707ficrecs

[707ficrecs]

. . . RUN, RABBIT RUN! ࣪ ✰◌ ۪

⧣₊˚﹒SYNOPSIS ★ you know it wasn't easy escaping him. but you tried anyway. was it adrenaline? was it stupidity? probably both...

☆. PAIRINGS … Yandere Dante x Fem!reader, Yandere Vergil x Fem!reader, Yandere Nero x Fem!reader

☆. GENRE … obsessive romance, yandere, toxic relationship.

☆. WORD COUNT … 1.4k

☆. A/N … this song always creep me out wtf—

⋆ DANTE – “You’re Not Going Anywhere, Sweetheart”

You thought he was asleep.

The apartment was quiet—just the soft buzz of the neon sign outside bleeding red into the dusty hallway. Your bag was already packed, hidden beneath the couch for weeks, just in case. You were careful. You didn’t even breathe too loud as you crept past him.

But Dante wasn’t asleep.

“You always this sneaky, babe?”

His voice, husky from fake slumber, echoed from the couch behind you. You froze. You knew that voice—smooth, lazy, dangerous. The way he said it sent a chill down your spine.

You didn’t even turn. “I just needed some air.”

He laughed.

“You have a bag. Your 'air' sounds a lot like you're trying to run away from me.”

You ran anyway.

Your fingers barely grazed the doorknob before his hand slammed against it, pinning the door shut. The other curled around your waist, pulling you back into his chest, warm and unyielding. You felt his smile against your neck, wolfish and amused.

“I get it, I really do,” he murmured. “I'm not exactly the poster boy for mental health, huh?”

You swallowed. “Let me go.”

He didn’t.

“I’ve been good, haven’t I?” His voice dropped lower. “I feed you, talk to you, don’t lock you up. I gave you freedom because I trusted you, baby.”

His grip tightened, and he finally turned you to face him. There it was—those blood-red eyes flashing with something feral. Not rage. Not sadness.

Possession.

“You try to leave me again,” he whispered, “and I’ll put chains on that pretty little neck of yours. And I’ll still kiss your bruises after. Still call you my girl.”

He cupped your cheek. “You’re mine. You got that?”

And the worst part?

He kissed you so sweetly after, it almost made you believe it was love.

⋆ VERGIL – “You Belong to Me”

There was no warning. No shout. No loud footstep behind you.

Just him—Vergil.

He appeared in front of the exit like a shadow. One moment, the door was in reach. The next, he was there, standing with Yamato sheathed at his side and fury in his eyes so cold, it felt like winter had crawled into your lungs.

“You disappoint me,” he said, quiet but lethal. “After everything I’ve given you.”

You felt cornered, like prey. But you stood your ground.

“You didn’t give me anything,” you hissed. “You took me.”

His gaze flickered, lips thinning. “I saved you from a meaningless life. You are not meant to live in chaos. You are meant to serve a purpose. My purpose.”

You moved, hoping to duck past him, but Yamato was unsheathed before you even blinked. Its edge stopped inches from your throat.

“I won’t harm you,” he said coldly. “But I will stop you.”

Tears welled up. Not from fear. From exhaustion. From the feeling that maybe no one would come. Not even Dante.

“You can’t keep doing this forever,” you whispered.

His expression didn’t change, but his voice softened into something worse than anger.

“I don’t need forever. I only need you to understand that you are mine.”

He took a step forward, blade lowering, and pressed his forehead to yours. A rare, intimate gesture that felt more like a cage than comfort.

“You will stay,” he whispered. “Even if I must strip away your will to make you do so.”

And you knew—he meant it.

⋆ NERO – “Why Would You Leave Me?”

Nero hadn’t stopped calling your name.

You could hear him down the street, heavy boots pounding pavement like a man possessed. And maybe he was. His voice cracked between anger and desperation.

“Where are you?! Come on! You think I won’t find you?!”

You ran faster.

But you weren’t fast enough.

His Devil Bringer snatched your waist like a steel trap, yanking you back into his arms. You screamed, kicked, clawed—but he didn’t flinch.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” he yelled, spinning you to face him.

His eyes were wild. Hurt. Furious. Panicked. Like you’d taken a knife to his heart.

“I was scared!” you shouted. “You—Nero, you don’t let me breathe anymore!”

He staggered back, just slightly. Like your words punched him in the chest.

“I’m just… I’m trying to protect you,” he said, voice cracking. “You don’t get it. The world out there—it’ll chew you up and spit you out. And I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

You shook your head, tears in your eyes. “You’re suffocating me…”

He didn’t let go. If anything, he held you tighter. His mechanical arm trembled.

“I’m not the bad guy,” he whispered. “I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

You stayed silent.

And that broke him.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “You want space? I’ll give you space. But I’m keeping you close where I know you’re safe.”

He pressed a trembling kiss to your forehead. “Even if you hate me for it.”

And with that, he lifted you into his arms—bridal-style—like nothing had happened.

Like your attempted escape was just a bad dream.

do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on any platforms.

[707ficrecs]

Ghost would definitely follow you around if Jon has a crush on you. Like he literally won't leave your side. While your mending capes and clothing for the brothers, Ghost is right next to you, watching.

this is everything to me btw. because jon and ghost are more of a partnership than master and pet, and ghost regularly has his own way about things

he picks up on jon’s feelings about you, and while ghost has liked you from the get-go, he starts to become obnoxious about it. he knows jon will notice, and means to act as a rope that sort of tugs jon towards you.

he pins his ears whenever anyone but you or jon reach to pet him. he likes to lay on one of the tables in the mess hall while you’re cleaning up, and stands anytime the door opens, making him look freakishly tall. when you aren’t up the same time he and jon are, or ghost just hasn’t seen you around castle black yet, he’ll pad over and sniff & paw the door to your room until jon knocks to check. he even bumps into jon purposely when he’s standing near you.

of course, jon notices his behavior, and he’s not so foolish to think its just the wolf being quirky. he knows what ghost is doing, and he knows ghost knows what he’s doing. it’s just a test of who’s more stubborn, really. but it all clicks in a way it hasn’t before when one day ser alliser puts a (mocking) hand on your shoulder and the direwolf growls. actually growls.

and before anything else can, the reason for ghosts name flashes in jon’s mind in that moment. he never makes a sound.

[707ficrecs]

This was absolutely phenomenal!!

I adore how you write Charon it feels so in character for him. Some reverse intox definitely lets him relax <3.

One part that really stood out to me was the imagery of how he’s typically laid out on his stomach when he eats the reader out and i love it sooo much.

He’s so sweet as well! I loved the paragraph where it mentions how he likes being clung to and they figure out a way to get comfortable without separating it’s so ahh

I love your work so much 💚

Reverse intox with Charon makes me go feral and now I can’t stop thinking about it

I'm pretty sure this ask came in the very same day I posted the reverse intox kink thing and I've been obsessing over the idea ever since. Had to make time to get around to it. Charon's such a perfect candidate for that sort of thing.

Anyway, I literally had multiple dreams about this. You're on my list, Anon (complimentary). Cut added for length.

TW for intox kink stuff, dubious consent, really rough sex/mild injuries.

Charon doesn't really get drunk. At least, not often.

For one, he's a massive man, and it takes quite a bit of booze to even get him feeling anything, let alone to actually intoxicate him. The occasional beer or sip of hard alcohol does less than nothing for him. He's also very conservative when it comes to spending caps on himself, especially for things that are entirely frivolous to him, like drinking. Though he's a heavy smoker, he doesn't even buy cigarettes, only scavenges for them. He's also endlessly stubborn, so he'd have to be down pretty bad to even contemplate spending money on smokes.

All of this cultivates a sort of...frustrated intrigue within you. He's always so tense, so stiff and unyielding when it comes to having fun or relaxing in almost any way. Though he occasionally entertains your pleas for him to engage with you in some kind of frolic (a game, a little swim, whatever), the only sort of leisure you can consistently get him to engage in is sex. Even then, he often seems distracted, stressed that any moment you'll be stopped or interrupted by something; he has trouble being "in the moment" enough to finish at times.

It's as if he's never able to turn off the aggressively protective, on-edge part of his brain.

Due to the success of a recent prospecting venture, the two of you had decided to take a week or so off, hole up in one of the nicer towns you knew of and put your feet up. Well, you'd decided to do so and Charon had come along, grim and unquestioning as always. There had always been a certain submissiveness to the big ghoul, but the sort of submissiveness you'd see in a dangerous but well-trained guard dog—less a resignation of will and more of a conscious application of self-control. While you could tell that the relative safety of the location put him somewhat at ease, you could also see that he was bored and restless only a couple of days in.

You shook your head as you took in the way he fixated on the only door of the bar you'd settled yourself into. You felt guilty that he never really seemed to be enjoying himself, but you refused to let his antsiness edge its way into your relaxation time. You'd be back on the road in a few days, off on another adventure, but you were never shy to take a little time enjoying the fruits of your labor.

You bought him a beer, and he finished it quickly, as always. He didn't ask for another, but, then again, he never did. For yourself, you ordered some made-up cocktail the place was advertising, sipping on it once or twice as you took in all the hubbub in the room.

"Hmm. I don't like how this tastes." you mused, pushing the glass his way. "Finish it for me, would you?"

Though there was a brief flash of suspicion in his eyes as he looked at the thing.

"It'll just go to waste if you don't." you slightly fibbed, knowing damn well that anyone in the place would be happy to polish off a free beverage. "Go on. Relax a little."

After a pause, he drank it down rather quickly and discarded the glass a few inches down the bar top, his reaction difficult to read. Pleased with what you'd seen, you ordered something else and did the same thing, drawing a sip or two off of it and deciding it wasn't to your liking. He studied you closely as you pushed the second drink his way.

"What?" you asked innocently, batting your eyelashes. "There's nothing wrong with trying something and not liking it."

He didn't say anything, accepting it obediently despite the doubt in his gaze.

Things followed that same pattern for an hour or so, you ordering about a dozen different drinks that mostly ended up in his hand, only one or two deemed good enough to stay with you. Even then, you slid him the last few sips so that he could "try it out".

"I think you're trying to get me drunk." he said plainly after about the sixth beverage, his words beginning to slur a little. It was very much like him to cut to the point this way, but the liquor seemed to be making him even bolder.

"I've never seen you drunk. I don't even know if it's possible." you replied evasively.

By the time you were ready to close out your tab, digging deep into your bag to produce a big tin of caps, the man beside you was almost unrecognizable. He swayed almost imperceptibly along with an unfamiliar song on the radio, one he seemed to recognize nonetheless, turning his head to and fro to openly study the crowd.

While you found it endearing, there was a palpable tension from many of the other bar patrons at the hulking ghoul's behavior. Even the bartender seemed to be watching the two of you closely as Charon leaned rather heavily on the bar. Soon, you decided that it was probably time to move things back to your own room.

It was strange to see the typically alert man fumbling around, his steps unsteady and his gait swaying as the two of you crossed the crumbling old road to the hotel a stone's throw away. He leaned clumsily against the wall, eyes glassy as they watched you dig the key out of your pocket. You had a very mild buzz going yourself, but not nearly enough of a buzz to justify how you fumbled with the lock—that could be chalked up to your distraction at how close he crowded himself.

He tossed himself down onto the rickety couch against the wall, zero consideration for how the thing thudded against the stud and was likely easily heard in the next room over. You tried your best to pretend you didn't notice the way he stared at you as you stripped out of your boots and went digging around in your bigger bag.

"Do one more with me." you insisted, producing a mostly-full bottle of whiskey from deep within and brandishing it in his direction. "The drinks at that bar are gross."

You expected him to express doubt, but he didn't say anything as you made your way over to sit beside him, very intentionally letting your side press fully against his. He very noticeably turned his gaze to where your breast brushed his arm as you took a small sip of the amber liquid, pulling a face before holding the bottle out to him. It was quite the feat to keep your face neutral as he took several large gulps, draining about a third of the thing in one go.

That stony self-control was well and truly slipping.

"Ready to party, are we?" you teased, running your palm across his heavily-scarred cheek before pulling yourself back to your feet.

You made to head for the back to change, but you were stopped by a pair of firm hands suddenly wrapping around your waist from behind. He was so tall that he didn't have to stand to be able to reach you easily.

"C'mere." he grunted, openly pawing at your hips and crotch.

"Hold on a second!" you giggled, just barely managing to pull yourself from the manacle of his grip before it got too tight. Your ghoulish lover watched you move back into the bathroom once more, silent as his glassy gaze stayed locked on your ass.

Quickly, you ditched your top, taking in what little bit of your reflection you could see in the broken mirror. You played with your hair for a few seconds, thinking about seeking out a bath house before hitting the road again. However, by the time you reached down to undo your pants, you were startled by the sudden appearance of Charon's massive frame in the doorway to your right.

"You scared me!" you gasped, slapping playfully at him as you leaned lightly on the sink, one hand over your flying heart.

He gave no verbal response, his face unreadable once more; instead, he crowded you closer to the wall, filling the tiny bathroom easily as his hands found your hips again. Suddenly, he yanked them backwards towards him, stumbling you and sending your upper body slamming down onto the porcelain edge. It dug painfully into your ribs as he pressed himself against you, rubbing his already hard cock against you through his jeans.

"Oww." you huffed as you tried to stand properly.

Your body slumped for a long moment, as the wind was knocked halfway out of you. Legs struggling to coordinate with your brain, you leaned most of your weight onto the sink. The old fixture groaned dangerously in response. However, you didn't stay in that position long, those rough hands winding around your body and easily hefting you up onto his shoulder.

"Mmm, careful." you said as he juggled your weight awkwardly, pressing your sore ribs into his solid arm. Though you flinched from the pain, your heart thundered with excitement as he turned and carried you back to the bed.

He dropped you rather unceremoniously onto the mattress, grabbing you by the ankle before you could attempt to wriggle too far away. Your unbuttoned bottoms were removed with almost unsettling speed, yanked clean off in a single, rough motion. He was on top of you almost as quickly, nearly smothering you under his heavy frame and even heavier touches.

His hands petted and groped their way across your chest, the calloused skin making your nipples pebble. He captured your lips in a heated, clumsy kiss, fingers tweaking and pinching every inch of your chest before sinking down toward your hips. You let out an embarrassing mewl as he fumbled to yank the wet gusset of your underwear to the side, seams popping and breaking as he did so.

Charon's name rasped from your throat as he ran his fingers through your slickness, lubing them just enough to allow one, then two to sink quickly into you. He wasn't gentle, focusing on stretching you with one hand and wrestling his pants open with the other. You whined and cried out at the feeling, hips writhing against the stimulation. However, after a moment, he seemed to grow distracted, but in a much different way than usual, moving down to suddenly replace his fingers with his mouth.

"Oh god!" you gasped at the sudden, pointed feeling of his tongue tracing over your puffy clit.

He ate you sloppily, aggressively, face fully buried between your legs as his arms wrapped themselves around your thighs to keep them splayed. Typically, he was very orally focused anyway, spending a great deal of time laid out on his stomach with his mouth sealed to you. He seemed to enjoy the giving aspect of it, but it also never failed to make him as hard as you ever saw him.

When you finally tightened your thighs around what remained of his ears, letting out a choked gasp as your orgasm took you, he suddenly pulled away. You expected him to go back to trying to work you open with his fingers like he usually did, but instead he dragged himself back up until he was eye-to-eye with you once more. His insistent grip moved to your knees, and he pressed them up to angle your hips up against his. You'd have protested that you weren't quite ready, but you were too lost in his liquor-flavored kisses to even think of it.

Both of you let out truncated huffs as the fat tip of him rather easily slotted into you, but every inch after that was serious work. The fact that you were already soaked beyond belief helped a great deal, but couldn't work miracles. He was so thick, spread you so far open as he pushed his way inside that you dug your nails hard into his back, vividly feeling the way they tore at his scarred flesh. A hiss streamed out from his tightly clenched teeth, though whether it was from pain or pleasure, you couldn't tell.

Charon wriggled around on top of you for a minute, seeming to struggle to find his rhythm as his head lolled back and forth across your chest. When his body finally cooperated, allowing his hips to rock back and forth at a steady pace, he sealed his lips around your nipple and sucked hard. The sudden stinging pressure made you clench around his hardness, whining as you cupped the back of his head.

"Fuck." he groaned, loud and full-throated, at the feeling, face moving to press into your throat as he began slamming his full weight against you with a mindless fervor. Every thrust pressed the air out of your lungs, making you grunt and gasp and writhe at the overstimulation. His grip on the fleshy parts of your legs was harsh, bruising, and he yanked you to and fro in order to optimally position you.

He sunk his tongue into your mouth once more as he started to falter, hands knotted into your hair to keep your head fixed in place. Even though you were growing light-headed from being denied proper breath, you were thrilled at the sudden show of intimacy from him. He almost never kissed you during sex, and certainly not so deeply. But you kissing him back, bringing your own hands up to play with the remaining strands of red hair that clung to his head, proved to be too much for him, as he was almost immediately cursing into your mouth and seizing up.

Though he typically pulled away somewhat quickly after intense moments like this, it was clear that he was losing steam, both from his intoxication and from being spent. He didn't even fully pull out, instead reaching down to wrap your legs as far around his thick torso as they'd go. Seemingly satisfied with how you clung to him, he rolled the both of you onto your sides, worming across the mattress until your head met a pillow.

You waited for him to say something, to pull away, but he did neither. Trapped in your place against his chest, cradled tightly, you couldn't see his face, but you very much doubted that he was asleep. Instead, he seemed to just be allowing himself a moment he typically wouldn't.

You were already sore, your ribs and limbs likely bruised from your encounter, but you were in a state of bliss as you curled up against him. For the first time ever, you drifted off with Charon holding you like you'd wanted for so long. The consequences of your actions could wait until the morning...or much longer.

[707ficrecs]

WANNA TAKE A LITTLE TIME

TO REFRESH YOUR MIND

nero sparda x fem!reader

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

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

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

“I kinda miss your longer hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I thought, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Language, babe.”

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

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

“Yeah, well… I overreacted a little.”

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

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

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

“Mmhm.”

“I was showing you my real emotions.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[707ficrecs]

Could you do one where Dante accidentally interrupts Vergil and reader? lmao, I feel like after being gone for so long, Vergil is trying to have moments with his lover or try to look vulnerable, but then Dante shows up and interrupts 😩💥

surprise surprise! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

It has been six whole weeks. One month and two weeks. Forty two days, one thousand and eight hours. Vergil is, to say the least, depraved. Depraved of your touch, your scent, your love. You'd assumed he'd be tired from such a long trip. You're not wearing anything special, you have a lack of makeup and your hair is a little flat from being asleep. You really did try to wait up for him, but as more time ticked on, the heavier your eyelids felt. Vergil felt like a creep, dragging his fingers up your skin, your softness feels amazing against his fingertips. "Vergil?" You hum, maybe this is a dream. "Who else?" He scoffs, crawling on top of you. You laugh happily, god he fantasized about that laugh, looping your arms around him. "Oh Vergil! You're home!" You still sound sleep laden and he lets himself get dragged against you. Vergil wants to melt on top of you like ice cream does on brownies. "I missed you." he confesses wistfully, nosing your neck. You smell absolutely divine. "I missed you too." You murmur, chills raise across your skin, it's been awhile. "Mhm" He hums dragging his lips across your skin. Vergils legs are on either side of you as he leans all his weight down on you. He smells faintly of blood, and something smoky. Your mouthes slot together messily, your fingers mindlessly grope his biceps. Your teeth clash together and Vergil can't help but laugh sheepishly. You've reduced him to a schoolboy blushing over his first crush.

There's giggling and breathy whispers as you two share kisses on the couch. Vergils boney fingers find their way under your shirt, he feels hot touching your sides, tracing your curves. He likes you best this way, bare and vulnerable. Seeing you done up is like a dream, but you’re his wife in any way. Big shirt and panties? Makes him just as crazy as any pretty dress. “God you smell good.” He sucks on the skin on your neck, scraping with his teeth. Vergil wants to eat you alive. “I showered.” You murmur, arching up against him, he pushes your shirt up. Groaning at the sight of all your flesh. “Let’s have another baby.” He murmurs, smothering his face in your chest. “Vergil!” You grow hot, smacking his shoulder. He laughs, leaning back up to catch your mouth, and your complaints.

You’re grinding against one another like rabbits in heat. Vergil yanks your hips to meet his till you’re whining against his mouth. Vergil feels feverish as he leans away, straddling your hips as he yanks his top over his head. All his milky flesh is exposed to you, defined abs contracting and relaxing as he breaths. You smile at him girlishly, all teeth, which sends a rush of butterflies through Vergils stomach. “You’re so cute.” He croons lowly, blue irises looking especially dark as he glances down at you. “Shut up.” You murmur almost embarrassed, “Make me.” He says playful in a way he only is with you.

“Heyo!” An annoying voice cuts through the thick atmosphere. Dante stiffens at the sight of his brother, shirtless and looking weirdly flushed on top of his sister-in-law. He swears he gets a peak of areola. Vergil is quickly yanking your shirt down immediately, his frown is deep as he glance over his shoulder at his brother. “I didn’t see anything!” Dante gulps, immediately turning around so you can scurry off for a pair of pants. “What are you doing here?” Vergil yanks his brother inside, shutting the door. “My pad is totally crashed, termites.” Dante says sheepishly. “So?” Vergil crosses his arms over his chest. When you appear again you lightly smack Vergils arm. “You can stay on the couch, ‘s no biggie.” You murmur unable to really look Dante in the eye. “No guest room or anything…?” He asks, he’s not ungrateful, but now he’s worried about the cleanliness of that couch… “Dante.” Vergil is exploding his little brother’s head over and over again in his brain, “The couch is fine.” Dante chirps, weird sex fluids over the homeless shelter any day of the week. “Ugh.” Vergil turns on his heel, unable to deal with a semi hard on and the annoying energy of his little brother.

You get Dante situated, stealing some of Vergils clothes to pass along to him. He gets a plush duvet and a fluffed pillow, you do all but tuck him in while Vergil looms over unapprovingly. Dante internally preens, his brother got a hot and caring wife, he seriously has no clue how someone as emotionally stunted as Vergil bagged a babe like you, he’s not gonna question it, especially because you’re the only reason he’s not out on his ass right now. “Nighty night!” He chirps, watching the two of you pad down the hall. Vergil gets in bed with you sullenly, he can’t imagine having sex with his dumbass brother just down the hall. You can feel his sullenness when he curls up behind you, breathing in the scent of your hair. “Love you.” You pat his hand, he grumbles something into your skin and you stifle a laugh. You’ll give him a proper welcome home when Dante’s out of the house.

dividers by @enchanthings

[707ficrecs]

DEVIL MAY CRY — FINISHING TOUCHES EDITION

PRESS START TO LOSE CONTROL

dmc men x fem!reader (separate)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t pull out, never does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love it.” A pause. “I love you.”

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

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

[707ficrecs]

Ahh can we have Dante x reader oneshot with sunshine (Dante) and grumpy (reader) troupe🦋🦋🦋 have a nice day ahead

here comes the sun ⋆｡°•☁️

“C’mon baby, one more?” Dante croons warmly, his palm traveling from the side of your neck to cup the side of your face, trying to get you to tilt your face to the side so he can kiss you. “Cut it out, I’m trying to measure this out.” You elbow his side, he’s nice enough to pretend like it hurts, huffing out a breath of air. You dump out the flour into the bowl of dry ingredients, carefully mixing it together. He whines but lays off, dragging himself to the couch to mope.

You and Dante are an unlikely pair, you find him charming, he just thinks you’re the sun and stars. He looks at you like you’re a god given gift, you might as well be for putting up with him. “Dante…would you like to lick the spoon?” You call out from the kitchen, he’s there in a second, like a little puppy who’s been offered a treat. You hold it out to him, he takes the some of the spoon into his mouth, and you feed him some of the raw dough. He hums in satisfaction, “S really good.” He gives you a thumbs up, “Imagine how much better it’ll taste cooked.” You say crinkling your nose when you hear the smacking noises of his mouth against the wooden spoon. He shrugs, careless pure usual.

The cookies are left to rise in the oven, Dante sits with your feet under his thighs, to “warm them up” while he blabs on about his last mission. You wish he’d be more careful sometimes, a healing factor doesn’t mean he should be so reckless. He’s so animated when he talks, making big gestures with his hands, and a big grin. It’s a little enamoring to you, his back is to the curtains, causing a warm glow to surround him. He blocks you from the sun, casting a Dante shaped shadow onto you. You nod and hum while he comes to the conclusion, reenacting how he swung his sword and slashed a demon in half. You give a faux applause and an earnest thumbs up, he’ll take that. He knows you aren’t one for theatrics, and he’s okay with that. Dante knew what he was signing up for.

The next fifteen minutes are spent with Dante trying to slip his tongue in your mouth. You turn your head to the side every chance you get, just to make him frustrated. That goes on till your timer goes off, Dante gets shoved to the side in favor of cookies, they trey is set on the stove top to cool. “You are way too neurotic about this…” He grumbles, “Look how perfect they look…it was worth it.” You mumble, feeling pride swell innyour stomach, theybreally do look picturesque, no thanks to Dante. He shoves a still hot cookie into his mouth and you gape, he hums, steam rushed from his nose as he thumbs up, “Pretty good babe.” He says through a mouthful of cookie. He gulps it down and smiles at you so wide his eyes crinkle up, it’s pretty cute. “I’ll make some more….y’know when this batch is done at least…” You murmur rubbing your neck sheepishly. Dante swoons, you’re so sweet offering to bake him cookies like some devoted house wife, its a little erotic for him to think about. Frilly aprons, kitten heels, rollers in your hair. You see that weird look on his face and smack him upside the head, Dante snaps out of it quickly.

“What’re you think about weirdo?”

“Uh..Nothing, just that these cookies really are great!”

“Right….”

dividers by @uzmacchiato

a/n: thanks anon!

[707ficrecs]

🗨️ BEGUILING

PAIRING: Vergil/(Fem)Reader. WARNINGS: None. WORD COUNT: 1,622. SUMMARY: He wasn't as subtle as he liked to think he was.

A/N: idk man, i just know he's not as nonchalant as he tries to appear

DMC MASTERLIST

You watched in amazement as the miniature missile blew the makeshift target to fragments. A small chuckle came from the woman next to you and you moved your eyes to the end on the black rocket launcher, watching the smoke rise from the end before dissipating completely. Once that was over, you gazed at the woman holding the beautiful weapon: Lady.

Lady had been introduced to you by Dante, and while the first meeting wasn’t the greatest and Lady had her suspicions about you, you couldn’t deny the admiration you felt for her. Whether it was down to her fierceness, her ability to keep up with Dante’s wit, or just down to how she even looked, you wanted to be everything that was Lady. She was the epitome of the perfect human Devil Hunter.

You cocked a hip out, your own weapon propped up on the floor in your hand, “I never get tired of watching that.”

The woman ran a hand through her cropped murky hair, her own mismatched eyes turning to look at you, “I’m just glad she’s still in perfect condition. I was sure when Dante decided to just jump into Hell with not just this one but the second one Nico had made, he’d come back with both completely destroyed.”

You hummed, “How did you manage to get both back anyway?”

Lady propped up Kalina Ann much like your own position, leaning on her cherished weapon, “It wasn’t too hard actually… All I really had to do was mention the debt he owes me, I told him I’d cut it by half if he gave me both to me.” You snorted. If it took anything for Dante to find a way out of his debt, he would do it. How the man managed to drown himself in over twenty years’ worth of debt, you weren’t too sure, yet when Lady and Trish complained over his lack of self-control when it came to money and how most of it primarily went to pizza and strawberry sundaes…

How did the man even function?

“He’s been doing better lately though,” she continued, wiping a hand on her pants, “Ever since Vergil came back and somehow Dante got him to stick around, his debt has been swindling down. It’s kinda a buzzkill, Vergil I mean, he forces Dante to keep up with Morrison’s payments.”

Ah yes, Vergil. The frosty elder twin of Dante whose best skill was either standing in the corner staring like he was Nosferatu or sitting on the couch in the main room of Devil May Cry and reading. Sure, Vergil was exceptionally skilled out on the battlefield, but you weren’t about to admit that aloud. You and Vergil had not gotten along from the moment you had met when he principally took one look at you, stuck his nose up into the air, and walked away. After that, you spent most downtime you had glaring at the back of his stupid head and trying to see how far you could test his patience. The man surprisingly got angry quick – a feat showing just how much different he was from his twin – but he had never once really lashed out at you, regularly just throwing dirty looks at you and stalking out of the room. Even when you ‘accidentally’ washed one of his white button-ups with Dante’s red boxers.

Not like he needed to wear it anyway, his chest had been beginning to pop out from the top of it.

However, the creepy half-demon had been acting rather strange as of lately. At times you thought you were alone you’d turn around and he’d be standing there and giving a stare reminiscent of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. It had been happening frequently, to the point you told Dante, who only threw his head back and laughed. You didn’t know what he found so damn funny when it was no laughing matter when Vergil was looking at you like he was going to eat you.

…Did he eat humans?

Maybe that’s why you never saw Vergil eat. You shuddered.

“You wanna try her out?” Lady asked bringing you out of your horrid thoughts. She was gesturing to Kalina Ann much to your surprise; Lady never really let anyone use her weapons. “C’mon you’ll be fine, the recoil isn’t so bad,” she assured lifting up the rocket launcher for you to grab. You hesitated for a brief moment; you weren’t too familiar with heavier weapons, your own was rather lightweight and the recoil of it only left a small amount of discomfort when you had first started using it that you no longer felt.

Temptation proved too much for you though, handing your own weapon in exchange, you hefted Kalina Ann into your hold and positioned your body in a more comfortable position. You angled your hips once more, setting a leg back, took aim, and fired at the next dummy target. Your body slightly jostled from the kickback, but it was to be expected since you were firing a rocket launcher. Watching the miniature missile hit the bottom of the target and the brutal blow exploding the target much like Lady had done, you let out a huff of a laugh.

Lady gave an impressed ‘hmm’ next to you before you both swapped back to your respectable weapons, “Not too bad… for a rookie,” she teased, poking your shoulder, “how’d it feel?”

“Exhilarating.”

She laughed again moving closer to lean her arm on your shoulder, a fleeting smell of her perfume assaulting your nose, “I think you and I should go out on missions together more.”

Flattered, you opened your mouth to respond, but quickly snapped it shut when a whistle came from behind the both of you. You both turned and Dante stood there rubbing the stubble on his jaw grinning while Vergil stood next to him looking he was on the cusp of suffocating. You frowned, What the Hell is his deal?

“Didn’t know you could handle big guns like that, I’m impressed,” Dante beamed at you, flashing a fanged tooth. You would’ve been a fool to not catch the underline meaning of the words, yet you were too accustomed to Dante’s comments and flirts none of them really fazed you. You snorted, throwing your weapon to rest on your shoulder as Lady and he suddenly engaged in a back-and-forth.

After a few moments of watching the humorous exchange, you snuck a peek at the man still standing at Dante’s side, wondering why he hadn’t fucked off yet. Your eyes traveled from his feet, to the harsh grip he had on his sword, to –

Jesus.

You swiftly turned your attention back to the other two as a sweat broke out across your neck. Looking at Vergil’s face you came to face-to-face with the haughty male giving you his own rendition of the Stanley Kubrick Stare pointed directly at you. His eyes were by far some of the fiercest you had ever seen; one look and you felt as if he was peering into your soul and attempting to murder you with one stare.

Quickly, you sifted through your mind for any possible past actions that would’ve pissed him off that bad. You hadn’t done anything as of lately then, opting to keep your distance when a week prior your mind randomly said, ‘He’s kinda hot’, while you sat across from him in Nico’s van. You wanted to throw your brain out of the window at that because you don’t know why it’d even betray you like that.

You came out of your thoughts when Lady loudly questioned why Dante felt the need to bother the both of you and his answer was enough to make you freeze.

Dante threw his hands up in submission, his expression morphing into something of innocence, “Don’t look at me, Vergil’s been standing here longer than I have. I only came to see what was holding him up and I can see now…” he trailed off, his eyes remaining on you.

…What? He had? How long he had been in the same room as you two? You weren’t surprised really; Vergil made no noise whatsoever ghosting around Devil May Cry, he was able to sneak up on you frequently and scare the shit out of you. Though normally, he would throw an insult at you or clear his throat…

Meanwhile, said half-demon broke his glare and curled his lip in disgust, a barely audible hiss escaping him. He threw an accusing, ghastly glare to Dante before a lingering glance to you, and then ultimately sauntered away out of the back room with the door almost swinging off its hinges with how hard he slammed it. Bewildered, you watched him go, uneasiness beginning to settle into your stomach as you thought back to the probing ‘I’ll eat you alive’ stare, momentarily thinking perhaps that stare was something else…

Next to you, Lady sighed, sounding slightly exasperated, “He’s not as discreet as he thinks he is.”

Dante snorted, “He’s still a man, if he likes something he sees he’s gonna act on it. Even if it is in his own weird way,” he placed both hands behind his head after that statement sending a wink towards you.

You were extremely confused.

Lady piped up next to you, her arm curving around your shoulders, “Maybe it’s the shorts, but I could be wrong…”

Your shorts? No way was she implying what you thought she was implying.

Vergil was not staring at your ass…

Was he?

Dante snickered when your expression morphed into mortification.

What the fuck were you supposed to do knowing you had an all-powerful, King of Hell, demon staring at your fucking ass?

[707ficrecs]

can we have some girldad Dante? :3 I feel like it would be a gap between him protecting his little baby, to letting her grab a sword because he needs her to learn from now on like he did when he was a child

compromise ♡

Dante didn’t think his life could get any better. He accepted that he would never have a family of his own, his brother barely interacts with him, his nephew is a moody teenager, his dad…yikes. You had showed up as suddenly as a car accident, glowed like an angel, made his heart pound and his hands clammy. The best thing that had ever happened before, before Lilith, if you’re an angel, well then Lilith is like a perfect little cherub.

“Shh shh, please don’t wake up mom, she worked all day y’know, she’s sleepy.” Dante is at her side in an instant, picking her up from her pack n play. A lot can change in six months, Lilith is perfectly round and soft, his white hair sprouts up like she got shocked, he tries smoothing it down to no avail. It’s no wonder you always put her hair in two pigtails, it stands up on its own half the time. She gurgles, pushing her clenched fists on his chest, he laughs “You hittin’ me? You’re such a fighter already!” Dante dips down, rubbing his nose against her tiny one, she giggles, leaning away, looking at him dazed, then sneezes. “Oh bless you!” He coos, she whines something that sounds similar to “thank you.” She gets kisses for being such a smart talkative little girl, but Lilith isn’t entirely appreciative of how his stubble scratches her, slapping a chubby fist against Dantes cheek. “You are just like your mom, you guys can’t let me go a day without shaving, mom doesn’t always shave her legs and I don’t smack her, and you’re kinda fuzzy too kid.” He murmurs lightly swaying from side to side, she’s probably so talkative solely because Dante loves the sound of his own voice. “Mama?” she asks looking around, expecting to see you, “Mama is sleeping, dad’s here though.” He boops her little nose. “I know I’m not as pretty but I think I’m okay.” He shrugs, smiling when she loops pudgy arms around her, his heart sings, hugging his little girl back. “Oh I love you.” He coos, controlling himself from smothering her with kisses so she doesn’t cry from beard burn.

You wake up a few hours later, Dante smiles at you like some blood hound who picked up your scent. You just look cute when you’re first waking up, he sees where Lilith gets her wild side, your hair is frizzy and you look a little bleary. “Hi…” You murmur, accepting his eager affection, “Hi gorgeous.” He hums, giving your hips a squeeze. “Hello to you too Lili.” You rub under her chin, she tosses her arms out at you, Dante hands her over and she snuggles you. “How come you get to be her favorite?” Dante pouts. “Cause I carried her for nine months, right baby? My little womb leech.” You pat her back, she shrieks like she’s agreeing. “Yeah thats right.” You nod and hum. “What a pair.” He chides, throughly endeared.

Lilith gets set down for her nap shortly after. Dante washes and you dry, the baby monitor set on the counter.

“She’ll be walking any day now y’know.”

“So?”

“So, I think she should be able to defend herself.”

“What… She’s a baby Dante, the house is baby proofed enough don’t you think?”

“Not like that.” He pauses, setting a soapy bowl down. “ I mean for when she’s older, swordsmanship, shooting, self defense.” He says for once serious in a way you don’t often see. “Dante…” You interject, unsure on how you feel about the subject. “No, I’m serious, there’s a lotta creeps out there! She’s gorgeous, gets it from you, and God knows I was running down the block trying to get your attention, imagine the guys when she’s older!” He flails his arms dramatically, splashing you with soap, you flinch away from the suds and he sheepishly smiles at you. You sigh, understanding where he’s coming from, “Okay….as long as you train her properly or whatever that means, just make sure she keeps at her fingers and toes.” You wipe a sud from your cheek, Dante smiles at you, he’ll make sure, not matter what, that you two can defend yourselves. He doesn’t want to raise a damsel in distress, mainly because he doesn’t want to deal with any knights in shining armor, but also for peace of mind. “Deal, all tell toes,all ten fingers.” He swears like he’s some innocent boy scout, it’s cute.

Lilith fusses and you can hear it on her monitor, “I think she agrees.” Dante smiles at you, kissing the side of your head. He shuffles to go deal with her, he jokes a lot about the two of you being a pair, but it’s not true, the three of you are a family, through and through.

dividers by @uzmacchiato

[707ficrecs]

SEE YOU TOMORROW 𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ

── DANTE X F!READER

To say Vergil was suspicious of Dante would be not odd thing considering the same Dante who would give random excuses when ask to babysit Nero was now suddenly taking him daily for walk.

While Dante was a good uncle and took interest in his nephew, he wasn't much interested in playing or doing anything that required his physical moment.

"Okay Nero, it's time for walk with uncle. Say bye to your daddy." Dante waved from one of little boy's hand who give his daddy blank stare. Vergil wondered if he should enquire his doubts or not but his decision took so long and Dante was already gone.

"Now, now let's see if your aunt reached or not?" Dante narrated to the baby Nero who give him a disinterested look and move his gaze around the park: watching some ladies talk: kids playing; then his gaze fall on you.

"What is it little man?" Dante questioned Nero's gibberish words and then follow the moment of his hands─oh it was you.

"So you approved her, right?" And without much hesitation Dante walk towards where you were but acting like he didn't see you and was focused on handling Nero.

"What's all this excitement is for?" He laughed holding him mid air as Nero still stare and move his hands towards you which you catch your attention and you pass him a smile as you started to walk towards him much to happiness of both Nero and Dante.

"Hello baby." You cooed to Nero who was giggling on the sight of you,"Damn boy you be taking all attention now, huhh." Dante playfully complaint as you give him an amused look.

"Isn't your uncle even more baby then you, baby?" You said to Nero but your eyes were focused on Dante. Dante grinned today you were being respond to his hints, was he finally progressing with you.

Nero started to pull his hands towards you, indicating he wanted to be pick by you to which you happily obliged and he quickly snuggled into your arms once Dante hand him over.

"Let's walk around a bit." You suggested to which Dante happily agreed, feeling the stars on his side today,"Wow what good deeds am I getting rewarded for today?" He said as you both started to walk side-by-side,"I don't know maybe being a good uncle." You joked as you rub your cheek against Nero who in response laughed and grab your cheeks.

Dante grinned, thankfully for the day Vergil forced him to take Nero out for walk as it was what that lead him to the woman who stole his heart.

Dante still remember how he was getting tired up holding Nero in arms; not physically but rather mentally so he just put the little guy down so he could move his body a bit.

One moment he was observing Nero and his funny steps next moment he was surrounded by ladies─who question him one after and other and when he was able to escape them, Nero wasn't in his sight anymore.

A panic rise in his chest as his eyes started to searched for his little body. He was barely taking a step before? Where did he go in just a second? Did someone took him? His blood ran cold on mere thought of it.

"Is he yours?" He turns face to face with you, holding Nero in your arms and the said boy being all comfortable there like he did not give his uncle almost a heart attack.

"Sure is. Come on buddy." He open his arms with a exhausted smile but hide his face in your neck and refused to leave your for next one hour and now you were suck holding him and simultaneously chatting with his talkative uncle.

That one hour was blessing to Dante. He could never believe he would meet a woman he would be so attracted to. From the way you talk about society to way you would match his humour and that's how daily uncle-nephew walk started.

Through you initially were wary of Dante, the first time you were stuck with him due to Nero but soon you find yourself being interested in his jokes and his humourous flirting.

Before now you often act like you weren't expecting the uncle-nephew duo but now you felt it was right time to show you were also starting to look forward for them or especially him - Dante. (Don't tell Nero tho)

That day was supposed to be your one time reconnecting with nature but thanks to them now it was a daily occurance.

Both of your feelings were there yet you both treat them lightly and just enjoy the moment.

Maybe one day there will be confession. Maybe there won't be.

You just know that even tomorrow you guys will be meeting here.

"Shouldn't you leave a goodbye kiss?" You rise a eyebrow on hearing the bold suggestion from Dante,"To Nero." He quickly added with a grin like he was messing with you,"Or it could be me too." You pass him a flirtatious smile but still rejected the later statement, saying you prefer the more cuter guy here, who was Nero.

Dante pretend to be hurt but his eyes still stare at you with that dazzling look as he hold the Nero in middle as both of you lean in to kiss his chubby cheeks.

"See you tomorrow. . .Nero." You both simultaneously kissed his cheeks as he let out a delightful noise.

"I think she meant that last statement for me." Dante grinned as he look at your figure which was getting farther and farther to which's response Nero pulled his cheeks like he did not like Dante's assumption.

"I am seeing how aggressive you are getting for that woman to your own blood. How will your dad feel that you choose her over your blood?" Dante cried to Nero in dramatic way who give him a blank blink.

"Let's come again tomorrow."

[707ficrecs]

A/N: this is how I think the Sparda boys would eat pussy— just some headcanons which you could probably already decipher from how I wrote Dante ehjsksjd but I wanted to write for all of them since Nero and V need some love too!!

Characters included: Dante, Nero, Vergil & ft. V

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pussy eating, swearing, masturbation, squirting, fingering, biting and marking, panty sniffing, scent kink, ass rimming, manhandling, monsterfucking(?) <- Dante just uses his Devil Trigger to fuck you with his tongue, restraints (reader getting tied up/cuffed to the bed), pussy slapping.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

We all know how Dante would eat pussy. He'd be messy—slurping, sucking, spitting and licking.

He'd take you anywhere. His desk, the bed, the kitchen counter? He's done it. He doesn't care where he does it as long as his face gets buried between your legs.

Dante gets off on your scent and your taste, so he doesn't really mind if you're clean-shaven or haven't showered after a long day at work. He's eating you out as soon as you get home. Period.

And when you're not around? He's using your panties to get off and cum. His face is covered with your used underwear, huffing in your scent while he fists his hard, leaking cock.

He makes out with your pussy, pressing soft kisses all over until you beg him to finally use his tongue on you, dipping the muscle into your tight hole and tasting you.

Dante loves to overstimulate your cunt, leaving your legs quivering and the sheets a soaked mess. He doesn't pull away until you let go of his hair and push him away, or when you beg and say your safe word. But even then, he tries to coax out one last orgasm before finally letting you rest and wash up.

His favourite thing in the world is making you squirt. At first, you hated the idea, scared of making a mess all over him, but the feral look in Dante's eyes reassured you of how much he wanted it, and how much of a freak he really was when it came to eating your sweet pussy out.

He sometimes likes to use his DT to fuck you deep with his tongue, the ridges making you clench around him so tightly and so nicely. You gush out so much slick that he can't help himself but do it.

Dante's favourite position on eating your pussy is when your face is buried into the pillows and your ass is up, both your holes exposed to him. It just gives him more access more times than not, and it's easier to muffle your moans when people are around and he needs a quick taste.

He grunts and moans when he's eating you out, this man never shuts up.

"Mmnf—you taste so good, sweetheart, God, I never want to leave– mmm—"

When you're—let's say—angry with him, Dante's desperate. Like really desperate. He's not one to beg, per se, but when it comes to you—he'd get on his knees and plead with you until you let him touch you. He can't function when he hasn't tasted you at least once a day.

This man is pussy addicted. But your pussy only. He doesn't want anyone else's.

Vergil is a freak. Not as much as Dante but he is a freak in his own way when it comes to eating cunt.

He hasn't been in many relationships, so the first time he ate you out was a bit foreign to him.

But he's a quick learner. He always was. Vergil knows how to make you squirm and whine out his name, when he hits that spongy spot inside you with his thick fingers, his lips suckling your clit.

Vergil sometimes likes to tie you up, leaving you helpless and restrained. He loves how you struggle and tug on the rope when you want to run your fingers through his hair or want to close your thighs.

If he's feeling generous, and you've been nothing but compliant, he'll untie you from your binds and let you touch him.

"You've been such a good girl, hm? I'll let you have this little reward."

His favourite position is definitely the mating press. For both eating your cunt out and fucking the brattiness out of you.

He has you folded in half, your knees touching your breasts, and the view of his face buried against your pussy would make your eyes roll back.

Vergil isn't one to be messy with his meals, but all of his logical thinking goes out the window the moment he licks your soaked slit. He loves to tease you with his tongue. He likes to show you who you belong to, and who's the only person who can make you cum so hard.

He prefers taking care of your needs first before taking care of his own. Vergil isn't one to jerk off, but when he really gets riled up after your little session and you were exhausted? He'd leave the room and head to the nearest bathroom to deal with his... predicament.

He figured out you liked to be rimmed by accident. Ducking his head too low and licking your other sensitive hole. You squealed and tried to push him away, but his hold on your legs was firm, so he tested the waters.

"Vergil, no, it's dirty—" "Shh.. nothing of yours is dirty, and I want to make you feel as good as you can. Tell me, Beloved, does this make you feel good?"

Your throat felt thick, and you couldn't speak, but your body answered him with ease. So, he used that to his advantage, thrusting his tongue into your asshole.

Vergil indulges in your kinks and doesn't judge you for them, and in exchange? He gets to see you fall apart in his arms.

Nero is more like Dante than his father. He's also quite a sloppy pussy eater. He slurps, spits and makes out with your pretty cunt, leaving it soaked for when he wants to fuck you afterwards.

Though he does have more class than his Uncle. He's always making sure you're comfortable with the place he's going to give you head and locks the door in the room you're doing it in.

Nero usually has you pinned against the wall or sat on the passenger seat of the van when he's down between your legs and making you whine his name.

He's mean but in a teasing way. Especially when you try to tug on his hair.

"Yeah, tug on my hair, baby– but you can't, can you? It's too short.. too bad, hm?"

Loves to leave your thighs with bite marks and hickeys. Nero just goes feral when he sees what he's done to you especially when you're wearing a dress.

Fists his cock while he eats you out. He can't help but do it, you just turn him on so much, and his dick gets so hard it hurts.

He doesn't stop until you tap out. You either say your safeword and let go of his hand or he doesn't stop licking and devouring your sweet, slick pussy.

If you do let go of his hand, however, Nero immediately switches up and mumbles sweet apologies for being too much. He gets you a glass of water and a snack, cuddling you until both of you fall asleep.

And finally we have V. He's quite gentle with you unlike the others.

Sweet, gentle whispers of praise, his hands caressing your thighs as he flattens his tongue on your soaked slit. His eyes watching your reaction, the way your face contorts in pleasure along with the way your back arches towards him.

"That's it, my muse, sing for me, tell me how good it feels."

This man is sweet unless you purposefully provoke him. Act like a brat? Get treated like one. He will slap your pussy with his hand or a crop whip, edge you until you cry for forgiveness, and overstimulate you until you squirt.

"Tsk-tsk, you've brought this upon yourself, my sweet muse. Did I not say not to provoke me? Now, now.. settle before I punish you even further."

Be a good girl for him, though? You're going to see stars after he's done with you. His fingers fill you up nicely, pressing and putting pressure on that spongy spot inside you that makes your pussy gush out and squeeze, all while he suckles on your pudgy clit.

V loves it when you squeeze his head between your thighs. It means he's doing something right if you're trapping him there, tugging on his hair and moaning his name.

He prefers sinking his cock into your sopping hole than jerking off, but when the time needs it and he can't fuck you, he'll steal the panties you were wearing and use it around his thick shaft until it's soiled with his spend.

His favourite position is missionary because he loves seeing your face contort in pleasure or hold eye contact with you while dipping his tongue into your drippy cunt.

If you enjoyed this, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!!

[707ficrecs]

. ݁ ˖ ⌗ 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 . . .ᐟ ´-

♯ . 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 : 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐫𝐲 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𖤝

# 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔 : 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧-𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯

𝜗𝜚 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 : hi! first post yay. i haven’t written anything in like years so hopefully this isn’t terrible.

【 𝐒𝐅𝐖. ⊹₊⋆ ✉️ ྀི 】

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ he flirts like it’s game.

early on, it’s all one-liners and teasing grins. it’s part of dante—says it’s just his charm. but the second you turn his words back on him? that same smile falters. he pretends to shrug it off. but they’ll be in his mind for hours.

⤷ gets annoyingly competitive over everything.

“you blinked first.” “i killed more demons.” “okay? but i like you more.” he’s doing anything and everything but actually focusing on the mission.

⤷ tends to do your voice when he’s upset.

“‘dante, don’t touch that, it’ll break,’” he mimics, then pushes it anyway. if something does happen, he admits fault but might blame you for half of it.

⤷ tries to teach you how to use ebony & ivory.

but gets distracted half-way only to show off. “like this—watch—cool, right?” leading to him firing a few rounds into the air and missing the point entirely.

⤷ also tries to look (even more) cool mid-fight just because you’re watching.

does an unnecessary backflip off a wall. pulls out a vogue of different combos. slices a demon in half. was there a purpose in the end? well, no. but he did say people like this kind of stuff.

⤷ absolutely bullshits instructions when you ask for help.

“put the glowy thing there.”

“that one?”

“no, the other glowy one.”

you’ll likely end up stuck here longer then necessary anyway.

⤷ loves making bets you can’t win.

“if i beat him first, you owe me 20.”

“and if i win?”

“what? no. i still get 20.”

⤷ hides behind furniture to jump-scare you.

most of the time it backfires since he doesn’t plan ahead. he either ends up getting hurt or cussed out. but he swears it was worth it.

⤷ quiets down after every patch-up.

he stares at your hands like they worked miracles he’s not used to—i mean, he always shrugs off wounds. they heal up fast so why waste your time on them?

he thinks the little bandaids on his already-healed skin are useless, but that doesn’t really stop the warm feeling from creeping in his heart.

⤷ pretends not to care what music you like.

“what the hell even is this?” he says while nodding along. and the next hour, you’ll catch him humming the perfect tune under his breath.

⤷ always wants to show you something.

a shortcut. a secret door. a demon skull that looks kinda funky. “come, look at this,” he says like a kid dragging you across his playground.

⤷ gets distracted watching you talk.

dante misses half the story, but nods along like he’s listening. if you catch it and scold him about it. he just rolls his eyes and reciprocates you to continue. “it doesn’t even matter, i stopped listening when you opened your mouth—but go on.”

⤷ acts unimpressed by compliments but gets weirdly clingy after.

“you’re seriously calling me handsome? tell me something i don’t know.” he says. but five minutes later, he’s glued beside you—hoping you’d let him hear another one.

⤷ gifts you… ‘things’ like it’s romantic.

“found these bone shards. they’re shiny. thought you’d like it.” he says, holding it out like a bouquet. and smiles when you actually take it.

⤷ …sometimes he isn’t sure how to deal with certain things.

so he pretends it doesn’t affect him.

you catch him looking at the amulet daily or so. and he pockets it fast like it burned him. he cleans his blades. lubricates his guns. and doesn’t necessarily tell you what happened with vergil that last day.

but if you get lucky, you’ll hear him mention his brother every now and then. subtle things like, “man, vergil would’ve liked this.” without bringing much attention to it.

⤷ he does a lot to fill the silence.

mostly nonsense, and white noise. humming random tunes, rambling about a fight that happened weeks ago. to him it’s less about what he’s saying, and more about what he’s trying not to think.

⤷ lets you win arguments just to hear you talk—again.

you think you’ve outsmarted him. following your sentence up with words laced with a sweet victory.

he thinks it’s cute, everybody wins. hooray.

⤷ shows you how to use the jukebox.

“you gotta finesse it,” he claims, smacking the side way harder than necessary. and somehow the music starts? “see? works every time.”

⤷ swears sharing his favorite meals with you is the apogee of romance.

you say you’re not craving a strawberry sundae. he buys you one anyway. fries? the whole combo? with what money? just take it. and watches you eat it like it’s the most important part of his day.

⤷ starts carrying twice the amount of things—one for him, one for you.

you never asked him for it. one day he just tossed you a spare ammo clip, bandages, and a pocketed drink. “don’t say i never give you anything.”

⤷ asks for a bite of your food then nearly eats the entire thing. every time.

“that wasn’t just a bite,” you retort. “oh, so a guy can’t be hungry anymore.” he mumbles.

⤷ he starts saying ‘we’ more.

“we should stop by the shop.” “we could grab dinner after.” “we’ll figure it out.” you don’t even notice it until it finally clicks. “we should open the place soon, no?”

the sweetest part, is that he doesn’t realize he does that.

⤷ tries to cook you breakfast some days.

there’s a chance you wake up with him setting off the smoke alarms. but others, you arrive to the kitchen with a pretty appetizing plate—which makes you question how much hours and how many utensils had to be sacrificed for it.

⤷ names the shop’s mouse after you.

you ask why. and he simply responds with, “little fella’s loud. stubborn. somewhat cute. and won’t leave me alone.” he grins. “remind you of anyone?”

⤷ draws you two on the shop’s walls with permanent marker.

it’s so unbelievably childish.

just two fugly stick figures holding hands. one’s significantly taller and more detailed just to feed his ego. but he does it because he knows it’ll shy a laugh out of you. and if you tell him to stop? dante simply hands you a marker. “i own this place. you want in or not?”

⤷ gets genuinely offended if you don’t laugh at his jokes.

“wow. tough crowd. see, if i was really loved, you would’ve laughed.“

⤷ keeps fixing things in the shop and blaming you for them being broken.

“why was the fridge making that sound?” “it was fine until you leaned on it. weird.”

⤷ doesn’t let you give out compliments just because.

kind words to someone else? he’ll just slide between you two. no biggie. “wow, i look great today too, by the way.”

⤷ sometimes, late at night, he starts to say something and stops halfway.

you know it’s just his struggles holding him back from comfort. but you like nudge his leg with yours. and in a way, it kind of encourages him to continue. to let out some of the softest words that have ever graced his lips.

⤷ never calls it ‘dating.’

just says, “you and me? we’re a thing. a moment. kind of a situation—but not together.” because he doesn’t want to curse it.

losing you? he might as well let hell break loose. even though he’s too scared to admit it. you know why he does it. and your patience means the universe to him.

⤷ he still doesn’t say ‘i love you’ at all. but when he insinuates it? it melts you.

every time you leave the shop, he walks you to the door, kisses your temple, and says some sappy a remark between, “i don’t know what i’d do without you, so try to come back.”

⤷ just know when a special day for you two comes. he’ll pretend to forget.

birthdays, anniversaries, holidays. it’s a weird guilty pleasure of his.

seeing you so sad but trying to play it off like you aren’t really bothered by him forgetting.

you’ll take him out to his favorite place, buy him deserts, and sugary drinks. slay demons together (it’s the peak of romance), but he still wouldn’t get the clue. or that’s what he wants you to believe.

just know though, that later in the day, half-way through your nap, you will be surrounded by all of your favorite things. a bag of take-out. little gifts and tokens of his gratitude. and a roaming rain of praises and kisses the minute he sees your eyes flutter wake from the slumber.

“hey, sweet thing. don’t tell me you thought i forgot—what? okay, ouch.“

“no, no. see—all of this, it’s for you. money out of my pocket by the way. don’t worry, take the rest of today off. i’ll take care of the calls—just, no. i’ll find a way to pay the bills later.”

it’s so cheesy, he probably saw it on one of those romance movies you forced him to watch. but he really tries to be a good boyfriend. you’re the first he’s ever really trusted. might as well struggle with his firsts everything with the one person that hasn’t scarred him with any judgement.

⤷ one thing about dante though, is that he would never make a promise he can’t keep.

he meant it. the day he told you no matter how much destiny would try to shake him off you. he wouldn’t leave. regardless of how messy the job, how far the trip, how long the silence. he shows up. every time. coming back to hold you in his arms like you might be the most precious thing of his life.

【 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖. ⊹₊⋆ ✉️ ྀི 】

° his touch starts loose.

dante likes to think he knows what he’s doing. he lives in the blur between pretending and becoming.

his fingers trace the inside of your thighs, caressing your skin so tenderly, all while he’s talking about something else entirely.

it’s not to tease you, or pretend this doesn’t affect him. it does.

but because he can’t control a single muscle in his body when it comes to you, he needs to keep a distraction for him to be able to be the one giving and not receiving.

° everything flusters dante the second it’s about him.

call him yours, praise him, tell him how good he makes you feel.

kiss his neck, straddle his waist, lock his fingers between yours. and he’ll twitch like you lit a fuse. it’s a bit embarrassing for him to see himself act like this. chest rising with each breath and hips stuttering with any endearment. but he’s too stubborn to tell you he liked it.

° he rushes the first time.

dante is trying to learn. he won’t admit he’s inexperienced. his pride wouldn’t take that hit.

but it’s obvious. give him one kiss and he’s already pulling on the string of your panties.

he’s careless, greedy, and so clumsy. yet never forces anything.

if he feels you pull away he might tease, but he would give you all the space to breathe and clear your mind. you’re important—this moment too. and he wouldn’t dare mess it up.

° tries to hold back noise.

his jaw tightens. lips parted like he’s about to pry—but it never comes. he’s stubborn like that. he won’t moan unless you pull it out of him. won’t even breathe heavy unless your hips grind up first.

but when it slips out? it’s ragged. and he’s ashamed he even felt that much.

° favorites when you’re on top.

seated pretty in his lap, panty lace pushed aside, his length haloed by a thin layer of release.

he’ll pretend he’s handing you control. says things like, “y’can set the pace this time.”

but the way his hands cup your waist, or how he presses into your skin like he’s anchoring himself to you… it gives him away. he loves having you handle him.

° says things without meaning to.

it’s not planned. sometimes awkward. definitely not suave for a smooth-talker. it slips when his hips stutter inside.

things like—“fuck, you feel good,” or worse—“yeah, keep going.”

he never remembers saying it. gods—he swears you’re making things up. but he takes note of it and will use it as advantage.

° foreplay!

dante is a bitch. he never just slips in. what’s the fun in that? he ruts. let’s his head wet with your slick. drags down along your nerves. pressing closer to taunt your entrance.

he’s mean when he knows he has the upper hand. and he gets cocky.

cocky until it’s warm, and sweet, and right there. then it’s just instinct.

° he thinks about it often.

he feels embarrassed, so ashamed actually. seeing you do casual acts that near innocence, but not being able to clear his own mind from the sins that lure it.

a cloudy gaze after a kiss, licking whipped cream off of your lips, or crouching down to pick something up.

yeah, you have to be doing it on purpose.

° might have a thing for dry humping.

not as prepping. as a thing.

he’s lazy. if he’s feeling moody though, it’s what he settles with. and it eventually just became a preference.

his hips rolling into yours while both of you are still fully veiled, strawberry kisses and praises.

the way you grind back and catch his gasps between your lips, one hand kneading your thigh like he’s going to come just from the friction alone. he lives for it.

° get’s so turned on when you cover his mouth.

you don’t even get to scold him. just gently pressuring your palm over his lips when he’s getting too loud.

he kisses your hand while it’s there—just quick, ludicrous kisses. he knows you get shy, you love shutting him up, and that only makes him crave it more.

⤷ “i love you.”

he won’t say it. not out loud.

but the way he looks at you while he’s still inside. every bit of hectic lust fading away. threading his fingers through the soft curves of your body he already knows by memory.

it shows everything he refuses to voice.

he’ll brush your hair back, lean down to kiss your forehead before resting it against his own. dante has never felt this close to someone before. he tends to lose them before he can.

but there is not a corner in earth he wouldn’t exorcize from hell’s grasp just to keep you safe.

⎯ׅ⎯⎯⎯⎯۪⎯⎯⎯ׅ⎯⎯ׂ⎯⎯ׅ⎯⎯⎯⎯ׅ⎯⎯⎯⎯ׅ⎯ׂ⎯⎯ׅ⎯⎯

© mylovingkiss. 2025 | feel free to request! but please don’t steal or translate any of my works! thank you ༝༚༝༚

[707ficrecs]

. ݁ ˖ ⌗ 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 . . .ᐟ ´-

♯ . 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 : dante sparda x fem!reader 𖤝

# 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 : 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴. 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭.

# 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 : 3.1k +

. ‿̩͙ . ݁ᛪ༙ . ‿̩͙ .

the lock sticks again. you shoulder it open, and like always, no one's there to answer.

you don't call his name. the lights are off, but the TV flickers. a cheap static staining the walls.

dante's out cold on the couch. one arm slung off the side, fingers barely hooking a can by the brim. his mouth is parted, and his soft snores were beginning to get lost in whatever dream.

he doesn't stir. not at the noise of the screen. or the creak of your boots dragging mud across the boards. not when the door shuts behind you, sealing the night's luminance back into the dark.

he looked so peaceful. it would've been sweet if you simply ignored how the world had been trying to gut you alive. clawing at your throat whenever you'd even try and breathe.

“g'night,” you mumbled tiredly, then mockingly to yourself, “oh, how am i, baby? i'm doing okay, sweet of you to ask.”

you step in. the apartment colder than you remember leaving it.

your gear settles in the armchair. gods know how the zipper of your bag managed to get caught in one of the loose threads of the cushions. sometimes it felt as if life was testing the last strings of patience you held.

but ignoring so, you took a few steps that led you to the AC. turning up the temperature to something more human. letting the warmth settle before joining your thoughts in the bathroom.

the mirror greets you, cracked through the corner, warped in age.

for someone who saves the world on a regular, dante still lives in it like it's falling apart.

not ‘one for being in debt’ he says. . . ironically contradicting the certain situation he has you both against.

the reflection replicates the impurities the previous fight brought. the hollow eyes and split lip, the ribbon of already-dried blood down your temple. not to mention the pale hues poisoning your features.

going out feels less like a mission and more like a jest at your expense. instead of being paid money and assurance, like any other hunter would love, you're left with scars and fewer bullets in your mag.

y'see, dante forgot to mention that part.

you shake your head, reaching for the rag on the sink. it's damp. maybe from before, or from him. and let the water seep.

but the blood didn't rub off. you scrub, and drag until the cloth turns dark. it's stubborn and doesn't want to let go of your skin. over, and over.

it clings—like the things he says. or the ones he doesn't.

and suddenly. . . it's not just about blood you're trying to rid off.

you should've known.

you should’ve.

he's sparda's son. born of devils' skin and a woman's tragedy. you knew what he was before he ever touched you. you knew the look of their eyes was to warn and lips to deceive.

you think of what he said.

you think of how easily he said it. . .

“you knew what this was. come on—i'm not the settling-down type.”

he made it sound like a means to an end. some one-sided bond. nothing serious. . . it always did make you feel pathetic.

you breathe out and your reflection fogs up like it's trying to spare you the sight.

“this... isn't just casual, is it?” you asked, voice softer than usual.

he didn't even mind to look.

“what's that supposed to mean?”

you frowned, shifting the strawberry delight in your hands slightly. “i mean. . . like, we've been going out and doing this for a while. i thought… y'know.”

“you're reading too much into it.” he casually said, the spoon still in his mouth as it muffled some words, “don't make this into more than it is. i'm sure everyone does it, yeah?”

somewhere between the frustration, you hadn't realized you reopened a wound. with how carelessly you've tried to clean your skin, it was quick to irritate the area, pealing back a layer of deeper red.

you want to blame him. you want to call him what he is.

a demon. . . but the word didn't sound fair.

you bite it down, feeling it rot in your throat. but with everything you held back. it was impossible take control of it all.

tears glistened in your eyes, though the voice in your mind persisted you could only blame yourself for this.

. . .he never did promised you safety, nor promise you'd be loved.

and yet, you remember the way he looked at you that first night... held heavy by rain and devil guts, grinning like the world wasn't near its end. you remember his voice, and how it dipped when he called you “hotshot.” like it meant something.

or when his fingers would ever so slightly shift to hold yours. saying “just in case something tried to drag you away.” not that he cared. he made sure to say that. but the tone of his words, or the look in his eyes never helped that cause.

maybe you were stupid to believe that tone meant more than the words that followed it.

you told yourself it was enough. that it didn't hurt. that if you just stayed long enough, maybe he'd figure it out. after all, he's the only one you had. and you his.

maybe you could teach a man made of doubt how to trust. and potentially, how to love. . .

you subconsciously drag the cloth harder across the back of your hands. you feel the sting of another cut breaking open. the warmth of blood lingers longer now, caught in the lines of your palm. your fingers start to shake. whether from the texture or from everything else, it's so hard to tell apart.

you hate how ugly it feels. you hate that it's true. you hate that calling him a demon makes your chest tighten with guilt.

maybe caring makes you naive. or worse—selfish. because you weren't in love with the devil. you were in love with the man who tried not to look flustered when he was complimented. the guy who'd gift you dead flowers because he thought you could simply plant them over again and watch them grow yourself.

could that make you worse of a person?

does that mean you're cruel?

for choosing what part of him to love and which to discard.

for extending your arms to the part of him that told what you wanted to hear, and turn your face from the one that silently begged to be held the same. . .

or does it just make you human?. . . the want for affection. being drawn to solace like any other living thing.

you drop the cloth. and it limps at the bottom of the sink with a sickening sound. the water is gentle. but your skin is raw, proliferating a rose red beneath its surface.

there's a shift. not yours. a creak—barely audible over the faucet's hum.

you don't want to meet the reflection. but the water stills. and your iris finds that familiar shade...

his hand finds the knob to turn off, and he stays there, eyes the color of winter glass, trailing patterns down the porcelain's worn down edges.

you don't greet him. you're still mending your hands. like maybe if you scrubbed harder, the ache in your chest would come off with the grime.

“...why didn't you say you were back?”

his tone tries for casual. like it's just a question.

you stare at the cloth. unsure of what to even say. so you settle with silence.

somehow, that throws him hard. his lips shift like he wants to argue, like he wants to give some dumb quip about how he's unbothered by everything just so he could at least hear your voice. but he doesn't.

“. . . you were gone all day.”

he says it quieter. maybe that's the part he actually meant to lead with.

you nod, but it's faint. your shoulders don't lift much.

he wishes there was some awkwardness, something, anything to distract from the unsettling sensation of your quietude.

he rubs the back of his neck, glancing down like he suddenly noticed how red your hands are.

“��i have some leftover pizza.”

could you even call it an effort? it's more like a life raft tossed out of habit.

it has nothing to do with the conversation. but he always does this. dismissing the main problem like he's afraid of it.

you close your eyes, pressing your palms into the edge of the sink until your knuckles pale.

he notices your distress. “it's pepperoni,” he mumbles. like that's the important part.

you almost smile. almost.

instead, you rinse your hands again. the water runs clear this time, but you still don't look at him.

he watches you for a moment too long, then shifts his weight like he's preparing for something. because he knows after you're done, you're going to leave that door and not speak to him. . . and he doesn't know if that might be the last time.

“is this about yesterday?” it's barely audible.

you don't reply. and that's an answer enough on its own.

“listen, i didn't mean it like that... what i said. . .” he trails off, like he needs the right words to give peace of mind, even if just temporary.

you move to leave slowly, not because you're hesitant, but because your limbs are aching. and along with the strain of your feelings, you can't bring yourself to listen anymore of it.

he notices, and his voice cracks halfway through.

“i was tired—and i say a lotta crap when i don't wanna think about it.” his voice is low now, almost ashamed.

you brush his shoulder on the way past. he feels it, the empty space left behind.

his hand is out before he even realizes it, reaching for your wrist. fingers clumsily closing over it.

“just—wait a sec.”

“dante.”

“i don't want to argue about—“

“nobody is arguing.”

“then let me say something!”

“i'm tired—“

“you were bein' real. and i got scared, alright?”

you pause, feeling the resignation in his voice, and how the irises of your eyes dilate. because you swear this amount of emotion had never neared his lips.

and he hates it, because to him, he looks pathetic.

instead he just stands there. a little awkward in the way some are after being caught with the truth.

“it's not that i don't care,” he finally says.

and somehow, your heart pieced together his words.

i just don't know how to.

he sucks in a breath, and trusts you enough to let go of your wrist.

then quieter, “i’ve... i can handle demons, i can handle fights, and anything my father's name throws at me, but. . .”

his eyes gesture vaguely at you, it's kind of stupid. but he can't help the words out.

“see, this ain't how i wanted it to go.”

you tilt you head, squinting your eyes. “go. . . how?”

“i had a cooler version in my head...” he huffs out a short breath. glancing away, and dragging a hand down his face. “it's not coming out right.”

but you wait. not trying to fix it.

“look, you already know i’m—” he paused, and you notice the subtle twitch in his eyes as he lowers his voice, “a fuck-up. . .” like he flinches at the thought of even being honest with himself.

he finally looks at you. really looks.

“you said 'i love you’,” he says quietly. “and i wasn't sure how to say it back.”

his fingers twitch again at his sides, curling into a fist before unclenching. “and i don't get why you stay.”

“you could be doin' literally anything else. office job. photography. bartending, get weekends off. but you're out here gettin' blood on your shoes, draggin' me home, payin' for groceries i swore i was gonna cover—” his hand lifts to gesture vaguely toward the hallway where the kitchenette resides, a little helpless motion.

“—and when i ask you why, you shut me up with kisses, tell me you chose to do this with me and—goddamn it, i swear you're more worried about me skipping meals than the 10-foot demon hound chasin' us around.” he starts to list it off-not out of mockery, but out of disbelief. out of a desperate need to understand.

he pauses.

“and that scares me.”

“. . . i don't know what to do with that.”

the silence afterward is heavier than anything he's mentioned he doesn't fill it. just stands there, heart begging to crawl out of his chest, waiting for you to answer-or walk away.

“it's reckless, and i swear, i swear—i look at you and i forget how to be the guy i was before.”

he swallows hard. trying to press it all back down. everything he's never said, and never let himself say. rising anyway, thick in his throat, crawling up behind his ribs.

“before you,” he says, almost inaudibly, shame tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“i didn't think there was anything else for me. no future, no version of me that wasn't just. . . surviving.”

then he finally trust you enough. letting go of your hand. bracing himself for you to pull away and leave. but you don't.

“. . . i found you outside that eye-sore of a tower,” he mutters, almost to himself. “firing off rounds from some busted-ass pawn shop pistol.”

you do your best not to smile. he notices.

“world's ending, demons crawling outta hell's crack, and there you were. standing on a pile of rubble.”

his voice shakes with the effort it takes to say it. “and i thought, no way she's sticking around. no way someone like you stays in this mess. 'cause seeing you in itself is a blessing—i mean, damn it.”

“you had no clue what was going on," he goes on, and there's a laugh caught somewhere in his throat. "said you were just looking for a train station. i thought—hell, maybe you'd been hit on the head. or maybe you were just that badass.”

he swallows. you can almost hear it. that tight, dry click of someone dragging emotion through grit.

“you weren't supposed to get dragged into this shit. none of it. blood, demons, cults, hell gates... me. i'm the one who was built for this. born for it, even. i got nothin' to lose here.”

his breath catches a little. he doesn't look at you. “or i didn't have it before.”

“so yeah,” he mutters, quieter now. “i'm selfish. and scared. and real goddamn bad at this.”

“but if this thing between us is the last good thing i ever get... i'm not gonna be the reason it gets ruined.”

“. . . i didn't follow you,” you murmur. “you weren't leading somewhere.”

he blinks. not quite understanding.

“you didn't drag me into anything...” you add.

your voice softens an orphic sentence.

“i wanted to be here. and you're not nothing. not to me.”

he finally looks up at you. really looks.

like he's been surviving of off the idea that you'd never say those words. that he didn't deserve them.

and maybe that's what breaks him.

his hand trembles at his side. not enough to see, but you can feel it.

“…shit,” he breathes, half a laugh and not at all amused. “you've never heard me talk this much, huh?”

you shake your head, a slow blink. “i mean... you talk a lot. but not usually things that, well, you actually have to think through.”

that gets a soft scoff out of him. his smile—worn and faint, barely reaches the line of his lips.

and you watch it fall again, just as gently.

“i just want you to be safe,” he mutters, voice low and hoarse. “and if that means havin' you away from me... then maybe that's what i should've done.”

“but i didn't. and i'm not gonna lie and say i'd do it different, 'cause i wouldn't.”

he reached for the cloth, cleaning through and rinsing off whatever blood there was left on your hands, before placing it back down. “i tried, but, guess i only ended up making things worse.”

you blink through the selcouth feeling in your chest. the way his voice cracks when he acknowledges it.

“. . . so, what are we?”

he looks up again. like you offered him mercy. and that makes him laugh, soft and disbelieving.

“anything you want me to be.”

your lips curl into the softest of smiles. then tilt your head.

he blinks, rolling his eyes. “i'm bein' serious.”

“my over-leveraged moocher?”

“babe,” he warns, and you hear the smile threatening to pair his mouth.

you squint at him like you're thinking. “a guy that actually speaks out about how he's feeling instead of leaving me out in the open thinking he never cared about me?”

his jaw drops, and he quickly gains composure, running a hand through his hair.

“see, i thought for sure you'd bail out by now.”

“how come?”

“someone like you... sticking around in my kind of mess this long?” he scoffs. “yeah, right.”

you let the silence settle again, lighter this time. not raw as before.

then quietly follow-up.

“...it's because i'm cooler, isn't it?”

and you expect him to talk back. to scoff, to playfully deflect like he always does. you even tilt your head, waiting. but he doesn't.

his eyes linger on your face—your tired but amused expression, the tiny crease forming by your nose when you try not to smile.

he exhales, low. “we're on the same level,” he mutters, and you can already hear the eye-roll in his tone.

he finally smiles, faint, boyish in that half-awkward, sheepish way of his. like he can't believe he just admitted that.

and before you can brace it, he leans in, grabbing the back of your thighs, hoisting you up against him.

you gasp, interrupted by a laugh. a real, surprised breathless bubble of sweetest undoing. “what are you doing—“

“bein' romantic,” he deadpans, but you can feel the grin against your jaw. “thought you wanted an emotionally-driven guy.”

his arms hold you firm, his hands warm through the fabric of your clothes.

you're laughing too much to argue. and he kisses you before you can even get a word out.

slow and tentative. only to break messy.

he pulls back just enough to whisper it against your lips, “you are cooler, by the way.” like it doesn't need to be louder than this.

and it's stupid, and sweet, and so unmistakably him, but it lands so softly.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝜗𝜚 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 : hi annon and everyone <3

i hope you see this, for some reason it's not letting me reply to your inbox request so that sucks. . .

i'm going to be so honest i'm a bit of a wuss so there's fluff at the end. . . and it might be ooc but there’s not a lot of material to base this off of.

but tysm for the request! feel free to give me as many ideas or corrections as needed—sorry if this is kind of short... i didn't want for it to be obnoxiously long or boring.

also if you couldn't tell i got a bit lazy at the end, i’m so super sorry, i'll update it as soon as i can! i just wanted to post something for the meanwhile. . .

anyway, i hope this was suitable for your enjoyment. have a blessed day!

© mylovingkiss. 2025 | feel free to request! but please don’t steal or translate any of my works, thank you! ༝༚༝༚

[707ficrecs]

This was so cute!!!

Hii omg!! I love ur works so much they're so AAAAA!!! I was wondering if I could request a vergil fic where reader is like the exact opposite of vergil.. Reader is hyperfem and kinda outgoing!!

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

the sweet scent of metal and mucus.

vergil tips his head back, small pants slipping past his lips and mingling with the cool air as it forms a puff of vapor; yamato still gripped in one hand. splotches of crimson and crystallized blood adorning the blade.

red crucigers litter the ground along with a demon head, splatters across the ground and settles in the pavement until it eventually crusts and fades away. a leather clad hand comes to scrub at his face before his head lolls back down and goes to sheath his sword.

it’s almost a little peaceful, even while his boots are scuffed and sticky with blood. the hissing of chimeras and other phantasmas still echo in the air as he walks over to you — and he quirks a brow at the sight. your lips curled in a bright grin with your weapon already sheathed yet he takes note of the blood around you too.

“that was,” you blink, and vergil swears you have stars in your eyes when he looks at you. he cocks his head in anticipation, before you bring your clap your hands together and squeal, “so cool!”

he huffs, another puff of vapor. he brushes past you and walks back over to wherever, his footsteps careful and precise as he steps over a leg.

(you notice the way he subconsciously slows from his natural stride, you don’t point it out.)

“you were like wham! and then i saw you take out your sword and it was just like shiing!” you rattled, spewing out onomatopoeias as you recapped the battle back to him. he scoffed, an amalgamated noise between amusement and annoyance — he could never tell with you.

vergil glanced back at you, silver eyes trained on the way your hands moved to mimic his movements, before your own pair darted towards his and you mumbled a quick, “right, vergil?”

his eyes flickered towards the puff of mist that swirled at your words, disappearing as quickly as he saw it. he wonders if it’d taste as metallic as what was on his blade, watching the way your bottom lip was chewed at.

locked on for a moment, he didn’t answer; until he settled for a small huff as he faced forward again.

“yes, i’m sure i went. .” he paused. you held your breath with a wide grin, a bemused quirk ghosting at his lips. “whoosh,” he ends.

you zip around vergil, letting out soft laughs as you recount the battle once more and talking about how, ‘you wish you were as cool as him.’ he pretends not to pay much mind, his eyes either trained on where his feet land or straight ahead to where he’s going. the handle of his weapon cold and the warmth instead cultivates in the palm of his hand for once, a foreign feeling.

“man, i can only imagine what dante’s gonna look like when i tell him about this,” you scoff. glimmers of sunset bleed past the buildings of the city and glare upon the two of you. a warmth overcomes vergil much to his annoyance.

he scoffs even further at the mention of his idiotic twin brother. “the fool,” he mutters.

“you love him,” you retort, stretching your arms over your head. bones aching til they finally relieve the sweet tendrils that hook onto them, a comfort spreading through your limbs as you sigh and put your arms down. “you guys just have a weird way of showing it.”

“how presumptuous,” he says. he finally faces you, suppressing the oncoming eye roll when he already sees the teasing tilt of your head.

“is it?”

“it is.”

you hum, stuffing your hands in your pockets, thumbing at the newfound lint before plucking it out and throwing it away. “i think you’re maybe a little jealous, verg.”

“of what?” he asks, almost a little too quickly. he could swear your eyes light up at his slip-up, before your lips instead aim for a much more smug grin as you turn away.

“ah, you know,” he quirks a brow at your pause. “my totally awesome skills.”

a pause.

“. . . what?” the way it slips past his lips is almost incredulous. first, you waltz into his life with your frilly outfits and weapon scabbards adorning ‘cutesy’ charms (he gags at the word) and now you have the audacity to say he’s jealous?

his lips curl up into a half-smile at your lax demeanor, one with an uncharacteristic mirth. you feign a yawn, waving a hand to dismiss him with a cocky, “yeah, it’s okay. i get it.”

oh, and that was his final straw.

within the blink of an eye, the distance between you was bridged and, in an inexplicable amount of time you can’t even comprehend, vergil grabbed your blade out of its holster and examined it as he appeared on the other side of you.

brows furrowed for a second, a sense of surprise smooths over the contours of your face before you whip around to face him.

“hey!”

“are you sure of your skills?” he asks, unsheathing your weapon to inspect the metal closer. “this is quite an. . interesting sword, to say the least.”

your hand reaches out to try and grab at it, and yet he’s too swift; turning at the last second just to keep you out of reach of it.

stormy eyes flicker with an amusing curiosity as he squints even further.

“and what a colorful bow you have on the hilt.”

“vergil.”

[707ficrecs]

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"

[707ficrecs]

dante x f!reader. established relationship, reader is a magic anthropologist. featuring lady and nero! this is reader and nero's first meeting. | wc: 3k, reading time: ~15 minutes

“Alright, we’re headed out.”

Dante looks up from his desk, idly leafing through the newspaper to avoid the stack of other things that need his attention. Lady and Nero stand before him, both with arms folded over their chest.

“Where?” He asks, raising a brow.

“The archive.”

He shakes his head.

“No.” 

“No?”

Groaning, he tosses the paper aside and slams his palms down on the desk in front of him. 

“Why are you going there?”

Lady scoffs, irritated with his time wasting. 

“Because we have shit to research, obviously. Why do you care so much?”

He cares because he has been strategically avoiding you and the archive is your domain. How can he explain how much has changed since the last time the two of you saw each other? It has been a couple of months since he stopped coming around and while the ache to see you does just that - strongly, throbbing, every day - he knows it’s for the best. 

He can’t seem to stop his blood from running cold at the idea of Lady being the first to introduce you to Nero though, hoping his pleas will make the situation seem dire enough they’ll avoid it altogether. 

Placing the newspaper down in front of him, this grown man sighs pathetically and shakes his head.  “Please don’t get me in trouble with the boss.”

Lady shrugs at Dante, mouth in a flat line. Nero’s frowning head swivels between them, brows furrowed in confusion.

“The boss — who the hell is that? Does someone else run this place and he has me answerin’ to an asshole like you?”

Dante sighs, leaning back in his chair and gazing up at the ceiling. 

You’re going to undoubtedly be mad at him.

“You’ll know soon enough.”

—-----

And know he will, standing outside of a building he has never seen before alongside Lady who behaves as though she frequently visits. 

WB Yeats & Brothers, the surprisingly pristine white sign on the front says. The young man reaches for the front door but his companion stops him, shaking her head and pointing toward the narrow alleyway to the left of the building. 

“She likes it when we use the side door.”

Of course, Nero thinks. It would kill anyone involved in this new life of mine to do legitimate business. 

His booted footsteps echo alongside Lady’s while they walk.  Briefly pausing, he tilts his head in bewilderment. “Wait. She? The boss is a woman?”

She stops her own walking and turns to look at him over her shoulder, arms folded across her chest. It’s too cold to stand here in the freezing winter rain when she knows you keep it nice and toasty right inside. Impatient, she nods to indicate they should keep walking if he wants answers.

“Why that surprises you at all is a mystery to me.” Lady starts, face impassive as ever while the two of them finally begin to trudge across the puddle soaked street. “But no, she isn’t your boss or mine. Just Dante’s.”

She doesn’t bother to knock on the door, fishing a leather cord bound key out from beneath her shirt and leaning over enough to unlock it instead. There’s still a bit further until the two of them reach the inner sanctum where you’re almost certainly hidden away and Lady decides how much she should even tell Nero about the nature of your relationship.

“So…he, Dante, loves her.”

What a way to start this explanation. Nero looks at her, bewildered. 

“And what I’m telling you right now is that she does too. It’s complex and for another day but all you need to know right now is that she is very nice, just a bit…quirky.”

The young man hisses through his teeth, obviously still confused. Why not just be together if you love each other? Why complicate things so much?

“That’s a lot of information…” he trails off with warm cheeks when his attempts to end the conversation fall flat, Lady continuing on. 

“Yeah. They’ve known each other for a long, long time and she’s probably the first woman to sleep with him and never kick him to the curb immediately after.”

He’s no stranger to the complexities of sex and emotions yet learning this information about a woman he has never met feels scandalous. What if you don’t want him to know that? He sighs, struggling to find something to say and is thankfully saved when Lady pushes another metal door open, bringing them face to face with shelves of books stacked as high as the ceiling.

“Wow, this is…” he mutters under his breath, eyes falling from the books to the artifact covered tables. Some are in jars, some are locked, some glow with an eerie otherworldliness though he can’t tell if it’s a spell to seal the power of them or a built-in feature.

“Hey!” 

Lady’s greeting doesn’t echo through the packed basement but it makes Nero jump, reaching for his belt instinctively. She rolls her eyes at him and begins to weave through rows in an effort to find you. 

Finally, you greet her back.

“Hellooooo out there!”

The woman laughs to herself, looking over her shoulder to ensure Nero is following. He continues to look around the space in awe, still shocked at just how much is packed into one space. There isn’t an empty space on any shelf here. He hears heeled shoes clacking through the rows and finally you peek around the corner, smiling.

“Why did you bring Dante’s lovechild here?”

As flippantly as you let the words leave you, it’s clear that you’ve taken pause from your mad scramble across the library to stop and stare for a moment. Lady and Nero follow suit, standing between the shelves for Transmutation and Travel, Interdimensional. 

Narrowing your eyes, you approach cautiously and tilt your head to the side curiously.  

“Oh.“ You pat his shoulder and smile sadly, the man standing with his mouth ajar. “No, actually. I dunno whose kid this is but he isn’t Dante’s. His face isn’t sweet enough.” 

Hissing like it hurts to come to this conclusion, you turn back toward the shelves and slow your walking to a stroll. 

“Unfortunate. I probably would’ve been a decent stepmom.”

Nero shakes his head incredulously.  “He’s not…wait, what?” 

Before he can begin to ask you to clarify further, you’ve already parted from where Nero and Lady stand. He isn’t quite sure what to make of you although it’s not hard to picture you next to Dante. The two of you seem oddly well matched and that’s just based off of a first impression.

Maybe he should take Lady up on her offer to explain whatever is going on here. She leans toward Nero, speaking out of the corner of her mouth. 

“Told you. Quirky.”

You click across the concrete floor, in the direction of another shelf. The guests follow.

“Speaking of, how is he?” You pull one book off the shelf, wrinkle your nose, and replace it while searching for another. “It's been a while since he’s been home, I kind of figured something may have actually gotten him this time.”

Even Nero catches the shake in your voice although you attempt to play it off, flitting between stacks of books almost as tall as you are. There’s no telling what you’re in search of.

“He’s the same as ever but we came here for help without him so you’d actually help.”

Giggling, you kneel down to the bottom shelf of the bookcase in front of you.

“You know I’d help either way.” Bouncing up to your feet, you raise a brow. “So what is it?”

“We need to look at some pages from the creature codex.”

Groaning, you butt your shoulder against hers. 

“You always manage to need just that on a day when I don’t have it here. It’s at my place, if you wanna follow me there we check it out?”

Lady sucks her teeth for a second, pondering if she really wants to open the home visit can of worms. It’s midday now and if you guys hurry, you may let them leave before the sun totally sets in case your tendency to wanna play hostess kicks in. 

She doesn’t have a choice, needing this info sooner rather than later.

“That’s fine. Oh, and this is Nero.”

She points to the man beside her. He’s sweeter looking than you originally thought, headphones sitting around his neck while he awkwardly stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“It’s nice to meet you, sorry I was weird at first.”

He buries his hands deeper, looking away, just short of burying his face in his shoulder.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, ‘ts nice to meet you too.”

Everything about his life since meeting Dante has been odd, to say the least. What’s one more weirdo?

—-------

Less than a half hour later, the three of you have made the trek to your humble abode.

Nothing feels more strange than being in someone you barely met’s apartment yet Nero takes Lady’s lead and makes himself comfortable sitting at the small circular table sitting in the open space between kitchen and living room. 

Somehow though, this space feels so oddly “you” even based off of being acquainted for one hour that it’s kind of fascinating. Maybe it’s the stacks of books or the shoes stacked by the door. There’s even photos across every wall, some of you and Dante, some of you and Lady and Trish and other faces he doesn’t recognize. 

A strange pang clenches in his chest. How did all of these people who are like him exist and he had no idea for so long? It may be a band of misfits yet he wants to belong to said band despite himself.

Childish, he thinks. This is work not family. Nero looks at the pictures one last time before turning his head to look at the sunset streaming through the windows. 

After standing in the doorway for an extended amount of time after your guests have entered, you finally make your way through the hallway to join them where they’ve naturally shepherded themselves. 

“Sorry it’s kind of a mess, I haven’t been here much lately.”

Lady knows that’s not the truth after being left to take a cursory glance around. It definitely appears you’ve been home often, a little pile of blankets and a pillow on the couch with some coffee cups spread out on the table next to it. 

“Don’t worry about it. We’re here to learn about hellbeasts, not critique your housekeeping. Besides, we spend all our time around Dante and his clutter.”

You always appreciate her candor, giggling and shrugging. “That’s true. Can I at least get you anything? I probably have some tea or something, I definitely have beer and water.”

“Beer for me I guess. Don’t offer one to the kid, he’s too young.”

Nero scoffs, tips of his ears red when you look up to see him pouting. You assumed he was young anyway, he carries himself with a surliness that only a man who has recently become one would possibly have. Pulling open the fridge, you pull out a carton and bottle, shaking them both over the top of the door.

“Alrighty, orange juice for you then, Nero.”

This is what Lady feared the most before coming here. You’re going to try and schmooze them with snacks and then convince them to stay to listen to your stories and today is not the day for this. The mission they need this information for happens in two days, she can’t afford to lose one to leisure.

She rises from the table, looking around the room. “Where’s the codex? I can grab it and start looking.”

Pouring juice and humming to yourself, you speak back halfway over your shoulder.

“Oh! Sorry, it’s in the living room on the floor.”

Lady walks across the floor, spotting it inches away from what is clearly your makeshift bed. A book that is thousands of years old on the floor amongst a pink lacy bra and a bottle of nail polish. She rolls her eyes and picks up the tome, carrying it back to the table. 

“I’m just going to look and then we can go.”

“No! Let me copy them for you in case you can’t remember everything.”

She knows that tendency to accommodate is what Dante likes the most about you but it is, right now, what she likes the least. Pushing the book across the table, you walk to the other end of the room to place the heavy book spine upward on your copier. This feels ridiculous.

Nero sips his juice uncomfortably, still trying to decide what he thinks about, well, all of this. There’s no denying that you are exactly the type of person who would be with Dante, perhaps the only type that could handle him. It confuses him even more that the two of you aren’t technically together or whatever after seeing how you operate - chaotic yet similar. 

“Just a couple more minutes and then you guys can go,” you mutter quietly, the mechanical whir of the copier filling the silence.

Lady feels like she should apologize to you since you’re clearly lonely and in need of something resembling your long lost love to fill the space between burying yourself in work and passing out before you can think about it. 

“‘kay, all done.” You walk back to the table and pass the copied sheets along with a smile. She smiles back at you, squeezing your shoulder, coming as close to apologetic as she can get right now. Nero rises alongside her, picking up the vibe that it’s go time. 

“Thanks for your help, I’ll come back if I need anything else.”

You nod in response, waving them off and slumping down at the kitchen table as soon as you hear the door close.

A few blocks away, they make their way into Devil May Cry to see Dante in the same state they left him in - reading the newspaper in an effort to seem unaffected by whatever went down while they were gone.

“How was it?”

“How is she” is what he’s really asking. Lady shrugs, sitting down across from him.

“Fine. We had to follow her back to her place to get the pages but we have them.”

Leaning over the desk, his business partner looks down at her hands. How can she put this to him gently? You won’t admit you’re struggling without him yet it was evident even in how you walked, stumbling around disconnected from reality, in a disjoined world inside your own head.

“I mean, she has been sleeping on the couch probably the entire time you’ve been hiding.”

Scrubbing his hand over his face, Dante knows a decision has to be made. Is he going to continue this charade of distance? 

No. Not if it means you’re sleeping on the couch waiting for him to come home.

“Got an errand to run. Catch you guys later.”

Rising to stand, he grabs his jacket and heads toward the door. Lady chuckles to herself.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow sometime.”

Raising her eyebrows, she turns her attention to the pages you copied for her earlier and flipping through them, finally calling over her shoulder to the youngest member of the team.

“You go home too, Nero. We aren’t going to be working tonight anyway.”

—-------

One moment you’re asleep, fitful but as comfortable as you can get with the laugh track of a sitcom playing quietly through the living room. A book is across your lap, a blanket beneath it to cover you.

In the next, the only arms you could recognize by touch alone are wrapped around your body. They lift you up and cradle your body gently, causing you to rouse and lull your head against a t-shirt clad shoulder.

“What are you doin’ ‘ere?” 

Dante looks through the door that separates your bedroom from the living room. The bed is made up, two pillows on each side. You don’t touch it unless he’s around, occupying his space. 

“Stopped by to tuck you in, that alright?”

The Moon always manages to show up to put the Sun to bed but he’s been slacking on his duties lately.

“We have much to discuss in the morning.”

You reach up to pull him onto the bed beside you. He’s already unbuckling his belt, letting it jingle while slipping out of his jeans.

“Go take a shower before you get between our sheets,” you warn, though it’s little more than a lighthearted mumble leaving twitching, tired lips. 

Our sheets. Our bed. Our home. No matter how much distance he tries to create, he always knows where he belongs yet you keep the metaphorical candle lit in the windowsill in case he forgets, a luxury he takes for granted. 

Leaning over, he kisses your forehead softly. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your body relaxes under his lips, the smell of him making your heart pound in your chest. If you loved him less, maybe you’d be angrier and let your teeth gnash. Instead you present a smile, soft and tired, eyes hardly opened yet fingers instinctively knowing where his hair falls over his forehead and how to push the strands back from his face.

“Don’t worry about it, just get back here soon.” You open your eyes fully, smile falling into something a little more subdued. “I missed you.”

“Then I shouldn’t keep you waiting any longer,” he suggests, peeling back the bedding. You stop him by placing your hand over his.

“Shower first.”

He frowns, leaning in to kiss your forehead again. 

“Without you?”

You nod, shutting your eyes again, limply lifting your arm and pointing.

“That’s your punishment, now go.”

Of all the punishments he’s ever had this has to be the least harsh so he slides off of the bed with a groan, disrobing on the way to the shower, leaving a trail of socks and a shirt in his wake.

He must admit after he steps beneath warm running water, knowing he’ll have you slipping between his arms soon enough, that it is good to be home.

[707ficrecs]

I absolutely loved this.

Dante is written so well, and I love the readers personality in this! I love the dynamic of the two of them it felt very realistic and true to character.

Absolutely stellar and such a fun concept!

dante x f!reader. established...something. reader is a magic anthropologist and they're both in their thirties. this is full of cringe banter and innuendo i'm so sawryyyyyyy | wc 1.6k, reading time: 7 minutes.

“What are you doing here?”

You’ve been aware of Dante’s slow creep down the aisle of the largest archive of metaphysical knowledge this godforsaken place has to offer for some time. You finally call out to him across messy stacks of books.

Foolishly, you hoped he wouldn’t make a game out of this. He strides up to you confidently, clearly thrilled to finally have forced you to be the first to break. This is familiar territory for you and him both, where all of your “career” related activities are conducted and where he comes to find you when he’s looked everywhere else without a trace.

Leaning against the shelf, he folds his arms over his chest and tilts his head to the side.

“I’m researching obviously.”

You look up from the shelf in front of you with a raised brow only to be met with a pair of familiar eyes trained directly at the curve of your chest and whatever peak of skin is pushed up over your neckline. 

“Yeah, researching how far you can look down my shirt from that grand height you stand at.”

Caught, the gunslinger’s eyes drift toward your face without an ounce of shame in them. 

“And what about it?”

Your stance shifts from flat footed to standing on your tiptoes, arm extended high above your head with your thumb and forefinger reaching toward the tip of his nose to flick it. As sharply reflexed as he has ever been, he dodges the attack and captures your hand in his, spreading your fingers and pressing the heel of your hand against his lips.

Allowing him a moment to sniff your wrist and shoot his best half lidded glance downward, you end it quickly by snatching your arm from his grasp and placing it down at your side. A flaming face that belongs to you turns back toward the shelves to hide your thrill at his public flirtation, insisting upon keeping things polite while you’re working billable hours.

“What do you need, Dante?”

He wishes he could press another kiss at the delicate bend of your wrist.

“A break. A drink. Lots and lots and lots of money. Right now though? Information.”

Sighing, he leans against the bookshelf and holds out his forearms for you to place the ever growing stack you’re working with upon. Wrinkling your nose, you look between him and the books and he holds out his arms and shakes his head leaving you optionless. 

“What about?” You stack a book and then another, looking up at him to find him already staring down at you. “God don’t look at me like that, just tell me what you want.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head.

“Well, you, of course.” 

It takes all of your strength not to turn and walk away if only to be left alone from his tormenting. You’re good at holding your own, especially against the gruff figures who come to you in search of knowledge of demonology or the magical arts you’ve so raptly committed your life to seeking and holding yet it’s different with Dante.

The two of you have been very good friends since the spring of your early twenties. You’ve, at the very least, slept together for almost that entire time too - entering your thirties in each other’s arms. Constantly picking each other’s brains, running from each other when things got rough and back toward each other when they’ve improved or the lonely nights wouldn’t abate on their own. He’s almost sort of a…companion despite your distaste for defining characteristics.

A boyfriend who lives a life too dangerous for attachment, his very clear one to you cast aside. A man you think about when you wake and sleep both, hoping he’ll visit your dreams on the off chance he isn’t by your side. 

Enough of that. You clear your throat to feign impatience and force him to answer.

“I need to borrow that brain and how good you are at figuring out where to find shit in here.”

Laughing, you raise both of your brows.

“It’s alphabetical. Did you forget your letters or what?”

He leans downward, a larger frame closing in and you sidestep him slightly, pretending preoccupation with the books on the portion of the shelf in front of you.

“I forget everything when you’re around.”

Scoffing, you yank a book off of the shelf. “Okay now you’re laying it on a little too thick.”

Looking around the library, you know it’s futile to refuse him. There hasn’t been a moment in the past ten years you’ve told him no in any meaningful way and surely you won’t start today.

“I’m working—” he raises his eyebrows and gasps at the words, feigning shock and you shake your head to dissuade him from continuing with his show. Working is all you’ve seemed to be doing these days, spending days and nights alike with books spread across the small expanse of your apartment leaving little time for extracurricular fun. “But I can make time to help out if you promise you’ll let me handle the research I’m being paid for first.”

“I could pay you too, y’know. My methods may be a little unconventional compared to whatever this mysterious patron is paying you with,” he raises a brow and you roll your eyes. “You’d be rewarded very, very well if you’d only put the books down for one night.”

The innuendo is dripping from his every word. If you knew less about how much he meant what he’s saying perhaps you could play it off better yet your cheeks flame. You know how his rough hands feel at the base of your spine and the dip of your waist, swearing you can feel them drag across you. 

“Oh by the way, what’s the name of that demon you needed me to research?”

Attempting to gain a little bit of control over yourself and the situation, you change the subject and pretend you can’t taste him as clear as day in your mouth, memories doing more than you need them to right now.

“It’s, uh, H…” he trails off, giving up the effort of continuing his tall tale. Another sigh, another beat passes and he furrows his brows. 

You always manage to expertly cut him down to size, a curse and a blessing all at the same time. 

“I’ve been trying to see you for weeks, honey.”

You shake your head. “Days. It has been days since the last time we saw each other and you spent the night despite saying you were leaving before I passed out.”

No chance of wiggling out of this one.

“In my defense, they’ve felt like weeks. Months.”

Shoulders sagging, you lean forward and press yourself against the bookshelf and a pitiful excuse for a frown, the upturned corners of your mouth you can’t seem to put down any time he’s around giving you away. “Sorry for neglecting you. Unfortunately, a girl’s gotta eat and pay rent.”

Of course, there’s no offer made to assist you with either of those things considering he has to work pretty hard for both of them himself. 

“And while we’re discussing it, you don’t have to pay me with that.” 

If you weren’t in public you’d say what you mean - fucking - but it’s easier to simply allude to the late nights spent taking out your mutual grief and frustration with physical release when company you don’t know may be lurking around. Shaking your head, you turn your attention back to the shelves and stack another book atop the rest. 

“In fact, if we both had more of it to spare, just spending time with you would be payment enough.”

If he’s taken aback he does his best to hide it, shifting slightly and covering his face partially by turning it in the direction of the darkened other end of the aisle. 

“See, all this time I thought you only liked me for my body,” he lets slip.

Softly giggling, you pause all other movement besides the rise and fall of your chest and the focus of your gaze upon the man beside you though his gaze remains averted.

“Nah, I hate to say it but I enjoy your company most of all.”

Now he’s drawn back, looking at you with a bit of doubt clouding those steel blue eyes to which you notice and shrug at. “We have the best conversations. You make me laugh; you never make me feel like it’s inconvenient to liste–”

Your words are swallowed by Dante’s mouth before you can get them out. Those quick reflexes worked to bring him close to you before you could even notice, soft lips pressed against a slightly drier, rougher pair. 

“Well when you put it that way,” he mutters against your lips. You laugh against his mouth, lips curving perfectly into his. 

It’s all almost too sweet to bear. Strangely boyfriend-y for a man you’re so apprehensive to refer to as such. 

A stranger breezes past the two of you in the aisle and pretends not to gawk. Despite the hairs standing up on the back of your neck, you let the natural scrap of shame you have remaining go the way everything else does when Dante’s around.

It disappears, evaporates. Leaves only the two of you behind. 

“You can stick around if you don’t have anything better to do,” you tell him, finally breaking away.

Groaning, he redistributes the weight of the books across his arms and stands up so he’s no longer slouching.

“Can’t we take them back to your place?”

Shaking your head, you rap your knuckles against the heaviest metal spine bound book at the bottom of the pile.

“Nope, the rules dictate that this one stays here and I need it the most.”

Smirking, he leans in closer to you. “Then we’ll just have to have some fun here.”

Tossing another book atop the now chin height stack he’s carrying, you shoot him a look that says everything he needs to know. The private booth in the back the two of you occupied the last time he decided to bother you at work is available today.