#dante sparda & reader

[yzzart]

⋆˙⟡ BOYFRIEND!DANTE ── HEADCANONS!

── content warnings: F!reader, mention of anime, Dante being needy, fluff, cute and light content and part two is here!

── word count: 653!

⭑.ᐟ Dante is always, ALWAYS, in contact with you and it doesn't matter where or when. — This is not an exaggeration, or a complaint, never. — Whether through physical touches or messages, SMS, — that man only uses his damn cell phone because of you and even though it's risky — he never lets you keep in contact.

“thinking about you right now ;)” “Dante, you only left about 5 minutes ago…?” “painful, isn’t it? do you believe i have an amazing joke ready? i need to tell you when i get back.”

⭑.ᐟ The demon hunter loves to snuggle up to you, to cling to you; being unable, and in his words, impossible, not to be close to you. — Well, that's his biggest weakness. — Dante always kept his hands around you, usually on your waist and caressing the region. — Like holding your hand, caressing your face and massaging your thigh.

⭑.ᐟ He loves receiving your attention, especially when he is between your boobs and receiving caresses, which make him fall asleep instantly. — you know this very well — However, there was one night, after a long and unbearable killing against beings from the underworld, Dante ended up falling asleep during one of the night conversations, which was your routine, and ended up drooling on your shirt.

⤷ The scene was…naive, also pitiful; your boyfriend was tired, he needed rest more than anything else. — And you, wanting to make him comfortable and pleasant, tried to get out of the position, which was to be underneath him, but an extremely sleepy and heavy Dante prevented your action and mumbled inaudible words — asking you to stay there, with him — and even without understanding, you obeyed.

⭑.ᐟ DDR — DanceDance Revolucion nights? This has become a routine worthy of you and Dante. — Every night, no matter what time it is, and even knowing that you have things to do the next day, this gentle game becomes a competition; Dante, without even caring who is in front, doesn't miss the chance to have fun with his girl.

"Come on, ma'am! Make me impressed, go, go!" + “It was with that swagger that you won me over, right, you smart little girl?” + “I can’t believe you beat me at my own game?”

“Shut your pretty mouth, big boy.”

⭑.ᐟ You are the only person, the only thing that can breathe, that can touch or question his necklace. — There is no discussion about that. — Dante trusts you, until his last breath, even though he has reason to distrust everyone and everything, he would never leave or abandon his loyalty and trust in you. — Out of fear, and respect and common sense, you don't dare to touch it on some occasions and Dante realizes this, he finds it funny, cute, pure; feeling loved and so cared for by you.

⤷ “There’s not a day, not a single day, that the memory of the day she gave me that necklace doesn’t cross my mind.” — Dante mentioned his mother, able to feel a small and unbearable burning in his eyes; he sighed, arranged you in his lap, directing a compassionate look in your direction as your fingers pass through the cord, without touching the amulet. — “And every day, i’m sure she would adore you.”

⭑.ᐟ Dante knows how to be a knight with you, and he really does. — Last piece of pizza in the box? He makes a point of leaving it for you, and that's a high-class knightly role in his eyes. — Even living such a complicated life, working with something so violent and filthy, he can't help but indulge his girl in a few whims.

⤷ Little writings on small pieces of old newspaper, which he left in his pants or jacket pocket, telling some joke or unfunny pick-up line and decorations are typical of Dante. — Teaching you to play pool and then beating him and your prize are moments of grabbing? Oh, Dante is a lucky boy.

[jupitereleven]

new favorite character unlocked 😻

[multi-fandom-imagine]

The First Time || Dante Sparda ||

A/n: Part two of Dante fingering the reader but now you two fuck!

Warnings: p in v , virginity loss , cream pie

Dante carried you to the bedroom like you weighed nothing, arms strong and steady. The adrenaline of earlier had faded, leaving behind a pulsing, aching desire that settled deep in your belly. Your thighs still trembled from your climax, and yet you clung to him, craving more.

You could practically feel your heart pounding rapidly in your chest. Nibbling your bottom lip, you clung to the man looking up at him as he laid you down on the bed—his bed—soft sheets brushing your skin as he hovered over you, eyes scanning every inch of your face.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he murmured, fingers brushing your cheek.

You nodded. Nervous, breathless, but aching to be touched again.

Aching for him

He kissed you slowly—deep, but unhurried. No rush now. Just the two of you in the quiet dark, the world outside silenced for once.

But when his hands slipped down to your waist, fingers hooking into your panties, you froze.

He noticed it instantly. That tiny flinch. The small intact of your breath.

“Hey,” he whispered against your lips. “Talk to me.”

You hesitated, then barely breathed the words, “I’ve… never done this before.” The words slipped out and suddenly you regretted it because why would he ever want a virgin?

His body stilled above you. His expression didn’t shift—no mockery, no surprise. Just something deeper in his eyes. Gentler. Protective.

“You mean—” he started.

You nodded quickly. “Y-Yeah. I’m a virgin.”

There was a long pause. His thumb gently stroked your hip, grounding you.

“You should’ve told me,” he said softly, voice low and sincere.

“I didn’t want you to stop...I just…” Your voice trailing off for a moment.

That made him smile. Slow. Dangerous. But full of something almost sweet.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your throat, “I’m not stopping. But I am going to take my damn time with you.”

You whimpered as he kissed lower, lips tracing a path between your breasts, down your stomach, slow enough to make your skin burn.

“No rushing,” he murmured, settling between your thighs, his breath hot against your inner thigh. “No pain. No fear. Just you, melting for me.”

He removed your panties with reverence, like they were delicate silk. Then he just looked at you, lips parted, gaze dark and awed.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said, dragging a knuckle slowly down your slit, making you arch into his touch.

“D-Dante…”

“Shhh.” His fingers were back—one at first, rubbing slow circles over your clit. Then slipping down to tease your entrance. He didn’t even try to push inside yet—just circled, coaxed, explored. “I’m gonna stretch you nice and slow, baby. Gotta make sure you’re ready to take all of me.”

You moaned, legs falling open further for him. Your body finally relaxing as you bucked your hips against his fingers.

His finger dipped in—just the tip. Then back out. Then a little deeper. Patient. Gentle. Torturous.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned. “So warm. Your body’s gonna drive me fucking insane.”

You whimpered, hips lifting to chase his finger.

“I want you,” you breathed.

He looked up, eyes heavy-lidded and intense. “You have me. But I’m not just gonna fuck you, sweetheart.”

He crawled back up, kissing your neck, your jaw, brushing his cock—hard and hot—against your thigh.

“I’m going to make love to you. Slow. Deep. Until you forget you were ever untouched.”

And with one hand laced through yours and the other guiding himself to your entrance, he watched you carefully.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he murmured, lips brushing yours.

Your legs were already wrapped around his waist, his tip nudging against your entrance, teasing. Every nerve in your body was lit up like fire under his touch.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I want you.”

“Then you’ve got me,” he said, voice low and rough. “All of me.”

He pushed in slow—so slow you could feel every inch of him, stretching you open with a delicious ache. Your breath caught, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he eased deeper. He paused halfway in, his forehead resting against yours.

“You okay?” he asked, voice strained.

You nodded, already trembling around him. “It just… it’s a lot.”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, baby. I’m not small.”

You laughed breathlessly through the sting. He kissed you, a deep kiss to swallow the small gasp and then moved he again—sliding deeper, inch by inch, until his hips met yours. You gasped, full to the brim, the stretch sharp but slowly melting into pressure, pleasure, him.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Taking me so damn good.”

He didn’t move yet. Just stayed there, buried inside you, his hand brushing your cheek, his lips kissing the corner of your mouth. Letting your body adjust. Letting you feel him.

Then he pulled back, just slightly, and thrust in again—slow, smooth, grinding against your walls.

Your moan was soft, involuntary. Your thighs squeezed around his waist.

“That feel good, baby?” he whispered.

You nodded, gasping. “Y-Yeah. So full…”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. His thrusts stayed slow, measured, like he had all the time in the world. He hit spots you didn’t even know existed, and every time he rolled his hips just right, your body shivered under him.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he praised, voice all gravel and heat. “So tight, so wet. Like your body was made for mine.”

Your nails dragged down his back, and he groaned—like he loved the way you clung to him, overwhelmed.

“Dante, I—I think I’m close,” you gasped, the heat inside you coiling fast.

“Let go for me,” he murmured, rocking into you. “Come while I’m deep inside you, baby. I want to feel it.”

His thumb brushed your clit at the same time, and your body shattered—back arching, mouth falling open as your orgasm rushed through you like a wave. You clenched around him, and he swore, hips faltering.

“Fuck, that’s it—god, you feel so fucking good—”

He thrust deeper, faster now, chasing his own high. Still controlled. Still gentle. But with that primal edge.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled. “Gonna claim this sweet little pussy.”

You moaned helplessly, still riding the aftershocks, and with one final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, broken groan—his warmth spilling into you, his body collapsing against yours.

For a long time, neither of you moved. You just lay there, wrapped around him, completely full and completely his.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were soft. Tender.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered, brushing hair from your face.

You smiled, dazed, and nodded. “More than okay.”

He kissed your forehead. “Next time,” he said, smirking again, “you’re riding me.”

[itsxarien]

my hero | dante x reader

(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.

And Dante knew it all too well..

He hit the jackpot with you.

[jinwoosungs]

04/07/25; 07:12pm

dante sparda x fem.reader

warnings: somnophilia

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

thinking about riding dante sparda’s abs.

you woke up in the middle of the night, questioning why your boyfriend didn’t join you in bed, yet you swore you could hear his snores echoing throughout your apartment.

dressed in an oversized shirt, you step out of your bedroom, your bare feet touching at the wooden floors that creak with your added weight. as you venture out into the living room, dante’s snores became even more prominent. noticing the way his boots hang precariously off the side of the couch, you inch closer to the piece of furniture only to find dante sprawled out in a deep slumber.

his chest moves in tune to his deep breaths, making you cross your arms upon seeing his torn clothes and how his abdomen was revealed to you. you lean forward, ready to wake him up when a sudden urge-

a compulsion you couldn’t seem to ignore courses through you.

your eyes kept taking in the sinful sight of him, with his torn shirt and how it left nothing to the imagination. dante was laid out so deliciously for you that you had to take a moment to admire him. as if sculpted by the gods themselves, there wasn’t an inch of dante that was short of perfection. while he breathed, you watched with an almost hungry gaze at how his muscles rippled in response.

a familiar ache was settled between your legs when you carefully step out of your panties, kicking them aside when they pool against your ankles. heat was felt blossoming within your veins when you manage to climb on top of your beloved hunter, placing your naked center over his abdomen while trembling at how the first contact made you feel.

low whimpers escape from your parted lips when you brace yourself against his chest, moving your slick heat up and down his abdomen. you allow each muscled ridge to catch at your clit, fueling the bundle of nerves with some much needed friction. your movements succeed in making the couch bounce in response, with dante no longer asleep as he lazily watches you while a storm was felt brewing beneath his eyes.

his low whistle was what makes you stutter in your movements, eyes going wide when his large hands were felt gripping at your waist. “you surprised me with a gift? you shouldn’t have, baby.” taking advantage of your distracted state, dante controls your movements by sliding you up and down the length of his abdomen, your arousal staining at his skin making him groan in response.

“you’re such a pretty girl for me… so damn pretty.” dante praises you in hushed tones, the deep timbre of his voice causing shivers to run up and down your spine. he suddenly removes your aching cunt away from his abs, keeping you still with one hand while freeing his cock from the confines of his pants with the other.

when his belt lands against the floor without a second thought, you found yourself laid back against the couch. dante removes your oversized shirt, giving him the view of your perky breasts and how your nipples hardened beneath his heated gaze. he lets out a low whistle, tossing aside your shirt while cupping one of your breasts within the palm of his hand. “how did a bastard like me get so lucky?”

playing with your nipples for another brief second, he releases them, feigning disappointment when he tosses both of your legs against his shoulder, “as much as i’d love to have my mouth suckling at your tits, ‘m afraid my dick just got way too hard to ignore. it’s practically leaking for you, babygirl.”

with your legs trapped against his shoulder, you could barely move, trembling with anticipation when you felt his cockhead lightly tracing at your outer lips. he collects the evidence of your arousal, slapping his tip playfully against your entrance to draw out even more of your whiny moans.

“ngh, dante…! stop teasing me…”

“heh, as you wish, babe.”

no longer teasing you, dante swiftly enters you, sheathing his cock deep inside your silky walls as he forces you into a mating press. his swift pounds were void of any gentleness as he fucks you with a possessiveness that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. you were so full of him-

so full of his cock that you lost every single thought that didn’t pertain to him.

the sensation of his cock nestled so deeply inside of you was overwhelming, filling you with a red hot pleasure you craved. his balls kept slapping against you, and you swore that he was fucking you so deep that he was practically in your womb at this point. the feeling of being fucked dumb along with the lingering scent of sex in the air were too much to bear when you manage to arch your back against the leather couch, releasing your juices down the length of his cock.

a growl was heard coming from dante as he continues to bully your sensitive walls with his cock, not stopping even when you had him in a vice grip. yet a few moments later, the need to cum overpowers everything else when dante stills his hips, allowing his dick to grow while you milked him for all he was worth.

thick spurts of his cum were felt being pumped inside you, making you drool at the sudden sensation as you were certain you had heart in your eyes for the beast of a man settled above you. when dante was confident that he was completely emptied did he land against you (earning a loud squeak from you).

“whoa, dante…! you’re so heavy…” his rich chuckle fills at your ear, with dante removing your legs from his shoulder and back down to his waist. he says your name in an almost reverent manner, his usually gruff voice tinged with an unusual softness that he reserves only for you. you meet his gaze, seeing the perfect quality of his true blue eyes, reminding you of clear ocean waters for a brief second until he leans forward to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

you respond eagerly, kissing him back with just as much passion when you opened up to him. tongues battled for dominance, yet you lost as soon as you felt his tongue pinning yours down. he explores your taste with a slowness that conveyed he had all the time in the world-

yet the sensation of something hard growing from inside you breaks you out of your haze, all too eager to delve in both of your hedonistic desires when dante pulls away from your lips.

with a cocky grin on his face, he spreads your legs wide open for him, allowing both of your legs to hang off either sides of the couch before pistoning his cock back into you. “heh, sorry princess, i guess once wasn’t enough f’ me. but… you’ll forgive me, right?”

and with how good dante was making you feel, you would have done anything and everything for him.

end notes: dante was made for the feminine gaze 🫦

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[heartkaji]

currently thinking about dante sparda who’s a feminist, 6’3, built—and oh, did i mention feminist?

“say, dante, what’s your opinion on men’s rights ?”

“irrelevant.”

dante doesn’t miss the slight pause you make before continuing to stir your drink. he sits in the booth across from you, enzo munching on fries opposite him as he sneaks a sip of his sundae.

“yer joking !” enzo says between belches. “something wrong with ya kiddo ? what do you mean men’s rights are irrelevant ?!”

but dante isn’t listening. he’s more concerned about the gap between your lips & coffee cup, the way you tilt it slightly above your mouth so as to not stain the glass with your gloss. your lips tug into a pout when you find the rim stained in coke pink regardless. you pull out a napkin & wipe it with a frown. cute.

“well, as a six three, employed and financially stable male,” dante clears his throat, smug, “i can’t help but turn my focus to more important things. for example, the widening gap between men and women’s wages. and we can’t forget the rising prices of feminine hygiene products, of course.”

enzo wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. he doesn’t miss the way dante’s pupils seem to flit over to you every now and then. he clicks his tongue,

“kid, please, y’know she hasn’t even looked at ya, right?”

“she will.”

you continue to scroll through your phone.

but dante takes your silence as intrigue.

“anyways,” dante pauses as if searching for the words, “i just think it’s important to raise awareness—”

“yer raisin’ my freakin’ blood pressure.”

dante shoots him a glare. “i just think that, as a six foot four male, it’s my duty to raise awareness about the issues women face and the obvious gender bias in america’s modern day economy.”

“y’said six three before, kid—wait, what’s yer’ height gotta do with anything ?!”

as if on cue, your teaspoon clatters to the ground, and dante, ever the feminist, is quick to lean down to pick it up—rattling the table and spilling enzo’s fries in the process.

“hey! watch it—“

“your spoon, lady,”

you blink. dante’s taken his time to wipe the spoon clean & present it with a napkin. you hesitate a little before obliging with a murmur, “thanks..?”

“you’re welcome,” he says smoothly, relaxing into the booth seat. “no woman should ever have to bend over in a skirt. i mean—unless she wants to. then it’s her choice. her feminine power.”

“oh !”

enzo chokes on a fry. you stare at dante for a beat too long & he can’t tell if you’re confused or interested, but dante has an ego bigger than his head so he decides upon the latter.

“say, lady, don’t you agree that men should always pay on the first date ?”

you raise a brow. “the first ?”

dante waves his hands. “all, really. i only mention the first because i know some strong, independent women prefer to pay too. i respect that. i respect all women, really.”

“right. and is this your way of offering to pay for my food ?”

dante’s pupils shift to your table. only now does he realize you’ve ordered the most expensive french breakfast on the menu, as well as a drink too milky brown to cost the same as your average cappuccino. his wallet aches heavy in his pocket. “with pleasure ! lemme just get my wallet out…hope i didn’t leave it in the hellcat…”

“huh? wasn’t our uber a toyota?”

dante bares his teeth, ready to strangle enzo when you giggle—

“oh, gosh,” you sniffle, wiping tears, “that’s enough, you two are hilarious.”

clearing your throat, you raise your hand to reveal the diamond settled on your finger. “i’m sure you’re lovely and all, but i’m happily engaged.”

“that’s okay! i support women having multiple streams of happiness—ow !”

dante rubs at his shin as you continue. “that’s nice for you, but i’m fine with my fiancé.” you set some cash on the table and dust your skirt off, standing up to leave. “thank you for the laugh, though, gentlemen.”

you wave them goodbye and make your exit.

“God, i love women.”

“seek help,” enzo mutters, as he sneaks a sip from dante’s drink again.

© 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈 ー do not edit, copy, translate or re-upload.

[spikesbunny]

+ note: i intended this with dmc3 dante, but any version of him you desire works <33

minors dni!

dante sparda was know for his appetite. he loved pizza, he loved strawberry sundaes. but what he most loved?

your pussy.

dante could spend hours between your thighs. he would beg for a lick, "just one, please?" you both knew that it would be way more than one. but how could you ever deny him?

he was messy, but skilled. one long, flat press of his tongue up your slit, fingers parting your lips as he dips his tongue in to lap at your walls.

he couldn't get enough!! his lips would wrap around your clit, tracing shapes and his name onto the sensitive bud. anything to get you to cum, anything to slurp up all your release.

dante never settled for one orgasm from you. no, he needed more. your thighs would be coated in your slick, release, and his drool, his chin wet, a puddle soaking into the bed or couch, where ever he could get you.

your legs would be slung over his shoulders, mouth desperately making out with your cunt, like he was starved for days.

he even asked you to not shower after work. he loved your natural scent, the taste of your day on you.

dante was a hungry, sloppy man, never satisfied. he craved you. it got him off watching you fall apart under him.

or better, on top of him. he loved having you sit on his face.

that's an understatement, he needed you to sit on his face. caging his head in between your thighs, rutting your hips against his mouth, it was heaven for the man.

his eyes would close in pure ecstasy, hands keeping your hips fully seated on his face as he slurps away. he doesn't do that hovering bullshit, he needs to feel you against him, on him.

dante has no shame using his devil trigger as well, fucking you with his long tongue, hot breath against your wet flesh. it was primal, he felt almost animalistic with the way he would get.

what could he say? dante really just loved the taste of you.

©2025 spikesbunny- please do not repost/translate my works on other media sites ♡

[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 ☆

[angelltheninth]

Now that Devil May Cry is out may I request some head canons about riding Dante? Pretty please?

You can always make DMC requests from me!

Pairing: Dante Sparda x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, cock riding, praise, clit stimulation, teasing, Dante being Dante

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

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

[notiddygothgf]

i.

★ pairings: dante (netflix dmc) x fem reader

★ summary: After a messy breakup with Dante and a year of silence, you've rebuilt your life from the ground up. Now, Dante's back, and one thing is clear — he's determined to make you his.

★ ❝ It's been exactly 365 since I've seen your face ❞

★ c.w.:dante being a little shit, suggestive content. not beta'd, reuploading bc it got taken down?

★ a/n:HIIIIIIIII!!!! okay so i put out a poll asking about how y'all would feel if i posted a dante fic, and omg. so many of you replied. so now here go ahead and take this shit!! damn!!! jk i want him so bad so yk i had to rush to get this done LMFAOOAOA. enjoy besties! if you're from around here, you know the drill. if not, please leave lots of comments, i love the spam and your praise gives me motivation to update quicker!!

★ w.c: 10k

pretty ; chapter index

YOU AND DANTE had a messy breakup. Contrary to how it may have seemed at the time of “The Argument” (as you had begun calling it), there was nothing sudden about it. It didn’t detonate like some sort of time bomb, but disintegrated rather slowly – like water trickling through the cracks in the cement, soft and patient, until one day everything just caved in.

It didn’t always feel that way.

When you had first met Dante, it was… effortless. (Some of which was the rose colored glasses’ doing, you were sure). He was cute as hell, first of all. He was funny, too. He had no problems laughing you right out of your panties on the first date, and… well, practically every night after that. He looked at you like you were everything to him – like a dream come true, like he couldn’t believe someone like you would actually have chosen him. You got along famously.

For a while, things stayed that way. Six months, in fact. Things were good. Simple. You’d wake up to his arms around you, his voice in your ear, calling you names that only sounded pretty falling from his lips – princess, babydoll, sweetheart. His stupid jokes – the ones that always used to make you crack a tired grin. He used to make time.

But, somewhere along the way, his job started taking more and more of him. Late nights began to bleed into early mornings. You’d wait up for him with leftovers gone cold and shows paused halfway through. At first, he apologized. Said he hated missing out on time with you. But then the apologies stopped, and so did the explanations. You’d go days without hearing from him. Sometimes weeks. You’d text—hey, you okay?, can you call when you're free?—and the replies would trickle in too late or not at all.

You tried to be understanding. People get busy, right? Life gets in the way. You told yourself that a strong relationship should be able to weather a few quiet days. But it was more than just quiet. It was absence. It was like he was slipping through your fingers and pretending he wasn’t.

And when you did talk, it was always surface-level. You’d try to tell him how it made you feel—how the silence scared you, how you felt like you were in this alone—and he’d get defensive. He’d say, “I’m doing my best,” or “You know how much pressure I’m under right now.” And you’d bite your tongue. You didn’t want to add to the weight on his shoulders. But the resentment kept building. You weren’t asking for the world. Just a check-in. A sign that he still remembered how to love you when things got hard.

The miscommunications started small. A forgotten anniversary dinner. A vague answer when you asked if he’d be home. But they stacked up like dominoes, one after the other, until the smallest push sent everything toppling. You both stopped speaking the same language. You’d say, “I miss you,” and he’d hear, “You’re not good enough.” He’d say, “I’m tired,” and you’d hear, “You don’t matter.”

Then came the argument. The big one. The one that split the foundation.

You were setting the table when he buzzed the apartment door.

It was 10:18 PM.

You stared at the intercom for a second before pressing the button to let him in. No words. No "I'm here" or "Sorry I'm late." Just the click of the door unlocking and silence.

You opened the door before he could knock. Dante stepped in looking like hell—literal hell. Blood on his sleeve, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, hair damp like he’d tried to rinse off whatever mess he’d walked through before coming to you. He smelled like copper and smoke and exhaustion.

Still, your heart lifted for a beat just seeing him. Stupid, soft reflex.

“Hey,” you said.

He nodded. “Hey.”

You stepped aside and let him in. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just dropped his duffel by the door like he was clocking out of something. The sight of him like this—tired, distant, barely standing—it tugged at something in your chest.

“I made dinner,” you said, a little too hopeful. “It’s probably cold by now, but—”

“I’m not hungry,” he cut in, already moving toward the couch.

You stood in the kitchen for a second, hands still resting on the back of one of the chairs. Watching him. He sat with a grunt, elbows on knees, head in his hands like gravity was pressing harder than usual. You knew that posture. It meant don’t ask questions. Don’t start anything. Just let him sit in the silence.

But tonight… you couldn’t.

It had been a week. A week without him. A week of one-word texts, unanswered calls, and too many nights alone, replaying old conversations in your head trying to figure out when exactly he started slipping through your fingers.

“I waited,” you said softly. “I thought you were coming at eight.”

He didn’t look at you. “Got held up.”

You waited. Hoped for more. An apology. An explanation. Something that showed he realized this mattered.

Nothing.

You took a slow breath. “Dante… you can’t keep doing this.”

That made him lift his head, eyes hazy with irritation. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Ghosting me for a week. Showing up in the middle of the night like it’s nothing. Acting like I’m just supposed to—what? Pretend we’re fine?”

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been working.”

“I know,” you said, voice sharper than you meant. “I know you’ve been working. Risking your life. I get it. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care when you disappear. I can’t keep sitting alone in this apartment wondering if you’re alive.”

He blinked, like the words didn’t land right. Or like he didn’t want them to.

“You think I enjoy this?” he muttered. “You think I like being stuck in some sewer for three days bleeding out while some freak tries to tear me apart?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You have no idea what it’s like out there.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping forward. “But I know what it’s like in here. Waiting. Checking my phone every five minutes. Making excuses for you. Pretending this doesn’t hurt because I’m scared if I say the wrong thing, you’ll just disappear again.”

He stood then, sudden and sharp. “You think I want to be like this?”

“I think you don’t know how to let people in,” you said, quieter now. “And I think I’ve been trying so damn hard to hold onto something that doesn’t want to be held.”

He stared at you, breathing hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said finally.

“I didn’t cook for someone who wasn’t going to show up,” you said.

The room went still.

He looked away first. Scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m tired.”

“So am I.”

Your voice cracked on that last word, and he looked at you again—really looked this time. And for a second, something in him softened. Like he saw the version of you that wasn’t angry or nagging or dramatic. Just hurting.

But he didn’t reach for you.

Didn’t say I’m sorry.

Didn’t say I missed you.

Just ran a hand through his hair and said, “Maybe this isn’t working.”

Not working?

Not working?

“You can’t be serious,” You huffed out a bitter laugh. Dante reached for you. You swatted him away. “You… We’ve been together for six months. What the fuck do you mean “Maybe this isn’t working”?”

He stood before you with his arms crossed, white hair still disheveled from his day, eyes narrowed, jaw ticked. “I mean that this…” He answered, gesturing to the space between you and him. “Isn’t working out. I don’t think– I can’t…” He swallowed, “I can’t be the man you need me to be. Not right now.”

“You’re gonna give up on us? Just like that?” You continued, still, with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Then, you stepped forward, raising a hand to reach out for him, “I love you, Dante. You’re not gonna fight for us?”

“This isn’t love,” He spoke, tone final, but the slightest trembling breath beneath his words betrayed his true feelings. His fingers slipped into his hair, trembling as they carded through his white locks and tugged at his roots. “Look at you– you don’t even see the problem. You shouldn’t have to worry about whether or not your boyfriend is gonna come back alive. You shouldn’t have to put your whole life on hold for me. You still have the whole world to see. I don’t want to have to live a double life anymore.”

“Then let me in!” You hissed back. Your arms were crossed, too. “Do you think I like feeling as if I don’t know the man I love? I could take some of the burden off your shoulders, Dante, if you just–”

“Enough,” Dante sucked his teeth. “I don’t want you wasting your life away worrying over me,” After a lengthy pause, he continued, “All we ever do is fight and fight and fight– I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore, not with you. You’d be much happier without me.”

He was probably right.

“Oh, fuck you,” you shouted, your voice cracking with fury, but even then, it wasn’t enough to hide the way your heart was shattering inside your chest. When your eyes finally met his, you knew he felt the heat of it—anger and hurt and betrayal, all coiled together like fire licking at his skin.

“You’re not going to decide what’s best for me.”

“Yes, I am,” he snapped, cold and absolute.

You took a step forward, trembling, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. “You don’t know what’s good for my well-being,” you bit back, chest heaving. “You don’t even know what’s good for your well-being.”

That hit him. You saw it in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, how his teeth caught the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on the guilt. Then he said the words that broke you:

“You could be so much happier without me.”

And just like that, everything inside you stopped.

Something in your gaze must’ve shifted then—something that startled even him. Because the anger didn’t burn quite as bright anymore. The fire was still there, but it flickered lower, smothered by something glassy, something wet clinging to your lashes. It was hurt. Real hurt. Deep, bone-deep heartbreak that swelled until your chest couldn’t contain it.

“Baby…” he sighed, and for the first time, his voice wasn’t sharp. His shoulders dropped like the weight of his decision had finally started to crush him. “I’m sorry. You know I love you. I just… I can’t live with myself knowing that one day I might not come back to you.”

You didn’t say it back.

Not this time.

Even if you wanted to. Even if your love for him still pulsed through every inch of your body, even if it begged for a reason to stay—how could you keep loving someone who was walking away from you like this?

Your lips parted, dry and trembling. You licked them slowly, like maybe the right words would come if you just gave them time. But all you could manage, hoarse and raw, was: “Take your shit…” You swallowed hard. God, it hurt. It hurt worse than anything he could’ve done. “And go.”

He froze.

“What?” he asked, stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to mean it. Like he thought you’d plead. Cry. Kiss him one more time just to remember what it felt like. Like you’d make it easier for him to leave you.

But you didn’t.

“I said…” You looked up at him, every inch of you on fire, your arms folded so tight across your chest they ached. You could feel yourself shaking—fists clenched, breath shallow. “Take your shit… and get the fuck out of my apartment.”

And you meant it.

Even if it destroyed you.

You saw the pain in his eyes then. The flicker of disbelief. The way his entire world seemed to crumble at your feet. Two years. Two whole years. Twenty-four months of laughter, late nights, shared secrets, and silent apologies. A thousand soft I love yous whispered between sheets. A thousand more unspoken.

Was he second-guessing it now? Did he finally realize what he was throwing away?

YOU

|  Guys we’re going out tn.

When you reached the bar, it was still early. There were a few people here, but not too many. The low murmur of voices and clinking glasses provided the background noise that you desperately craved.

You grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, the burn in your throat just sharp enough to make you feel something—anything, really. It felt like you were drinking to forget, and the first sip seemed to help, dulling the edges of the ache, if only for a moment.

Your friends noticed you as soon as they walked in. They must have heard the difference in your voice when you answered their text. They could tell something was off, but they didn’t press. Not immediately.

The first drink turned into another. And another. You weren’t trying to get drunk; you were just trying to escape. To lose yourself in the clinking of ice cubes, in the low hum of the bar, in something that wasn’t him. But as the minutes passed, the alcohol didn’t do much to stop your thoughts from spiraling back to him.

You thought about the night before. The argument. His face, so conflicted, yet resolute. The way he walked away without even a second glance, as if he knew the decision he was making was the right one. How could he be so sure? How could he leave you like that?

“Another?” one of your friends asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. She was smiling, but there was a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

You didn’t even think about it before nodding. “Yeah,” you said, a forced smile on your lips. "Just one more."

You didn’t want to talk about Dante. Not yet. You didn’t want to explain to anyone why you felt like the world had been yanked out from under you. But it didn’t matter. Your friends could see it in your eyes. They didn’t need you to say a word.

No, a year ago, your life changed.

So, you can imagine how it felt to walk home from a day spent at the grocery store, bags tucked beneath your arms, and see him standing there.

Dante.

It had been a year since you’d last seen him, and you were doing just fine. Really. A little grocery shopping to get your mind off the usual stuff, a bag of chips here, some pasta there. You didn’t need Dante in your life anymore, and if you were being honest, you were doing better without him. You had a boyfriend now, someone who didn’t make you question your sanity. Things were... uncomplicated.

That was until you turned the corner and saw him.

Dante. Standing there across the street, looking like he’d just stepped out of a scene from some movie you hadn’t signed up for. There he was, all messy hair and that familiar red coat, like he didn’t have a care in the world. You froze for a second, staring at him as if your eyes were playing tricks. Was he actually here? In your world, in your life, right now?

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? The universe had a sick sense of humor.

You immediately felt that familiar wave of annoyance—was it even annoyance? Maybe it was exhaustion, or some mix of both. You adjusted the grocery bags under your arms and took a deep breath. You were doing just fine. He was not about to mess with your day.

But Dante, being Dante, didn’t just stand there. No, he was coming toward you now, his long stride eating up the space between you with an unsettling familiarity.

Great, you thought, shifting the weight of your bags to one side as if they were the only thing that mattered right now. But in truth, you were already calculating the best possible escape route. The crosswalk? Too far. The alley to your left? Maybe, but the sidewalk was too narrow. Okay, girl. Focus.

You picked up the pace, shifting into a power walk as though your life depended on it. Sure, you looked a little ridiculous, but it was a small price to pay for a little peace and quiet. You weren’t looking back. Not now.

Behind you, you could hear Dante’s footsteps closing in, his voice trailing after you, “Hey, wait up!”

But you didn’t wait up. No way.

You’d moved on. You had a boyfriend now, someone who would never make you feel like a damn emotional rollercoaster. Someone who didn’t show up after a year of radio silence with that same unreadable stare, acting like nothing happened. No, Dante. No thank you.

Still, you could hear his footsteps, gaining on you. It was like an unspoken challenge. You had to admit, he wasn’t slow. But neither were you. You adjusted the bags once again—damn, this was turning into a workout—and picked up the pace.

You weren’t going to make it easy for him. You weren’t even going to acknowledge the way your heart still remembered his presence, the way it beat a little faster the closer he got. You weren't going to let yourself get sucked back into that mess.

His voice was closer now. “Come on, just—”

A sigh. You were really doing this, weren’t you?

A glance over your shoulder, just a quick flick of the eyes to see how much ground he’d covered, and what do you know? He was right behind you now, practically breathing down your neck. “I’m just trying to catch up, alright?”

Catch up? You weren’t sure whether to laugh or groan at that. This wasn’t a race, Dante, and you didn’t need a personal trainer chasing you down the sidewalk. You could already feel the annoying tightness in your chest. The one that had always been there whenever he was around, the one that reminded you of how difficult it had been to move on in the first place.

He was getting too close for comfort now, and you could already tell this wasn’t going to end well if you kept this pace. So, against every instinct telling you to keep walking, you slowed down just enough for him to catch up. You didn’t want to, but here he was, breathing like he’d run a marathon just to get you to stop. And for what? So he could talk?

He stopped beside you, his eyes searching your face with that all-too-familiar intensity. His chest heaved slightly, probably from the exertion, but you’d be damned if you showed any signs of weakness.

For a second, he just stood there, catching his breath. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes straight ahead, acting like you hadn’t just sprinted for your life.

“Alright, listen,” he said, voice softer now, “I know I messed up. But can we at least—”

You didn’t even look at him as you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I can’t. I have to go.”

And that was that. You didn’t need to say anything else. You couldn’t afford to.

You were done.

That night, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hair tied up into a neat little bonnet. The faucet was running – lukewarm water trickling out – but you weren’t washing up. No, you were standing there, letting the water drip down your eyes, your cheeks, your neck. You were staring at your tired reflection.

You should’ve been washing away the exhaustion of the day, but instead, you just let it fall over you, droplets slipping down your face, down your chest, almost as if you were trying to wash away the past.

But you couldn’t. No matter how much water hit your skin, how much you scrubbed away at your tired reflection, you couldn’t erase him. Dante. He was there, in the back of your mind, in the way your pulse quickened when you saw him again, after all this time. It had been a year, and yet, when you looked at him across the street, the world seemed to stop for a moment. It was like stepping back into a dream.

You hadn’t realized how much of your heart you’d given to him, how much of yourself you’d let him take. And then, nothing. No texts, no calls, no explanation. Just silence, stretching on for months, the gap between you two growing wider, until you started to convince yourself that maybe that was for the best. Maybe you were better off without him, your life finally starting to take shape without the constant ache of waiting for him to come back, to acknowledge the mess he left behind.

Cupping your hands beneath the faucet, you splashed some more water onto your face. God, I need therapy.

But, being that your current rent situation didn’t exactly permit a visit to the psychologist at the moment, you threw your favorite fuzzy robe over your satin cami and shorts, popping your feet into your beat up pink slippers. You shuffled right over to your bedroom and plopped down onto the bed, limbs falling uselessly to the mattress.

Kill me, you thought.

That wasn’t viable, though. So, instead, you reached into your nightstand (past the vibrator you had bought eight months ago during the worst part of your dry streak) and pulled out a sheet mask. Biting into the package, you opened it and pulled the slimy thing out. The serum melted into your skin as you laid it over your face, leaning your head back against the pillows and relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages.

Your head was blissfully empty. There were no thoughts of men with precarious jobs and swords and… devilishly handsome faces. No, it was just you. You and your favorite pajamas and your favorite skincare routine.

You flicked the TV on. You didn’t have to change it back to your favorite channel. No, that was the glory of having a shitty little apartment in the city to yourself. It was on the same channel you left off on – your favorite drama.

The characters buzzed to life. You set the remote down and watched.

The characters on screen started a new conflict, one that you knew would keep you hooked for the next hour. You sank deeper into the couch, letting the familiar warmth of your apartment wash over you. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that only comes when you're truly alone.

Then, the sound came. A soft knock at the window outside your room, followed by a long, drawn-out silence. Your heart skipped, the peace broken. You froze, eyes still locked on the TV, the characters' voices fading into the background as your mind reeled. It was too late for anyone to be outside. Too late for anything normal to be happening. Another knock, louder this time. A rhythmic tap that sent a shiver down your spine. You slowly turned your head toward the window, your pulse quickening.

Oh, God, you thought. I’m going to die.

Still, because you couldn’t exactly ignore the sound, you slid out of your warm, comfortable bed and into your slippers once more. Then, hesitating every single step of the way, you snuck into the living room, glancing around in search of the source of the sound.

Another knock. This one louder. You held your breath, hand hovering just above the blinds. It was coming from outside. No one else came to your apartment at this hour. You knew who it had to be.

You glanced down.

There, crouched on the balcony just below your window, was Dante. His face was half-lit by the streetlights, a little smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he waved at you. As if it was the most normal thing in the world, like he hadn’t disappeared for an entire year. Like you hadn’t spent every sleepless night wondering if he was dead or alive, missing his presence as if your heart had been torn in half.

The audacity of it. There he was, grinning like nothing had changed. His hair was messy, his eyes gleaming with that same mischievous spark that used to drive you crazy. The same spark that made your chest ache, even now.

“He cannot be serious,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but he caught it, his grin widening.

You could almost feel his eyes on you, waiting, daring you to say something. But you couldn’t. What could you even say?

All you could do was crack the window open.

“Sorry,” He huffed out a laugh. A familiar one. One you… kinda missed, actually. “I tried calling, but I think you blocked my number.”

“I got a new phone,” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make this situation any better – as if you would open your eyes and he wouldn’t be here.

But he was. 

“What the fuck are you even doing here– I mean– the balcony, Dante, really?” You threw your hands out, eyes full of exasperation. “You could have knocked at the door like a normal person.”

“Would you have answered?” He asked. “If you knew it was me?”

“Probably not,” You replied honestly. “I should leave you out here to freeze to death.”

“Oh, right, about that,” He laughed, rubbing the back of his head abashedly. The entire encounter was so absurd that a part of you firmly believed you were dreaming. “I found out I’m, like… half demon. Crazy, right? So I don’t think I would freeze to death. Demon stamina, or whatever.”

Demon stamina. You thought. Right. Definitely awake right now.

Still, that would certainly explain his… endurance.

“Okay…” You had many, many questions, but that was the only thing you could muster, “Should I be… scared?”

What the fuck is going on?

In all honesty, if he told you that the world was ending tomorrow, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Nah,” He waved your concerns away with the back of his hand. “I’d never hurt you. Except for… well, when I broke up with you. That’s why I came here, actually. Sorry about that. I’ve done some reflection and I…” Suddenly appearing rather nervous, he trailed off, “I fucked up. I was a real asshole to you back then. God, this is hard.”

Your arms dropped to your sides as you stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “You’re… ridiculous.”

“I know,” Dante said, hands up like he was surrendering. “But hear me out—”

“No, no. You don’t get to just Spider-Man your way onto my balcony, confess your demon heritage, and then act like this is normal,” you said, pointing to him like you were trying to make sense of a hallucination. “You broke up with me out of nowhere. Then you vanished. For a year, Dante. Not a word. Not even a shitty text.”

“I didn’t have a phone,” he replied, offended. “I was on a mission. I was in Hell.”

You snorted. “Oh, please.”

He blinked at you. Then, very seriously, he hissed out, “No, I was literally in Hell. For a year. You can’t imagine what that was like for me.”

“Oh my god.” You pressed your fingers to your temples. “You’re insane. Hell? Really?”

“I’m not making it up! You think I wanted to ghost you for twelve months?”

“Well, you kind of did. You broke up with me, remember?” You crossed your arms. “Said I should forget you. That I should move on.”

A pregnant pause.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he muttered.

“Well, congrats. I moved on. I did the whole crying on the bathroom floor thing, I got a therapist, I drank my sorrows away, I bought this plant—” You gestured wildly at the lonely fern in the corner. “His name is Rico. And he’s thriving. Without you.”

Rico was not, in fact, thriving. He was an exotic plant. One you had purchased on impulse at a farmer’s market that you definitely should have researched prior. He wasn’t doing too well cooped up inside of your apartment in New York City. Who would?

Dante crouched down, tilting his head, squinting at Rico. “Looks a little dehydrated.”

You glared. “So do you. What do you even want, Dante?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down for a second, suddenly quiet. “I want a do-over.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t have much control over the whole… trapped-in-hell thing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck again, “but I wasn’t happy with how we ended things. I could’ve been better to you. I kept rehearsing what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again, but I wasn’t expecting it to actually happen.”

He’s not being serious

… Is he?

One look at him, and you knew he was.

You let out a long, flat breath. “We can’t.”

“Why?”

You raised your brows. “Because we can’t,” you said again, quieter this time. And this time, it hurt.

“Why?” He asked, as if you hadn’t made yourself perfectly clear. “I’ve changed, honest. The past year I spent without you, I realized how good you were to me. How I took you for granted – I don’t wanna let you go. I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice.”

Aw, you thought, That’s… kinda sweet, actually.

No. Stop that.

Instead, you propped your hand up on your hip, “Does that mean you won’t be here on my balcony ever again?”

He paused, pursed his lips. “Okay, maybe I would,” He finally admitted. “But if you would let me in–”

You cut him off right then and there, rolling your eyes. “I can’t, Dante. I have a fucking boyfriend.”

That hit its mark.

His mouth opened, then closed again. The silence that followed made you uncomfortable in a way only Dante could manage—equal parts awkward and guilty. He looked down at the floor of the balcony like maybe it had some hidden message for him.

“Oh…” he murmured. “Oh. You… You really moved on.”

“Something like that.” You shrugged, trying not to sound as tired as you felt. “That’s what happens when you disappear for a year. Life goes on.”

“Not for me,” he muttered, lips curling downward into a pout that would’ve been funny if it didn’t come attached to so much damn history. “Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest.” Then he added, almost too fast, like it slipped out before he could filter it, “I could probably fuck you better, too—”

He probably could. Honestly, your current sex life with your current boyfriend wasn’t the greatest. Still, he was consistent. He didn’t leave you hanging for nights in a row, wondering if he would come home. Not to mention the fact that, when you were with Dante, well…

You had some of the loveliest orgasms you had ever had. On the bed, on the floor, on the kitchen counter. The kind of orgasm you hadn’t achieved once since he had left. Not with your vibrator, and certainly not with your new boyfriend.

Your stare could’ve burned through glass. “I have to be up early tomorrow.”

He had the decency to look vaguely ashamed, but not enough to shut up. “Did you come here just to ask for a do-over?” you asked, already backing toward the window.

“No,” he said, and then paused. “Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.”

You almost respected his commitment. Almost.

You didn’t respond right away, just stared at him— hair as white as starlight, red leather coat, sword still strapped to his back, ridiculous expression like he genuinely thought charm could undo the year-long hole he’d left in your life. The silence made him fidget, scuffing the toe of his boot against the concrete.

“What do I have to do to convince you?”

You sighed. You really sighed this time, long and from the chest, because there was no point in even pretending this wasn’t exhausting.

“Goodnight, Dante,” you said.

Then… you shut the window.

The next day came with no promises of peace.

You were behind the counter at the diner, hair tied back, apron smudged with flour, oil, and maybe a little bit of your sanity. The coffee machine hissed in protest as you filled another mug for a trucker in the corner booth. Your feet hurt. Your head hurt. But at least it was a different kind of ache than the one Dante stirred up last night.

And then, like the universe had a personal vendetta against your emotional wellbeing, the bell above the door jingled.

You didn’t have to look up.

You felt him walk in—like some twisted sixth sense. The air shifted, and you could practically smell the cologne he always wore, something smoky and leather-soft. A second later, a voice followed.

“Damn. This place got a lot prettier since I was last here.”

You looked up anyway. Because of course you did.

There he was. Dante. Leaning casually against the host stand, all devil-may-care charm and a ridiculous leather jacket that made him look like he belonged anywhere but this greasy spoon diner. His eyes found you immediately.

You blinked slowly, then turned back to the coffee pot. “I swear to God,” you muttered under your breath, “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

He strolled right up to the counter, pulling up a stool like he hadn’t trespassed on your balcony twelve hours ago. Like he hadn’t cracked open an old wound and kissed the air with apologies.

“You look good in that apron,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t bother looking at him this time. “You look like someone who doesn’t tip well.”

“I tip amazing,” he argued. “Just like I–”

“Do me a favor and don’t finish that sentence,” you warned, grabbing a towel and wiping down a clean patch of counter for the hundredth time. “Have you always been this petulant or is it something in the air?”

“I’m a lot of things,” he said, shrugging innocently. “I’m a man of many talents. Want me to prove it? I’ve got time.”

Oh my god.

You finally turned to face him. “Do you not have demons to fight or… hell dimensions to get trapped in again?”

He laughed. “You remembered.”

You deadpanned, “How could I forget? It’s not every day your ex disappears into Hell without a cell phone.”

Dante lifted his hands like he was surrendering. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair. But look—I just thought we could talk. Maybe over some waffles? Syrup fixes a lot.”

You were already shaking your head. “No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you. Not here.”

“I’ll be good,” he said, drawing an imaginary halo over his head with his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you replied flatly.

“And you were never this mean to me,” he said with mock hurt.

“You were never this annoying. Go piss off somewhere. You had no problems leaving me alone for a year,” you shot back. Then you waved down one of your coworkers—a sweet girl named Lila with a bright smile and no idea what kind of emotional tornado she was about to serve.

“Hey, Lila?” you called. “Can you take counter stool three for me?”

She blinked. “Uh, sure. You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said, handing her a menu. “He’s all yours.”

Dante blinked as Lila approached with her notepad, looking confused and a little betrayed. “Wait, seriously?”

You leaned over the counter slightly, voice low. “You want waffles? Order them. You want closure? Write a poem.”

And then you walked away. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. The ache in your chest was enough to tell you exactly what kind of expression he wore.

The living room was dark, lit only by the bluish haze of the TV screen flashing between killstreaks and loading screens. Your boyfriend was sunk deep into the couch, legs wide, controller gripped like a lifeline. He hadn’t looked at you in over twenty minutes, completely absorbed in his game, spewing half-hearted trash talk at some twelve-year-old with better aim and a louder mic.

You shifted beside him, stretching a little, brushing your leg against his. Nothing. So you leaned over, nuzzling your nose lightly against his neck, just beneath his jaw.

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice soft and sweet. You let your fingers slide down his chest, slow and teasing. “Want to take a little break?”

He flinched—not from desire, but because someone on screen shot him. Again.

“Babe, not now,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the game. “I’m in ranked.”

You pulled back a bit, blinking, mouth falling open in disbelief. “Seriously?”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept clicking buttons, dead focused on the screen. “Yeah, just like… fifteen more minutes. Can you make dinner or something?”

You stared at him, chest hollowing out in quiet, stunned offense. You’d offered him your body. He asked for food.

There was a moment of silence. Your hand dropped from his chest.

You sat back against the cushion, a little colder now, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. And that was when Dante’s voice—his voice—echoed in your head from the night before.

“Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest. I could probably fuck you better, too—”

You closed your eyes briefly, scoffing under your breath. God, he was ridiculous. And yet…

You pushed yourself off the couch wordlessly, heading to the kitchen without a sound.

Behind you, your boyfriend called out, “You’re the best, babe!”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. Just slammed the fridge door a little harder than necessary.

And in the back of your mind, Dante's voice lingered like a splinter.

You turned the stove on, lips pressed into a thin, tired line. Maybe later you’d lie down and try to remember what it felt like to be romanced by someone who didn’t treat Call of Duty like a second girlfriend.

One incredibly sexless night later, you took the evening to decompress. That is, you lit up some candles, had a few slices of the pie you’d kept in your fridge for days just like this one, and blocked off an hour for the sole purpose of masturbation. 

What? You needed it.

The apartment was warm, dimly lit, perfectly still. You’d even put your phone on Do Not Disturb, because tonight was about you. Your fingers itched with anticipation as you laid out your night like a ritual: the robe slipping lower on your shoulder, the cool sheets turned down, your favorite toy already waiting on the nightstand like a promise.

God. You needed this. You were wound tight. Between work, the complete lack of passion from the man you were dating, and that absolutely deranged balcony visit from Dante… you were more than pent up. You were practically vibrating with unmet desire.

You let out a long, dramatic exhale, sinking down into your mattress with the kind of grace usually reserved for tragic heroines. Just you, a flickering candle, and the fantasy of literally anyone but your boyfriend.

You reached for the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Knock, knock.

Your hand froze.

You stared at the ceiling. Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe someone had the wrong door.

Knock, knock. Louder this time. Three slow raps, followed by silence.

You sat up slowly, groaning into the air. Then, begrudgingly, you stuffed your vibrator back into the drawer, kicking your feet over the edge of the bed and walking into the living room. It was dark, of course, so you flicked on a light. When you stared into the peephole of your front door, it took all of the strength you had to not bang your head against the door.

It was Dante. Again. No leather jacket this time, just a black hoodie, hands jammed into the pockets of his sweatpants.

You blinked, then groaned into the back of your hand.

Another knock, like he heard you. And then, muffled through the wood, his voice.

“I can hear you in there. Demon hearing, remember?” He brought his head up to the peephole, staring right back at you. “I know it’s late, Just… let me talk to you? For just a second? Please?”

You pulled the door open.

Dante stood there in the dim hallway light, hair windswept, hands in his pockets like he’d been pacing outside for a while, working up the nerve. His gaze moved over your face with a kind of stunned reverence, like he hadn’t really believed he’d see you again.

“Hey, princess,” he said.

There it was. That nickname. The one you hadn’t heard in a year.

You stepped aside without a word. He walked in like the place still remembered him. Or maybe you did.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You didn’t speak. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over your chest, watching him watch the room like it had changed without him. It had. You had. But he still looked at you like he saw the girl you were a year ago. That girl who let him ruin her, and smiled while doing it.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice low. “I tried.”

“Did you?” You answered.

“Okay, not really,” He looked at you again, more serious now. “I keep thinking about you. All the time. You’re in my head constantly, like—fuck—I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll see something and just need to tell you about it.”

You laughed. Just once. It came out bitter and exhausted. “Keep it to yourself.”

“I missed talking to you about anything,” he said. “Everything.”

You shook your head, pushing off the wall, pacing just a little—like if you kept moving, you wouldn’t fall for this again. “You don’t get to come back after vanishing for a year and say shit like that.”

“I know. I know I don’t,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve been trying to act like– like I’m not completely in love with you still, and it’s killing me.”

Your breath caught.

After all of this time?

His hands reached for yours before you could stop him. You let him take them.

Okay… what the fuck is going on?

“You deserve someone who sees you. Someone who treats you like you matter every second of the day,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. I could be that. I want to be that.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Because you’d heard those words before, from people who never meant them. From the person you’d curled up beside just last night, feeling more alone than ever. And yet here Dante was, saying all the right things—but he hadn’t even asked. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know how long it had been since someone had touched you like they meant it.

Your voice came out hoarse. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” he whispered. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I think about you when I’m trying to sleep. I think about your laugh. Your stupid, shitty taste in TV. Your coffee order. The movies you like. I want that back. I want you back.”

You yanked your hands away, jaw tight.

He’s got a lot of fucking nerve.

“Don’t do this,” you said. “Don’t show up and say these things and make me feel like this again. You don’t even know what you left behind.”

He looked at you, eyes open and raw. “Then tell me. Let me make it right.”

“Go away, Dante.” you snapped.

Silence fell between you like a slammed door. You turned your back to him, trying to catch your breath.

Then he stepped in behind you.

Not touching, not quite—but close enough that you felt the heat of him. Close enough that your body remembered every inch of him like a phantom limb. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “I know I fucked up. Can you be… like, not so mad? Just for two seconds?”

His hand slid to your hip, turning you gently toward him. You let him, still trembling, still so full of everything you never got to say.

“I’ve been in love with you this whole time,” he whispered. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”

The words were genuine. Genuine enough that you felt the tears begin to prickle at your eyes all over again – emotional at the mere thought of him, because truthfully?

You missed him, too. You just didn’t want to admit it. You missed the late nights and later mornings. You missed waking up next to him, hearing him talk about his crazy adventures as a demon hunter. You missed his kisses, the smell of him, his everything.

And, God, the sex… The sex was great.

He was taller than you. Always had been. But in that moment, it felt impossible not to notice how much he towered over you—how his shadow swallowed yours, how the air itself seemed to dip around him. You didn’t want to look up at him, but you did.

You stood frozen, breath shallow, pulse racing in your throat. You didn’t want this. You shouldn’t want this. But here you were, locked in place, every part of you screaming to walk away, and every part of you still craving the comfort of his touch.

“Please…” You whispered, trying to fight the overwhelming tide of emotion. “Please, Dante. Just go.”

His expression softened, like he hadn’t expected that—like he was expecting something more. You felt his fingers on your waist now, and they were warm, pressing gently into your skin. There was no escape now. You weren’t sure you wanted to run anymore, not when it felt like your body was already betraying you.

“I shouldn’t be here, I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. The distance between you seemed to vanish with each word. “But I couldn’t stay away. I tried to forget about you, I tried so damn hard, but I couldn’t. I don’t want to.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “Don’t, Dante. I can’t… I can’t do this.”

His eyes searched yours, the guilt and longing mixing together in a way that made your heart ache. He was close now, so close that you could feel his breath against your skin. You knew what was coming, but you didn’t stop him. Not yet.

“I know I fucked up,” he whispered again, more softly this time. “But I love you. I never stopped. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t. I just—I can’t be without you.”

And then, without waiting for another word, he leaned in.

His lips touched yours, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You didn’t stop him. For that moment, for that brief, heart-stopping moment, you let yourself fall back into the pull of him. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

God, I missed this.

You melted against him, a wave of relief crashing over you as his kiss deepened, more urgent, more desperate. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you responded without thinking, your body moving instinctively against his. He groaned low in his throat, his hand sliding to your neck, the other pressing you closer.

You kissed him back like you were starving, like you had been dying for this. And for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered—like the last year of silence, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it faded away in the heat of his mouth on yours.

But then, just as quickly as the warmth had started, it turned cold.

You pulled away, gasping for air. Your chest heaved with the sudden rush of emotion. You couldn’t do this. Not again. Not after everything. Your hands shook as you pushed against his chest, creating just enough space to break the connection.

“No,” you said, your voice breaking as you stepped back, wiping at your eyes. “No. I can’t do this. I won’t.”

He blinked at you, stunned, his face pale, but he didn’t move. His eyes were full of confusion, pain, and something darker that you didn’t want to see.

“I can’t,” you repeated, voice steadying with every word. You took another step back, hand reaching for the door. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

There it was.

“I’m sorry, Dante,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I really am.”

He stared at you for a long moment, and for the briefest second, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes – something devastating.

But then, he nodded. The motion was slow, almost resigned, and he took a step back. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. As he passed you, he stopped for a moment, his gaze lingering on you one last time.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

And then, he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

You were sitting on the couch, the faint sounds of your boyfriend’s video game drifting from the other room, mingling with the hum of the refrigerator. You hated that noise—hated the sound of him so effortlessly immersed in a world that wasn’t yours, that didn’t care about the growing tension between the two of you. You tried to focus on the TV, tried to let the sitcom's canned laughter drown out the gnawing discomfort in your stomach. But it wasn’t working. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Dante had said.

I could treat you so much better.

Those words. God, they kept coming back to you. You didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to feel them pushing into every corner of your mind, making you question everything you thought you knew. But they did. And you were alone with those thoughts now. Alone with your insecurities that you usually kept locked away.

You huffed, pulling the blanket tighter around you as if it could protect you from the storm of doubt forming in your chest. You shouldn’t be thinking about him—about Dante. You should be thinking about how your boyfriend had been in and out of your life, barely there, barely present, always distracted. But the longer you sat there, the more it seemed like it was all just a reflection of the way you felt inside: disconnected, hollowed out, drifting.

And then, as if fate was timing it just perfectly, he left his phone on the counter.

Your breath caught, the phone staring at you like a challenge, like an invitation. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You promised you wouldn’t invade his privacy like this. But your fingers itched to touch it, to confirm the sinking feeling in your stomach that something—someone—wasn't right.

You pushed yourself off the couch, the decision feeling both slow and inevitable as you walked toward the kitchen. The phone sat innocently on the counter, waiting. You took a breath, a shaky, hesitant inhale. You could walk away. You could pretend you didn’t see it.

But you didn’t.

You picked it up, unlocking it with a simple swipe. Your heart hammered in your chest, adrenaline kicking in as if you were about to do something reckless. The phone screen lit up with messages from some unnamed number. And when you saw the first message, your throat tightened.

"I miss you so much. When can I see you again?"

It hit you hard. Like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t even had time to react before your eyes were scanning the next message, then the next, your stomach sinking deeper and deeper with every word.

“Last night was incredible. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

A sharp, painful gasp escaped you before you could stop it. You clutched the phone tighter, staring at the words, and then—bam—it all crashed into you. You hadn’t been wrong. You hadn’t been imagining the distance, the emotional coldness that had settled between you and your boyfriend. There it was, in black and white—proof of his betrayal.

You felt like you were drowning, suffocating under the weight of it all. This wasn’t just about the messages. It was about everything. About the endless late nights when he came home late from “work,” about the weekends when he’d disappear into his own world, leaving you to figure out where you fit into it. And now this—this confirmation that the man you had been with for so long wasn’t who you thought he was.

You could almost hear Dante’s voice again in your head. I could treat you so much better. The words felt like salt in a wound you hadn’t even realized you had, their presence almost suffocating in the quiet of your kitchen. Were you settling? Were you really going to let this happen? Let yourself get swallowed by someone who couldn’t even give you the decency of respect?

You exhaled sharply, your pulse quickening as the next message flashed on the screen.

“I can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

Babe.

The word made you sick, twisting your stomach into knots. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—maybe because it wasn’t meant for you. Maybe because it was meant for someone else. Someone who got his attention, who got his time, his affection. It wasn’t you. You were just the woman he settled for, the one who wasn’t good enough for the effort.

The room felt too small, the air too thick, and you suddenly hated everything about this moment. The phone in your hand, the pit in your stomach, the way you had let things go on for this long. You could feel the tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. You weren’t going to cry over this. You weren’t going to let him have that power over you.

But just as quickly, the rush of hurt was replaced by something else—a sharp anger that burned through you like fire. You weren’t going to keep doing this. You weren’t going to keep letting him make you feel small. You weren’t going to keep standing by, pretending that nothing was wrong when everything was falling apart around you.

You weren’t going to be the backup. The woman who stayed even though she knew she deserved more.

The sound of footsteps from the other room snapped you out of your thoughts, and you shoved the phone down onto the counter, just as your boyfriend entered the kitchen. His voice was casual, too casual, as if nothing had changed.

“Hey, babe. You alright?” He asked, glancing over at you.

You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at him, your chest tight with all the words you didn’t want to say, the emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The raw anger, the aching disappointment—it was all building up inside you, suffocating you. You stood there in the kitchen, phone still in your hand, his lies echoing in your mind. Every text, every word, had become a blade, slicing through your trust, through your relationship. And now, standing face-to-face with him, it all came to a boiling point.

You couldn’t help it.

You walked up to him, eyes burning with fury, and before he could even open his mouth to explain himself, your hand shot out. The slap echoed through the small apartment, sharp and loud, breaking the tense silence between you.

His head jerked to the side from the impact. He didn’t even seem surprised. But you could see the flicker of guilt in his eyes. Too late for that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your voice trembled with rage as the words spilled out. “You think I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m some kind of idiot, just sitting here while you lie to my face?”

He reached up, touching his cheek, and for a moment, he looked almost confused. “What the hell are you talking abou–”

“No.” You cut him off, stepping back, trying to breathe, to stop the angry tears from spilling over. “Don’t even try. I’ve been here, okay? I’ve been here, giving you everything, and this is how you repay me?”

You could feel the walls around you closing in. The kitchen—the place where you had made so many meals together, laughed together, fought together—it suddenly felt suffocating. This wasn’t your home anymore. It wasn’t the place you thought it was.

“I trusted you,” you spat, your voice cracking. “I trusted you, and you went behind my back. All this time, you were texting her—her—while I was sitting here, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.”

His eyes widened, but then he scoffed, trying to brush it off. “Come on, it’s not like that. She’s just—”

“Don’t!” You interrupted again, shaking your head, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care what excuses you’ve got. I don’t want to hear how you’re ‘sorry’ and how ‘it wasn’t like that’ because it was. I saw the texts. I saw everything.”

There was a cold silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He was quiet now, eyes downcast, as if he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he had no idea how to fix it—because there was no fixing it. Not this time.

“Do you even care?” You whispered, feeling the heartbreak seep into your bones. “Do you even care that you’ve been hurting me this whole time?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you could see the hesitation in his eyes. He was trying to form the right words, trying to make it sound like he cared, like he had some kind of reason, but it was too late for that.

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I’m done.”

He froze. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was an almost desperate look in his eyes. “Wait—what? You can’t—”

“Don’t try to stop me.” You took a deep breath, the anger dissipating just enough to feel the weight of the pain. “I’m not staying here. I’m not going to keep putting myself through this. I’m done.”

His face fell. You could see the regret in his eyes, but you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after what you’d just found out.

You turned your back on him, heading for the bedroom to grab your things. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. You could feel the tension in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. Not anymore. You were done.

You grabbed your bag—your jacket, your wallet, your keys—and made your way toward the door. Every step felt heavy, like you were walking away from something you had invested so much of yourself into, and yet, there was a strange sense of relief settling in your chest. You were leaving behind a lie, a hollow version of something you had once wanted to be real. 

You were leaving him.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice strained. “Please, don’t go. We can fix this. We can talk—”

But you didn’t listen. You opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, and closed it behind you. The sound of it was final. You didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore. You didn’t want to be with someone who could betray you like this.

Still, weak thing that you were, you began to cry.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

As you walked down the hallway, your phone felt heavy in your pocket. You didn’t want to look at it. 

But then, your fingers moved of their own accord, slipping the phone out of your pocket.

And there it was: Dante’s old number.

The one you’d saved with the naive hope that he might have called. You hadn’t thought about it in a while. You hadn’t dared to reach out to him—hadn’t dared to even look at his name on your phone. But now, standing there in the hallway, your heart pounding, your chest tight from everything you’d just left behind, you thought about what he’d said to you.

I could treat you better. 

I’ve always been in love with you.

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the thought. You could still hear his voice in your head, still feel the weight of his words.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, uncertainty swirling inside you. You didn’t know why you were doing this. You didn’t know what you hoped to get from it, but you couldn’t shake the pull. You wanted—needed—someone who saw you. Someone who cared.

So, in a moment of weakness, you typed the words.

YOU: I need you.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself. The words felt foreign, too raw, too vulnerable, but you couldn’t take them back now.

a/n: ok so whenn i say this is gonna be short... i MEAN IT THIS TIME LOL..... maybe. anyway! part two is almost done, so comment what you thought, let me know what you'd like to see, what you loved, etc! until next time, my loves x not sure why this got deleted? but ok

I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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wanna join the taglist? | pretty ; chapter index

[yzzart]

⋆˙⟡ BOYFRIEND!DANTE ── HEADCANONS! ── PART TWO

── content warnings: F!reader, reference to the anime, jokes and puns with demons, mention of Eve and Vergil, a little bit of angst, content with some mature but light words and part one is here!

── word count: 744!

⭑.ᐟ Dante tells the worst, stupidest jokes you could ever hear in your entire life; and which, as time goes by, become the best. — He couldn't live without them, and he made sure you couldn't either. — His creativity and ability even in the face of extremely and frighteningly dangerous situations was admirable.

⤷ Since the first day of your relationship, you think that Dante has, keeps — or thinks about creating — a notebook full of puns, jokes and, sometimes, laughs alone and exults with them. — Nothing bizarre, it's just Dante. — Just like he sends messages during his “work” to tell you about them.

what’s a demon hunter’s favorite kind of tea? i don't know, sweetie ;P — what is it? EXORCISTI! ya know? it sounds like exorcist tea ;)

⭑.ᐟ Seeing you wearing some of his t-shirts, since there are very few of them, is something he will never get used to and will never be able to focus on, pay attention to anything other than you. — However, seeing his red coat with scarlet details on your body is enough for Dante to recognize his wild, animalistic side.

⤷ By heavens, that man worships, contemplates you by nature; as if he was born to adore your presence. — And every time you ask to use it, or just take it boldly and shamelessly, he melts, completely. — His eyes conveyed pleasure and so much desire.

“I’m starting to think it looks better on me.” — Of course, you couldn’t let the teasing go; running your hand along the sleeve, adjusting the reddish fabric, and deeply smelling your boyfriend’s scent on the coat. — “Don’t you think so, big boy?” — You bit your lower lip, hiding, and failing, a shy and so bold smile.

“I agree with everything that comes out of your mouth, my love.” — Dante was transfixed, acting as if he were hypnotized, he confirmed with greater pleasure that he was, in you. — “I really agree.” — That man was obsessed with you.

⭑.ᐟ This damn demon hunter — with a high chance of being the son of a demon, and without knowing anything about it — flirts with you every day, hour, minute and second. — Dante lives for comments, compliments and flirting with his beautiful girlfriend. — You don't have to admit it, he knows very well that you love him and can't resist all of them.

⤷ Oh, even while he's killing demonic creatures and beating up some idiots who try to ruin his work. — Dante doesn't waste time, he needs to let it be known that he's a committed and faithful guy.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” — He pointed one of his pistols at a demon, transformed, disguised as a lady who asked for his help; wow, a typical trap that never changed. — “I’m committed to my girlfriend, then.” — About to be attacked, he pulls the trigger. — “It’s so bad to be requested and desired by everyone.” — He let out a breath, picking up the phone and dialing a few digits, waiting patiently. — “Hey, my girl.”

⭑.ᐟ In that old, filthy and almost finished building — which, with your countless visits and almost becoming a resident, has gained a better appearance — you and Dante listen to music, chosen by the boy, until the last volume; it bothers the person who lives on the street in front, but who could care?

⤷ Your pool games, card games and days of just eating pizza are always accompanied by the jukebox. — Dante pretends to be at a concert, imitating playing the guitar next to you, soon, the two of you burst out laughing.

⭑.ᐟ Dante manages to hide the anguish, an unbearable tightness he feels when he remembers the loss of his mother and brother; the memory of his mother putting him in the closet, Vergil disappearing and the fire spreading disturbed him daily. — The heavens knew, they witnessed how much you wanted to help him with all this suffering; but Dante contradicted himself, saying that just by having you by his side, this pain disappeared.

⤷ It wasn’t a lie. — Dante would never dare do that to you. — He felt so good and grateful, thankful, just for your presence. — So, always after a long, boring, and extremely tiring night, Dante would cuddle up to you; specifically, he would bury his face in your neck and wish, even pray, to stay there forever.

what’s a demon’s favorite exercise? >:) baby, it's 3 AM… :/ but i'm curious, what is it? ;) possession presses—really strengthens the grip!

[satori-runa]

—Takeout

Summary: You visit a certain demon hunter to scold him once more. But apparently, it is not you who has the lead.

Tags: NSFW, established relationship, no plot, not beta read

Words: 1,3k

—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT—

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The apartment was dead quiet, save for the soft creak of old leather as Dante leaned back in his worn out couch that slowly needed a replacement.

He pulled out his guns, inspecting them, before placing them down on the coffee table in front of him. He just returned from another successful demon hunt that night, sighing in contentment as his back sunk deeper into the couch. Despite the relaxation, his ears didn't fail to pick up the sound of the door at the other end of the room.

“You know, you left the call on again during your fight. You could have at least hung up.” You said, placing down the bags of takeout food that he requested earlier next to his guns with a raised eyebrow. A glance at him was enough and the white haired man copied your actions and raised an eyebrow back to you along with his cocky smile on his lips. His voice was low and yet teasing as he directed it to you.

“Are you creeping around after midnight to scold me? Kinda hot if you ask me.”

You shot him another look but he didn't flinch. Instead, he held your gaze with the same dangerous smirk that secretly affected you inside, charming and cocky, but laced with a spark that only he owned.

“Maybe I just wanted to make sure that you didn't run out of stupid comments after your fight.” You stepped closer, slapping his legs that he placed on the table, a silent complaint not to have his feet near the food. “Also you kept crying about wanting those new burgers down the street.”

He smirked, finally dragging his feet off the desk and sitting up straighter. His coat hung open, his shirt tugged loose at the collar, revealing a faint smear of blood still drying along his neck. You weren’t sure if it was his or the demon’s. Probably the latter. “You’re too sweet,” he said, voice low, leaning forward. “And I appreciate your actions. Also, you worry too much sweetheart, I will always have a charming one liner ready for the princess.”

You crossed your arms. “Oh, no doubt.”

Dante rose slowly, as if sizing you up, boots heavy against the old wood floor. He stopped in front of you, close enough for the scent of gunpowder and sweat and something darker to hit you all at once. His eyes narrowed slightly—warm, sharp, but curious.

“You always come in here looking like you’re ready to fight me or kiss me,” he murmured, voice dangerously soft.

“Maybe I’m here to do both.”

The tension cracked—quick as one of his bullets.

Dante’s hand slid to your waist, pulling you in with a suddenness that stole your breath. His lips crashed into yours, rough and wanting. No hesitation, no preamble. Just heat and pressure, all grit and low growls against your mouth. His free hand tangled in your hair, the other keeping you firmly against him like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

“Been thinking about this,” he admitted into the kiss, his voice deeper now, barely controlled but still laced with sass. “Every time you walk in here like you own the place.”

You laughed breathlessly against him, tugging his coat off his shoulders. “Maybe I do.” He grinned, pulling back just enough to look at you—flushed, wild-eyed, his hair falling into his face. “Then you won’t mind if I wreck the place.”

Without waiting, he turned, lifting you onto the desk with a grunt, knocking over the food and his guns. “Show me,” you said softly.

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

He kissed you again—harder this time. There was a hunger behind it, barely contained. His hands were already under your shirt, calloused fingers dragging across your skin with a desperation that made your thighs press together.

“Off,” he muttered, tugging your shirt up, and he didn't have to say it twice. You lifted your arms, let him yank it over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him without looking. His eyes dragged down your chest, dark and hungry, jaw tight.

“Fuck, I missed this.”

You felt heat bloom in your core, especially when his hands returned—this time slower, firmer. He cupped your breasts through your bra before flicking the clasp open with practiced ease, letting it fall as so many times before. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, teasing them into peaks until you squirmed.

“Dante…”

Your voice was soft, breathy, already undone. He liked that.

“Say my name like that again,” he rasped, pushing your thighs apart so he could fit between them, pushing up your skirt in the process too. “I’ll make sure you’re screaming it, babe.”

You gasped as his mouth dipped to your chest, licking and sucking at your sensitive skin while one hand slid lower—over your stomach, between your legs, over the damp fabric of your panties.

“Already wet for me,” he said with a grin against your skin. “Knew you wanted this. Maybe that is the reason why you came over, huh?” You whimpered when he pressed two fingers against your heat, rubbing slow circles that had your hips bucking into him with only some piece of fabric separating you two. “Please,” you whispered, not even caring how desperate you sounded. The fierceness in your voice was replaced with whimpering and desperation.

He growled low in his throat, pulling your panties to the side and sliding his fingers through your folds—slow, deliberate, dragging slickness over your clit before easing one, then two fingers inside you. The stretch had your head falling back, a moan tearing from your lips.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he muttered with a smirk, watching your face as he fucked you with his fingers. “Tight. Warm. Gonna make you cum just like this first.” You grabbed onto his shoulder for balance, legs trembling as he thrust his fingers faster, curling them just right, his thumb teasing your clit until your moans turned shaky, breath catching in your throat.

“Dante—!”

You came hard, clenching around him, nails digging into his coat as you shook in his grip. He didn’t stop until you gasped from the sensitivity, and only then did he pull his fingers out—slick and glistening. He sucked them clean without breaking eye contact.

“Goddamn,” he said, breathless. “You taste like sin. Might become my favourite meal.”

He didn’t give you time to recover before he was undoing his belt, tugging his pants down just enough to free himself. His cock was already hard—thick, flushed, the tip dripping. You bit your lip at the sight of him, flushed and dazed from your orgasm but craving more.

“Ready for me?” he asked, voice low, dark.

You nodded. “Want you. Need you.”

Dante lined himself up, dragging his tip through your folds before slowly pushing inside. The stretch made your breath hitch—it was intense, but perfect. He groaned deep in his chest as he bottomed out, gripping your hips like he was barely holding back. He set a pace that was slow at first, each thrust deep and precise, hitting every spot that made you whimper. But it didn’t take long for his control to snap. His thrusts turned rougher, faster, the sound of skin slapping filling the room along with your breathy moans and his low, ragged curses.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails scraping along his back.

“Fuck—Dante—right there—!”

He slammed into that perfect spot again and again, his name a chant on your lips, and you felt yourself unraveling fast.

“That’s it,” he growled, one hand gripping your throat gently, not choking, just holding—possessive, commanding. “Cum for me again. Wanna feel you lose it around my cock.”

You shattered with a cry, clenching tight around him, your body arching as he fucked you through it. Dante groaned, losing rhythm, his thrusts growing sloppy as he chased his own end. A few more strokes and he buried himself to the hilt with a loud grunt, cumming deep inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Just ragged breathing, hearts pounding, skin slick with sweat.

Then he leaned in, brushing his lips against your temple.

“Enjoying your visit?” he muttered.

You laughed, weakly. “Only if you keep doing that.”

He smirked, voice still hoarse. “Sweetheart, we’re just getting started.”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 || 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚 ||

A/n: Feral Dante ( with a touch of him being a soft husband )

The twins were finally asleep.

The shop was quiet again — not from silence, but from peace. That rare, golden kind of calm that only came at 2 a.m. when baby bottles were rinsed, lullabies were hummed off-key, and Dante had checked the perimeter twice just to make sure nothing even thought about coming near his family.

You were curled up on the bed in the back, skin bare beneath the soft blanket, warm from the bath, belly soft and healed, hips fuller, body changed by motherhood and absolutely perfect to him.

Dante stood at the foot of the bed, watching you.

Not as a man.

As something deeper.

Something devil.

His form shimmered in the dark — red and black and power incarnate. Wings half-unfurled, eyes glowing low like embers, chest heaving with quiet restraint. His claws flexed at his sides, aching to touch. To take. To feel you again.

“You sure?” he asked, voice distorted — gravel-smooth and dark like velvet wrapped in fire. “I won’t be able to hold back. Not like this.”

You lifted your gaze to him, heart pounding, thighs already pressing together.

“I don’t want you to hold back.”

The second the words left your lips, he moved.

One blink — and he was on the bed, over you, heat rolling off him like a stormfront. His hands braced on either side of your head, claws sinking into the mattress, wings sheltering you in shadow. But when he leaned down — lips brushing your jaw — his touch was reverent.

“You’re still mine,” he growled, voice low and shaking. “Even after all this. Especially after this.”

You arched up, pressing your mouth to his, and he groaned — deep and animal — before kissing you with a hunger that bordered on worship. His fangs grazed your lips, but he didn’t bite. Not yet. He kissed down your throat, over your collarbone, down your belly — pausing there, his palm resting flat.

“This body gave me everything,” he whispered. “Let me give it back.”

Then he was between your legs — not gentle, but slow, tongue dragging up your folds like he was starving. The ridges of his demonic form only added to the sensation, rough and overwhelming. You cried out, hips bucking, thighs clamping around his head, but he just growled and pushed you open wider.

“Let me hear you,” he snarled. “I want every sound.”

By the time he slid into you, you were already wrecked — wet, open, throbbing for him. His cock was thick, barely human, stretching you wide as he eased in with an almost trembling control.

“Fuck,” he rasped, shuddering. “You’re still so tight…”

You could barely breathe. “Please, Dante—just—”

He snapped his hips forward and bottomed out, both of you gasping at the sudden fullness. His wings stretched above you, clawed hands gripping your thighs, and he set a rhythm — deep, slow, devastating.

Every thrust hit something sacred, like he was reaching into your soul. His chest pressed to yours, sweat slick between you, and when he kissed you again, it was soft.

“You gave me a family,” he whispered into your mouth. “Now let me remind you who you belong to.”

He sped up.

The room filled with the sound of skin on skin, of growls and whimpers, of whispered I love you’s tangled with snarled claims. He gripped your hips, lifting you, angling deeper, and you screamed when he hit that spot only he could ever reach.

His voice broke. “Gonna cum inside you. Fill you again. Not to breed this time — just to stay.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks from how full, how loved, how completely his you felt.

“Do it,” you begged. “Mark me. Claim me again.”

And he did.

With one final thrust, he roared into your neck, fangs sinking in, knot swelling just enough to keep him locked inside as he came — deep and endless, cock twitching as he poured everything he had into you.

You clung to him, shaking, breathless, ruined in the best way.

And as he held you there — still joined, still trembling — he whispered against your skin, softer than he ever had before:

“You’re not just the mother of my kids. You’re my home.”

The only sound was your breathing.Still shaky. Still shallow.

But slowing.

Your heart retuning to its normal rate as you held a blissful daze on your face.

Dante hadn’t moved — not more than he had to. His cock was still nestled deep inside you, softened now, but the warmth of his release still cradled inside your body, claimed. His wings curled protectively around the both of you, sheltering the room like a cathedral of shadows and breath.

You were laid out beneath him, bare and boneless, your fingers lightly trailing the thick ridges of his demon spine, tracing the softest touches down his back.

He was heavy on you. Not crushing. Not uncomfortable. Just present. Solid. Real.

And when he finally lifted his head, his eyes weren’t glowing anymore — not in the violent, deadly way.

They were glowing with something else.

Devotion.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gravel-deep and husky, just above a whisper.

You nodded, lips brushing the curve of his jaw. “More than okay.”

He leaned down and kissed you again — slow and reverent, tasting you like you were something sacred. His fangs barely grazed your bottom lip this time, gentle now, no bite in them.

Just want.

Need.

Love.

You ran a hand through his silver-white hair, pushing damp strands back from his face. “You didn’t have to hold back that much.”

He let out a soft, huffed laugh, resting his forehead against yours.

“That was me holding back.”

You giggled sleepily and he smiled, eyes closing for a moment, as if savoring the weight of you beneath him, the feel of your skin against his, your heartbeat syncing with his. "Maybe next time you can really let go:" you teased.

A soft but playful growl escaped his lips as he gave your neck a small nip“I missed you,” he murmured after a pause. “Not just your body. You. Like this. Us.”

You pressed your hand to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath your palm. “I missed this too.”

He slowly pulled out of you with care, kissing the spot just below your ear when you gasped at the sensation. Then, without a word, he rolled onto his side and pulled you with him — your back against his chest, his arms circling your waist, hand resting instinctively over your lower belly again, like some part of him still couldn’t stop guarding you.

Even now.Even after everything.

You tangled your fingers with his. “Still protective?”

“Always,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s not about the babies. It’s about you. You’re everything.”

You felt his lips brush your temple, then your shoulder, then the spot he’d bitten earlier — now just a tender mark, fading.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said softly. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving you’re right to.”

You sighed, safe and full, wrapped in warmth and wings and the slow, steady heartbeat of the devil you’d made a home with.

And long after sleep began to pull at your limbs, you heard his voice again — low, ragged, honest.

“I’d give up"

[muqingslover]

[ This is different than what I usually post but I had to get this out of my system. The new DMC show brought back so many memories and idc what the haters say it's PEAK.

Anyway, to the DMC lovers out there, please accept this humble offering ]

Being in a relationship with Dante. | some NSFW included.

⊹— He may be the best demon hunter but in a relationship? He's the BIGGEST loser. Dante is always throwing some lame pick-up line your way and believe me when I say he will not give up until one sticks. (Spoiler warning: The fact that it actually works only makes him want to do it again)

—⊹ Dating Dante is not for the faint hearted. You have to be ready for all kinds of beyond ridiculous situations and have a godly amount of adaptability.

⊹— He will ALWAYS answer the phone for you. Literally. It doesn't matter what he's doing or where he is he will pick up the second he sees your name on the screen.

"Babe? Oh yeah! I'm totally still up for dinner! By the way, can you add those pieces of chocolate again to— *Approaching yelling in the background* Just a sec! *Crashing sounds and gunshots* Whew, okay, anyway like I was saying—"

—⊹ Oh yeah, he loooooves using pet names and silly nicknames. His personal favorites are "Babe" and "My little luck charm".

⊹— He likes to give you "traditional" dating gifts because that's what he always saw others do so when he shows up with a big ass teddy bear and a box of chocolates (which by the way he definitely ate some before giving it to you) please tell him you love it.

—⊹ Bro is so competitive. Dante is NOT letting you win in card games or any other board games because he wants to show off his skills to you. Though, if you get genuinely upset he would feel bad and invite you to play video games with him because he fails miserably at them every time.

⊹— His hands grab your ass every time you hug him. Not even in a sexual way he just can't help it and he never fails to throw a "nice ass" right after.

—⊹ Missing jewelry, hat or belt from your closet? He's the culprit. This guy will wear anything as long as he believes he looks good in it. I pray for you if you guys are a similar size because then you will have full clothing pieces missing.

⊹— He is THE hype man. Dante kisses the ground you walk on and he supports your rights and rights (because you could never do any wrong ;)).

—⊹ Dante's favorite thing is to show you off in every opportunity he gets. And if he doesn't have the opportunity then he'll just do it anyway. He is constantly yapping about how incredibly hot his partner is, how good your cooking is, how cute you look when you're focused and the way you smell so damn good all the time like, man! You're a freaking gift from the gods! (someone save poor Lady she can't bear to listen to him any more)

⊹— Please also hype him back in return! He has the worst praise kink case I've ever seen. Each time he's praised he just doesn't know what to do with himself and despite the initial cocky attitude he is easy to overwhelm if you don't stop. The first time you praised him while patting his head or scratching his chin he got a hard-on and had to rush out with a poor excuse before you noticed it.

—⊹ There is nothing romantic about sharing a bed with him. It's an absolute nightmare. First of all, this guy is physically incapable of sleeping with his clothes on. He just can't do it. Dante used to sleep butt ass naked but then you convinced him to at least wear boxers. Next on the list of problems is the snoring— Like, it's so loud you thought there was a truck engine next to you instead of your boyfriend. Not to mention the fact he takes up all space on the bed and moves around SO MUCH while he's asleep.

Please invest in separate beds before you kill him.

⊹— Absolutely hates morning. Getting him out of bed is the hardest thing to do and that's saying a lot with the life you two lead. He will keep you trapped in bed with him by wrapping his strong arms around your waist only to when you get up he sloooowly slides off the mattress and onto floor like a worm hanging to you.

—⊹ Surprisingly, or not, very insecure. This man is not controlling in any way though, he is just very worried that he won't be able to protect you if something was to happen or that you will realize you made a mistake by being with him.

⊹— His favorite thing is to make you smile. I know a lot of people paint him as stupid but I genuinely think he just acts silly as a defense mechanism. It's a mask. With you, though? He will purposely act like a dork because he knows it makes you smile.

—⊹ To add to that, Dante does everything he can to keep your spirits up; Someone hurt your feelings? No need to fret, he’s already planning their downfall. Feeling under the weather? tickle monster time! Migraine? He is closing the curtains and cuddling you until it gets better!

⊹— The filter between his brain and mouth is naturally bad but with you, who he is truly comfortable with, it's just INEXISTENT. This may range from random, useless bullshit to out of pocket comments that should definitely not be said out loud.

—⊹ Physical contact is his thing. I mean, he NEEDS it and can be very high maintenance about it. Having his hands on you is not enough for Dante he has to be as close as physically possible and you need to be giving him some kind of attention in return.

⊹— Hugging you from behind when you're cook, snuggling while on the couch together, keeping a firm arm hooked around your waist while outside, constantly nuzzling his nose on your hair, kissing your neck at every chance he gets, pulling you into his lap as if it's his second nature ECT.

—⊹ Did I mention he adores your hair? In particular long hair because then he can fidget with it by twirling it around his finger or by being a dork and putting it between his lips and nose to make a mustache.

⊹— Your lips are like a drug to him. He will be saying "okay, okay I REALLY gotta bail now" and then stare at you for a solid two seconds then steal another kiss and another and another....oops, he's 30 minutes late already.

—⊹ Dante is a biter. God help you when you give him cuteness aggression (which is basically always) because he will chew on you like candy. Your skin is often red from teeth marks and he doesn't feel sorry about it at all.

⊹— Cannot cook to save his life but absolutely loves your food. Especially if you're good at baking! Man's scarfing down those sweet treats like it's his last meal on earth.

—⊹ He sings while he's showering and holds the bottle of shampoo to you like a microphone so you'll join him. Oh and yes, he is VERY tone-deaf.

⊹— No matter how many times he sees you naked he never gets tired of that blessed sight. He flirts with you like it's the first time he's seeing you and those naughty eyes speak for themselves.

—⊹ He has a high libido, especially in the beginning of the relationship where he's even more excitable than usual. Sex can be very clumsy and messy with him, but that's just what makes it so him.

⊹— If you're a breasty lady, he is reaaaaaally into you using your boobs to get him off. Dante also enjoys having your lips around his cock more than words could describe and a quickie in dark, tight spaces is part of the package with him.

—⊹ Bondage is a guilty pleasure of his. Dante prefers to be the one restrained and left at your mercy instead of the other way around because it's just very hot to him when you take control. You're also the only one he would trust to be this vulnerable with.

⊹— This guy is always late for EVERYTHING, but he shows up without a fail in the end. No matter how battered or tired he might be, not even if he was run over by a truck, he will definitely be there.

[zg0nuwa]

i’m not switching between my hyperfixations because i’m autistic, i’m just a whore

[jinwoosungs]

04/11/25; 06:45pm

dante sparda x fem.reader

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

@luneariaa ✨

thinking about surprising dante sparda with a new set of lingerie.

being the absolute oaf and himbo that he is, you were certain that your hunter boyfriend didn’t have the slightest clue as to what the significance of today’s date was and how it marked a year of being together.

night had long since fallen, and you were still in the middle of trying on your new lingerie set. as you pull on the thin straps, you take a look at your reflection in the mirror. red and ebony silk hugs your body to perfection, leaving little to the imagination as you felt the heat against your cheeks.

this felt ridiculous-

and you had a feeling you couldn’t pull this off at all. looking down at the length of your legs, you heave out another sigh. perhaps what was missing was the matching pair of stiletto heels. settling yourself on the bed, you pick up the shoes and slide your feet inside while fastening the straps, allowing the stilettos to add that final touch to your overall outfit.

but there was just one tiny problem-

you had trouble getting back up on your feet.

clinging to the mattress, you stand back to your full height, yet your ankles kept shaking with each step that you took. with slow and easy steps, you came out of your bedroom with a poise that was reminiscent of a newborn deer. as you cling to the wall for support, you began regretting your life choices when the sounds of the door unlocking makes you freeze on the spot.

“i’m home babe-“

dante greets you with a cocky grin, yet it was immediately wiped off the moment he sees you. bags of what you assumed were chinese food lands on the ground, with dante’s eyes darkening considerably when he slams the door shut. hearing the latch turn on the lock, dante takes quick strides towards you, “who’s got you lookin’ all dolled up and pretty for them, hm?”

you swallow thickly, weakly gesturing toward the bag of ruined food, “dante, the food-“

he ends up trapping you against the wall with his body, slamming his fist right next to your head, “fuck the food, i wanna know who you’re dressed up for. has some bastard been sneaking into this apartment, wanting a taste of you? do i need to kill somebody-“

thanks to the height of your heels, you manage to reach dante with ease, pressing a kiss against his chapped lips in hopes of calming him down, “i wore this for you, you idiot. or did you forget that today was our one year anniversary?”

he visibly relaxes, wrapping an arm around your waist before carrying you back into the bedroom, “aw babygirl, you should have said so from the start. and of course i didn’t forget our anniversary, what d’ya think the chinese food was for?”

you roll your eyes at him, “and you just ruined it by dropping it on the floor…”

“nah angel, i didn’t ruin it. i just found something far more delicious that i’d like to eat.” with your shared bed in view, dante tosses you against the mattress, watching with dilated eyes as your body bounces against the bed.

he takes a moment to admire your form, eyes raking down your body while taking in the pretty ribbons and lace that surrounds you. feeling like you were burning from beneath his gaze, you trail your eyes down toward the center of his legs, already noticing the visible tent in them.

with a sly grin, you sit back in bed, stretching out your leg so that the tip of your heel made contact with his clothed erection. you earn a low hiss from the powerful man above you, “careful darling, ‘cause you’re playing with fire.”

spreading your legs wide open for him, dante ends up kneeling before you, basking in the scent that wafts off of your center. from where his hungry gaze lands, he could see the dark stain on your lingerie and how it made the material appear sheer. the outline of your pretty pussy made his mouth water when he surges forward, planting his lips over the gusset as he began greedily sucking you through your lingerie.

his tongue kept flicking at your swollen clit, making you cry out to him. he kept tracing at your outer lips with the tip of his tongue, making your legs instinctively open wider for him. your hands grip at dante’s silvery locks of hair, unable to believe that a demon could bring you so close to heaven.

“mmm, fuck, you taste s’fucking good f’me.” he places one last kiss against your barely clothed center, practically drunk off the taste of you when he hurriedly takes off his red trench coat, tossing it aside before tearing off the rest of his clothes. the fall to the ground in a messy pile, revealing his perfectly sculpted body and his proud cock standing stiff and tall for you.

your mouth waters as the sight, feeling desperate to taste him. attempting to sit up, you were all too willing to get on your knees for him when he stops you. binding your wrists together with his large hands, he smirks down at you, eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. tracing your figure, he lets out a disappointed sigh, “as much as i enjoy seeing you in such pretty ribbons and lace, i’d much rather fuck you naked.”

those words serve as a final warning, with dante ripping apart your flimsy lingerie with one swift motion. you gasp at the sight of it being torn to shreds. “dante! i spent good money on that…!”

“i’ll buy you a new one later.” he emphasizes, tracing the tip of his cock against your center when a wolfish grin paints his handsome expression. “actually, i have a better idea.”

he suddenly flips you so that you were now the one hovering over him, his cock felt hitting at your inner thighs as you mewl in response. he admires the sight of your bare form, tracing down the length of your sides before giving your ass a loud smack!

the impact nearly makes you fall forward, with dante still giving you his cocky grin as he rubs his cock against your backside. shivers began running down your spine when his sinful voice whispers in your ear, “as an anniversary present, why don’t you give this cock a good ride while wearin’ those damn stilettos. just seeing you in nothin’ but those heels is making my cock so damn hard for you, babygirl.”

you were left panting now, planting your hands against his hard wall of muscle as you slide your core back and forth on his cock. the sensation of your arousal felt dripping down on him makes the half-demon toss his head back in response. “yeah baby, that’s it, that’s it, wet my cock with your juices, make it that much easier to slide my cock in.”

his sinful words made you lose control-

tossing aside your inhibitions when you take a hold of his shaft with your hand. you slap his girthy cock against your entrance, teasing him for a brief moment before keeping it still for you. when his tip was felt sliding into your heat, you tossed your head back while proceeding to slam your hips down on him.

when he was fully sheathed within you, you took a moment to bask in how full you felt. his cock kept pulsating within your slick heat, making pinpricks of pleasure course through your veins. squeezing him for good measure, you slowly lay back before swirling your hips up and down his cock, giving dante a bit of a show each time his cock slides in and out of your cunt. a low growl was heard each time your body descended upon him, taking him inch by breathtaking inch as you found yourself unable to stop.

while you moved down on him, dante continued to meet your downwards thrusts with his own upward one, neck straining with each tilt of your hips as he continues fucking himself into you.

“best.” thrust! “goddamn.” thrust! “anniversary.” thrust! “gift.” thrust! “ever!!”

“ngh! dante! dante fuck! this feels so fucking good!” you cried out to him, movements turning sloppier now as you began chasing your high.

your clit manages to catch on to his thick cock, sending new waves of pleasure to course through you. you could feel your abdomen tighten with an incoming release. feeling dante’s cock buried to the hilt inside of you causes the cord to snap, with your climax taking over your body in its entirety.

you go stiff for a brief moment before turning into putty mere seconds later. you could feel your walls clamping down on dante’s cock, with him stilling his hips. he shoots his seed into you, an almost feral desire to paint your womb white with his cum as his eyes flash red. biting down on his bottom lip, he allows his cock to pump you full of his seed, feeling it twitch before pinning you back down against the bed.

a devilish grin paints his expression when he tosses both of your legs up against his shoulder. your eyes were completely clouded over, giving in to your hedonistic needs as dante allows the blood to return to his cock, further hardening it before moving against you once more. “let’s just enjoy our anniversary and hope for more years together to come. hah, get it? to come? like i’m about to make you cum over and over again in the next couple of hours?”

instead of answering him with words, you wrap both of your arms around his neck, bringing his lips down as you swallowed the rest of his cocky words with a searing kiss.

extended epilogue

sometime in the morning, dante eventually manages to pull out of you, salvaging what was left of the chinese food as he manages to microwave some lo mein noodles with beef and broccoli. you share the food in bed together, your naked back pressed against his chest as you passed the carton of food back and forth.

when the boxes were empty, you heard dante clear his throat, indicating that he had something to say to you. you meet his gaze and ran the back of your hand against his defined cheekbone. “what is it?”

he clears his throat again, appearing more sheepish than usual, “ah, there’s actually something i wanted to give you.”

your eyes go wide, “r-really? but i thought you were the type to keep this relationship… i don’t know… more lowkey….? just taking it day by day to see where it takes us?”

dante rolls his eyes, “yeah well, maybe things change, alright?”

you were speechless now, watching as dante kept the sheets wrapped around his waist as he rummaged through his nightstand. he found what he was looking for and turns back to look at you, “close your eyes, okay?”

being the best girlfriend that you were, you dutifully closed your eyes and waited. you felt his warm breath against your skin before a weight was felt around your neck.

“okay, you can open ‘em.”

you open your eyes, noticing something red and glittering settled between your chest. you gasp in response, hands trembling as you placed the ruby red gemstone within the palm of your hand. “dante… it’s beautiful.”

“yeah, i know.” he takes your body and places you back on his lap, “my mom gave that to me when i was young, and she always told me to keep it safe. it’s been my greatest treasure for the longest time-“

“and now, i have another one of my greatest treasures to share it with.”

you meet his gaze, heart filled to the brim with warmth and love for him. he gives you one of his rare, genuine smiles, making him appear younger as his clear blue eyes shone with a clarity that makes your breathing hitch in response.

“so… let’s make this last forever, okay?”

unable to answer him with words, you lean forward, allowing dante to capture your lips in a fervent kiss that seals your promise of forever.

end notes: mannnnn i love dante so much 😭 this is currently unedited, but ill make any necessary changes soon once it’s posted !!

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!