiet car ride home or in a dim, messy honeymoon suite - he drops the teasing tone a bit, studying your ring, your face, and murmuring in that soft, lazy voice that you’re “really stuck with him now,” equal parts promise, threat, and strangely comforting guarantee.
💗 Hi hi!! I love your writing so much i just had to make a request (if u can ofc!)💗
It's quite simple actually. I'd like to request the ❤️🔥 main jojo villains + diego with s/o with a pretty smile!!❤️🔥
I just like watching people with really pretty smiles. Yk maybe the have cute little dimples or nice lips and when they smile it reaches their eyes and ughh, my heart skips a beat!! (Idk if you can relate) maybe the villains having that same sentiment with their s/o! 💗Thank you 💗
Jjba villians x Reader with a cute smile💗
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summary -> oneshots/drabbles with each main jojos villain and how they react to a reader with a cute smile!
characters -> dio (pb), kars, dio (sdc), yoshikage kira, diavolo, enrico pucci, funny valentine, diego brando.
rating -> SFW.
notes -> ahh i’m so glad someone agrees about finding smiles cute! i also love writing for these baddies i need to do them more😨 tysm!!!
wc -> 1.2k.
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Dio (Phantom Blood):
˙⋆✮ dio never planned to cherish anything. he tells himself he despises weakness.
yet when you smile at him with them faint dimples, warm lips and eyes glowing with something dangerously sincere, his breath stills. his response is always the same, cupping your chin as if you might disappear.
it reminds him of something dangerously human; what it felt like to be seen rather than feared.
“don’t look at me like that,” he always murmurs, his rough thumb brushing your lip.
you still smile anyway.
and for just a moment, dio lets the mask slip. and in that moment, he almost believes the world could have been different, if he had met you first.
and for the first time, he wants something that isn’t stolen or conquered. he wants you, willingly, smiling at him like he’s already enough.
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Kars:
˙⋆✮ kars has seen beauty fade across millennia. but your smile is different.
your face blooms every time you meet his gaze, his appearance reaching your eyes like sunlight breaking through stone. whenever you laugh softly your dimples appear, and he can’t help himself when he touches your face reverently.
“why do you smile so easily?” he asks.
“because i’m alive,” you always answer the same basic, but true reply.
for an ultimate being who has lived too long, your smile becomes something precious. a fleeting, fragile thing he wishes he could protect rather than transcend.
you constantly look at the stars with wonder, not envy. kars notices how your smile curves gently, lips soft, eyes reflecting eternity. sometimes he wishes he could see the world in the same rose-coloured glasses that you do.
“so fragile,” he whispers towards you, causing you to lean into his palm.
and the ultimate being falls in love with something fleeting, because your smile makes eternity feel lonely without you.
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Dio (Stardust Crusaders):
˙⋆✮ you are unafraid of him, and that alone is strange.
when you smile in that slow, sincere, dimples barely visible way, dio feels time hesitate.
your eyes don’t worship him, they understand him.
“careful,” he warns. “that expression could make a god like me hesitate.”
but gods, you’ve learned, are still vulnerable to warmth.
time always obeys him, except when you smile.
your lips curve slowly, knowingly, eyes warm with affection instead of fear. he can’t help but lean closer, his breath brushing your ear.
“you make me forget myself,” he admits.
but lord when you kiss him?? smiling against his mouth.. thats when time stops.
and dio realises, that this is the only moment he never wants to end.
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Yoshikage Kira:
˙⋆✮ your smile for him is quiet, polite, domestic. exactly the kind that belongs in a peaceful life. one that belongs to quiet mornings.
ever since he saw you come into his place of work one day kira found himself looking out for it, the way your lips soften, how your eyes crinkle just slightly.
and for once, he wants something beyond ordinary. and that terrifies him more than any stand battle ever could. it unsettles him how much comfort your smile brings.
when he finally gets you, all he can say is “this,” he says calmly, “is all i’ve ever wanted.”
he watches how your soft lips wrap around a teacup, dimples showing when you greet him, eyes crinkling with domestic warmth. kira adjusts your hand in his, fitting perfectly.
when you smile up at him, he kisses you gently. he’s just a peaceful man in love, desperate to keep his secret happiness safe.
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Diavolo:
˙⋆✮ you smile at him when you shouldn’t. you smile at him as if you know every version of him.
when danger looms, his voice sharpens. your lips curve tenderly, eyes steady and unafraid. diavolo always turns to you for help by gripping your wrist. whilst he’s conflicted on whether to harm such a pretty face, he pulls you closer instead.
it reminds him of a feeling he buried long ago, a time before fear ruled every thought.
“why don’t you fear me?”
you only smile wider, “cause i love you.”
that smile becomes his anchor, the one thing he refuses to erase, even if it costs him the future.
although he never admits it. but your smile becomes his weakness, the one future he can’t erase.
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Enrico Pucci:
˙⋆✮ you smile as if fate is kind, so much that it feels like grace.
when you look at him, lips soft, eyes full of devotion- pucci presses his forehead to yours, practically trembling.
he watches the way it reaches your eyes, as if you’ve already accepted whatever heaven has planned.
“it’s beautiful,” he murmurs, unsure whether he means your smile or your faith. “if heaven exists,” he whispers, “it must look like this.”
you smile as he kisses you, slow and reverent.
and for once, pucci wants a future shaped not by fate, but by love.
for the first time, pucci wonders, if heaven could look like you, would it truly need to be forced upon the world?
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Funny Valentine:
˙⋆✮ your smile is patriotic in its own quiet way. hopeful, earnest, unwavering, and carrying peace.
dimples appear when you trust in him, eyes shining with bright belief. val always has to stop himself from cupping your face during meetings, but best believe the second no one’s looking his thumb is brushing against your cheek.
he sees in you the pure and unbroken version of america that he claims to fight for. and for once, his ambition wavers.
because protecting you feels more important than winning.
“for you,” he says softly, “i would build a perfect world.”
you don’t really understand how he’d do that, but you softly smile and kiss him anyway, loving the man beneath the ambition, even when the dream is dangerous.
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Diego Brando:
˙⋆✮ diego puts his horse racing before anything else, no bribe big or small could stop him from putting his all in. every. single. time.
in the past he’s received offers such as drugs from europe, more money then he’d ever seen before, and even his dream renovated stables (although he did hesitate on declining that one), just to allow a rival to win.
that was until you, the first female jockey to race him, turned to his side through the starting gate.
“do us a favour and let a girl win for once, hm?”
he snorted in reply, but when he saw that pearly grin peak through the bars with a subtle hint of bad decisions? yea he was fucked.
of course he let you win, despite the shouts of horror from the audience when he saw diego yanked back on his reigns just before the finish line.
“just this once.” he grumbled to you after the race was over.
but another sight of them perfectly placed dimples? you both knew he was lying.
summary: you enter the confessional one year and a half after your last time, finding father pucci this time, who listens to your sins and grows an obsession of how your mind works. an obsession of you.
content warnings: devotion, implied past dv, non sexual physical intimacy, catholic guilt, obsession. (wc: 4.4k)
Your heels click against the hardwood floor, stopping after going through the entrance of the church because you have to find the courage in you. It’s been a year since you buried your husband, your older and stronger than you husband, qualities that he enjoyed showing to you every time he could. The church is cold and empty, just a few candles lit up as the sun starts to set. You know it’s too late for a confession, but your heart can’t take it anymore.
You can hear it beat against your chest while you walk across the room, the stained glass windows creating shapes and colors against your features. The confessional is deeper into the church, having to cross long hallways until you find the box, both of the doors open. You don’t even know if the Father is open for confessions at this moment, but you enter the tiny room either way, closing the door behind you and sitting on the hardwood.
It takes two minutes for Father Pucci to appear on the other side of the confessional, you hear the door click and your breath rags, the discomfort going back to your body. “Forgive me Father, for I have sin. It’s been a year and a half since my last confession.”
Silence stretches on the other side. You can almost feel Father Pucci listening, patient and still. Your fingers twist together in your lap, the fabric of your dress suddenly too tight against your ribs.
“I... I killed my husband,” you say, so quiet the words almost disappear into the wood between you. “I couldn’t live like that anymore.”
You swallow hard and keep going, the confession spilling out like it has been waiting inside you for months. “I made it look like an accident. He always drank too much after those long nights. I waited until he passed out in the garage, then I moved things around, just enough. The car was old, the brakes had been wearing down for a while. I made sure the scene looked right. Police called it a tragic fall, it’s been a whole year and nobody has ever looked at me with suspicion.”
On the other side of the divider, Father Pucci stays quiet for a long moment. You wonder if he is disgusted, if he is already thinking about calling someone. But then you hear the soft shift of his robes and admiration slips into his silence. He thinks to himself how clean it was. How careful. A year without a single loose thread. Most people slip up. You had not.
The sound of his door opening makes your heart jump. Then your own door opens too. You gasp, eyes wide as cool church air rushes in. Father Pucci stands there, tall and framed by the low candlelight. His white hair looks almost silver in the shadows and those sharp eyes lock onto yours. The tension snaps tight between you like a live wire. Neither of you speaks. You can hear your own breathing and you wonder if he can hear it too.
He does not reach for you. He does not step back. He just looks at you like he is seeing every secret you have ever buried. The air feels heavier, warmer, charged with something neither of you name.
After what feels like forever, his voice comes low and steady.
“You may go in peace.”
But he does not move away from the doorway, his hand stays on the edge of the confessional door, long fingers curled around the wood. You stay seated, knees pressed together, staring up at him. You rise slowly on shaky legs, your heels clicking again as you step out. Your shoulder brushes close to his chest when you pass. Close enough to smell the faint scent of incense and clean fabric, close enough that you both freeze for half a second.
“Father...” you start, but the word dies on your tongue.
He finally lowers his hand, letting the door swing shut behind you with a soft click. Yet his eyes do not leave your face. There is no judgment there, you don’t know what’s in his eyes but it feels like devotion in your skin.
“Peace is not always easy to find,” he whispers. “But sometimes... it finds us instead.”
You stand there in the hallway of stained glass and candlelight, heart hammering, wondering if you should walk away or if you are waiting for him to say something more. The silence stretches again, full of everything you are both too careful to speak out loud.
Your shoulder brushes his chest as you step out of the confessional and Father Pucci feels it like a spark against his skin. He stays perfectly still, fingers still curled around the wooden doorframe, watching the way the candlelight dances across your face. His heart, usually so steady in prayer, beats harder than it should. Most sinners came to him broken and sloppy, their sins messy and full of loose ends. But you... you had been careful. Methodical. You turned your husband’s own strength and habits against him without leaving a trail. It was beautiful in its precision. Pucci had heard hundreds of confessions, yet none had left him quietly impressed like this one. God tests us in strange ways, he thinks, and she passed hers with grace.
He should feel horror, he should be reciting verses about repentance and the sanctity of life. Instead, a quieter voice whispers admiration. She endured. She waited. She freed herself. The same kind of resolve he respected in himself, the kind that made a person worthy of destiny. His eyes trace the line of your neck, the way your dress clings just slightly from nerves and something warmer stirs beneath the black of his cassock. A dangerous warmth.
Pucci’s thoughts twist. She is beautiful in her sin. Part of him, the priest, wants to guide you toward true atonement. Another part, deeper and hungrier, wants to know every detail of how you planned it. How your hands must have moved in the dark. How clever you had been. That curiosity feels like temptation itself, sweet and forbidden.
Inside, his mind races faster. If she can do that... what else is she capable of? The thought sends a thrill through him, one he quickly tries to bury under years of discipline. But it does not stay buried. It lingers, warm and insistent, as he stands there in the candlelit hallway with you. The air between your bodies feels alive, charged like the moment before a storm. He does not step back. He does not tell you to leave.
Instead, he tilts his head just slightly, white hair catching the light. “Tell me,” he says softly, against his better judgment, “do you feel lighter now that you have spoken it aloud? Or does the weight still press on you?”
You stand there in the flickering hallway, heart still racing from how close he is. His question hangs between you like incense smoke, you look up into his sharp eyes and answer softly.
“I feel lighter in some ways, Father. But heavier in others. Saying it out loud made it real again, but now I’m scared someone else knows.”
He does not pull away. Instead, his hand moves gently to the small of your back, guiding you without pressure. “Come with me,” he murmurs. “The confessional is too small for the weight you carry.”
You follow him through the quiet church, heels clicking softly on the stone floor as he leads you to a side door. His office is warm compared to the rest of the building, a desk covered in old books, a single lamp glowing and a small couch against the wall. He closes the door behind you both and the click sounds louder than it should. The tension from the confessional follows you inside, thicker now.
You sit on the couch, hands folded in your lap. Father Pucci takes the chair across from you at first, but after a few minutes he moves closer, sitting on the edge of the desk so your knees almost touch. The conversation starts slow, then deepens like water pulling you under.
You tell him more about your husband. How he would pin you against walls when he had been drinking, how his strength made you feel small and helpless every single day. You do not say the worst parts, but you do not have to. Pucci listens without interrupting, his expression calm but his eyes burning intensely, he nods when you describe the careful way you planned it all, the patience it took. You see it again in his face,quiet admiration. He thinks your crime was perfect. Holy in its justice.
Then the talk shifts to faith. “I prayed for years for it to stop,” you whisper. “But God never answered, so I did what I had to. Does that make me damned, Father?”
“God gives us strength in many forms. Some call it sin, others call it deliverance. Your faith did not abandon you. It tested you.” His words feel like a caress. He speaks about his own beliefs then, how he sees destiny and fate woven into every choice. How suffering can lead to greater purpose. You listen, mesmerized by the passion in his tone. He is not like other priests. There is fire in him.
You find yourself asking about him too. What brought him to the church, how he stays so calm when the world feels so heavy. He answers honestly, telling you pieces of his past, his drive for perfection and control. The conversation stretches for what feels like hours as the candles outside the window burn lower as night settles fully over the church.
At one point you gather your courage and ask, “What is your full name, Father? I feel like I should know it... after telling you everything.”
He does not hesitate, his eyes meet yours without a flicker of doubt. “Enrico Pucci,” he says clearly, like the name itself is a gift he hands to you. “You may call me Enrico when we are alone like this.”
Something shifts in the room after that, you can see it in the way he looks at you. His thoughts race behind those calm eyes. She trusted me with her darkest secret. Her freedom. Her sin. The realization hits him deep. He would do anything you asked of him now. Anything. If you told him to hide you, to lie for you, to burn this church down, he feels the terrifying truth that he might. And he wants the same from you, he wants your loyalty to burn just as hot, your devotion pointed only at him. The thought makes his pulse quicken under the collar of his cassock.
He reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. The touch is gentle but electric. “You are stronger than you know,” he says with softness. “And I... I find myself wanting to protect that strength, to understand it completely.”
The air between you feels alive again, heavy with everything unsaid. Enrico Pucci sits there, closer than a priest should be, realizing he is already falling into dangerous waters. Yet he does not pull back. He waits, watching you, hoping you will fall in with him.
You started coming to the church almost every evening after that. At first you told yourself it was just to talk, but deep down you knew the truth. Enrico Pucci was becoming addicted to you. He craved your presence like air. The moment you stepped through the heavy wooden doors, his sharp eyes would light up with hunger. If you were even ten minutes late, he would pace slowly behind his desk, fingers tapping restlessly until he heard your heels on the floor. Your voice, your words, your smallest stories, they fed him. He needed them. He needed you.
“Stay with me tonight,” he asked one evening, as he looked up from his paperwork. “The ledgers feel endless without your company.”
You agreed, of course. How could you not when he looked at you like that?
From then on it became routine. You would sit in the chair across from him in his quiet office, legs tucked beneath you, while candlelight and the desk lamp painted his white hair in soft gold. He worked slowly on purpose, just to keep you there longer. Every time you spoke, he would stop writing completely, leaning forward with his full attention, drinking in every syllable like it was holy water. Your laughter made his chest tighten with warmth. Your opinions on faith, on life, on pain, they became his new obsession. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to own every secret you had.
The conversations flowed so easily between you, you told him more about the heavy years with your husband, the bruises you hid and the fear you carried. He listened with burning intensity, his hand sometimes reaching across the desk to brush yours. In return he shared pieces of himself he had never given anyone else. His ambitions, his loneliness, the way he saw destiny written in every choice. But mostly he asked about you. Always you.
“You have no idea what your words do to me,” he confessed softly one night, eyes never leaving your face. “When you leave, the silence here feels unbearable. I find myself counting the hours until you return.”
You felt it growing stronger every time you saw him. The air between you grew thick with tension and unspoken need.
Then came the night of the storm.
Rain slammed against the stained glass, thunder cracked so loud it vibrated through the stone walls. You had stayed later than usual, talking quietly while Enrico pretended to finish his paperwork. By the time you noticed how violent the weather had become, it was far too late to leave. He stood by the window, watching the pouring rain, but you could tell his mind was on you.
“You cannot go out in this,” he said, turning to face you. His voice was calm, but his eyes were dark with barely hidden relief. He did not want you to leave tonight. Not ever, if he could help it. “Stay here with me. The church has rooms for guests, but I-I would feel better knowing you are close.”
Your heart raced as you nodded, he led you through the dark hallways, lightning flashing across his tall figure with every step. He prepared the guest room near his own quarters, but neither of you went there right away. Instead you ended up back in his office, the storm raging outside while the two of you sat closer than ever on the small couch. He had removed his outer robe, sitting in just his black shirt with the collar loosened. You kicked off your heels and curled up beside him. He could not stop looking at you. Every word you spoke, he hung onto desperately, leaning in until his knee pressed against yours.
“Tell me more,” he murmured whenever you paused. “I need to hear your voice tonight. It keeps the storm away.”
Enrico Pucci was completely lost in you now. He would do anything to keep you here, to keep this closeness. And as the rain kept falling without end, locking you inside the church with him, he realized with quiet certainty that he was never letting you go. Not after tonight.
“Come with me,” he said, it was not really a request.
You took his hand, your pulse jumped as his fingers closed around yours. He led you through the dark hallways, lightning flashing blue across the stone walls and his white hair. He took you back to the confessional, the same wooden box tucked deep in the church where everything had started.
He opened your side first, then stepped into the priest’s side. You hesitated, but the look he gave you through the open door made your stomach twist with heat that you slipped inside and closed the door behind you. The small space felt even tighter now, your knees pressed against the divider as you sat down, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.
His voice came through the lattice. “Confess.”
“Enrico…” you whispered, already breathless.
“You know what I want to hear,” he said, quieter this time, but no less intense. “Tell me what you feel for me. Here. Where you first told me your sins.”
The wooden lattice between you suddenly felt too thin. You could see the shadow of his face, the sharp line of his jaw. It was uncomfortable, sitting there in the tiny dark booth while lightning lit up the edges of the confessional. Part of you wanted to run, but a bigger part wanted to stay right there under his attention.
“I… I think about you all the time,” you admitted, voice shaking. “Even when I’m home alone. I replay every conversation we’ve had. The way you look at me, it makes me feel things I shouldn’t.”
You heard him shift closer to the divider. His breathing sounded heavier now. “Keep going,” he murmured. The hunger in his tone sent warmth rushing through your body.
“I feel guilty sometimes,” you whispered. “You’re a priest. But when I’m with you, I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here every night. I want your eyes on me. I want… I want you to need me as badly as I need you.”
Silence stretched for a few heartbeats, then you heard his door open. A second later your door opened too. Enrico stood there, filling the doorway, looking down at you with eyes so dark they looked almost black. He stepped closer, then he fell to his knees, you gasped when his hands grabbed your ankles, his own breath ragged with heat as he looked up at you.
“Say it again,” he breathed. “Tell me you need me.”
“I need you, Enrico,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. It felt dangerous to admit it here, in this holy place. “I crave being close to you like this.”
He leaned closer, his face only inches from yours as he hoovered his hands close to your face. The heat between your bodies was unbearable in the tight confessional, you could feel how he was holding back, how badly he wanted to close the last bit of distance. His obsession burned in every look, he needed your words like oxygen.
“Good girl,” he murmured against your lips, not quite kissing you yet. “I have been starving for this confession.”
He stayed kneeled as he found the courage to take your face between his hands, positioning himself between your legs, your noses brushing each other as he waited for you to say or do something.
“This is wrong, Enrico,” you whispered, your voice trembling as his hands held your face so gently, yet so possessively. “We should not be doing this. It’s sinful. We—”
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his thumbs stroking your cheeks with reverent touches. “Do you really not want this? If you truly want me to stop, I will. But I need to hear it from your lips.”
You opened your mouth, but the words would not come. The way he knelt between your legs, tall and desperate for you, made your thighs press lightly against his sides. The silence stretched, your heart hammered so hard you felt dizzy.
Enrico’s eyes darkened with satisfaction when you stayed quiet. One of his hands left your cheek. Slowly, he brought his thumb to your lips, tracing the bottom one before sliding it gently into your mouth.
“Suck,” he breathed.
Your lips closed around his thumb, tongue swirling softly as you looked down at him through your lashes. A low sound escaped his throat, something between a groan and a prayer. He watched you with pure obsession, the sight of you sucking his thumb was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed. His breathing grew ragged, chest rising and falling faster as you took him deeper into your mouth.
“You-you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, voice husky.
After a long moment he pulled his thumb free with a soft pop, his eyes fixed on your wet lips. Then he could not hold back anymore. Enrico surged forward and kissed you. Years of discipline shattered in that one desperate press of his mouth against yours. His hands slid into your hair, tilting your head as he deepened the kiss, tongue sweeping in like he wanted to taste every confession you had ever held back. You moaned softly into his mouth and he drank it down, pressing his body tighter between your legs, the confessional creaking around you. He kissed you like a starving man. Like he had been waiting his whole life for this exact moment, for your taste, for your little sounds, for the way your fingers clutched at his black shirt. When he finally pulled back for air, his lips hovered against yours, brushing with every word.
“I would burn this church down for you,” he whispered fiercely. “Tell me again how much you need me. Please. I need your voice while I kiss you.”
His mouth claimed yours once more before you could even answer, his hands sliding down to grip your waist and pull you closer to the edge of the seat. You’ve fantasized about the taste of him much more than what you will ever admit, having him kneeled in front of you, kissing you fiercely was a new and unexplored sensation.
Enrico stayed pressed to you even after breaking the kiss, searching in your eyes for any type of regret, but your orbs were shining under the candlelight. He slowly got up, taking your hand and making you stand up with him. He guided you out of the confessional, his hand gripping yours not hard but with possessiveness and need in his blood.
“Enrico,” you called for him, you lost count of all the times you had called for him this night, but the sound of his name on your lips has become addictive. “Can I… may I sleep in the same bed as you tonight?”
He stopped on his feet for a second, blinking fast as he turned to look at you. “Yes,” he said immediately, no hesitation at all.
His hands slid up to cup your face again, thumbs stroking your cheeks like you were something precious. “Tonight and every night after, if you want it. I do not want you sleeping alone anymore. I need you close to me. I need to feel you breathing next to me when the church is quiet.”
He kissed you again, softer this time but full of promise. Then he guided you through the halls of the church. When you reached his private quarters, he did not let go of you even for a moment. He closed the door behind you both and pulled you straight into his arms again, kissing you like he had been starving for hours instead of minutes.
Enrico’s hands trembled just slightly as he guided you toward his bed. The storm still howled outside, but inside his room everything felt hushed and sacred. He stopped you at the edge of the mattress, eyes drinking you in like you were the only holy thing left in his world.
“May I?” he asked. When you nodded, he leaned in and kissed you softly, then let his fingers trail down to the hem of your dress.
He took his time. So much time. Every button came undone slowly, in his perspective, he was unwrapping something precious. His lips followed his hands, pressing lingering kisses along your shoulders as the fabric slipped away. He kissed your collarbones, the curve of your neck, the spot just above your heart that was beating wildly for him.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. “Every inch of you. I have dreamed about this, about seeing you like this, open for me.”
Your dress pooled at your feet. Enrico dropped to his knees again, just like in the confessional, his hands slid up your legs with aching gentleness. He kissed your thighs, your knees, even the tops of your feet as he helped you step out of the dress. His short hair brushed against your stomach when he rose again, lips worshiping every new piece of skin he uncovered. When only your bra and panties remained, he stepped back for a moment, breathing hard, just looking at you.
“Perfect,” he breathed. “You are perfect.”
Then he undressed for you. He pulled off his black shirt, revealing skin and the lean muscle hidden beneath his priestly robes, his movements were unhurried, letting you watch every second. When his pants joined your dress on the floor, he stood before you in only his boxers, tall and beautiful in the dim lamplight.
He climbed into bed first and reached for you, pulling you down with him. The sheets were cool against your heated skin, but Enrico was warm as he wrapped himself around you. You lay facing each other, legs tangled, bodies pressed close and his hand traced slow patterns along your back, your waist, the curve of your hip, never rushing, just feeling.
“I love the way you feel,” he murmured between kisses. He kissed your eyelids, the corner of your mouth. “I love how your breath catches when I touch you here…” His fingers brushed just under the band of your bra, making you shiver. “I need you close like this every night.”
You kissed him deeply, pouring everything you felt into it. Your hands explored his chest, his shoulders, the strong line of his back. “I want this. I want you.”
He groaned softly at your words, pulling you tighter against him. “Say it again. Tell me you’re mine.” His lips moved to your neck, sucking gently.
You whispered against his mouth, “I’m yours, Enrico. I have been since the night I confessed.”
The kisses grew slower, more intense, hands roamed but never crossed that final line. Instead you touched and learned each other, whispering secrets between every kiss. He told you how obsessed he had become, you told him how safe you felt in his arms, how his obsession made you feel wanted in a way you had never known.
The two of you stayed wrapped up in each other, skin against skin, hearts beating in the same rhythm. Enrico held you tight, pressing soft kisses to your hair and your lips again and again.
“Stay forever,” he whispered into the dark, voice full of devotion. “Sleep here every night. Let me worship you like this until morning comes.”
You nodded, curling closer into his chest, feeling completely loved, completely wanted and completely his.
art by: mgong520 on twt
a/n: once again thanking @irisgrrl for hearing me go insane about pucci's characterization <3
the way i literally opened your requests with my MINDDD ! ! ! i was htinking to myself damn i wonder if i'll catch your inbox open one of these days. i call dibs!! ♡
honestly i need. the same pullout thing but with the jofoes!! if you can ofc!! i call it now diavolo is the weakest AJKSJAJK
unlike the joestars, i really see them purposely not pulling out for a various of reasons 😭 but let me try and brainstorm really quick....
WEAKEST PULL OUT GAME
doppio - does not have good pull out game, he loses himself too much. i also just really think he loves the way you feel, squeezing around him so much, he's begging to release inside of you. pulling out wasn't even an option in his mind. tap his arm, even telling him to pull out and it'll fall on deaf ears because he's a babbling, hot mess. "i cant- i cant-.. too good!"
toru - loses himself in it so much too. it's not that he can't really pull out, he just doesn't want to and will coax you into letting him finish inside. but, even if he does want to pull out, it's barely and some of his ropes of cum will still find its way inside of you. you're not 100% safe. "please, please let me stay inside. you feel too good–.. i promise it's the only time i'll ask. please.." (it's not the first or last time he'll ask, don't fall for it!!)
diavolo - doesn't want any part of himself in you, even while you're having sex. he doesn't want kids, he already has a daughter and he wants nothing to do with her. he loves the secrecy, he wants to stay on the down low at all times. but the way you pull him in as he fucks you into the mattress makes his body shiver. he wants to pull out so bad, but he can barely do it. he doesn't want to talk about it, don't mention it at all actually.
dio - would baby trap you and convince you that finishing inside is the best way for you to be fully devoted to him. why do you think he has like 5 million kids with different women? he doesn't care if you concieve his child or not, you and so many others. he claims that its his way of marking you as his, you'll always have a piece of him inside of you. he's capable of pulling out to, he just doesn't on purpose!
funny valentine - is kinda 50/50 about it. he wants a traditional family, his offsprings that he can be proud of and live up to his legacy. so he'll finish inside if he has intentions of having a family with you (whether you want to or not). on the other hand, he likes playing it safe to keep himself safe. he's a "if it happens, it happens" kind of guy and he makes the decision simply because he's superior to you.
pucci - has a lot of self control, i think he takes protection pretty seriously when it comes to sex. he likes the cleanliness of being protected, he isn't much for making a big mess when you're intimate together. even if you beg him to spill inside of you, he seriously considers it. "another time, my dear." he tells you in a hushed whisper, pulling out as you feel his spurts landing on your tummy or back insteas.
kira - is similar to pucci where he has some self control and would honestly wear a condom instead of going at it raw. it's the same routine and he has no plans to change it. gets offended even when you ask him to cum inside and take the rubber off. "don't be ridiculous, it feels just as good like this. it always has.." he convinces you. i mean, he does cum "inside" but it's just the condom. you feel how warm he is and his length twitching, but the feeling disappears when he pulls out. safe and clean!
kars - thinks you need to be worthy enough to even recieve his cum inside of you. him fucking you into a pulp is already gracious enough of him to do. he won't cum inside of you, not until you've proven to him that you deserved it. and he's a huge tease, he'll act like he'll give it to you only for him to pull out completely. its cute how whiney you get from such a simple act.
acca howler - is the pull-out guy lmao. he has many experiences with women, he talks and flirts with them all the time. there's not doubt he'll indulge in sleeping around. and that comes with consequences. he doesn't want accidental and surprise baby phone calls from the people he's slept with. even if he does release himself inside, he wants you on the pill (if you have a womb) yknow?
