iammabelbrain

[iammabelbrain]

Waters of Regret

Neuvilette x Reader

Summary : The clouds in Fontaine have not stopped weeping for a long time, what could have made the hydro dragon so upset?

Wordcount : 1,5k

Warnings : Angst. Sad dragon. Self sabotaging?

°•♡•° Masterlist °•♡•°

The rain in Fontaine had been endless for days. The skies seemed heavier than usual, burdened with a quiet sorrow that settled over the city. You couldn’t help but feel the weight of it every time you looked out the window, watching raindrops race each other down the glass.

It wasn’t unusual for Fontaine to rain. People in the city joked that the Iudex himself dictated the weather, that the clouds were a reflection of his moods. But this storm was different. It was as if the city were crying, and you found yourself wondering if it was because he was too.

Neuvillette had always been distant, unreachable in ways that made your heart ache. You’d spent years by his side, assisting him in his duties, offering silent support even when he didn’t seem to notice. You’d been there for his victories, his struggles, and the quiet moments in between, hoping he would one day see you as more than a companion.

But there was a coldness to him—a coldness that kept everyone at arm’s length. He was a figurehead of law, bound by his responsibilities, and you had watched, time and again, as he chose duty over all else, even over his own happiness. Yet, somewhere in your foolish heart, you had hoped that maybe… maybe he’d let you in.

Maybe, one day, he’d see the depths of your devotion, the way you’d sacrifice anything to make him smile, even for a second.

And so, one evening, you found yourself standing in his office, alone except for the quiet patter of rain against the windows. Neuvillette was focused on his work, papers spread across his desk, his gaze fixed on something beyond the confines of the room. His expression was unreadable, yet you could see a faint crease in his brow, the slightest hint of tension in his posture.

You took a breath, heart pounding as you gathered the courage to speak. "Neuvillette," you began, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. "There’s something I need to tell you."

He looked up, his eyes sharp yet distant, as if he were peering through a veil. "Yes?" he asked, his tone neutral, giving nothing away.

"I…" You faltered, feeling the weight of your feelings pressing down on you, a tidal wave of emotion you could no longer hold back. "I care for you. More than just a friend or an ally. I… I’ve loved you for a long time." You whispered as if it was a sin.

The silence that followed was deafening, stretching between you like an unbridgeable chasm. You watched as his expression hardened, his gaze turning cold, like the edge of a blade. He straightened, distancing himself from you in that single, subtle movement, and you felt your heart shatter.

"Y/N," he said, his voice devoid of warmth, "you shouldn’t allow yourself to be burdened by such emotions. I am not capable of returning them."

The words cut through you like ice, each syllable a blow to the fragile hope you’d clung to for so long. "Why?" you whispered, barely able to keep the tremor out of your voice. "Why can’t you let yourself feel? Why must you push everyone away?"

He looked at you, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or sorrow. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the steely resolve you’d come to know so well. "I am the Iudex of Fontaine," he said, his tone as unyielding as the storm outside. "I cannot afford distractions, nor the vulnerabilities that come with attachment. You should understand that better than anyone."

"But I do understand," you replied, your voice breaking. "I understand that you’re lonely, Neuvillette. I see it every day. And I know you don’t have to be. You don’t have to carry this weight alone."

He turned away, his back to you as if to shield himself from your words. "Enough, Y/N. This conversation is over."

You felt the tears prick at your eyes, the pain in your chest spreading like a wound that refused to heal. But you couldn’t let it end like this. Not after everything you’d been through, everything you’d given up just to be by his side. "Please," you whispered, taking a step closer. "Don’t shut me out."

He was silent, the only sound in the room the relentless drumming of the rain against the windows. And then, in a voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it, he said, "I never asked you to stay."

The words were like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless, wounded in a way you hadn’t thought possible. You had always known Neuvillette was a reserved man, a man of duty above all else, but you had never imagined he could be so cruel. The hope you’d nurtured for so long, the love you’d held onto despite everything, crumbled into dust in that single moment.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, the tears streaming down your face as you left his office. The rain was still falling, but it felt colder now, harsher, as if the city itself were grieving with you. You stumbled through the streets, your heart shattered, each step a painful reminder of the life you’d dreamed of but would never have.

Days passed, each one bleaker than the last. You went through the motions, carrying out your duties with a hollow sense of detachment. You couldn’t bring yourself to see Neuvillette again, couldn’t bear the thought of facing him after he’d so thoroughly rejected you. The once-familiar streets of Fontaine felt foreign now, each corner a reminder of a love that had been torn from you, leaving only the ache of longing and regret.

You heard whispers, rumors that the rain had only grown heavier since that night, that the people of Fontaine had begun to wonder what sorrow coud have befallen the hydro dragon to cause such an unending storm.

And then, one day, you couldn’t take it anymore. You packed your things, your heart heavy as you made the decision to leave Fontaine. You couldn’t stay, not when you would have to face him everyday at work and be forced to remember his rejection. You would go somewhere else, somewhere far away, where you could mend the pieces of your broken heart and try to forget the man who had shattered it.

As you stood at the edge of the city, looking back one last time, you felt a pang of longing, a desire to see him one final time before you left. But you knew it would only hurt more. So you turned away, your steps carrying you into the unknown, the rain still falling as if to mourn your departure.

♡

In Fontaine, Neuvillette stood by the window of his office, watching as the rain fell in endless sheets, each drop a reflection of the emptiness he felt within. He had told himself that this was the right choice, that he had done what was necessary to protect you, to keep his duty intact. But as the days dragged on, he found himself haunted by the memory of your broken expression, the way your voice had trembled as you’d told him you loved him.

He had thought he was strong enough to endure this solitude, that he could bear the burden of his responsibilities alone. But now, as he stood alone in the empty silence of his office, he felt the weight of his own choices pressing down on him like a leaden shroud. He had pushed you away, told himself it was for the best… but it hadn’t brought him peace. Instead, it had left him with an aching void, a hollowness that even the rain couldn’t wash away.

He closed his eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of the storm, the sound that had once been a source of comfort now serving as a reminder of everything he had lost. He wondered where you were now, if you were safe, if you were happy. And as he stood there, alone with his regrets, he felt a single tear slip down his cheek, lost in the endless torrent of rain.

For the first time, Neuvillette understood the true price of his choices, the cost of his devotion to duty. He had sacrificed everything—his own happiness, his chance at love—all for a sense of duty that now felt empty and hollow. And as the rain continued to fall, he knew that he would carry the weight of this regret for as long as he lived.

Fontaine would remember him as the unfeeling, distant Iudex, a man of duty and strength. But only he would know the truth—that he was a man broken by his own choices, a man who had given up everything, only to be left with the cold, unyielding ache of regret.

And so, the rain continued to fall, each drop a testament to a love that could have been, and a sorrow that would never fade.

All Rights Reserved © 2024 DarlingsBlackBook

On a scale of 1-10 how much did this hurt? Do I need to up my angst game?

[iammabelbrain]

NONBINARY SUA GRAPHICS !!

requested by anon

free to use with credit!

[iammabelbrain]

Literally at the post office but I CANNOT get Lycaon and Hugo off my mind.

MDNI

They’re so very opposite in the way they approach everything, there’s no way it’s not the same in the bedroom. Like c’mon think of the possibilities of taking both of them at the same time. They’re so good, but I can’t get ahead of myself. Let’s establish how they are separately.

Firstly, Lycaon is all things gentle and loving. He is nothing if not a giver when it comes to your pleasure. Slow and steady in pace, he takes his time with you. His touch leaves no part of your body neglected, carefully taking in all you have to offer him. He is purposeful and each movement has intent to make you sigh.

It’s like he’s trying to swallow you up in your own pleasure, wave after wave you are drowning in his unending love for you. Sex is an extension of his admiration for you, he does not want it to be anything less than that. So he takes his time, ensuring you feel nothing but loved. It’s overwhelming, but that’s how he feels about you. Overwhelmed in his adoration, he lets it all out here.

He may be a wolf therian, but he is no more than a lovesick puppy between your legs. Claws and teeth dulled from gnawing on the kindness you’ve given him. He is stony and cold on the outside, but his heart has melted into mush for you. This is the easiest way he knows how to reciprocate, to show you he loves you when he cannot find a way otherwise.

Hugo, on the other hand, is fast and exciting. Passion in all he touches, he leaves trails of fire across your skin with his cool touch. It’s light and teasing, intent on making you squirm and cry beneath it, teasing you until you cannot think about anything other than him.

He wants you to drown in him, have himself etched into you brain, unable to think of anything but him. You’ll suffocate in the overwhelming pressure of his desire to see you come apart. To him, sex is fun and light, a passionate dance between the two of you. Maybe even a stress reliever at times, but it’s nothing serious, it’s just something you two do. Something thrilling only the two of you can share!

Speaking truthfully, behind his bravado and cheerful facade, he wants to consume you. He desires nothing more than to drink you up, watching each curve and twitch you have to offer him. There is no treasure in the world more perfect than you, and he knows how lucky he is to have it in the palm of his hands. So, he keeps it fun, light, easy for you. Anything you desire he gives up, because what is sex if not fun?

When they come together, it’s like fire and ice. They cannot decide who is right in how the pleasure. Lycaon insists you must be treated with care, Hugo complains about his boring style and suggests more fun! It’s quite a conundrum, but why can’t it be both? You can have fun and still feel loved, so surely they can come to an agreement?

Oh, they most certainly do. By some miracle, of course, they’re able to set aside their differences for you. Leaned agains Hugo’s chest with Lycaon between your legs, you may have to reconsider your fate. Lycaon laps at you, drinking you up as if he’d gone without fluid for days. Hugo has you speared on him, smiling all satisfied as he watches you crumble apart between them.

Lycaon inhales deeply, clearly enjoying himself a bit too much, not that you had room to criticize. What with the way you can’t keep your mouth shut, it was smarter not to poke fun at him. A particularly nice roll of his tongue had you fluttering around Hugo’s shaft. He chuckles at the sensation, kissing up your shoulder as if to encourage you.

“They liked that one,” He hums, fingers dancing along your stomach.

Lycaon doesn’t pay him any mind, far too focused on swallowing you up. You’d think he were a man starved with how vigorous he was. Your head pressed back into Hugo’s shoulder, only to be corrected by the man. Firm grasp on your chin keeping your eyes where they belong, focused on Lycaon. It drew a squeak of surprise out of you, and that was the first time Lycaon paused, narrowing a warning glare on Hugo from his place between your legs.

Hugo smiles, “Continue, please.”

“Be gentle,” Lycaon grumbles back, the vibrations of his deep voice sending your head spinning.

He returns with more vigor, lapping at you with more energy now. Seems he was eager to have you finish, thanks to Hugo’s annoyance. If you had half the mind, you might’ve thanked him, but when Lycaon begins to suck on you… well… most thoughts fly out your brain. Replaced only with him, his name falling from your lips over and over.

You wind your fingers through his fur, pulling him closer to you. The friction addicting in your hazy state. Lycaon directs a smirk up at you, watching your expression with unabashed delight. Unfortunately, you only get to enjoy the expression for a few moments before the two do you are caught off guard by an abrupt thrust from Hugo.

Lycaon pulls back fast enough that his teeth don’t catch on anything sensitive, and they snap together with a loud click of annoyance. Hugo does not stop his thrusting though, hands squeezing your hips as he guides you to bounce in time with him. Based on the look Lycaon has, he was most definitely taunting the therian.

Not to be deterred, Lycaon shifts focus. Decidedly kissing up your body, taking his time in worshiping you while Hugo does his best to make you fall apart. He fits perfectly inside, dick rubbing against your walls just right. Just enough to drive you mad, but not quite enough to push you over the edge yet.

Your mind is melting, chest heaving with effort at every new sensation. Lycaon’s heated kisses across your chest and Hugo’s throbbing member inside you working like a team to make you jelly. You nearly choke on air when Lycaon nibbles at the side of your neck. It’s like they want you to die here, suffocated between their unrelenting heat.

Cold fingers find their way down to your heat, playing with you in a lose way. It was just simple teasing, a means to make you fall deeper into pleasure, but it worked too well. Between the soft and sweet kisses and the rapid thrusting, it was just what you needed to cum for them.

A cry of someone’s name, you’re not aware enough to know who’s, rips from your throat. Your body shakes, hands grabbing onto whatever they can. The thrusting does not stop, Hugo fucking you through your orgasm, until you are abruptly pulled away into warm arms. You promptly lose consciousness for a few moments, and when you wake, you are being cleaned off by Lycaon with a warm rag.

He is cross, though not at you. Just annoyed, but he still finds in himself to smile at you sweetly. A clawed hand cups your face, thumbing your cheek sweetly. You lean into the touch, smiling back at him.

“You are alright, my love?” He asks with a deep grumble.

You nod, again smiling to reassure him. Sore, but you are alright. Someone shuffles in the room from the bathroom, and Lycaon sighs as Hugo takes his spot next to you. He cuddles you into his chest, cooing at your flushed face with playful admiration.

“You did very well, darling! Did you enjoy yourself?” He asks, and though his tone is light, you know he means the question truthfully.

You nod, “Of course I did.”

He hums, “Good, good~ Can’t have your needs going unanswered. Though, I’m a little disappointed…”

You frown at that, insecurity crawling up your back at the sudden change in tone, “What’s wrong? Do you not enjoy yourself too?”

He laughs, shaking his head, and you hear Lycaon audibly scoff from across the room where he is still cleaning things up.

“Of course I did! It’s just…” He sighs, dramatically looking away.

“Just what?” You urge.

He waits another moment, smirking to himself, “Well, I did all that work, and you cry out his name instead of mine. It really hurts.”

You blink at him, unable to find a response to his stupid hold up. Luckily, Lycaon seems to find it for you, “Perhaps you didn’t do enough for them.”

“I beg your pardon!” He shouts, jumping upright from his position.

You can only sigh as they start bickering with one another.

[iammabelbrain]

medieval!rofan!au forbidden love with your thiren butler lycaon, whom you picked up from the streets, bloodied and battered and distrustful of everything and everyone.

you used to dab ointments on his wounded skin and brush his matted fur while he growled threateningly behind his muzzle, sharp teeth bared and red eyes sharp. now, he brushes your hair with the utmost gentleness and styles it into an elegant braid every single morning without fail, ruby eyes soft as he smiles at you through the mirror.

you used to try and coax him to eat, tried to convince him that the feast of food you laid for him was free of toxins or poisons, patiently peeking through the door as he sniffed the dishes cautiously. now, he doesn't let you touch any sorts of food or drinks without him testing for dangerous substances first, his handkerchief always ready to be offered to clean the crumbs around your lips and your delicate hands.

you used to call his name ever-so carefully, visited him every day, asked him to take a stroll with you throughout the beautiful garden so he could stretch his legs. now, his tail wags whenever you call his name, he's always two steps behind you, and he's the one who suggests for you to take a break and go for a walk...... or perhaps, you'd prefer your dearest butler to use his special method to destress?

whatever it is; your will is his command.

[iammabelbrain]

✦ POV: When you want to smooch the doctor but…

(edit: congratulations to pookie for appearing in the Nod-Krai teaser of the 5.7 Livestream. So proud of our babygirl)

[iammabelbrain]

The sixth sense

[iammabelbrain]

"𝓦𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮?"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: (DMC5) Dante x Gender-neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Dante can't help but feel a little insecure when his body is losing itself at his old age

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, 1k word count & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: I had to make another one

💫𝒟𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒 “𝒮𝑜𝓃 𝒪𝒻 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒮𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒹𝒶”

Every day with you felt like a dream—waking up to you, while ignoring the countless calls ringing downstairs, eating with you. At the same time, you complain about his everlasting diet (boasts about having good skin even now), 

hanging out with you, when he should be doing work and adulting so that the devil may cry office does lose its power again since he can’t take on any job that doesn’t interest—he’s got standards he tells you, he’s not some easy man who’ll take any job that comes his way, it’s an insult that you would think that way about him.

At the beginning of the night, he takes off his boot, coat thrown somewhere that can keep it from falling from the floor—it ends up falling onto the floor anyway, in the middle of the night—The way you’d sigh and elbow him for hogging the blankets, the way he’d pull you closer anyway, muttering something about "have some chivalry" as if he were some kind of sleeping beauty.

You spent as long as you can remember with him in this cycle, going through many phases together. 

.

Now that he gets older, he can't help but get nostalgic. Back in the day, back when he was majestic (and still is), he looked like he was meant to be in Baywatch—and it isn’t his insane ego talking for him (it is). He remembered how you used to swoon over him (his words, not yours), watching with a look in your eyes that made your pupils look like hearts.

Which, in your interpretation, you don’t exactly remember you being as desperate and love-struck as he claims, though you did have a habit of lingering a little too long—but in your defence, that’s because you were worried about him. And he certainly won’t admit that he was projecting how he used to act onto you.

Ah. Those were the days he misses at times, yet somehow, you look even more attractive now than you did back then—something he’d say out loud, of course. (more differently and obnoxiously of saying it, "Guess my good looks finally rubbed off on you."). Even now, he still acts like the love-struck teenager he was back then.

But one of the few downsides of getting older was that he was prone to gaining a bit of weight, his body had the abs…just a little weight added onto (those pizzas were beginning to catch up with him in his 40s), staring at the mirror for a little. He usually would pout and try to get some reassurance from you, which you always gave. 

But today, he just felt strangely insecure over it, more than usual, so he finds himself not mentioning it to you.

He stands there a little longer than usual, fingers pressing against the slight softness where hard edges used to be. The mirror doesn’t lie—but then again, neither does time. He scowls at his reflection, as if sheer force of will could carve the years away.

“What are you doing?” 

You already knew what he was doing, but still had the courtesy to ask him, raising an eyebrow as you came out of the shower freshly clean and the smell of the body wash you use still radiating off.

Walking past Dante was in front of the full-length mirror—sitting on the edge of the bed as you take some lotion to put on your skin.

Dante huffs, crossing his arms as he finally tears his gaze away from the mirror. "Just admiring the view," he says, flashing you that same roguish grin that’s charmed you for decades—though now, the look in his eyes is similar to whenever he gets nightmares and he tries to persuade you otherwise.

Setting the lotion aside, you stand and cross the short distance between you, your fingers brushing his arm before sliding down to intertwine with his.  

"Admiring the view, huh?" you murmur, tilting your head. "Funny, because I was just thinking the same thing." Your other hand is going to cup his stubble cheek.

His smirk softens at your touch, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. He leans into your palm, the roughness of his stubble pricks against your skin like tiny dull needles.  

"Cheesy," he mutters, but there's no bite to it—just that quiet, rare fondness he reserves only for you. His fingers tighten around yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles in a slow, absent rhythm. 

“Takes one to know one.”

You press a kiss to his jaw, right where the stubble is the softest, and feel the way his breath hitches—just slightly, just enough for you to notice.  

Dante exhales through his nose, turning his head to catch your lips properly, his free hand coming up to tangle in your damp hair. He can't help but bring his lips pressed tightly against your lips.

His stubble scrapes against your skin, and it’s rough; you can’t help the small sigh that escapes you. Dante swallows it greedily, his other hand sliding down to grip your waist, fingers pressing into the dip of your spine like the desperate maiden he is.

Your free hand goes to the little space between you and traces the slight softness where his abs used to be more defined. 

Dante tenses for just a second—that split-second hesitation that betrays him more than any words could. But then your fingers spread wide, pressing possessively against the warm skin of his stomach, and something in his posture shifts. 

"Still feels the same," you murmur against his lips, dragging your hand up to feel the solid muscle beneath. 

His hands can’t help but be influenced by your own when his hand goes under the waistband of your clothing.

"You," you murmur against his mouth, "are still my favorite view."

Dante barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s kissing you harder, rough and desperate, his hands sliding under your clothes like he can’t get close enough.

"You’re gonna kill me one day," he mutters, pulling your hand off his cheek, grinning as he presses his face right in your neck—the hairs pricking your neck nicely.

If you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[iammabelbrain]

happyyyy mother’s day

[iammabelbrain]

Well, will you Bill?

[iammabelbrain]

..... I need more DMC White rabbit x reader! There is just so little! And it hurts me!

A/n: Excellent.

[ moscow mule ] - one muse fixes the other a drink to take their mind off of the day past

White Rabbit leaned against the counter, the soft golden glow from the kitchen light casting shadows along his sharp jawline. His eyes were half-lidded, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a heavy cloak. You noticed the way his shoulders slumped, the usual playful smirk absent from his lips.

Without a word, you moved to the cabinet, reaching for the copper mugs. The cool metal clinked softly against the countertop, drawing his attention. His eyes followed your every move as you poured the vodka, the scent of ginger beer wafting through the air as you added it to the mix.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You glanced over your shoulder, offering a soft smile. “Taking care of you,” you said simply, squeezing a fresh lime over the ice. “Long day?”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. “You could say that.”

You stirred the drink, the ice clinking softly against the metal. Turning around, you handed him the mug, your fingers brushing over his as he took it. He didn’t move for a moment, just staring down at the drink as if it held the answers to all the day’s problems.

“Thanks,” he murmured, the word heavy and sincere.

You leaned against the counter beside him, your shoulder brushing his. “Want to talk about it?”

He took a slow sip, the cool burn of the ginger beer and vodka sliding down his throat. He exhaled, a small, contented sigh escaping him as he finally let some of the tension melt away.

“Nah,” he said, setting the mug down and turning to you. There was a softness in his eyes now, a vulnerability he rarely showed. “You already made it better.”

His hand slipped to your waist, tugging you closer until you were nestled against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling the warmth of him seep through his shirt as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“Stay like this?” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You nodded, fingers threading through his hair as he held you close, the scent of lime and ginger lingering in the air. “For as long as you need,” you murmured, closing your eyes and sinking into him.

His nose buried into your neck as he held you close, you were soft against him. He finally felt at peace, like he could be something.

[iammabelbrain]

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

♯ . 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 : 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐫𝐲 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𓆩 ᰔᩚ 𓆪

# 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔 : 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 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.

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

“‘dante, don’t touch that, it might explode,’” he mimics, then presses it anyway. if it does explode, he admits he might let you talk him out of dumb decisions in the future.

⤷ 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 six times 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. makes eye contact. pulls out a vogue of different combos. slices a demon in half. was there a purpose? 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.”

if something breaks, he’ll blame the puzzle.

⤷ loves making bets you can’t win.

“if i beat him first, you owe me 20.”

“and if i win?”

“doubt it. 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 dreamland.

⤷ gets distracted watching you talk.

dante misses half the story. 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. “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 this bone shard. it glows. 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 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 up with more words laced with a sweet tone of 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. 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.

“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. kinda 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 thigh, 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, 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. like 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, “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—“don’t stop.”

he never remembers saying it. gods—he swears you’re making things up. but he takes note of it and maybe will try to be more vocal in the future.

° 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 ashamed, 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.

he gets hard just remembering it.

° 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, cherry kisses and praises.

the way you grind back and catch his gasps between your lips, one hand fisting the sheets 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 ༝༚༝༚

[iammabelbrain]

When a fanfic has good writing, 10k words a chapter, slowburn and an author who is active

[iammabelbrain]

how do you think vergil and dante try to make up after an argument with reader? especially if they were wrong in the first place :) ?

Dante

He will give up half of his pizza for your forgivness. He doesn't like fights, hell he doesn't like raising his voice either, so arguing with you was his least favouirte thing and he will do in order to get back into your good books.

He didn't even like it when his parents showed signs of irritation or annoyance, the two people whom he wanted a love like, he doesn't like the idea that one day you two could get into a full blown argument that will ultimately end in you two seperating. It was his worst fear and the moment he knows he's in the wrong and you leave the room, he immedilty hopes there was hope for him to make up for his stupidity, anything in hopes of having you stay with his dumbass.

So Dante was more then willing to do anything he could think of that he knew would make things okay, he wants things to be okay again, he can't loose you he just can't. He’ll do whatever you want him to do without question. So if you want him to clean then he’ll clean, you want him to be more careful on missions then he’ll be as careful as possible and come home unscathed for you, if you want him to share his sundae he’ll do it because he’s secretly scared that you’ll leave him and never look back.

Just talk to him because he needs clarity after all is said and done becuase his mind isn’t the best place and he’s frantic in ways of making it up to you, he’ll even be more affectionate with if you if that’s even possible and telling you he loves you and how sorry he was for being an idiot, a fool, so on so forth. Seriously this man needs a massive hug for his fear of people leaving him run deep it’s not funny. He’s pulling out all the stops for you and still doesn’t think it’s enough until you say it’s enough, this is a side of Dante you didn’t know existed until your first argument. It’s heartbreaking and sad to see him with the face of a frightened boy when he thinks you’re about to walk out the door.

Vergil

He's a stubborn mule that will not move, he will not appologise even if he was the one in the wrong, the man almsot has an hesitance to admit it in the first place. So forgivness from Vergil is going to take a while and it will be gruelling and exhausting at times, but soon enough Vergil will come to realise that life is too short to upkeep a mindset that will only hurt and damage the best thing he’s had in a long, long time.

Vergil doesn’t change his mind once it’s made up, it’s impossible to make him see otherwise as he thinks he is absolute in his ways, it’s borderline annoying and can get on your nerves to the point where a break is much more then needed. So the moment you walk out the door Vergil believes he’s won the argument, it’s some weird demon trait to never back down from anything even a silly argument is considered a victory.

Yet Vergil waits for you to come back and when you don’t after a certain time, he’s on his feet as his hand reaches for the Yamato, and just before he could slice open a portal in your living room you would return but not give him any closure on where you went. You were tired and didn’t feel the need to start another argument over where it was that you went, before retreating to your room and shutting the door without another word.

Vergil’s tune will have changed slightly as he realises that anything could’ve happened to you while you were out, that the argument was soon to be an omen if it was to be the last thing you ever did or said to one another. Vergil would be compelled to think like a human for once and actually consider that he was in the wrong and that he needed to make it up to you, in hopes that the fear that shot through him wouldn’t ever dare be repeated.

To earn back your forgiveness Vergil would plant notes here and there, notes that contained moments where he realised that through you there was more to life then gaining power, how he’s an foolish man for ever having started an argument with the love of his life. He knew that an apology through notes wouldn’t make up for much of how the argument had affected you both, so he’ll say everything he’s written down to your face along with so much more. His demon instincts have always told him that winning was everything, but his human side tells him that it wasn’t everything if he lost everything; if he lost you. So Vergil was now determined to say everything that he had kept under lock and key within himself, being more open and spending more time with you than he normally did after missions.

His actions have always spoke louder and he’s more than willing to prove that he’s sorry by prioritising you and emphasising just how much you had changed him and how he will forever be grateful of that, because much like his brother, Vergil feared being alone again.

[iammabelbrain]

I finished the games and read Visions of V

In love with all the versions of this man 😔

[iammabelbrain]

Oh hey buddy

[iammabelbrain]

hits fiddleford with the femme lesbian beam

[iammabelbrain]

How do you think dante (from any dmc, it's up to you, because I like them all LoL) and white rabbit would react with a very introverted partner who has difficulty communicating?

Dante

He's social as they come, yet there does come moments where he does feel fatuiged from it all, so you were a breath of fresh air in terms of your introvertedness, as it meant that he could spend time in the house with you because where else would he rather be?

Your difficulty in communication isn't a problem to him either, seriously he's not going to hold it agaisnt you about how much you talked, or how little you talked but would always remind you that he would always be there for you as support for when you do manage to get just a few words out of your mouth.

Dante isn't picky and doesn't feel like he has the right to be picky either, you were perfect the way you are and if comminucation was a difficulty you faced, then you'll face it together and at a pace that was suited for you and by you. Dante was mainly here to make sure that you were happy and not forced to perform or be forced out of your comfort zone becuase people don't have the paitience with you, he wanted you to do whatever you felt was right.

So if you wanted to stay in, who was he to groan and moan that he never goes anywhere, if anything Dante was gratful for being able to find a way to stay inside with you, a way where he could put down the facade he's worn for ages and allow himself to decompress with you even if it was in silence. Dante needed the time to find himself again, his true self and that was a man who didn't want to loose anyone ever again and adorning an outgoing persona in hopes that people wouldn't look too closely to notice the broken man that laid beneath.

You were perfect the way you were and Dante will not have anyone tell you otherwise becuase what would they know about you if they judge the first thing they noticed? They just don't deserve to know you if that's the case because you don't have to constantly be talking to be intruging when your actions did that instead more times then not.

White rabbit

He's unbothered by it as he's more then content with speaking on the behalf of both of you, and also knowing that there was more ways to communicate with one another then with words, and Rabbit liked to pride himself in being able to read you like a book and understand where your mind was at without much effort.

He'd much prefered to stay within the company he knew then be outside with the company he doesn't know, and your company was more then enough for him, talking or not Rabbit was just content in being in the same room as you as you did your own seperate thing. Though he will express pride with you when you do muster up the ability to communicate, you were doing your best with what you got and he was always going to be there to be a form of comfort and a safe space for you.

A space where you don't have to force yourself into doing things you were clearly struggling with. For Rabbit didn't want you o think that you had to change to be appealing, everyone had their preferences in partners and you were the perfect partner for him without a shadow of a doudt. Rabbit knew if you wanted to talk then you would talk, he wasn't about to demand things from you when you have obviously expressing difficulty in doing so.

He wasn't owed anything from you and he made sure to remind you that often as humans tended to be a demanding species and refused differences and those that don't fit in society in general. Meanwhile Rabbit was paitient with you and has shown that on multiple occasions, so much to the point where you weren't feeling like you were expected to be anything other then yourself, there was no need for you to feel to perfom in order to keep your partner.

Rabbit wasn't shallow like that and will openly express his adoration for you as frequently as he can without it seeming meaningless or an obligation on his behalf, for he meant every word of it.