𝘆𝗼𝗺𝗶.

𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗢𝗥𝗦 𝗗𝗢 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧 // 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗕𝗘 𝟭𝟴+

[yominero]

天使と悪魔 YOMIKO / YOMI ✦ she/her. 19. entp. dante's daredevil.

rules under the cut, read before entering the club. 18+ nsfw blog! must have age visible on your id card to proceed. blank blogs will be blocked. won't take requests. not much active. won't write for minor characters.

BEFORE YOU FOLLOW

This blog is strictly NSFW. Minors, ageless blogs, and blank profiles will be blocked. I do not take requests. Content is written using female anatomy and she/her pronouns. Main focus is on Devil May Cry: Nero, Dante, and Vergil. I do not write for minor characters, and I will not age them up. Not spoiler-free. Updates will be irregular.

DO NOT INTERACT

If you are racist, anti-LGBTQ+, or pro-ship. Someone who writes or supports incest, stepcest, pedophilia, rape, or any other illegal/immoral content.

WHAT I WRITE FOR

I'm new to NSFW writing, so my current list includes: Dirty talk, degradation, edging, oral (giving), fingering, nipple play, hair pulling, hate sex, humiliation, dacryphilia, somnophilia, manipulation, marking, thigh riding, face fucking, and threesomes. All content involves consensual dynamics and (pre-)established relationships.

WHAT I WON'T WRITE FOR

Any dark content, except for age gap and monsterfucking.

©2025 yominero do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[yominero]

AFTERHOURS TROUBLE

WITH THE DEVIL HIMSELF

dante sparda x fem!reader

temptation looks good on his desk, but not when you are interrupted at the worst possible moment.

NOW LOADING... oral(f recieving), backshots, fingering, interrupted orgasms, soft dom dante on a mission. LIGHTS ON, PANTS OFF, GAME ON.

For once, the Devil May Cry office didn’t smell like blood, pizza, or regret; even better, it was bright because there was finally electricity. It was the late hours, usually when any work was done. You just stayed to rest or look after the man-child you are dating, who is now lounging in his beat-up chair, legs kicked up on the desk, lazy flipping a magazine as you sit on the counter nearby, sipping what’s left from your drink.

“You know, the place looks halfway decent for once,” he grins, and you arch a brow, hoping it’s not because of the random model that decided to bless his eyes. “Yeah, wonder why. Maybe because someone paid the bills.” Dante clicks his tongue, closing the magazine and throwing it somewhere on the wooden surface. “Can’t put a price on ambiance, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but smiling in the process as you once again take a look at him. He’s still shirtless from earlier, chest slick with leftover sweat, pants loose around his hips, and the way his abs flex with every shift and breath—yeah, it’s distracting.

And maybe that’s why the words slip out before you can stop them, or stop yourself from talking before thinking. “I kinda want you to bend me over the desk.”

He stopped, literally stopped breathing, and froze, then slowly looked over at you, one brow raised because did he hear you correctly, was he fantasizing, or was this a dream come true?

“...Pardon?” he says, oh-so-innocently grinning like the devil, even though you know he heard it loud and clear. How could he look so calm yet so excited at the same time? And you just stared into space, not daring to look him in the eyes, feeling somehow embarrassed.

“You heard me.” “I did,” his tone is low, but has this playful ring to it, which to some extent challenges you to do something, to take the initiative, and not be ashamed to say what you think or need, especially if you need him. “You wanna run that by me again, princess?”

Your cheeks burn, but you still won’t look at him. How cute. “I want you to bend me over your desk and…fuck me.”

He whistles, rising from the chair with slow, deliberate steps. “Ask and you shall receive.”

And just like that, you’re bent over his clean desk and he’s behind you, pulling your pants down with one hand as you hear the rustle of his belt, the low groan when he fists his cock and drags it along your soaked slit.

“Fuck, baby… already this wet for me? What kind of filthy little girlfriend says stuff like that?” You moan something incoherent, and then he’s inside—deep. The same hand that pulled down your panties is now on your lower back, and it’s a little bit cold, but don’t worry, both of you will warm up. Dante rocks into you from behind with that slow, filthy rhythm that makes your eyes roll back and knees weak.

“That’s it,” he breathes, pressing kisses along your shoulder. “Taking me so good every time. Fuck, baby—you wanted this bad, didn’t you?”

You moan, nodding, unable to speak as he thrusts into you, dragging out every inch like he’s savoring the feel, because damn you always feel so good when you take him in one go. There’s something so nice, lovely, and magical about you, something so addicting since his praises pour between panting grunts.

“You are so warm, so tight—perfect for me…just look at you, my pretty girl.”

Dante leans closer, his breath hot on your ear, as he then presses a kiss to your cheek, but not before licking the sweat from your skin like he’s starving. Your devil boyfriend is relentless, hips hitting you just right, and you feel yourself squeezing his cock even more, embrassingly so. He groans when you clench, slowing down just to tease.

“You clean this place, pay the bills, and let me hit it raw? Yeah, I’m keepin’ ya~”

You are so close to losing it, completely lost in the sound of skin slapping, the sharp groan in his throat, the messy heat building between your thighs. So close to making a mess on the desk you spent so much time cleaning and tidying, and now your knuckles are white from gripping the edge, so damn good—until you hear footsteps.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Your eyes shoot open, and Dante goes still. His head whips toward the door just as the handle turns. You let out a panicked gasp, and he yanks out of you with a groan that sounds physically painful.

“Under the desk, now,” he hisses, shoving you down as the door creaks open. Panic flashes across your face, but he’s already gently pulling out and shoving you under the desk. “Shh, I got this,” he whispers, stuffing himself back into his jeans with one hand while casually grabbing his magazine with the other. His grin returns like nothing happened, dropping into his chair, pants halfway buttoned, hair a damn mess, and props his legs up like he hasn’t just been deep inside you fifteen seconds ago.

“Lady! Damn, didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” he greets, far too casually as the woman steps in, hands on her hips looking rather annoyed. “Doing midnight office hours now?”

“The place looks rather intact. I expect you to have the money you owe me. Or are you just lazing around again?” And of course, it wasn’t Dante’s doing that the office looks brand new. It was yours. Because that’s what a good girlfriend does: helps her idiot devil boyfriend keep his business from crumbling into hellfire, and tries to be quiet with her hands over her mouth so she doesn't make a sound.

“What can I say?” Dante shrugs. “Gotta stay busy somehow.” The other devil hunter narrows her eyes, then glances around the room. Her gaze lingers on the desk, unbeknownst to her, you are hidden and trembling under it.

“Something smells… off,” she mutters scrunching her nose, and he chuckles, masking the flush on his face with a cocky grin, like he usually does when he caused trouble, trying not to get caught. “Just the manly incense, for the vibe.” Dante plays it cool as Lady continues to speak about money, debt, and new gigs. Above you, though, his hand casually drops under the desk, just enough to twirl a lock of your hair to keep you somehow calm, that this whole fiasco would end soon, and there’s no need to worry. Yeah, no need to worry my ass.

Lady shakes her head and sighs, not wanting to deal with his nonsense right now and ruin her night. “I'd better have that 20 grand by next week. If you don’t have the money, I’m coming back with Trish.”

The second the door clicks shut, Dante lets out the longest breath of his life. This was incredibly hard; maybe Lady really is the final boss…of interrupting things. Thousands of thoughts ran through his head—like how next time, he’s locking the damn door after midnight. One time, he tried to have sex in the office, and of course, Lady walks in, of all people.

But that didn’t matter now. The important thing is she’s gone, and it’s just the two of you again.

“You can come up now, sweetheart.” His voice is warm as he reaches under the desk to help you sit back on his lap, and when his hands glide up your bare thighs, making you shiver. He kisses you, slow and sweet, his lips burning hot from the build-up pleasure which was unfortunately interrupted. But don’t worry your pretty little head, everything can be finished or started from the beginning when Dante is on the case.

“Now… where were we?”

You’re still panting from the shock, from nearly being seen by one of your friends while you are being sent into another dimension. Flushed and needy, Dante thrives on your reaction. One of his hands settles between your legs, gently nudging them apart again.

“Shit, baby,” he murmurs against your throat. “Still so wet. That interruption didn’t slow you down at all, huh?”

You shake your head, breath hitching as his fingers slide up your slit, spreading your slick as your hand gripped his shoulder to support yourself.

“You really were gonna let me fuck you stupid on this desk,” he grins. “God, I love you.”

He slips one finger inside, then another. Slow, shallow strokes that have you squirming in his lap, nails digging into his shoulders. He keeps his other hand on your thigh, holding you open just the way he likes. His lips graze your ear.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Be good for me, yeah?” His fingers curl just right and you cry out loud for fuck sake, thighs clenching, hips rocking helplessly against his palm. You can't believe how good it feels, as if he's touching you for the first time and knows what to do, as if he's loving you for the first time, but darling, you're his first and last love. Here is the climax, heavy breathing, squeezing and when you cum, hard and sudden, he keeps moving, gently now, of course. Don’t want you overstimulated before the long-awaited dessert.

“Atta girl.” Grinning, smug as ever, Dante kisses your temple, completely drunk on you. You are so beautiful, gentle, and adorable, he simply has no words to describe you, to describe exactly what he feels—one thing is clear, it is love. “Let’s finish the business we had on the desk, hmm?”

©2025 yominero do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[yominero]

hey guys !! sorry for being inactive and not posting, life happened you know how it is💔 promising next week i will post something with dante <3

thank you for your patience and understanding, sending much love!!

[spicymochi]

he is sitting and pondering

[spicymochi]

tiny sitting and pondering

[yominero]

thank you for your fics oml on my knees at the way you write the sparda trio 🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️

your welcome :3 decided to randomly post because lwk i want more nero content !! i don't take requests, but if you have any suggestion or freaky ideas, you know where to find me womp womp

[yominero]

yomi the way u write is IMMACULATE. i love love LOVE the way u describe verg 🥹🥹

tysmmm it means a lot <3 im actually cooking a vergil fic rn so hehe hope you will like it when i upload it (hopefully soon) sending much love your way :3

[yominero]

WANNA TAKE A LITTLE TIME

TO REFRESH YOUR MIND

nero sparda x fem!reader

you said something, he took it personal. now he’s reminding you that he is still the same.

NOW LOADING... mean to soft dom, oral(f recieving), piv, mentions of hair pulling, slight brat taming and overstimulation, aftercare. IS NERO MAD?

Nero’s lying between your thighs because this is his favorite spot, neck pillow and chair at once—head resting on your inner thigh, his hand lazily curled around your leg as you half-watch some boring action movie. You’re running your fingers through his short, choppy hair with light, rhythmic strokes as you gently massage it from time to time until the thought just slips out.

“I kinda miss your longer hair.”

You don’t mean it in a bad or mean way, just… nostalgia. Something about how it used to fall into his eyes when he was on top of you, or when you used to grab fistfuls of it when he ate you out like a man-possessed. How it was soft enough to play with until you fell asleep, legs sore, body full of love, and your soul at peace.

But the second the words leave your mouth, Nero stiffens.

You feel the change instantly. His arm tightened around your thigh, and his eyes cut up at you. That was the look you didn't want to see because you knew he was affected by such small and petty things.

“Oh yeah?” he says flatly. “You miss it?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Nero, I didn’t mean it that way. You know tha—”

“No, no, babe. I get it.” he now sounds offended, and you knew you fucked up when he sat up slightly still between your thighs, spreading them just a bit wider making you tense because just a minute ago he was so calm and now you felt cold and hot at the same time.

His voice drops, rougher fingers dig into your hip, making you bite your lip and press your legs together. Rookie mistake. “You think this Nero with the short hair, older and stronger, is somehow different?”

“I didn’t—” He doesn’t let you finish.

“No. You didn’t, but you’re gonna remember now.” His smirk is wicked, eyes narrowed like he’s locking in on a target because he is, and the first thing he does is remove your panties. Let’s not have any obstacles in the way of getting you ruined. “Hair or no hair, I still make you forget your name.”

Then he dives down: no warning, no preparation. His tongue is just as sharp as his mouth, and he proves it immediately—dragging it slow and thick along your slit before flicking your clit just enough to make you jump.

“Not missing anything now, are you?” he growls into your pussy, breath hot and furious. You gasp, arching into him, your hand flying to his head on instinct, but there’s nothing to grab. Just the blunt edge of his cropped hair.

“Yeah,” he huffs, licking deep and messy, fucking smiling as his tongue kept abusing you. “No hair to tug, baby. You’re just gonna have to take it.”

Sliding two fingers into you without warning, curling them perfectly as he eats you out with that devilish energy and wickedness, because he needs nothing to prove, Nero knows better than you not to mess up with the devil. He’s not slow, he’s relentless: tongue flicking, sucking, fingers fucking into you like he’s trying to remind your body who it belongs to.

“You think I need anything more than this mouth to ruin you?” your boyfriend asks, voice muffled and mocking since, of course, he will do it with all good motives. You’re a wreck in seconds, moaning, grinding helplessly against his face. He pulls back just enough to let your slick drip down his chin.

“That’s what I thought, baby.”

You think he is done with you, that’s enough punishment … right? Aww, aren't you cute and so naive? Nero is far from done.

He grabs you by the hips and flips you over like you weigh nothing. You’re face-down on the couch now, chest pressed into the cushions, ass up, and you know that tone in his voice when he speaks again.

“Let me show you what short-hair Nero does when his girl gets mouthy.”

You barely get a breath before you hear the sound of his pants sliding down that hitting the floor with a loud thud, and its then when his cock lies at your entrance and sinks into you, deep and hard, with one fast thrust that steals the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Did I do that? Or was your filthy little brain already playing reruns of the old days?” He fucks into you with no mercy, heavy and fast, one hand fisted in the back of your shirt, the other slapping your ass with sharp, echoing cracks. He definitely didn't have to do that, but it’s too late to apologize.

“You gonna say it again? Say you miss my hair, the old me?” he taunts, voice teasing in your ear as you try to speak, but all that comes out is a cry as he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot like he knows it’s his damn job. Nero Sparda, the devil hunter, the best boyfriend, or your biggest nightmare—depends on the day.

“Didn’t think so,” he hisses. “Hair doesn’t change the fact that I fuck you dumb every goddamn time.” You finally feel it coming and cry so loud, back arching, legs shaking, and he still doesn’t slow down. He fucks you through it, groaning at how you tighten around him, how you are perfectly made for him even if you are the biggest tease in the world, shamelessly being so needy and not thinking twice before you speak.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Take it, fuckin’ take it.”

When he finally reaches his high and grains as he finishes inside you, and you feel it deep, thick, and hot painting you all as he slumps over you, panting, forehead on your shoulder.

“Still miss the hair?” Nero murmurs, and you still try to catch your breath. “No. I think I like short-hair Nero better now.”

He smirks, still buried deep inside you, your walls fluttering around him as you squeeze just a little tighter, desperate to keep him there. “Yeah? Changed your mind, huh?” he huffs, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your cheek. “Always knew I’d fuck the attitude out of you.”

His chest rising and falling against your back, breath hot and uneven on your neck. His metal hand curls around your waist protectively, as if to say, mine, even now.

You both just…stay like that for a while. The only sounds are the faint hum of the TV and the quiet, wet breaths you take, trying to recover from the thorough destruction he just delivered.

Then you whisper, voice still raw from moaning his name, “If I knew you were gonna react like that, I would’ve said it months ago.”

Nero lets out a laugh, both flustered and annoyed. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

You grin into the pillow. “Well, big words coming from the guy who is touching my ass now.”

“Language, babe.”

You twist your head just enough to look back at him, his flushed face still resting against your shoulder. His cheeks are red, hair messy, and his eyes... god, they're soft now. So much softer than five minutes ago. You can see it, the guilt, the love, the fuck, did I go too hard again?

“You know I didn’t mean anything by it, right?” you ask, gentle now, thumb brushing over the metal of his bionic arm. “I just liked playing with it. Doesn’t mean I don’t love this version of you.” He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales, then shifts, finally pulling out of you with a soft groan and flopping onto his back beside you on the couch.

“Yeah, well… I overreacted a little.”

You glance over, side-eyeing him as you sit down, well, try to, since he just physically made you learn a lesson. “Only a little?”

He covers his face with his forearm. “Shut up.” You cuddle more into him, tucking yourself under his chin, trying to make yourself comfortable. “It’s kind of cute when you don’t know how to react.”

“I knew what I was doing. You didn’t,” he mutters.

“Mmhm.”

“I was showing you my real emotions.”

You laugh. “If that makes you feel better, then sure, baby.” His arm wraps around you, tugging you closer until your head rests over his heart. His heartbeat is slowing down, but it’s still loud, still the same Nero from years ago.

After a few quiet moments, he says softly, “Don’t forget I’m still going to wreck you, every time. No matter what I look like.”

You tilt your head up and kiss the underside of his jaw. “I know, Nero. Believe me, I know.” He smirks, proudly and smug, and there’s the softness now. A flush that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with you.

“Next time,” he whispers, brushing a hand over your hair and kissing your head, “I’ll grow my damn hair back if that’s what it takes.”

“Not necessary,” you murmur against his skin. “Short hair. Long hair. You’re still the only one I want falling asleep next to me after fucking my brains out.”

He pulls the blanket over both of you, kisses your forehead, and finally lets the silence settle because he may have overreacted, but he won’t stop loving or fucking you.

©2025 yominero do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[yominero]

THE WAY YOU WRITE NERO IS SO PERFECT AND ITS EVERYTHING TO ME YOURE AMAZING <3<3<3<3<3<3

keep on rolling baby (･ω<) tysmmm appreacite it fam <3 nero is so easy to write, at least for me cuz he is an absolute freak hehe

[yominero]

DEVIL MAY CRY — FINISHING TOUCHES EDITION

PRESS START TO LOSE CONTROL

dmc men x fem!reader (separate)

your body is a blank canvas, and he is the artist. every stroke, every gasp, every drop left behind is a signature.

NOW LOADING... where he finishes, how he claims you, why you’ll never forget it. BREEDING LEVEL: LEGENDARY.

NERO MESSIER THAN HE MEANT TO BE SPARDA REVVED TOO HARD INSIDE, ON YOUR STOMACH

You’re on your stomach, ass up, face buried in the sheets, and Nero’s trying so hard to be quiet. He’s panting against your spine, trying not to lose it as your body rocks with every sloppy, desperate thrust. His metal arm clutches your waist, keeping you right where he wants you… No, where he needs you.

“F-fuck—you feel so good,” he grits, voice cracking, cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “I swear to god, baby, you’re gonna kill me like this…”

You moan his name—soft, ruined. He chokes. Actually chokes on air, and then you say it. You say the words that ruin him. “Inside. Nero… please. I want it.”

Everything stops, because shut up he is trying so hard not to cum.

He pulls back just enough to stare down at you, wide-eyed, pupils blown. His mouth parts like he wants to say something, but all that comes out is a strangled noise. His next thrust hits deep, harder than before, as if your plea just flipped a switch in him because it did.

“Shit—fuck, baby—are you sure?” he gasps, voice wrecked. “You say shit like that and I’m gonna fucking devil trigger, I swear to god…”

You nod, reaching back to grab at him, begging with your body now too. He groans. Loud. Desperate. He can’t hold back, and with one more thrust, he’s gone.

Nero cums with a growl, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulses inside you. His body curls over yours, trembling with the force of it, one hand fisting in your hair, the other braced against your lower back as he fills you full—hot, thick, way too much.

“Ah, goddamn it,” he whines into your neck, lips brushing your ear. “You’re so good—so fucking perfect…shit, I didn’t mean to, but I wanted to…”

He stays there, cock twitching with your cunt fluttering around him, milking every drop. When he finally pulls out, he watches it leak from you and his eyes go wide, reverent, wrecked. He exhales a curse, dragging a hand down his face.

“…I’m gonna be broke from buying Plan B.”

You hum, still hazy, a teasing lilt to your voice. “Then stop doing it.” He glares. Blushes. Cums again in his fucking mind.

“You’re the worst,” he mutters, reaching for a towel, then staring at the mess on your thighs instead.

...But he doesn’t clean it up. Because just then you slowly roll onto your back aching, dripping, and stretch like a goddamn goddess. Your stomach’s already smeared with him, slick between your thighs, glowing in the low light. And Nero loses it again.

“Oh—oh fuck,” he gasps, jerking forward like a man possessed. His cock, still hard, twitches at the sight. “I—I can’t—”

He fists himself, frantic, not even trying to hold back. He finishes all over your stomach and tits with a hoarse cry, hips stuttering, ropes of cum painting you again like it’s instinct, unholy thought filling his head.

“I’ll do it again,” he pants. “As many times as you let me.”

DANTE UNHINGED IN THE HOTTEST WAY SPARDA HITTING THE JACKPOT INSIDE, ON YOUR TITS OR ASS

Dante’s not just fucking you—he’s painting you. A masterpiece of moans, soreness, and his cum exactly where he wants it. His favorite spot? Depends on how feral he's feeling.

When he finishes inside, it’s deep and messy, punctuated by rough groans and his hips twitching as he empties himself into you. But Dante’s an exhibitionist with no one to impress but you. So sometimes, just to prove a point, he pulls out last second and strokes himself, watching your tits bounce or your ass jiggle beneath him and whistles at the sight of you looking like a fertility goddess. A second later he covers your body with thick ropes of cum while grinning like the devil himself.

"Gonna need a round two just to clean it up.”

He wants you to feel it drip, see it pool on your belly, or drip down your thighs. To him, you’re not just his partner, you are art itself, and he makes the finishing touches.

On the occasions when he finishes inside you (which is every time), he’s nested deep. Not just emotional damage deep, you swear you can feel his dick reaching your throat: thick, throbbing, filling every inch to perfection. His hips grind slowly, then a little faster, and your legs are shaking from how long he’s kept you right on the edge. You already had your orgasms. What is taking him so long?

“Shit… you feel too good, baby,” he mutters, burring his head in the crock of your neck, his breath hot and ragged as he leaves a soft kiss there. “So tight, like you were made for me, yeah?”

Then he sinks in fully with one final thrust, and you feel the twitch. The hot warmth of him spilling inside, not pulling—even worse, he is not even trying to, because he loves this level of closeness and intimacy. Body to body, soul to soul.

Your body clamps down involuntarily, and you whimper at the sheer fullness and the way it stretches you, the way you swear you feel it in your belly. He chuckles, sinfully and proudly reaches down, pressing a hand flat to your lower abdomen.

“Well, look at that,” he pants, eyes glazed with lust and something a little unhinged. “All mine, sweetheart. You are so beautiful when you are full of me.”

You shiver beneath him, dazed, needy, a little too into it. Your breath catches at the pressure blooming inside, the slick, hot mess. He pulls out slow, and when your hips jerk, his cum leaks out in thick white drips.

“Now you really look divine,” he murmurs, thumbing it back in like he can’t help himself. “Shit, I’ll grab Plan B in the morning, I swear. Just...let me enjoy this one, alright?”

You nod, voice lost somewhere between a sigh and a whimper. Right now, you don't have the mental capacity to respond or to think about anything other than him.

And the worst part is that you secretly love it. Love the way he fucks you like he’s claiming you for the very first time. Love the way he shows just how much he loves you. Love the way you already want more.

VERGIL TAKE EVERYTHING I OFFER SPARDA THE APROACHING STORM INSIDE, ON YOUR THIGHS

He always finishes inside. Always. You won't catch this man slacking or not doing anything the way it's supposed to.

There’s something empowering about the way he holds you when he’s close—one hand gripping your thigh to keep you from moving so much, the other hand cradling your throat, not tight, just enough for you to feel how fragile you are under him. His face is buried in your neck, breath cold despite the furious way his hips grind into yours.

“You will take it,” he murmurs, voice low, trembling with control, with hunger. “Do you understand?” You nod, too far gone to speak, thighs trembling from the pressure building with every thrust. You can feel it—his restraint snapping thread by thread, unraveling.

And then it hits, like a silent storm that no one knew would come. As an unexpected surprise that was more than pleasant.

He sinks in with a final, bruising thrust and stills. You feel the hot, pulsing rush of his release flood you, thick and deliberate, marking you. He groans low in his throat—a rare, vulnerable sound—as his jaw clenches against your shoulder. You clutch at his back, panting, moaning, full in the deepest, most primal sense.

He doesn’t pull out, never does.

He stays inside you, hips pressed flush, as if trying to carve the shape of himself into your womb. You shift under him, overstimulated, but his hand presses your hip still.

“You feel that?” he breathes against your ear. “Mine.”

When Vergil finishes inside you, it’s not just sex, it’s a silent promise to keep the connection between two souls sacred. He doesn’t moan or curse, just breathes out your name like a command, like a claim, because he has control over you, but you are also his weakness.

Each time, his eyes go half-lidded, that stoic expression crossing his face, like he’s giving you something sacred that will break any minute, something he shouldn’t even think about. He’s breaking a rule he made for himself, and when his cum leaks out of you, hot and heavy, he only watches it, lips twitching faintly. “Waste nothing.”

But on the rare occasions he doesn’t finish inside you, when he has to pull out, because you’re sore or overstimulated or too full already; he’ll wrap a hand around himself at the last second and cum over your thighs, groaning through gritted teeth. Something about the way it drips down your skin drives him feral. His breath hitches, drunken on the sight of the mess both of you created.

There’s awe in him when he sees you like that—ruined, shivering, legs sticky with him. “Look at you,” he mutters, voice caught between worship and mockery, typical Vergil. “Greedy little thing. Always asking for more... and yet you can barely take it.”

The words aren’t cruel, not really. They come wrapped in quiet praise, veiled affection, something soft only you ever get from him. He leans down, mouth brushing your temple. And then stares at you like he always does, in a whisper so raw it almost doesn’t sound like him:

“I love it.” A pause. “I love you.”

Yeah, you have this man wrapped around your finger … or inside you.

©2025 yominero do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[yominero]

DEVIL MAY CRY — PUSSY DRUNK EDITION

PRESS START TO LOSE CONTROL

dmc men x fem!reader (separate)

your boyfriend goes feral between your thighs. oral fixation? more like obsession.

NOW LOADING... face-sitting, oral fixation, messy devotion, and dangerously horny devils. WHO IS NUMBER ONE?

PLAYER NAME: NERO PUSSY DRUNK LEVEL: 100 TITLE RANK: THE WORSHIPPER DIRTY SECRET: Once he got a taste, he became obsessed.

Nero is undeniably the most pussy drunk out of the three. He starts with the awkward energy of a guy who’s like, “Do I go left or—oh, got it baby,” and immediately spirals into addiction. His hands are gripping your thighs, his Devil Breaker locked around your waist, keeping you in place.

He lives to make you tremble with only his tongue. He loves watching you fall apart. He gets off on the sounds you make, the way you squirm, tug his hair, and scream his name, squeezing him between your legs as he goes deeper and deeper. And he calls himself a devil hunter? No, honey, he's a professional diver.

“Baby, fuck, I could do this all day. You taste so good. Look at you, already gone, and I haven’t even started.”

When you come, he doesn’t stop. He moans into your dripping folds, licks it up like he’s dying of thirst in the middle of the desert, welcomed into the oasis called you. It's terrible how much you spoil him... He can't go a day without seeing, feeling, or tasting you. And he claims that the only devil thing is his arm, how funny. Do we need to comment on his tongue and how it makes you open your own gate to Hell?

NEXT LEVEL: Pussy drunk like it’s his life purpose.

Nero’s embarrassed about how much he loves it, but does it anyway. Over and over again. Let it rain over him, or on him—he wouldn’t mind which way it goes, especially if you just so happened to squirt and make a mess. Sometimes he's speechless, and he just looks up at you, licks his lips while staring at your fucked up face, and smiles like a child who seems to have received a long-awaited birthday present.

PLAYER NAME: DANTE PUSSY DRUNK LEVEL: 98 TITLE RANK: THE SHOW-OFF DIRTY SECRET: Loves the taste, the sound, the mess. He wants it all, and he wants you to know.

Dante loves oral. He’s cocky about it, and for a damn good reason, not to brag or anything, but he’s amazing at it. It’s not just about skill; he enjoys the whole act. The slow build-up, the angelic sounds you make when the devil is right between your legs. The visual. He’ll drag his tongue across your folds and then look up with a smirk, lips wet, like “You good, princess? Can I go deeper?”

He’ll eat you out on the couch, on the counter, on the damn floor. Loudly. Sloppily. Groaning like it’s the best meal he’s ever had, because let’s be honest—it is the best meal he’s ever had. After that, he doesn't want to taste or look at anything else. He knows very well what effect it has on and in you. He'll have the audacity to smirk when he feels your legs pressing and squeezing his face. Well, if he's going to die here, he'll die a happy man.

“You’re drippin’, babe. And I haven’t even done anything yet? Shit, I love this pussy.”

He ruts the mattress while he’s doing it. No shame. Your pleasure is his pleasure, you are his top priority, because nothing will make him feel better than the fact that he has done his job successfully, or as he likes to say, "Jackpot!"

NEXT LEVEL: Pussy drunk and proud about it, will shout it off rooftops.

Dante absolutely, with no hesitation, makes you sit on his face. Grabs your ass and keeps you there, seated nicely on your throne. You know how it goes—two plus two, he is going to undress you, then go three in three, you are going to undress him. Four in four, you are going to freak some more. He says Jackpot when he hits the spot that will 100% guarantee an orgasm…Yeah, he won for life.

PLAYER NAME: VERGIL PUSSY DRUNK LEVEL: 90 TITLE RANK: THE STORM DIRTY SECRET: He acts like he’s in control, but when he’s down there? He’s gone.

Vergil doesn’t rush to eat you out. But when he does, it’s quiet, intense, and deliberate. He spreads you open with those gloves and examines you first like a rare artifact, then devours you with the focus of a warrior.

His tongue is slow and deep, keeping his eyes locked on your facial expression. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t moan, or make a sound. You are the one who wanted to play with the devil; might as well follow the game rules. As they say, the devil may work hard, but Vergil works harder.

But the second you moan? He groans into you, stops just for one millisecond to take a deep breath and regain his composure. Still, the man is a control freak; give him a second or not, it doesn't matter since you don’t know how to count right now anyway.

“Be still,” he murmurs, gripping your thighs. And no matter how fast your head spun, you knew you would most likely have his fingerprints on you—as a reminder, a rule, a command, of what your role is. “You will come when I allow it.”

And he forces you to hold eye contact if he’s angled right. You’ll be crying, blinking, and averting your gaze, and he’ll whisper, “You’re not done yet.” You're far from done...Ah, he and his orgasm denial kink are taking over once again. Great, this is just what you needed at this moment. You looked at him with those pitiful and shocked eyes, expecting at least a little mercy. Don't worry, you'll get compensation as long as you can endure what’s coming next, and you better hope it’s going to be you.

NEXT LEVEL: Pussy drunk while he’s feral in silence.

Vergil enjoys this a little too much because it gives him power, and seeing you fall apart from just his mouth, feeds every possessive urge in him to ruin you. He is literally synonymous with "Actions speak louder than words" and proves it every damn time. Doesn't want to admit it, and he absolutely never will, only over his dead body, but when you moan his name and desire more than you can bear, it provides an inner satisfaction to him. But he knows your limits... sometimes.

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