❥ summary : Nero has learned over the past year that while he’s been “blessed” with devilish powers, he’s also been cursed with the side effect of having his emotions written on his forehead with black marker. Unfortunately, it’s not literally, and he can’t just hide his blush with his bangs.
Oh no, it’s worse— his Devil Bringer likes to showcase to the world how he feels with a pretty rotation of colors. And right now, his arm glows a sweet mauve upon staring at Dante's ass.
2.3k words
post-DMC4
Nero fantasizes about Dante in the Devil May Cry bathroom
includes lil Nero drinking, flirty Dante, surprise boners, and a disco ball devil bringer!
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“Ya want another one, kid?”
“Quit calling me kid!” Nero bites, his reveal of canines backing up his sudden aggression. He reaches over and swipes the bottle out of Dante’s hands. “And yeah, I’ll take another.”
Dante quirks an eyebrow, but says nothing; sticking to watch the alcohol slosh in its glass as Nero tips it back and the hilarious, ensuing cringe on his face. The boy then wipes his lips, ridding them of droplets and the childish frown tugging them down.
“So, you only drink during church? You know, like the little sip of the Savior’s blood?” Dante drums his fingers on his desk, fighting the snark lacing his voice.
“Sometimes.”
Dante waits for more… but it doesn’t come. Nero tilts the bottle back again, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every gulp. The sight coaxes a chuckle from Dante, and Nero promptly catches on, his head snapping to look at him.
“What’s so funny?”
Dante shrugs. “Nothin’. I was just thinking about how much of a sparkling conversationalist you are.”
The bottle clinks on the hardwood, the sound a loud signal of Nero’s flaring temper. It’s cute that it doesn’t take much to rile him up. “Take a look in the mirror. You didn’t explain shit during that mess, and the most you sent me over months was a neon sign. No letter, no ‘how ya doin’ kid’, no—”
“I thought you didn’t like being called kid?”
If looks could kill, Dante’s skull would’ve banged against his desk and his limbs turned into cement amidst instant rigor mortis. Instead of apologizing, Dante swallows his smirk with an indulgent sip of his whiskey. Nero maintains his killer glare, his narrowed sapphire eyes half-hidden by his mess of a fringe. It’s hard to take the boy seriously when he has the appearance of the average teen loitering at the local skatepark. The demonic arm and overwhelming aura do nothing to deter the resemblance, frankly.
Besides, Dante made up for some of that by inviting him over for a little party! Albeit, it’s hardly a party when they’re both quiet and the jukebox isn’t even on.
A loud knock on the front door interrupts their staring contest. Neither stir until another, more desperate knock comes next. Dante sighs and lets his boots flop on the floor. He mutters under his breath, “Please be a door-to-door salesman and not a frantic screaming victim.”
Nero studies Dante as he saunters to the door. What a prick! A prick with a lazy swish of his hips, tight leather pants, and trim waist… Nero takes a swig of the bottle. No, he’s a prick that checks himself out in the mirror before opening the door. Dante runs his hands through his wavy locks, winking at his reflection. Nero rolls his eyes hard enough to detach them. The conversation with the supposed client is tuned out in favor of focusing on the bottle in his hands.
As much as he hates to admit it, that little runway walk had been enough to trigger him. Nero purses his lips and squeezes the flesh of his Devil Bringer in a vain attempt to hide the brightening pinkish glow emanating from it. Nero has learned over the past year that while he’s been “blessed” with devilish powers, he’s also been cursed with the side effect of having his emotions written on his forehead with a black marker. Unfortunately, it’s not literally, and he can’t just hide his blush with his bangs.
Oh no, it’s worse— his Devil Bringer likes to showcase to the world how he feels with a pretty rotation of colors. The one silver lining, other than being able to say he feels green and means it, is that he still hides his arm from the general public— but even then, it’s difficult to cover up a neon yellow or flaming red bursting out from his arm. And for those like Kyrie or Dante who tend to scan your person and fixate on the details, the side effect becomes embarrassing real fast.
Nero digs his nails into the scales. The searing heat won’t leave, and now his fucking arm is reflecting a lovely lilac. His jeans are a lot snugger than they felt this morning, too. God, what is he!? A horny teenager!?
❥ summary : Nero thinks Dante should treat Cavaliere better— and by that, he means let him fuck Dante's brains out on that thunderous beast of a motorcycle.
3.5k words
post-DMC5
Top!Nero / Bottom!Dante
includes anal sex on a motorcycle, creampies, playful banter, & pet names
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
“Agh, damn.”
Nero shakes his head and throws down the magazine he was perusing. That old man had been working in Nero’s garage for hours, tinkering with god-knows-what and constantly knocking things over if the loud sounds were anything to go by. Nero begrudgingly left Dante alone to do his things, and he’s surely regretting it.
The garage was already a mess, but he doesn’t want the devil hunter screwing it up any more than it needs to be.
Nero leaves the comfort of his lazy boy and heads to the garage. As he steps in, swinging the heavy door out and quickly shutting it behind him, he avoids looking at the dark brown stain on the floor— a reminder of a tragedy long ago.
No, that’s the past. This is the present, a present where he can walk in and tease his uncle over fucking up his tools
Nero saunters toward Dante, drinking in the sight of nuts and bolts, dirty rags, oil, screwdrivers, and his signature red coat strewn about. Cavaliere, Dante's new form of transportation, sits in the middle of the garage. He knows Dante knows he’s there, but his uncle doesn’t glance at him, too busy assessing the large shotgun in his hands.
“You havin’ fun?” Nero starts, leaning on the wooden workbench.
Dante hums, “Sure.”
He says nothing else, causing Nero to bite his lip. He gives it another go, “Don’t you think that bad boy is modded enough?”
Dante then sends him a smirk. “Ironic coming from you.” He laughs, holding up his prized Coyote-A. “Nah, I was only giving it a bigger barrel. These new pests coming through lately have been more durable than ever. I guess it’s that whole, uhh,” Dante vaguely gestures, “evolution stuff.”
Nero knows the demons appearing haven’t been an issue for Dante, but the hunter is giving an old boy of his a chance to stay in the game. It’s rather sentimental, he thinks.
“With the right modifications, that thing could blow a hole through concrete,” Nero adds.
Dante snickers. “Oh, I know. I’ve been on the receiving end of a souped-up Pedersoli before. Those can turn you into ground beef real quick.”
Nero’s eyebrows reach his hairline. “What? When?”
“Looong ago.”
“Wow.” Nero crosses his arms and faces him fully. “That must’ve been tough; fighting off crazy modified shotguns, and competing with T-rexes for your food. Hard times back then, I bet.”
“Ha-ha-ha,” Dante enunciates in a snarky manner. “It was pretty funny though! Once watched your father square up against a velociraptor.”
Nero snorts at the absurdity of it all. He’s never forgotten Dante’s wit and his ability to roll with the punches. Every conversation they have, barring anything that delves too deeply into their respective issues, is chill. It’s .. nice. He wishes Dante visited more often and didn’t seem to think Nero and his home had human cooties.
He could say that, right now. He could let Dante know he appreciates him, respects him, loves him for his one-of-a-kind personality. Instead, Nero notices how much his lovely, odd uncle has let Cavaliere go.
“What the hell, old man?” Nero taps Cavaliere’s gunked-up exhaust pipes with his boot. “Why are you letting her go like this? She looks like shit.”
Dante sharply swivels. “Hey, gimme a break, kid. I can only do so much around here.”
❥ summary : “Aw, don’t be like that! You’re already here, and we both know this isn’t only a friendly visit... Give me what I want, Vergil.” Dante looms closer, and Vergil coaxes him forward without having to speak. His guard is down, and he’s not resisting the idea— he knows more than anyone that if Vergil didn’t want to do something, he flat out wouldn’t do it. No if’s, and’s, or but’s.
Of course, even when Vergil submits, he’s still in charge. “If you want it, then you’ll have to work for it. Undress me.”
3.1k words
during DMC3 timeline; before canon events
Pussy power!Vergil / Dante
includes bloody foreplay, pretentiousness, scissoring, and a smidge of angst
»» ──────ஓ๑♥๑ஓ ────── ««
Dante kicks open the bathroom door, a resounding flush closed off as he slams the door back. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs when the phone rings.
He can’t catch a break, can he? Despite his unnamed business just now having the lights on, his phone has been blowing up with customers needing help with dirty jobs. Not that he hates it, not when it means a bucket load of cash is waiting on him, but he wants a few days to himself to iron out the path his life is taking.
His life took a turn for the worst barely a year ago, and he’s trying his hardest to stitch together the remaining threads of his ego and reputation. He spent months dealing with the aftermath of that bloody disaster, then right after had to come to terms with his brother being alive. He thinks he should be happy, but their small reunion didn’t go as planned. Now, he may be up against his own brother after having lost his semblance of a family. All the while, he keeps that smile plastered on his face and a skip in his step, hiding the trail of crumbled shards of his sanity that follow him everywhere.
Ah well, what can be done?
Dante plops into the creaky, antique chair and reaches for the rotary on his desk. “Sorry, not—”
A raspy breath interrupts him. He leans into the phone as if that will make the voice any louder. “Uh, hello?”
The other line abruptly hangs up.
Dante shakes his head and tosses the phone back on the receiver. “Great. Not even open for business yet and I’m already getting prank calls too.”
A thump in front of him has him on full alert, and he freezes upon seeing his identical twin, Vergil, standing before him. Dante doesn’t move, only stares at the frown he’s so familiar with. Where the hell did he come from? He didn’t hear the front doors opening, and not a single window was broken! God, he really can’t catch a break, can he?
Quickly, he plasters that cocky smile on and lounges into his chair. “Well, well, look at this. I think my new place is haunted because I’m seeing a ghost.”
Dante chuckles, picking up a slice of pizza. It’s lukewarm now, but food is food. “You might as well be. I saw you a year ago, for what, two minutes? And you dipped out like the coward you are.”
Vergil raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He ignores Dante and looks toward the pool table and the other decorations adorning the office. “I had plans to enact, brother. Still do.”
Dante half-heartedly listens while he munches on pizza.
His twin prods the wooden table, absently messing with the shiny, black 8 ball. “It’s the reason why I’m here, in fact. I’m extending an invitation to you.” He drops the ball, the harsh sound reverberating through the office.
“An invitation for me? How sweet,” Dante scoffs. “No thanks, though.”
Vergil sharply turns toward him, and within moments, the slice of pizza held in Dante’s hand is chopped in two, cheese dripping onto Dante’s pants and a rogue pepperoni slapping his desk.
“Oh, you have better things to do?” Vergil sheathes the Yamato with an audible click, “Gorging yourself on cheap food and living in squalor is quite a way to live— hm, I must be mistaken to invite you.”
Dante stands up, brushing off the bits of food clinging to him. He doesn’t miss Vergil’s wandering glance across his bare chest, the gaze lingering on his amulet around his neck.
“Fine, I’ll bite. Invitation to what?” Dante splays his arms, “I doubt someone like you is throwing a party worth visiting.”
“So mean, little brother. I believe you’ll find this party worth a visit. It’ll have everything you would want..”
Vergil’s words drift off, and they face each other in a locked standstill. Dante cautiously inches toward him, but covers his unease with a dramatic pondering of the invitation, scratching his chin and even averting his eyes from his potential target.
“Hmm. Frankly, a party with just us is all that I want.”
Vergil narrows his eyes.
“I’ve been meaning to kick your ass and make you submit for quite some time.”
Vergil snorts, actually laughing at Dante’s audacity. “Did all that grease rot your brain, Dante? What a joke.”
