#rowdy's oneshots

[likelyrowdy]

Sweet Intoxication

Pairing: Vergil x F!Reader

Genre: Romance, Smut

Rating: E

Word Count: 1800

Summary: Vergil treats the reader on her birthday. AO3

Vergil knocks on your door at precisely 6:30 PM. You gave him a key months ago, despite the open invitation to your residence, he always insisted on knocking and waiting for you to allow him in. Just like he always showed up exactly when you asked him to. Perhaps it was a habit borne from the value that he placed on his own privacy - something he, as a twin, was routinely robbed of as a child -, or from the comfort he knew was afforded by knowing that no one, no matter how welcome, would barge into your space. Whatever the case, he is there. At 6:30 PM. Just as you’d asked him to be.

A greeting catches in your throat and transforms into a light gasp as you are presented with a flower. Unlike the wilted posies in your window, it stands tall - fresh white blossoms and still-sleeping buds that appear dainty dragging the proud stem into a begrudging but graceful bow. It is beautiful. Strong. Luxurious. Your cheeks dimple as you accept the gift and Vergil bends to brush his soft lips against the corner of your mouth in his own, silent greeting.

You step aside as much to let him into your home as to place his gift upon your kitchen mantle, a spot you know the blooms will flourish in because every morning it is bathed in dappled sunlight. It’s with a twinge of sadness, however, that you sweep up the brittle blooms that had previously adorned the same mantle. Those were the last vestiges of the flowers Vergil brought you the last time he visited your home and you were loath to lay them to rest despite the sun having set on their beauty and their scent sweeping out the open window like dust in the wind. But a live plant, you know, will last. With enough care you can marvel at this orchid’s pristine beauty for days. Months, if you’re lucky. Longer still if you nurture it once the petals have fallen and only the stem and proud leaves remain. It might even bloom again.

Arms circle your waist from behind and you lean into the tender embrace. “Happy birthday.” You tip your head back at his words so softly spoken and get a good look at him. Even upside down, Vergil is beautiful; curling over you, bowing like the orchid beneath its blooms.

“I love it. Thank you.”

You stand there, embracing and being embraced. Basking in each other’s company after a long day until another knock signals the arrival of food. “I hope you like Chinese food.” It’s rhetorical. You know that he does. The two of you have eaten it together enough for you to know that, but you say it anyway to fill the silence. To start conversation.

While Vergil hangs his coat in the hallway closet and retrieves the food, you pop open a bottle of wine and pour two generous glasses. Not enough to inebriate you, but enough to make tonight feel like a celebration. You hand him a glass when he returns and delicately clink them together. “To another trip around the sun.”

Vergil is momentarily distracted by the straw-gold liquid swirling in his glass before the attention of those frosty blues turns back to you. “To sweet intoxication.”

“Aww,” you exhale, eyes crinkling with mirth. “Are you saying I age like a fine wine?”

Vergil hums. “You are just the right amount of sweetness, spice, exotic aroma, and flavor that leaves me thirsting for you.” You swear that you see hunger stirring in the depths of those blues. “And to love, which is nothing unless it is with you.”

Once the table has been cleared and the wine has been put away, Vergil rolls up his sleeves and helps you with the dishes. It’s mundane, but there’s no one in the world you’d rather share this simple task with.

He wraps you in his arms as you place the last of the dishes in their cabinets and you let out a heavy sigh, eyes drooping closed as the weight of the day dissipates with the completion of your last chore. You luxuriate in his embrace, the little bit of wine still in your system enough to amplify each of his soft caresses as he lays gentle kisses along the exposed skin of your neck before pressing one to the crown of your head.

You stand on your tiptoes to initiate a kiss and he ducks to accommodate your difference in height. His lips are soft and strong, pressing yours open and then pulling away, a clear invitation for you to follow and slot your mouth back against his. With a satisfied hum, you indulge. As you lick into his mouth he carries you to your room, breaking the kiss to lay you down. He cradles your cheeks in his hands, always so gentle when they hold you, and runs a thumb across your bottom lip before leaning in to kiss you again, slowly.

You open your eyes when he pulls away, a small, sincere smile gracing his lips that makes your heart flutter in your throat. You are the reason he smiles like that. You promise yourself that you will make him smile like that more often.

“What?” you giggle; giddy.

“You’re beautiful.” His lips brush yours with each syllable.

Before long, he’s sweeping your fingers aside to unbutton your shirt. He leaves a tender kiss in the wake of each button. Between the valley of your breasts and down your stomach as more smooth skin is revealed. Only once the garment has been fully unbuttoned and removed does he return to kiss your lips, tracing their outline with the tip of his tongue before delving in. He removes his own shirt with less grace, shrugging out of it and letting it crumple to the floor so that you can run your fingers over the hills and valleys of his torso. You continue to undress each other in similar fashion: one article at a time and Vergil leaves tender, slow kisses across all of it, wordlessly conveying his love for every part of you until he is bare and you’re down to your underwear. He maintains eye contact while kissing your thighs and though your cheeks dust pink you manage to hold his eye contact while fingers slip beneath the waistband of your underwear and slide them down your legs. You’re already dripping when the garment hits the floor, and as much as you love it when he goes down on you, you need his mouth back on yours. Crooking a finger you beckon him back up your body and he obeys. A feather-light touch along your forearm is all the warning you get before he is lacing his fingers with yours and your tongues roll together.

Vergil lets you roll him onto his back, eyes riveted to your moonlight form as you climb astride his hips, splaying your fingers wide over his middle as you rub your wet sex over the rigid length of him. He sits and readjusts you both so that his back rests against your headboard and your breasts pillow against his front. He grabs your wrist again, lifting it so he can nuzzle into your loving touch, placing a lingering kiss to the center of your palm before placing it over his heart. Powerful though he is, he handles you like a piece of art - you can feel it in the way that he looks at you, how he treats you so delicately; always with two hands like you’re something precious.

You are the rarest, most cherished book in his extensive collection.

Lissome fingers settle on your hips when you reach between your bodies, lining his weeping cockhead up with your entrance so you can sink onto him inch by blissful inch. Your thighs tremble as you fight gravity’s pull and your own want to have him inside of you now. You croon when you finally take him in to the root, drinking in those heavy-lidded eyes behind errant strands of white, full, parted lips, and the amorous pink that dusts his regal features. One of his hands cups the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he draws your forehead against his and you both still, enjoying the rapture of connection.

Your love is all slow movements, soft sighs, and breathy groans as you both shift. Wringing the pleasure out of each movement. Building up your highs only to still, kissing the cresting pleasure away and beginning again once your peaks have receded.

When sweat beads along your skin and your breathing grows heavy, Vergil hugs you to his chest and brings you both down onto the bed. He tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, laces your fingers up by your head, and kisses you with a flick of his tongue. You chase his lips when they leave yours. “I love you,” he whispers as if it’s a secret. As if the utterance of such words will damn him. Perhaps they have. But he does not stop. Your cheeks brush together as he presses your hips together and continues directly in your ear - I love you, I love you, I love you -, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “I’d bring you the moon if only you asked.” And you believe him. Every word. Because he loves you.

“I love you, too.” And the smile he gives you when he hears those words is everything.

Perhaps you’re both damned. You could care less as long as you’re together.

He rubs gentle, slow circles into your clit as he joins your lips together in another open-mouthed kiss. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been like this. Lost track of everything but ozone and mint, the taste of lemon and wine on his tongue, the stir of battle-hardened muscle beneath impossibly smooth skin as he continues to push steadily into your sweet spot, and his fingers interlaced with yours.

Your orgasm is like everything else has been that night.

Saccharine.

Perfect.

It crashes over you like a wave, loud and intense and passionate in the way that it drags you under and drowns out all thoughts of everything but him, him, him. Vergil. It culminates in a silent scream as delicious heat floods through you - from your hips to your toes and up to your heart, breasts, throat, ears. You shudder helplessly in his arms and he falls with you, making a strangled noise and groaning as his hand tightens around yours.

When you both come back, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips; still catching his breath. You stay like that for a while, holding him against you and enjoying the closeness that comes from being so intimately connected. When he moves it is only to lay by your side. He tucks you into his chest, close to his steadily beating heart as you begin to drift to sleep.

“Happy birthday, love.”

Yes. Happy birthday to you.

[likelyrowdy]

I Have to Write My Name on Things

Pairing: Vergil x GN!Reader Genre: Fluff? Rating: PG-13ish Word Count: 1000

Summary: A while ago, @arsuf shared a post of The Old Man's Diary Entry and it made me feel things. Read it on AO3.

You knew that this was a bad idea. Like, really bad . Phenomenally bad. In the past, you'd made fun of people for doing exactly this. Had warned your friends that they'd be making a big mistake - huge - by doing this exact thing. But was that going to stop you?

Absolutely not.

It all stemmed from an insecurity of Vergil’s. In a moment of weakness (the only, if you asked him) after some vigorous lovemaking, Vergil had traced idle shapes into your skin. “Possessive, much?” you’d asked, a teasing grin on your lips when it dawned on you that those lazy shapes were in fact the elegant lines of his script. Curled into his side as you were, luxuriating in the steady beat of his heart as it rocked you to sleep, you hadn’t expected a response, much less the vulnerability in words confided so softly in your ear:

“As a child I had to write my name on things to make them truly mine.”

And fuck you sideways if that hadn’t pulled on your heartstrings. So the next day you put in an order online, simultaneously flustered and completely confident in your purchase when you brought Vergil your bounty. He hadn’t known what to make of the small motor as he lifted it out of the box until he came across the needles and the ink.

He knew it was just as bad of an idea as you did. At first, he refused. He loved you just the way you were - smooth skin free of blemishes with the exception of a freckle or scar here and there. You were not a book, he did not need to write his name on you to keep his brother at bay. You were already his.

But you were nothing if not persistent. You wanted him to write his name on you.

It started with suggestions over the course of several weeks of where you could place it, but Vergil always had a reason to shut you down. Your wrist? Too visible. Your ass? Undignified. Your bicep? Still too visible.

“What about my hip?” you asked, tugging at a belt loop until your jeans pulled off of the smooth canvas that surrounded your hip bone. “It’s easy to cover up. No one will see it unless I want them to.”

Vergil’s head tilted the slightest bit in consideration, his eyes hungrily glued to your hip. He still was not completely comfortable with the idea, but he had to admit that it held a certain appeal. Would he brush his thumb over the ink once it had fully healed into your soft skin, feeling the ink press up from the rest of your flesh as he held you closer in a moment of passion? Yes, the idea was very appealing.

“You getting a tattoo?” Dante asked as he took up his seat by the phone.

“Thinking about it,” you casually answered, releasing the belt loop so that your skin was hidden once more.

“Hip, huh?" he whistled, cheekily. “Sexy but discreet. It suits you.”

It was the wink Dante sent your way that pushed Vergil over the edge. He stopped beside you on his way to your shared room, bristling when he told you to pick a different spot. Though his voice was low, his message was clear: pick a spot that Dante won’t see; one that has nothing to do with him.

Days later, you made your decision: “My ribs.” You lifted your left arm and pushed your clothes out of the way to showcase the spot you’d picked. Before Vergil could protest, you cut him off. “I know that rib tattoos are painful, but I have a high pain tolerance, -” you wouldn’t have lasted long in this line of work if you didn’t, “- no one will see it if I don’t want them to, and it’ll always be close to my heart.”

When he saw that you really, truly meant it, he acquiesced.

Never one to do anything half-assed, Vergil bought the necessary materials that your kit lacked. Each night, after the shop fell silent, he would assemble the machine and practice scratching lines into the skins of the oranges and bananas that Dante kept in the kitchen at Nero’s insistence. It took weeks for him to get a feel for the machinery, to do the necessary research, and to watch the handful of instructional videos you sent his way.

He wanted to make sure that he did right by you.

On the day, Vergil rolled up his shirtsleeves and donned black, latex gloves. Alcohol wipes cleansed the area before he went over it with a fresh, disposable razor to make sure that your skin was prepped and smooth. He marked the general area with a highlighter while your arm was relaxed at your side so he could be sure that the tattoo would rest where you wanted it to. The better part of an hour was spent drawing his name across your left rib cage in sharpie, wiping it off, and starting over again until you were both satisfied with the placement and size, and he with the penmanship.

His outline was surprisingly straight, though each line was picked up in multiple, weird places and a couple of them were blown out. Despite only using black ink, his shading between the thicker downstrokes of each letter were uneven throughout. Neither of you would know the real damage until it was fully healed in two-ish weeks.

You didn’t need to look at it in the mirror to know that you loved it, but you did anyway: marveling at the way the black ink stood out from the rest of your skin, a shiver creeping up your spine at the sight of his script etched into your skin so close to your heart.

“I guess this means I’m yours now, huh?” Your words were meant to tease, but they came out too breathily and your smile was more wondrous than vexing.

Vergil brushed his fingers over the sensitive skin below the script, his gaze reverent; lips curved in a gentle fascination.

I have a twin brother, sir. We fight over things often, so I have to write my name on things to make them truly mine.

“I suppose it does.”

[likelyrowdy]

Something Better

"I can guess." Another kiss stole your lips before you could come up with a witty retort. "But I had something better in mind."

Nero x AFAB reader

Read it on AO3

Nico sped off as soon as you were clear of her van. She had somewhere to be, and it was just as well; for as much as you loved the glib mechanic, all you wanted was some well-deserved rest after a successful hunt. The bell above the door chimed as you stepped over the threshold and into the stale air of the empty office, lightly kicking the door so that it hung ajar long enough for Nero to pass through it unimpeded.

“You want to grab the shower?” you asked as you hopped onto the desk. “I’ll call Morrison.” Someone was supposed to call Morrison after each job to let him know that it’d been taken care of, divulging all of the necessary details so that he could tally the expenses, follow up with the client, and collect the money so that the hunters got their cut and Dante kept the lights on. The broker’s number was punched into the old rotary phone before the offer fully left your lips.

“Nah,” Nero exhaled, rounding the desk and dropping into Dante’s chair. “I’ll wait for ya.”

You kicked your legs up and spun to face him, fingers curled in the phone cable. When his fingers tapped against your knees you let them fall apart so he could pull himself closer.

Gooseflesh rose in the wake of fingers skimming up your legs, the glint in his grey-blue eyes betraying his intentions. He was still keyed up from the fight. You both got like this after a solid mission. Not the spats that Nero insisted you both take most days – jobs that paid diddlysquat and Dante refused because they didn’t sound like they’d put him six feet under –, but a real job with a real fight that made fear catch in your throat and adrenaline surge through your veins and victory burst tangy-sweet across your tongue like a clementine in summer. Instead of ending the call, you drew it out. A coy smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you talked Morrison through the less-relevant details of the job.

“Yeah, that’s everything, but while I’ve got you on the phone: I was wondering if-.”

Nero plucked the phone from your fingers and dropped it onto its cradle with a half-hearted, "Bye, Morrison." A giggle escaped you as Nero rose and wrapped his arms around your waist, his touch more insistent as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, short hair tickling your jaw while kisses peppered your collarbone. One of your hands skimmed up his back and around his shoulders to hold him close, the other laid flat against the desk to prop you up.

“So rude,” you admonished with a teasing gasp, not at all upset by the turn of events.

“Me?” he asked between kisses as he inched his way up to worry the skin below your jaw between his teeth. “What about you? Didn’t need to tell Morrison half of that shit.” A nip. “You were ignoring me.” An accusation, teasing and true though it may be. Well, you certainly couldn’t ignore him now – lips and teeth and tongue lighting a small fire beneath your sweat-salty skin – but you could still try to drag it out.

“Can’t a girl-?” The kiss that shut you up sucked the air out of your lungs and sent a familiar tingle down your spine.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Nero shook his head, pulled you to the edge of the desk and stepped forward to eliminate what little space he’d allowed between you while you were on the phone. “I can guess.” Another kiss stole your lips before you could come up with a witty retort. “But I had something better in mind.” His lips quirked into a lopsided, seductive smile and you eagerly nodded your compliance, dropping all pretenses and steering his lips back to yours with a hand cradling the back of his head.

Between your lips blossomed a needy noise and you were both gone. Nero’s hands alternated between kneading the supple flesh of your thighs and drawing circles into it, his palms warm even through the layers that separated you. Releasing his hair, you trailed both hands to the collar of his jacket where you clumsily pushed the offending garment down until it bunched around his elbows. When his hands did finally release you, it was only to rid himself of the constrictive fabric. Without breaking the kiss, he surged forward, tipping you back in his eagerness even as his arms held you in place, and briefly you wondered if there was enough room for the two of you atop the desk.

Disappointment flashed at the very back of your mind when Nero stopped short of straddling you. Instead, you settled a heel into the small of his back and drew him further against you until the undeniable evidence of his desire pressed firm against the apex of your long legs. Another noise reverberated between you when your hips ground together and you smiled, teeth clacking together before Nero broke the kiss.

Lightheaded, you kept your eyes closed and gulped great breaths of stagnant, office air – ozone, propellant, sweat, and something uniquely Nero. Suffocating. Completely intoxicating. You tipped your head back and groaned when he seized the opportunity to work a dark bruise into the pale skin of your exposed neck. With a satisfied rumble he licked your purpling skin as if the tender treatment would ease the sizzle of his brand on you, then gripped your chin between calloused fingers and brought you in for another deep kiss.

You heard it on the tail end of a moan. The heady buzz you’d wrapped yourselves in unraveling.

Blue Rose was drawn before you could reach for the hunting knife hidden in your boot.

“I was wondering how long you two were going to make out before you realized you weren’t alone.” Completely unfazed by the revolver leveled between his eyes, Dante popped the cap on his beer and tossed it in the general direction of the trash bin.

Nero scowled at his uncle and holstered his weapon. “How long’ve you been sitting there?” Dante shrugged. A while, then. You gave Nero a quick squeeze before dropping your legs from his hips and to the floor. He gave you just enough room to stand before he pressed your foreheads together, the smile on his face meant for you and you alone. “Guess we got a little carried away.”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.”

“Fuck off!” He glared over your shoulder at his uncle, then grabbed your small hand in his. “C’mon, we'll take this upstairs.”

Dante propped his feet up where you sat mere moments ago, already settled into his regular seat behind the desk as you were led away. “Don’t forget to use protection, kid. I don’t need any more brats running around my shop.”

Nero spun as his temper flared. “Something wrong with your hearing, old man? I told you to-!”

“Ignore him,” you soothed, squeezing Nero’s hand.

“And try to keep it down, will ya?”

Nero grit his teeth, but you turned him back to you with a hand against his cheek. “Ignore him.”

“But-”

“Look: if you want to stand here and argue, be my guest. But I thought you had something better in mind.”

And if Dante heard you, he could get fucked. You certainly did.