#dante

[hifchn]

lock in

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤDEVIL IN YOUR EYESㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Dante Sparda x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It started with a glance.

You were just some random girl who walked into Devil May Cry looking for a job—maybe organizing the mess, answering calls, anything, didn’t matter. Your voice was too sweet, your hair too messy, your smile too damn genuine. You had no idea who he was. No idea what he could do. You called him “sir” with that soft tone like he was some regular guy. That alone should’ve been harmless.

But you lingered.

He remembers the way your fingers wrapped around the handle of the broom that first day like it was a damn holy weapon. He watched you sweep through blood, broken glass, and demon guts without flinching. That was the moment. That was when it twisted inside him—tight and hot and uncomfortable. A feeling he hadn’t had in a long time. Maybe ever.

He started watching you.

Not in a pervy way—at least, that’s what he told himself. He was just… curious. Protective. That’s normal, right? You were a human, after all. Fragile. Breakable. And the world was full of monsters that looked human enough until they ripped out your spine.

He tells himself that’s the only reason he trails behind you when you walk home. That’s the only reason he’s memorized your schedule, your favorite diner, the way you tap your foot when you lie. You have a tell. That’s adorable. He could eat that up.

And he would.

If he wasn’t so fucking stupid about this whole thing.

Dante flirts with everyone.

That’s just how he is. But with you, it’s different. With you, the teasing comes out a little slower, a little deeper. It’s not just about getting a reaction—it’s about earning one. He wants to see you flustered, wants to see you annoyed, wants to see you laugh at his dumb jokes even when they’re older than sin. And when you do laugh? He wants to burn the sound into his soul.

You caught him staring more than once.

Sometimes you’d smile.

Sometimes you’d look concerned.

That second one scares the shit out of him.

He starts getting possessive.

Subtle at first—he’ll throw his jacket over your chair before anyone else can sit near you. He’ll step between you and strangers just a little too fast. He’ll “accidentally” rip a guy’s arm out of its socket for brushing your shoulder too hard on a bad night. You joke that he’s being dramatic.

He’s not joking.

Dante's not used to wanting something this soft. This real. He knows what to do with lust, violence, revenge. He doesn’t know what to do with the way his chest hurts when you talk about another guy. Or when you say you’re going out alone. Or when you tell him you think demons aren't all bad.

He is one.

But you don’t know that. Not yet.

The obsession gets worse.

You start seeing little things.

A photo of you on his desk—one you didn’t know he had.

Your favorite snacks in his fridge—even though you never mentioned them.

The demon that broke into your apartment dying before you even called for help.

Your spare key vanishing.

Finding his coat on your bed when you swear you locked every door.

He’s trying to play it cool, but he’s unraveling.

If anyone hurts you, he’ll kill them. No hesitation. Human or demon.

If you leave him, he might lose his damn mind.

He knows it. He’s self-aware enough to admit he’s fucked up in the head.

But he also believes—truly, deeply—that no one else can protect you like he can.

No one else will love you the way he does.

With that brutal, messy, obsessive devotion that borders on worship.

Dante doesn’t say “I love you.”

Not with words.

He says it by throwing himself into hell itself just to make sure you live another day.

He says it by watching you sleep, brushing your hair behind your ear like he’s scared it might hurt you.

He says it when he whispers, “Mine,” under his breath every time he looks at you.

And maybe one day, when it all goes to shit and you see the blood and the truth and the devil in his eyes—

He’ll say it with a gun in one hand, your heart in the other, and a smirk that can’t quite hide how scared he is to lose you.

It become worse.

You haven’t called in two days.

Not even a “Hey, I’m okay,” or your usual “Dante, stop drinking all the milk.”

Nothing.

He tells himself you’re just busy. That you’re fine. That you probably lost your phone. But his gut twists in a way it hasn’t twisted since Vergil last disappeared. It’s that same cold sweat. That same gnawing ache. That whisper in the back of his head that something is wrong.

So he checks. First your apartment. Then your friends. Then the streets.

And when he finds nothing—no trace of you—he doesn’t sleep. Doesn’t eat.

He tears the city apart.

And when he finds you?

You’re with someone else.

Some guy. Handsome enough. Normal-looking.

You’re laughing, holding a drink, leaning into him. Touching his arm.

And Dante snaps.

Not in a violence way.

Not yet.

He stands in the shadows, teeth clenched so tight his jaw cracks. He watches. Waits. Memorizes the guy’s face, his name, his fucking scent. He doesn’t move until you leave—safe, untouched. Then he follows the guy home.

And he makes him disappear.

No blood. No mess. Just… gone.

A whisper in the wind. A body never found. A soul damned quietly.

The next morning, Dante is back at Devil May Cry, sitting at his desk like nothing happened. He offers you your favorite drink. Smiles like he always does. Says, “Hey, you look tired,” and wipes a smudge from your cheek with his thumb.

You don’t know. You can’t know.

You think he’s just being protective. Maybe even sweet.

You don’t see the look in his eyes when you talk about someone else.

You don’t see how he stares at your lips when you say you missed him.

And you definitely don’t see how he’s already made the decision:

If you ever try to leave him, he won’t let you.

He’s not proud of it. He knows it’s sick.

And now that he’s tasted the idea of you?

Your laugh, your kindness, your damn smile?

He’ll burn the world before he lets it slip through his fingers.

“You're mine,” he tells you one night, voice low, a little hoarse, like the words hurt to say.

You laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Big scary Dante. My overprotective guard dog.”

He doesn’t laugh.

He just leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear, and says—

“No, sweetheart. I mean it. You’re mine.”

And this time, the way he says it makes your spine go cold.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[nessieartss]

the wacky woohoo pizza man himself is back

it’s up on my inprnt!

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Maybe Dante dad when he gets up in the middle of the night to handle the baby so that way his love can rest?

A/n: DAD!DANTE! I picked the Dante from the anime, if you want the game Dante let me know.

It was the soft cry that had broken the stillness of the night small, but enough to stir the quiet, enough to wake Dante. You shift slightly beneath the covers, half-aware, your body attuned to the sound even in sleep. But before the weight of responsibility can fully settle on you, a warm presence moves beside you.

Dante’s already pushing the blanket off, slow and deliberate, trying not to jostle the bed or wake you further. You catch the low sound of his voice—just a breath of words, more vibration than speech. Maybe a curse. Maybe a promise. But definitely tired.

Still, he goes. Because he is a dad now and thats what dads do.

He pads barefoot across the room, broad shoulders tense from the day’s weight, hair tousled from sleep. The floor creaks under him, a small complaint, but he doesn’t pause. The baby’s cry gets a little louder, more insistent, and Dante’s already there before it can peak into distress.

He scoops the baby up with a practiced ease, one big hand cradling the tiny head, the other supporting a body no heavier than a bundle of blankets. The child settles instantly, as if even this early in life, they know the feeling of safety when it’s near.

“Yeah, I got you,” Dante mutters, voice a rasp of sleep and tenderness. “Shhh. Let’s not wake your mama, huh?”

He starts pacing, slow rhythmic steps across the room, bouncing gently, his frame barely moving under the weight of the child. You hear him humming—soft, tuneless, something familiar and half-forgotten. It’s the kind of sound he only makes in the dark, when no one’s supposed to be listening.

Sometimes he talks to the baby—low, gravel-thick murmurs about nothing and everything. About how tired he is. About how small they are. About how, despite all this, he wouldn’t trade it.

“Could be sleepin’ right now,” he says, not to complain, but like it’s a fact he’s weighed and discarded. “But then your mom would get up, and we both know she needs it more than me.” He looks down at the bundle in his arms, so small, so adorable and so very you.

Dante rocks, hums, whispers. A guardian of the night. Rough hands holding fragile things with impossible care. The baby cooing up at him, tuffs of white hair peaking through the blanket as the little one starts to close their eyes.

Eventually, when the baby’s breaths turn steady and soft, he lowers them back into the bassinet. One last check. A light touch on the blanket. And then, with that same deliberate silence, he crawls back into bed beside you.

His body is warm, heavy with exhaustion, but he finds you in the dark and presses a kiss to your shoulder.

"Is she okay?" You muttered, sleep laced voice.

“Asleep and still adorable” he whispers. "Just like you should be." He muttered pulling you in close. This was perfect.

[rabiadraw]

Netflix d

[yzzart]

⋆˚࿔ you would be Dante's death, and he is very pleased to know that.

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: F!reader, 18+, Dante loves your pussy.

If he had the chance or an opportunity, considered as accomplished and, abnormally, fascinating, to die crushed by your thighs, Dante would love to try it.

Not being accepted, for obvious and, precisely, complete reasons — being impossible to justify, or to impose any defense — the half-demon realized that they felt, in the roof of his mouth, a taste of paradise.

And Dante was addicted to that taste; or rather, to your taste.

“I would die for this pretty little thing.” — He laid you down on the old table, which was filled with bullet casings, a pistol, and a few empty pizza boxes, keeping your thighs resting on his shoulders. — “For you too, my little love.”

His words were muffled, sounding almost inaudible, causing an electrifying vibration to ripple through your body as his talkative mouth was busy eating your pussy. — Delighting in your soaked folds, kissing your pulsing, throbbing bud.”

“I’m serious.” — Dante continued to babble, grunting, he almost felt your fingers pull on his white hair, wanting to scold him; the hunter chuckled, sucking on your clit, sending another shudder through you. — “You’re mean, you knew.”

No coherent words, no coherent rebuke, could be formed by you; only the pleasure, the pure excitement in your veins, matched by your mind, your body, everything. — Thanks to your boyfriend.

That man never — without exaggeration or drama — was satisfied; maintaining an inexplicable thirst, wanting more and not failing to have what he desired. — Dante's head moved forward, pushing you abruptly, with the intention of deepening his tongue between your velvety walls; at least, having a talkative boyfriend had its advantages.

“Look,” — The half-demon’s rough fingers ran through your folds, forming a “V,” opening your pussy; his eyes conveyed pure desire. — “my love.” — You didn’t know if he was referring to you or…

Leaning your elbows on the table, gathering what little strength you had left, being overcome by a cloud of ecstasy, you contemplated the image of your boyfriend; his chin was completely soaked, shining with a lascivious smile curved on his lips. — And you swore you saw a reddish spark in his eye sockets. — Dante's hands squeezed your thighs, imposing a sharp, pointed impression with his fingers, as if they were claws.

Removing a hand from Dante's messy white locks, you moved it across his beautiful, sweaty face to his cheeks; during such an immoral and delicious act, a caress was left there. — He looked at you, deep into your eyes, pressing your skin even tighter; held by a burning emotion, which grew every time he met your gaze.

“You’re going to be the fucking death of me.”

[wrathchvld]

Dante | Devil May Cry 5 vs. Devil May Cry Netflix Series

[stealingsocieties]

really quick crummy redraw of a Dmc x Scott pilgrim poster I made a year or two ago on my twt xd

alt ver + og under cut

[mugggsiesss]

he's like gojo n toji combined how do you expect me to not salivate at the thought of this man

new favorite character unlocked 😻

[hejee]

mr. strawberry and mr. blueberry

[witzwarapron]

I like it when they’re together

[awesomelyanon]

Dante and Vergil

[tehrevving]

Dante Gets a Little Feral After Being Away From You 😏

Dante doesn’t know what to expect, when he opens up the door after spending all that time away. He doesn’t exactly know how long it’s been, but he knows it’s been far too long. You’re sitting at his desk when he enters and he just stands at the entrance. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what’s going to happen. A pang of worry twists in his gut as he thinks about what might happen, that you might not want him anymore.

He should have known better than to let thoughts like that consume him though, because within moments you’re in his arms once more. Within moments you’ve pressed your whole body all up against his, and everything in the world is right again.

He lifts you off the ground, effortlessly, desperate to have you closer. You’re silent against his chest, arms squeezing so tight around him that they might have caused damage, if he wasn’t so strong. He holds you while you shudder against his chest. He breathes you in, memorising the scent of you, the feel of you once more.

But then you adjust against him, and he shifts his stance, and then your soft lips are pressed to his. Everything is right in the world once more, for a bare moment anyway, because then your tongue is there, pressing against the seam of his lips, and suddenly it’s just not enough.

There’s too many clothes between the two of them and far too much tension. He intends to take you somewhere, to the couch, to the bedroom, but his plans fall apart once he takes a step. Your hands are in his hair, and your teeth are on his neck, and it’s too much for him to take. He doesn’t even make it to the couch.

You deserve better than the floor, but then your hands are on him, nails scrabbling ineffectively because he’s wearing far too many clothes, and he finds that none of it matters anymore.

He grows claws, and shreds your clothes. You don’t even blink, you just start pulling the tattered pieces from your skin. Dante does the same to what he’s wearing. He thinks an apology to Nero for just a moment, he had probably wanted these back, but then your nails are digging crescents into the bare skin of his back, and he forgets his thoughts.

You smell incredible, arousal and heat pouring from between your legs. He’s fucking desperate for a taste, he wants it so badly, more than he’s ever wanted anything else in his life. But then your hands squeeze at his dick, and his brain rearranges his priorities.

He fucks you into the floor. A hand on your hip to hold you suspended at the perfect angle for him. He pounds into you, tight, wet, heat engulfing him, while you writhe and scream out his name.

You drag desperate nails down his back, drawing blood. The pain is so good that he howls, grappling roughly at you so that he can bite at your shoulder.

The sweet, desperate heat of you floods his mouth and you tighten unbearably around him. He extracts his teeth from you, licking the taste of you from his lips, as his hands tighten around you, and his hips pick up their pace.

Between gasps he watches as you look up at him. Pleasure, lust, adoration and greed across your face. Your hands are in his hair, while your hips pop up against his in rhythm, You yank his head to the side, violently, deliciously and then sinks your teeth into the join between his neck and shoulders. You draw blood, claiming him as your own.

Dante thrusts so hard that the concrete floor underneath him creaks, he thrusts so hard that the supports of the building start to shake. And then he comes, throwing back his head and roaring out to the sky. He presses so there’s no room between your bodies. He fills you as deep as he can, as desperately as he can.

He’s knotted you, he realises belatedly, once his brain has started to catch up with his actions, as he tries to pull back from you, and realises that he can’t. Knotting, he almost laughs, that’s definitely something that usually doesn’t fucking happen when his dick isn’t triggered. But you don’t seem to mind, taking it completely in stride. You rock your hips lazily against his, drawing him closer for more, welcoming him home.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Like Hell, You’re Shy Now || Dante Sparda ||

The old, battered leather of Dante’s chair creaked under him as he leaned back with that usual half-lazy, half-hungry smirk. You stood between his legs, fingers fidgeting at the hem of your oversized shirt — one of his, of course. It swallowed you whole, brushing your bare thighs, the scent of gunpowder and cedarwood clinging to the fabric.

Dante’s red coat hung off the side of the chair, his black undershirt tight across his chest, half unbuttoned from earlier. His eyes never left you, glowing like smoldering embers — waiting, watching, eating you alive without a single touch.

“You gonna keep lookin’ like that,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “or are you gonna climb on and make a mess of me?”

Your breath caught, thighs pressing together. You’d had him before — over desks, against walls, in the damn kitchen once — but this… this was different. Riding him? That meant taking control. That meant all his focus on you. No place to hide.

“I—I don’t know if I can—”

Dante chuckled, the sound dark and rich. He leaned forward slightly, one gloved hand dragging up your thigh, slow and possessive. “Like hell, you’re shy now,” he whispered, voice teasing but tender. “You’ve taken my cock screaming before, sweetheart. What’s this really about?”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. “Just… it’s new,” you admitted. “You watching me. All of me.”

His eyes softened for half a second before darkening again, fingers curling around your hip, tugging you gently forward. “Then let me make it easier for you.”

With his help, you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. The friction of your bare heat against his jeans made you gasp, and Dante’s jaw clenched as he felt the wetness through the fabric.

“Shit, baby,” he growled. “You’re soaked already?”

Your cheeks burned, but your hips shifted instinctively, chasing the pressure. He looked like sin itself beneath you — legs spread wide, muscles tense, his expression a mix of reverence and filth.

“Take what you need,” he murmured, voice husky. “I’m not going anywhere.”

With trembling fingers, you reached between you, unzipping him and freeing his cock — thick, hot, and already leaking for you. Dante helped, one hand guiding you as you lined yourself up and sank down, inch by inch.

Your head fell back with a whimper as he filled you, stretch delicious and overwhelming. His hands gripped your hips hard, grounding you, but he let you control the pace. You started slow — the roll of your hips unsteady at first — but his praise poured like gasoline on your nerves.

“That’s it,” he groaned, teeth gritted. “Look at you… fuckin’ perfect. Ridin’ me so good, baby.”

You rocked against him, gradually finding rhythm, the drag of him inside you hitting every nerve. Dante’s head fell back against the chair as he watched you through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide.

“Goddamn, you were made for this,” he grunted. “Made for me.”

The warmth on your cheeks was matched only by the heat pooling deep in your belly. Each bounce sent shocks of pleasure through you, and the way he held your hips tighter, thrusting up just enough to meet you — it pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“You feel so good, Dante,” you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Come for me, angel,” he growled, suddenly snapping his hips up hard. “Wanna feel that pretty pussy squeeze me while you fall apart.”

You shattered, moaning his name as you clenched around him, trembling in his lap. Dante wasn’t far behind — he pulled you down hard and spilled into you with a groan that vibrated through your whole body.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing heavy, skin slick and bodies tangled, legs still shaking as your fingers clutched a fist full of his shirt.

After a moment, he tilted your chin up and kissed you — slow, sweet, reverent.

“Next time,” he murmured against your lips, “you’re takin’ that shirt off first, your beautiful tits out. I want the full view, babe.”

You laughed breathlessly. “You’re insatiable.”

He grinned. “Only for you.”

[senranx]

dante + lady doodle