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A/N: I don't really care if people hate the Netflix anime, I love it. I want a season 2 right now.
the type of guy who would buy you a cowboy hat when you say you want to ride his cock
you don't have to wear the hat when you're riding him but he thinks it adds to the fun
a very touchy guy, he can never keep his hands to himself
Dante refuses to keep his hands away from your clit when you're having sex, it is a magical pleasure button after all, so even if you're doing most of the moving he still wants to give himself something to do
slaps your ass a lot, more often with just one hand but sometimes with both and always grabs you where he slapped, especially when he knows you're still sensitive
if you get tired he will lift your legs up, his arms below your knees and fingers interlocked with yours, before he starts hammering his cock into your sensitive wet hole
very chatty and will always tell you how much he's enjoying himself, or how hypnotized he is by the view of your pussy swallowing his hard cock, your pussy making his white pubic hair wet with it's slick, the slapping, lewd noise that your pussy makes when you lower yourself on him over and over
grins up at you and gives you a thumbs up when you make him come while riding him
when he wants you to ride him he will sit on the bed, pat his thighs and tell you to get on, and yes, he will absolutely also say yee-haw
has condoms in lots of different colors to make things more fun when he has to watch his cock go in and out of you
one interesting thing that he likes is to fuck you from behind but then he will stop, leave just the tip of his cock inside of you, feeling your pussy tighten, trying to pull him back in but he won't move
instead he tells you to ride his cock from this position
as much as he loves getting ridden he is still Dante at the end of the way, so of course he will find a way to be a cocky bastard about it
not like you didn't know that before you started dating, now your sex life is that much more fun, for having Dante there
(dante sparda x reader | can be set in DMC'S game universe or anime! inspired by re4.)
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
When Dante was hired to rescue the daughter of a powerful, fortune-telling family, he expected someone pristine. Proper. Maybe soft-spoken, mysterious, and grateful to be saved.
Not... this.
He had slayed demons—multiple demons, mind you, just to reach the creepy, crumbling church where you were kept. Solved a ridiculously hard puzzle, nearly got impaled by a swinging axe trap, and had to put up with the scent of brimstone and rotting pews the whole way.
And this is how you greeted him?
With a candlestick. To the chest.
Dante staggered slightly, looking down at the now-bent bronze stick protruding from his jacket. His eyes flicked up to the girl standing in front of him, panting, your expression twisted in panic. Her eyes were wide. He could practically hear your heart racing.
“Not the hello I was expecting,” he muttered, yanking the candlestick out of his chest and tossing it aside with a clatter. The wound was already closing.
Honestly, you were kind of a sight, even if your first impression was... intense. He glanced between you and the photo your had given him. Same eyes. Same pouty lips.
Definitely her.
“Who... the hell are you?!” you snapped, stumbling back and dropping to the floor, scurrying away like a terrified cat.
He placed a hand on his hip, unimpressed.
“I’m Dante. I’m here to save you.”
“No, you’re not! You’re-you're one of those things! You’re here to finish the job!”
Dante sighed. “Your father hired me to save you, princess. You can chill.”
But you weren’t having it. You grabbed a piece of broken wood like a sword and aimed it at him, still shaking.
“That’s it.”
Before you could react, he darted forward with lightning speed, hoisted you up like you weighed nothing, and threw you over his shoulder.
“Put me down! I swear to God - let go of me! This is kidnapping! You animal!”
“Yeah, yeah. Screaming won’t help your case.”
You flailed and kicked and pounded your fists against his back.
“I’m going to curse you! I’m going to curse your entire bloodline!”
“Aw, that’s cute,” he said with a smirk. “You think I haven’t already been cursed.”
And with that, Dante walked out of the church, the echo of your outraged shrieking following behind him as he carried you straight into your unwanted rescue.
He already knew this mission was going to be a pain.
But hell if it wasn’t going to be entertaining.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
Okay... maybe you weren’tthat bad.
After he explained the situation to you—albeit while covering your mouth mid-scream—you started to calm down. A little. And after he saved you from, oh, multiple demon attacks, you finally stopped stabbing him with random objects.
Now, you followed his lead like a wary cat, tiptoeing behind him through the ruins of a quiet village. At first glance, it looked abandoned. Peaceful. But you knew better. Dante had warned you, some of the villagers weren’t villagers at all.
Demons. Disguised. Watching.
You stuck close, barely breathing.
Suddenly, Dante stopped and motioned toward a metal trash can.
You blinked. Confused. “What?”
He kept his voice low. “Hide.”
You looked from him… to the trash can… then back again.
“Seriously?” you hissed.
He turned to face you, clearly baffled. “Yes. Seriously. No choice, princess.”
You groaned and dragged your feet toward the bin like it was your destiny.
“This is so disgusting,” you muttered under your breath. “Ew. Ew. Ew.”
Dante smirked as he heard the faint, pitiful complaints from within. Then, without missing a beat, he drew Ebony and Ivory from his holsters.
“It’s showtime, baby.”
Gunfire erupted just as you hunkered down. Inside the trash can, you flinched at every bang, every crack, every roaring screech from the demon horde. Then you heard it:
“WOOHOO!”
You couldn’t help it,you laughed. A wacky wohoo pizza man saving your life? Not exactly what your cards had predicted. But fate clearly had a wild sense of humor.
The noise outside started to fade. Silence crept back in. Your heartbeat rose.
What if it wasn’t Dante who opened the lid next?
But a moment later, the top popped open and there he was—grinning like a devil who just cleaned house.
“You good there, princess?” he teased, but there was something softer in his tone now. A flicker of concern.
You sighed, brushing your hair from your face.
“Not the best, but it can do.”
He chuckled and offered a hand, easily lifting you out and carrying you from the filth like a damn knight in blood-stained leather.
“You don’t have to worry,” he said over his shoulder. “We’re near the castle. We’re almost out. I’ll have you back to your pops in no time.”
You looked up at him, something warm blooming in your chest. You clasped your hands together.
“Dante?”
He glanced back. “Hmm?”
“Thank you. For saving my life.”
He paused. Just for a moment.
“No need,” he said casually, turning away again. “It’s my job. Come on now—time’s valuable.”
And off you went.
You, the trash-can princess.
And him, the demon-slaying, woohoo-yelling knight.
Yeah… maybe you guys were a nice team.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
You were cursed, a demon’s blood was injected inside you while you were unconscious.
One moment, you were walking beside Dante through the castle’s silent halls, chatting about exit plans and the next, your feet froze.
Your body stilled.
“Hey,” Dante called casually from ahead. “You good there, Princess?”
He turned, eyebrow raised. But when he took a step toward you, your hand shot up, swift and deadly. Before either of you could react, your fingers wrapped tightly around his throat.
The grip was monstrous. Not yours. Not truly.
“The girl… is mine,” a voice growled through your lips. Hollow. Unrecognizable. You watched in horror, unable to scream, to cry, to stop.
Dante choked beneath your hold, eyes never leaving yours even as he struggled. He could’ve fought back. He should’ve. But he didn’t. He was afraid of hurting you.
Then just as suddenly, the grip loosened. Your knees buckled and you collapsed, only to be caught by warm, steady arms.
“W-What… happened?” you gasped, blinking rapidly.
Dante smiled at you gently. “Nothin’ much, princess. It’s good to have you back.”
Now, the two of you were in the underground levels, taking a breather in one of the rare safe zones. A “save point” you called it, after one of the video games you played. A friendly mercenary from above had set up a dummy shooting range and Dante took to it like a kid at an arcade, blasting each target with confident ease.
And your cheers? They only made him better.
“Woo! Ten in a row!”
“Nice shot, cowboy!”
“Is this your secret stress relief?”
Your laughter echoed off the stone walls and Dante couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at his lips. He never thought babysitting a rich girl would be this… fun.
He wasn’t gonna lie, it felt nice, having you around.
But behind your claps and witty quips… something was stirring.
As he reloaded for another round, he noticed the silence. No clapping. No teasing remarks.
He turned, and there you were, staring at your hands. Your expression was distant. Haunted. The veins beneath your skin looked darker. Angrier. Your smile was gone.
“Hey,” Dante called softly, walking toward you. “You good, princess?”
You looked up at him, guilt swimming in your eyes.
“I hurt you,” you whispered.
“You had no control over that.”
“But still!” you snapped, frustration breaking through. “What if I do lose control? What then?”
You looked around the area, eyes glassy. Tears were beginning to pool, and you hated it.
“I’m sorry, Dante…” Your voice cracked. “I’m just… so scared.”
His eyes softened instantly.
“When that happened… I was there. Inside my body. Screaming, but no one could hear me. It was like… like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from!”
You stumbled forward, leaning into his chest. He didn’t hesitate—his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly, protectively.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your quiet sobs, and the steady beat of his heart.
Then he smiled into your hair and whispered:
“You’re the strongest girl I’ve known, (Y/N). What you did back in the castle while I was trapped and unable to reach you? You handled yourself like a damn pro. You’re gonna beat this. I know you will.”
He gently pulled back to look at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
“I’m gonna bring you home safe.”
Your eyes met his.
For once, the fear inside you faded just a little, replaced by something warm. Trust. Hope. Maybe even something more.
“Now come on, don’t you wanna try this shooting game?”
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
It had taken over.
Veronica. It was the name of the demon that had fully consumed your body, turning you into a twisted mirror of yourself. Black veins streaked across your face, eyes glowing an unnatural red, your voice dripping with venom as she mocked Dante with every word.
But the hardest part wasn’t the speed of her attacks. It wasn’t the razor-sharp accuracy or the maddening, taunting laugh echoing in the chamber.
It was you.
You,whose body Veronica now wore like a trophy, was why Dante hesitated. Each bullet, each strike, each blow brought him closer to ending the fight… and possibly hurting the one person he didn’t want to lose.
You, who had laughed with him in the darkest of places.
You, who was the clear representation of why he saves humans.
You, who made even a devil feel a little more human.
Then came the moment.
Veronica, grinning wickedly, spotted the flicker of hesitation.
“Jackpot,” she hissed. “So this is the weakness of Sparda’s son…”
She lunged for him—fangs bared, blade raised—but she stopped.
She froze.
From inside the shell, you fought. Screaming in silence. Pushing against the darkness. Your hands trembled mid-strike, and your knees gave out. Her control faltered.
“No… no!!” Veronica howled in rage.
As Dante effortlessly slices through the demons, his eyes never leave you. He could feel it, too, the pull, the connection, even though you were trapped inside that monster. But now, he had you back. You were fighting for control, resisting the demon’s urges to hurt him, and damn, if that didn’t make him proud.
The demon smirked, but it faltered when it realized you weren’t backing down. Dante grinned, his confidence returning like a wave crashing over him. "That’s my girl," he muttered under his breath. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he entered his Devil Trigger, the power surging through him.
The demon howled in defiance. “NO! I am the queen of everything! I WILL NOT FALL!”
Dante shot a look full of cocky confidence. "Yeah? Well, guess what? You’re about to get dethroned."
With one final slash, the demon’s body was sliced in half. You fell, but before you could hit the ground, Dante was already there, catching you in his arms. You blinked, your vision blurry, then you smiled up at him, warmth flooding your chest.
“D-Dante…?”
He smiled. “Gotcha.”
You blinked at him, dazed, but safe. Then you grinned weakly.
“My hero.”
“Good to have you back, princess. I missed you.”
You looked up at him with a teasing smile.
“Yeah?”
Before he could answer, static crackled through his comm. Lady’s voice cut in.
“You’ve got exactly five minutes before this place goes boom. Underground tunnel. Vehicle’s waiting. Move your asses.”
Dante rolled his eyes. “Buzzkill.”
He looked down at you again, cocky grin back in place.
“Well, what do you say, princess? Care for one last ride?”
You smirked, brushing hair from your face.
“I’d be honored.”
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
The jet ski roared across the water, moonlight shimmering off the waves. You screamed in exhilaration, clinging to Dante’s back as the wind whipped through your hair.
Finally, he slowed, stopping right in the middle of the vast, open sea. The stars above were glittering. Everything was still.
Dante leaned back slightly, looking over his shoulder.
“Not bad, huh?” he said with that familiar cocky lilt.
You chuckled breathlessly, cheeks flushed.
“What a crazy first date.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You consider this a date?”
You hummed. “Mm… yeah. I mean, you picked me up, saved my life, took me for a ride—kinda romantic.”
Dante chuckled, low and smooth. “Damn. Guess I’ve still got it.”
Then you leaned forward, close to his ear.
“You’ve been putting in work all day, Dante. How about some overtime? I’m sure you’ll enjoy this shift a lot more.”
He tilted his head slightly, that cocky smirk growing.
“I don’t think that’s in the company handbook... but to hell with it.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he twisted the throttle, sending the jet ski speeding ahead. “Hang on tight, princess.”
The engine roared, and the two of you shot forward, the water crashing around you as your arm found its way on his waist. Dante’s grin widened, his satisfaction palpable, especially when he glanced at you, a loving look in his eyes.
So this is what his father felt when he fell in love with his mother, Eva.
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.
Vergil the type of guy to hold heavy eye contact during conversations, purely out of interest or politeness but intentionally do so once he realizes it makes you nervous just to see you get flustered
Vergil the type of guy to write little love notes on sticky notes and leave them around the house for you to find
Vergil the type of guy to watch you sleep for a few minutes every morning, admiring the features of your face while you rest before getting his day started
Vergil the type of guy to correct your order in a resturant if any mistakes were made and you were too shy/nervous to say anything
Vergil the type of guy to rub his thumb across your skin whenever you hold hands
Vergil the type of guy to show up at your front door the second the time ticks over to the time you had planned.
Vergil the type of guy to always make sure the vases in your home are filled with fresh flowers
Vergil the type of guy to pay close attention to almost everything you do and say, remembering the smallest details and even unintentionally mimicking your small habits. (how you hold a pen, the way you nod when speaking to people, tone of words, etc)
Vergil the type of guy to have the most flattering and gratifying compliments up his sleeve but delivers them in a contradictory or flat tone, giving you a bit of whiplash in a very loving way
Vergil the type of guy to save all displays of affection for just the both of you, unless anyone tries to make a pass at you, to which he stands ominously behind you with an arm around your waist
Vergil the type of guy to watch you get ready for anything while leaning against the doorway, just watching you
Vergil the type of guy to kiss the crown of your head habitually whenever he leaves your side to do something else
Vergil the type of guy to enjoy, even prefer, spending time with you in near silence while you both do your own thing, enjoying the comfortable domesticity rather than unnecessary chatter
this doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy you talking though, Vergil could listen to you talk about something you were interested about for hours, taking in all the words you say and asking thoughtful questions about the topic/s.
as mentioned beforehand, he remembers everything you say to bring up in later conversations.
a/n: jarred my finger right before writing this it hurt like a bitch
