#dante sparda/reader

[daisy-throat]

Nothin' like puppy lovin'

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Mdni!!

Dante Sparda x Puppy!hybrid fem-reader

Word count: like, 6.7k

A/N: Not proofread, don't really like this bc i tried out a diff style so sorry if it's clunky!!

Content warning: Slight angst, nsfw, smut, adult magazines, dirty talk, fingering, p in v, that's it, I think?

Summary: As much as Dante craves to kiss you awake in the mornings and run his tongue over the points of your canine teeth, he can't bring himself to touch you like he wants. Doesn't want to hurt or scare away his precious puppy girl all because he's horny and can't keep himself in check. You are his sanctuary. His reprieve from all things demonic. Dante can come home to you, to your soft warm ears and wagging tail and feel normal. You're one of the few good things in his life and he doesn't want to fuck that up.

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When Dante first took you in it was just for the night. He had no intention of keeping you. He already had a hard time taking proper care of himself and keeping the lights on at home. Couldn't envision taking care of a hybrid because he didn't know much about them and the care required.

When he found you, you were scampering away from a few stray demons to hide behind some dumpters, whimpering and whining behind the thick metal in fear. He slaughtered the demons quickly and he whistled to call you out from hiding, softened his voice to persuade you. "C'mon, I won't hurt ya. Those monsters are gone."

Dante saw your head peek out and caught sight of your cute button ears. He smiled, beckoned you out and over with a wave of his hand. He watched as you slowly emerged from behind the dumpsters, head down as you stared at the cold ground of the dark alley. You brought your hands up to wipe away tears, sniffling a little. He took in the sight of your drooping, still tail almost tucked completely between your legs, your little puppy ears pulled back. Dante's eyes drank in your state, hair and fur disheveled. Your clothes were stained and hung ill on your frame. Homeless and scared. It struck something within in him, made his heart heavy. You were too cute, seemed too sweet to be on your own the way you were. He sighed, the sound quiet in the cool air between the two of you. "You hurt?"

You shook your head, gaze still cast down. "Got a home pup?" Dante asked although he already knew the answer.

"No." You mumbled, sounding so lost and defeated. It was late. The shelters were closed. It wouldn't hurt to take you in for the night, he thought. He'd call around and find one for you tomorrow. Giving you a warm place to stay for the night and finding a shelter was the least he could do, right? So, Dante took you home. Introduced himself to you on the way. He found your constant skeptical side-eyeing both amusing and a little heart breaking. You quietly told him your name after he ordered pizza and he watched you take a seat beside him on the leather sofa to eat. You'd scarfed the pizza down quick and messy and it made Dante laugh. Which earned him a little twitch of your puppy ears and the faintest of smiles. It warmed his heart although he tried to ignore it.

"You... fight those monsters?" You asked him with an endearing tilt of your head. At least your tail wasn't tucked between your legs anymore. Rather it swished occassionally over the leather in curiosity as Dante explained a little about his job, leaving out his past and family.

After dinner was over Dante managed to find an old long sleeved shirt for you to wear so he could throw your clothes in the wash. He even cut a hole into the back for your tail. The sight of your hands swallowed up by the long sleeves, the too large collar revealing your right shoulder and collarbone... it was too much. You were too cute, even with your hair still tangled and dirty. You were worming your way into Dante's heart and you didn't even know it. He tried to push those feelings down, the desire to keep you. He told himself he couldn't take care of you like you needed, like you deserved. Dante brought blankets down and you slept on the couch. In the morning he took your clothes from the dryer and as you went to the bathroom to change he took a seat at his desk. He made a few calls to shelters and found one with openings all the while guilt chewed at his insides.

The car ride to the shelter was relatively silent save for your soft spoken, borderline choked up "Thank you, Dante." that tore him up inside. He walked you in and took a look around at the cages down the yellowed hall with its peeling wallpaper. The atmosphere was unbearably heavy. Thick with despair. He glanced down at you as he waited for the receptionist to return. There it was, that same sad defeated expression on your pretty face and Dante knew he couldn't stand the thought of you being in a cage. He made his decision. He wanted you to have a home and he'd give you it.

Once the receptionist returned to the front desk he grabbed a few papers about puppy hybrids and turned right back around, taking your hand in his.

"Y-you're... keeping me?" You asked as you followed him back to the car, hope in your voice and happiness clear in the wag of your tail. Dante grinned. "Yep! Get in sweetheart."

Dante brought you back home and you were all bright smiles. He bathed you before taking you shopping for some essentials. He'd completed a job a couple of days prior and had the money to get you a few outfits, a large dog bed to use while he worked on setting up a room for you, and even a stuffie you had picked out.

That's how Dante ended up with a precious puppy girl.

Several months have passed since that day and he's taken up extra work just to spoil you. Buying you cute outfits and plushies galore as well as things to decorate your room. Not that you sleep in there much. You typically sleep with Dante these days, crawling into his bed and cuddling up to him at the end of the day. His little puppy just can't sleep fine on her own, can she?

Dante expected it all to be difficult but it's surprisingly easy to take care of you. Impossible not to love you. It's his own twisted desires he struggles with. You're just so precious and loving it makes him hard. Dante has to fight the temptation to snake a hand under your dress and into the waistband of your panties to rub your clit every time you sit on his lap for tummy rubs. Struggles not to grind his cock against your ass in the mornings. Shit he even impulsively purchased a filthy magazine two weeks ago all because a hybrid model within has the same color fur as yours and the same ear shape. He doesn’t look at it much because it only makes it all the harder to control himself.

Cold showers have become too common, an almost daily occurrence. His time spent under the cold spray varies. However long it takes to get his aching cock to soften and the fog of lust to dissipate. As much as Dante craves to kiss you awake in the mornings and run his tongue over the points of your canine teeth, he can't bring himself to touch you like he wants. Doesn't want to hurt or scare away his precious puppy girl all because he's horny and can't keep himself in check.

You are his sanctuary. His reprieve from all things demonic. Dante can come home to you, to your soft warm ears and wagging tail and feel normal. You're one of the few good things in his life and he doesn't want to fuck that up.

He's itching to get back to you, wanting to forget about the hurt the job in Fortuna dredged up and what better way to do that than cuddle with his puppy?

♡

The day Dante left for his latest job you couldn't help but follow him around the office as he gathered his gear, trailing behind him like a shadow. Your ears were drooped low as well as your tail. Dante left you to do jobs before but this time was different because he'd be particularly far and it made you nervous. Little whines threatened to crawl forth from your throat as you followed him to the door. Dante turned around and cupped your face in his hands. "I'll be back real soon sweetheart." He reassured before he leaned down and planted a lingering kiss to your forehead. Threw in a promise to take you out for a day when he got back with a ruffle to your hair before he walked out the door.

The promise kept your mind occupied and made your heart a fraction lighter. You did your best to keep yourself busy. Tidied your room and even did a load of laundry but your thoughts always drifted back to Dante's return. Devil May Cry just didn't feel the same without him. You slept in his bed but the blankets lacked the usual warmth and you missed the feel of his form at your back, the weight of his arm draped over your waist and the way he'd sleepily nose at the back of your hair in the mornings.

You aren't stupid though. Lately you have been waking to the feel of Dante's half-hard length pressing into your lower back or the curve of your ass, causing your heart to speed up and heat to swirl low in your tummy to dampen your panties. However, before you could muster the courage to give an experimental wiggle Dante would always untangle himself from you, mumbling something like, "I gotta get up, sweetheart."

Lazy mornings have become sparse much to your disappointment. He has been a little distant lately. No longer giving tummy rubs like he used to which is saddening as they're your favorite. You can't help but wonder if you are the problem, can't help but think Dante may be losing interest in you, becoming bored just as your old family had long ago when you were small. That heartsick feeling grows and combines with uncertainty to weigh your shoulders down.

It's early evening. The jukebox plays quietly in the background of the office area of Devil May Cry. You're sitting criss-cross on your old dog bed, having tucked it between the leather couch and the table. Your tail swishes lazily behind you as you scribble into a notebook, a thin stack of coloring books beneath it. Markers are scattered over the smooth dark wood of the coffee table, evidence of your effort to distract yourself. Currently you are making a list. You've already written down necessities like sponges, toilet paper, and hygiene products, made sure to put down your favorite shampoo. What about groceries? The fridge is a little empty. Milk, eggs, bread, and... what?

You bring the pink eraser of the pencil in your hand to your lips, tapping the rubber against your mouth in thought.

You pull the pencil away and press the graphite to the paper, putting the first three items down on the lines in cute, loopy handwriting. Treats come to mind and your tail wags a touch faster. Your fingers get as far as the 'e' in treat when the graphite breaks, the bit falling onto the notebook. You sigh in annoyance. Your eyes flit to the markers. The list would certainly look better in color rather than boring gray but... what if you mess up? You'd have to start your list all over...

You drop the pencil where it rolls from the notebook onto the coffee table. You stand up from your spot, stretching with a little groan before leaving the warm spot you created where you sat on your old dog bed. Your sock covered feet meet the wood flooring as you patter over to Dante's desk in search of a pencil sharpener, quietly hoping you'll find one. The one you had you lost a while back and your colored pencils are suffering as a result, sitting in the box in your nightstand dull and in need of sharpening.

You take a seat on the edge of the desk chair, your fingers go to the top left desk drawer and you pull it open. You really shouldn't be digging around like this, you aren't supposed to but it isn't like you're snooping or anything. You just need one small thing and as long as you put everything back exactly as it was, Dante'll never know. You lean forward to peer within. There is a folded up poster on top, the paper is thin and you catch a glimpse of a hip and the edge of black lace underwear as you neatly set the old poster on the desk. You remember when Dante's office had quite a few of these pinned to the walls but he took them all down the night he brought you home for good. Your old life seems like a distant memory now, faded and almost unreal.

With the poster out of the way you expect pens, envelopes and the like but there are a few magazines, almost certainly the same magazines the posters came from. It's a small stack that you reach and pluck out from the drawer. The top issue's cover is glossy and catches the light. A blonde woman is on the front, dressed in underwear that's more like a string and a tight white crop top, her nipples visible through the material.

Envy snakes around your heart and you frown. You'll never look like that, will never catch Dante's eye in the same way women on the cover will because you are a hybrid. You shake your head as if the action will dislodge your negative thoughts. You set the small stack of magazines down on the desk, wanting to just look in the drawer for a pencil sharpener so you can finish the grocery list and not spiral into negativity.

You pull out the drawer a little more to look inside. There's a deck of cards, a single poker chip, coins, and... you reach a hand in toward the back, fingers wrapping around thin wood. Yes! A pencil. You pull it out and inspect it, finding there to be a sharp point. How perfect!

You place the pencil on the dark wood of Dante's desk to grab the glossy stack of magazines. You pick them up but your hold is loose and as you move to set them in the drawer, the middle magazine slips free and falls to the floor. You groan, setting the stack in the drawer before leaning down to pluck the magazine from the floor. You pick it up and stand, not bothering to really look at it. With your empty hand you lift up the top issue in order to slide the magazine in between, wanting to put things back just as they were.

As you begin to slide the magazine back in place, you still, heart skipping a beat as your eyes fall on the magazine that you dropped. There's a puppy hybrid on the cover, face cradled in her hands as she lays on her stomach in a soft pink babydoll nightdress, stocking covered feet kicked up behind her. She's got the same button ears as you, the same color fur. Wait, does this mean... Dante likes hybrids? Hybrids like you? Your heart is much like a hummingbird in your chest as you pull the magazine back toward you. You open it, skipping the articles at the beginning, fingers flipping to the first page containing another picture of the hybrid model as if seeing more will somehow confirm your hope, somehow make your dreams a reality.

The page greets you with a view of the hybrid model face down and ass up on the bed. A man's hand is wrapped loosely around the base of her tail. Half her face is hidden and her dress is pushed up. With fur and ears like yours, has Dante thought of you like this? Your pulse quickens as heat rushes down your spine, warming your skin and causing an ache to form between your thighs. You swallow and with trembling hands you slide the magazine back into the drawer as well as the old poster before shutting it. You grab the pencil from the desk and return to your old dog bed between the couch and coffee table, sitting on your heels.

Your bring the pencil to the open notebook, finishing the word treat before adding pencil sharpener beneath it. You try to focus, to think of other grocery items you need but your mind is reeling with the possibility of Dante liking hybrids. You hope he likes you in the same way. You've loved him since the day he took you in and gave you a home. Dante is your home. Your savior and the one person you truly love. What if he loves you in the same way? That would make you so happy but... What if he doesn't? What if the magazine was just... given to him or something and he actually doesn't like hybrids in that way? What if he just can't envision anything romantic with you? You should do something, right? But what if he doesn't want you anymore after you confess?

Your mind is a mess. Arousal and agitation create a miserable knot in your stomach and a whine erupts from your throat as your ears drop low, wanting nothing more than to be soothed. Pitifully you pack up your coloring books and notebook as well as your markers. You stack them up and hold them to your chest tightly with one hand before getting up from your spot. You go about shutting the jukebox off as well as the lights before trudging upstairs. You go to Dante's room, not bothering to put your stuff away in your own room. You flick on the small, red stained glass lamp on the nightstand. The bed is messy, particularly on your side. You walk to the end of the bed, setting your books and markers down on the large trunk at the foot of it.

Your shoulders are heavy as you crawl into the bed and slip under the covers, not even bothering to change into pajamas. A lump has formed in your throat and another whine crawls around the lump and out, the sound loud in the quiet of the room. You blindly reach up and over to tug Dante's pillow down under the covers to hug it to your chest. The scent of him lingers on the soft pillowcase. It's familiar and comforting yet it worsens the ache in your chest. Your vision blurs so you close your eyes, burying your face in the pillow to muffle the sound and get more of his scent. How will you tell Dante how you feel? Should you even tell him? You don't know.

You cry yourself to sleep surrounded by Dante's scent but none of his warmth.

♡

Dante arrives back in back in the city, parting ways with Lady and Trish. He makes his way back to Devil May Cry, stepping into the building. He shuts the door behind him and locks it. His boots thump softly against the wood flooring as he flips on the light overhead. The sight of your old dog bed in the space between couch and coffee table causes his lips to pull into a smile. He hangs up his red leather coat and strips himself of his gear until he's left in black leather pants, his shirt, and socks.

He's fucking exhausted. Wants nothing more than a shower and to cuddle up to his sweet girl.

Dante shuts the lights off downstairs before heading up to his room for a change of clothes. He's quiet when he steps in. He spots the familiar shape of your body under the covers immediately. Dante saunters over to the dresser against the wall and pulls open the top drawer by its slim metal handles, being as quiet as he can. Aching to be free from leather he changes into fresh clothes. Clean boxers, a fitted shirt and sweatpants. He leaves his leather pants, boxers, and zip up shirt on the floor in a heap. The rustling of covers draws his attention and Dante turns, smiling as he looks at you.

"Hey babygirl." He greets, watching as you push yourself up to sit, comforter bunching at your waist. Your puppy ears are perked up and Dante walks over to sit on the edge of the bed because he knows if he doesn't you'll come stumbling over all sleepy-eyed and unbalanced. He looks over at you. Your hair is messy from sleep and those puppy eyes are low as you push the comforter off to crawl over. He lifts up his arm and you come to sit next to him, leaning into his side as you wrap your arms around his waist, your hold loose due to just waking up.

"Missed you." You mumble, cheek pressed to his chest. Dante grins fond and pleased. He leans down to kiss the crown of your head.

"Missed my babygirl too." He replies. You shift beside him to kneel, allowing you to press your face into the crook of his neck. Dante chuckles lowly.

"Baby I need a shower." He tells you as he brings a hand up to your shoulder as if to push you away. You are sick of hearing that. You clumsily move to sit on his lap, knees pressed to the bed on either side of his thick thighs. You shake your head minutely with a pout, keeping your face buried in his neck.

"Don't care." You grumble which makes Dante laugh louder as his arms encircle your waist, hugging you tightly to him. "Someone's fussy, huh?" He teases as he loosens his hold to run a hand up and down your back in a soothing manner. "C'mon. I won't be lo—."

"No." You snap. Your arms snake around his waist, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt at his back to make him stay put. "Don't care if you're smelly. Let's just sleep. Missed you." You explain, the words muffled against his neck. Dante sighs, his breath ruffling a bit of your hair. How can he deny his puppy girl?

"Alright. Up princess."

You slide off Dante's lap to clamber back up the bed. You slip back under the covers, cheek against your pillow as you wait eagerly for him. Dante crawls over and grabs his pillow out from under the covers near you. You really did miss him. Enough to hug the damn thing. It makes his heart swell.

Dante puts the pillow back up near the headboard before settling in beside you, the happy thump of your tail against the bed is endearing. He lays on his side and shifts closer to pull you to his chest with your head tucked under his chin and his thigh between your knees. He's always careful not to press it up and any closer when you two lay like this.

Finally. It's so nice to have Dante back. You take a breath, his scent in your nose and his warmth enveloping you. He smells like home. You tiredly inch closer to plant a kiss to his throat. It's such a sweet, tender gesture full of love and it makes arousal stir in his gut. Shit.

"I really gotta shower, sweetheart." He murmurs in an attempt to get you to pull away.

You nuzzle into his neck, mumbling a quiet, "No you don't."

He can feel your soft breath and the way your lips grazed the skin of his throat as you spoke, making the skin there tingle. He hoped the brief time spent away would make this easier somehow. Stupidly hoped some time away would fix his fucked up response to your sweet touches and loving nature. He really shouldn't be having these thoughts and responses to his puppy girl, should he?

Dante knows it isn't unusual. There are plenty of hybrid and human relationships but you're just so precious, perfect even, and he's anything but. He fears he'll taint you somehow.

He's about to pull away, do the right thing and take a shower anyway to cool off but your arm moves from his back, your hand snaking slowly over his waist and to his front. Heat trails behind the movement. "Babygirl.."

Whether it's a plea or a warning, you can't tell. Your hand begins to drift lower, fingers nearing the edge of his shirt and he swiftly reaches down. His fingers wrap around your wrist in a firm hold, bringing it up between the two of you.

"What're you doing?" Dante asks and you still, heart beating hard against your ribcage. You can't bring yourself to pull away from your spot under his chin and face him. Afraid you'll see disappointment. You swallow, lips parting as another lump threatens to form in your throat.

"I... um..." It's difficult to form words, hard to get the explamation out. It's as if the air has been stolen from your lungs. Dante pulls back enough to look down at you and you immediately miss the warmth of him. The cool air of the bedroom hits your face like a slap. He's waiting for a response with your wrist still in his grip. "I-I just... I thought you... liked hybrids?" You say quietly, sounding so small and foreign to your own ears. You swallow again as if that will keep the lump from fully forming. "I-I found the maga—"

"I know which one." Dante interrupts, keeping his voice soft. You watch as he closes his eyes with a sigh, sounding exhausted. "You know you're not supposed to be digging around, babygirl."

Babygirl. He still loves you. He wouldn't call you anything like that if he didn't. You latch onto that endearment within that gentle scold and press on as Dante opens his eyes to look at you once more.

"I know. I know." Tears begin to blur your vision and bleed into your speech. "I-I just..." What do you say? A proper explanation is currently lost on you, drowned out by emotion. "I love you." You say as tears spill from your eyes and down your cheeks.

Dante releases your wrist to pull you back to his chest, runs a hand up and down your back as he gently shushes you. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "I love you too, sweetheart." He murmurs, holding you tightly to him as he lays on his side, his chest tight with emotion. After a few moments he slides his hand up to your shoulder to turn you onto your back, his other arm cushioning your head, cradling you. He leans over to wipe away the tears with the pad of his thumb. "Love you more than you can know." He admits, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Then... you want me too?" You ask with a little sniffle and Dante leans down to press his mouth to yours. He's never been all that great with words.

His kiss is slow, gentle, leading you. He swipes his tongue over your bottom lip, reveling in the gasp it draws from you. Dante licks his way into your mouth, runs the tip of his tongue over the points of your canine teeth like he's been longing to do for months before sliding it along yours. If your mouth tastes this good he can't believe how good your cunt will taste. Dante coaxes your tongue into his mouth to suck on the tip and you whimper. The sound goes straight to his cock. He pulls away, a thin string of saliva connecting your mouths snaps to hit your chin. "That answer your question baby?" He teases.

You nod, eyes heavy-lidded and lips slick with mixed saliva. "Uh-huh." You manage, leaning up for another dizzying kiss, puppy ears perked up, eager for more. Dante grins and obliges. He kisses you breathless, nipping at your bottom lip as his hand goes to your waist. It slides up to gently palm a breast through the thin cotton of your shirt. The lack of a bra is noticed immediately and Dante lightly pinches the nipple. The action draws a whine from you and Dante swallows it, his cock aching in his sweatpants. He pulls away again to push your shirt up. He's seen you bare before, he does bathe and pamper you whenever he can after all, but this time is different. There's no guilt. He's able to look upon you freely without inwardly cursing himself for being a filthy pervert.

Dante drags his hand down your chest and over your stomach, gives you a few rubs before continuing, your tail thumping a little against the mattress. He slides his hand lower. His fingers hook in the waistband of your skirt to tug at it. You lift your hips and reach down to push the skirt down your thighs, kicking it off the rest of the way. Dante presses his forehead to your temple as he snakes his hand down to cup you, admiring the feel of your cunt in his hand, groaning at the large wet patch that has formed on the cloth. Your hips twitch up, gasping as he applies a bit of pressure. He drags his hand up and over your cunt before sliding it under the waistband of your cute pink panties. Dante dips his middle finger low to gather your slick before bringing the pad of his middle finger to your swollen clit, rubbing it in slow circles. Your mouth parts, a moan spilling forth.

"Fuck puppy you're soaked." Dante groans.

"You... because of you." You reply breathlessly as your hips tilt up and into his touch and he rubs a little firmer to which you whimper. Dante removes his middle finger from your clit in favor of pressing it against your leaking hole. Slowly he presses it in, cursing as your heat envelopes his finger. He pumps it in and out of you a few times at an achingly slow pace before he curls his finger up toward your stomach, keeping his hooded gaze on your pretty face as he rubs against that spongy spot inside you. "Dante." You mewl, beginning to squirm. His lips curl into a crooked smile and he noses at your cheek.

"Not enough sweet girl?" He asks before kissing your cheek.

"Y-yeah." You gasp out and Dante pushes his ring finger in, silently marveling at the feel of your tight puppy cunt around his fingers. He gets you adjusted to two before his thumb finds your clit as he adds a third, rubbing the bud to ease the stretch. A broken little noise tumbles from your mouth and Dante leans down to kiss you as he works you open, rubbing your clit with his thumb as his fingers nudge and drag over your g-spot. He swallows down your pretty little sounds hungrily, only breaking the kiss to allow you air. Dante retracts his fingers from your pussy, smirking at the disappointed noise that works its way up and out of your throat.

"Just a minute baby." Dante whispers against the flushed skin of your cheek. He carefully pulls his hand from your panties and pulls away from you. He sits up, comes to kneel on the bed between your spread legs. He slips his glistening fingers into his mouth, sliding his tongue along them, eyes closing as he finally, finally, gets a taste of your sweet puppy pussy. He moans as he drags them over his tongue and sucks them clean before popping them out. "Taste so perfect sweetheart." Dante speaks lowly, his voice thick with desire and holding reverence.

You squirm, eyes hooded and kiss bruised lips parted with your hair splayed over the pillow. Infinitely better than any magazine he's seen. You look like an angel. Pretty and perfect and all his.

Dante chuckles deep and quiet as he tugs the messy, pink panties down your legs to toss the fabric behind him somewhere. Your thighs fall open and Dante's mouth fills with saliva as he zeroes in on your dripping center. He craves to run the flat of his tongue up your slit, swirl the tip over your clit and give it a good suck before stiffening it and pushing it into your hole. Fuck he wants to do that so bad but Dante knows he won't be able to stop until you've cum on his tongue a few times and he has a feeling you won't be able to take overstimulation. Not yet, anyway.

"Dante." You whine up at him, wiggling your hips and tearing him from his thoughts. His gaze flits from your aching dripping cunt to your face.

"What sweet thing?" He coos. Your reddened bottom lip juts out as your puppy ears twitch.

"Need you." You mumble. You reach up, arms open and inviting. You really are his precious puppy, just too goddamn sweet. Dante leans down, unable to help but grind against you. He holds himself up on his forearms on either side of you, caging you in. He grunts, repeating the grind as he peppers gentle kisses over your face. You moan, hands going to grip the shirt at his sides, legs spreading a little further as you rock up to feel the press of his hard cock against you through his sweatpants. Dante's head dips, his mouth finding your pulse point. He sucks a hard mark onto the flesh before soothing it with a long lick of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut, panting as he drags his tongue up from your pulse point to the edge of your jaw to nip at the skin there. You hiss even as your hips buck. Dante kisses the sting away.

"Need my girl too." He murmurs, his lips grazing your jaw as his cock throbs. He plants another kiss but this time it’s to the corner of your mouth.

Your hands go to Dante's broad shoulders, pushing. He allows you to push him onto his back, watches with wide eyes as your hands go to his sweatpants, your fingers hooking under them as well as his boxers to tug them down. He lifts his hips and helps you by drawing his legs up enough to then kick them off, cock heavy and leaking precum as it springs free to rest low on his stomach. His pupils are wide, surrounded by a thin ring of blue as you straddle him.

"Fuck baby y'gonna ride me?" He asks breathless and low, heart beating wildly in his chest as he feels your tail brush over his thighs. Back and forth back and forth.

You nod and shift up so you are situated over Dante's cock, your tummy a mess of molten arousal and butterflies. You can't believe this is happening it's all so perfect and dizzying. Dante's left hand goes to your hip as his other lines himself up to your empty aching cunt. You suck in a breath as you lower yourself. The head of his cock is fat and you push past the discomfort, dropping lower. Your mouth opens on a high whine that breaks as you sink halfway down.

"Shit, easy baby." Dante tells you as he grips your hips tight with both hands to prevent you from sinking further. You pant, face scrunched up due to the stretch. Dante's hands guide you to lift up slowly until just the tip is within your heat before guiding you back down to the halfway point, grunting at the feel. As much as he aches to be completely inside, he doesn't want to hurt you, already can't take the way your face scrunched up at the sting and discomfort.

You whimper, hands coming down to pry Dante's hands from your hips, fingers slotting into the spaces between his. He supports you with his hands as you lift up then down, repeating the action until you're nearly seated on his cock.

"Just a little more baby." Dante moans and it spurs you on. Slowly, you take him the rest of the way, biting down hard on your bottom lip to stifle a cry. He bottoms out within you. His balls are against your ass and his length is buried deep, pushing against your walls. You'e never felt so full before. It's good, addictive. Simultaneously too much and not enough.

"Good girl. Good fucking girl." Dante growls and the praise makes you instinctively clench around his girth. You circle your hips, whining because it's like he's stirring around your insides. "Fuck" You mewl as you circle them once more.

It's almost too much for Dante. You look so fucking pretty in the pink toned light from the stained glass lamp. Here you are, seated on his cock and making those cute noises of pleasure as he's nestled deep in your sweet puppy cunt, so tight and wet it's heaven. "Yeah? Feel good baby?" He purrs. "Hands on my chest." You release his hands to push his shirt up to his armpits, revealing the pale hair of his chest and firm stomach before planting them on his front for support. "There ya go sweetheart." Dante grips your hips once more, guiding you to move. His eyes flutter shut briefly as the two of you find a slow rhythm.

"Full. Feel so full, Dante." You manage to get out in between pants and moans. Every movement, every minute shift of his hips seem to nudge and rub his cock against that spot within. You begin to bounce, crying out his name as the bed creaks and the sound of skin on skin fills the air.

Already Dante can feel an orgasm building below his navel. Your pussy is sucking him in each time you pull up before dropping back down to take him deep. You falter, struggling to keep up that delicious rhythm due to the developing burn in your thighs. Your head hangs, puppy ears dropping low from overwhelm.

"My puppy needs some help, huh?" Dante grabs your waist and spreads his legs a little wider with his feet together and planted on the bed for leverage. He starts to fuck up into you at an angle and pace that melts your brain and causes you to squeeze around him.

"Dante, Dante, Dante!" You chant as your back arches and forces your hips to tilt, clit bumping low on his stomach right above pelvis. That coil of pleasure in your stomach tightens.

"Mm, my puppy close? Gonna cum on my cock baby?" Dante can feel it, can feel the way you grow tighter around him, can hear the way your cute moans get higher and more desperate.

"'M close too. Y'gonna let me cum inside and fill you up?" The fur of your tail brushes his inner thighs in excitement. He drinks in the way you nod, your brows drawing together and up in rapture, pussy squeezing him tight as he fucks up into you.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, please Dante 'm gonna—" You cry out, high and loud, the sound filling Dante's mind and bringing him closer to the edge. He groans at your fluttering walls. He thrusts up once, twice, three times before his balls draw tight and he spills deep within you, head tipping back against the pillows as he pushes up with his hips, moaning lowly as his orgasm washes over him.

You collapse against Dante, cheek pressed to the center of his chest just below his collar, panting. He wraps his arms around you in a hug as he too catches his breath. "Did so good, sweet girl." Dante praises as his right hand slides up your back to stroke your hair and then your puppy ears. His fingers gently massage the base where they meet scalp just the way you like. You nuzzle your heated cheek against his chest affectionately and it makes his heart do a giddy little flip. He leans down to kiss the crown of your head.

"Now I really need a shower puppy." Dante says with a chuckle. "You do too." Your head lifts, ears perked up as you look up at him, your tail swishing behind you as your bottom lip forms a soft pout.

"Can we stay like this? Just for a little longer?" You ask, giving him those adorable, sweet puppy eyes that he just can't say no to. Dante sighs in mock annoyance as his lips pull into a smile.

"Alright. Just a little longer, babygirl."

[quiet-saint]

𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫!𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞/𝐆𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Pairing: Dante/Gn!reader

Cw: +18/mdni, sorry my hand slipped and it got nsfw at the end my bad gang.

A/n: lowkey a warm up bc I want to expand on this later. Also new to hc format. Not really proofread as always.

♡

• Values privacy when it comes to your relationship. Doesn't want you to have to endure the press/paparazzi or potential stalkers so he does his absolute best to keep your relationship secret.

• Honestly will get you anything. Constantly lavishing you with gifts. Lowkey a sugar daddy in that regard? Oh well he has the money this time lmfao I'm talking clothes, flowers, jewlery, hell even a car if that's what you want. You don't ask him for much though. His presence and quality time is more than enough.

• Will also take you anywhere you want but as stated earlier, Dante likes to keep your realtionship private because he doesn't want any harm to come to you. So it's tricky. You two are under the radar when you actually go out on a date. It's a bit stressful so you two don't do it often. Whatever, you both prefer staying in anyway.

• Will NOT wear his signature red leather jacket on his way to your place or from it. Too recognizable. Keeps it hidden away.

• Goes to your place the majority of the time because it's easier and he finds his house too lonely. Yours is far cozier and welcoming.

• As such there's quite a bit of Dante's stuff at your place. A guitar, photos he took while on the road, his clothes, keepsakes from other artists. You have to put his stuff away in a closet when you have guests over so they don't ask questions.

• You do however have a photo of him framed—a particularly nice one in which Dante is seated on your couch with his guitar in hand, mid-laugh, his blue eyes bright and crinkling at the corners. You had a hell of a time explaing that. "Why do you have a framed photo of Dante Sparda? Didn't think you'd be one to be a super fan", "Uh, well I am? F-found it online I thought it was cute." "Okay but why do you guys have the same couch and—" You snatched the photo away so fast.

• Of course, being so private had its downsides. Especially when Dante is on the road. You get jealous. Insecurity turns your insides cold, nearly blooming into nausea. Worried Dante will find somebody better, somebody more attractive, somebody he can relate to more when it comes to fame. You call him often and sometimes cry as you tell him over the phone how much you miss him. It tears Dante up inside but he vows to make it up to you whenever he is able.

• Speaking of making it up to you, when Dante gets off tour he's immediately coming to your place. His exhaustion from touring quickly fades once he's in your presence.

• Will 100% be the type of guy to come into your house and yell "honey i'm home!" Because he's honestly been waiting for a moment like that. Someone to come home to, someone to hold close, someone to greet him eagerly and sweetly.

• Dante will be all too happy to make up for lost time. He remembers all the sweet phone calls, filthy texts, and pictures. Dante's pressing you into the mattress within thirty minutes of being home.

• He finds it so sweet and cute when you protest with a little "aren't you tired?" spoken between breath-taking kisses.

• No. No the fuck he isn't. Not when he's home finally and so, so close to you.

• He'll be leaving kisses and marks all over you, telling you how much he missed you while he was on tour all the while working you open with his fingers.

• Also this man is so big on praise.

• "God y'look so pretty angel", "sound so cute baby", "Fuuck it's been forever you're takin me so well" meanwhile you can hardly think, can only take and feel and this man is praising you for it. Clench around him? Praise. Cry his name? Praise. Cum for him? Praiseee.

• Will gently pull you up after you're all done and tug you into the shower with him.

• Will wash your hair while telling you about other artists/bands he's met, interviews, events.

• Then once you two are all clean and dressed comfortably Dante is pulling you back into bed to curl around your back and breathe in the scent of home. He falls asleep adorably quick. Snores loud as hell but you wouldn't give that sound up for anything in the world.

♡

Yeah this started as a hc thing but honestly?? I've been putting way too much thought into a band au it's ridiculous. So maybe I'll expand further. I already wanna do a one shot that delves further into reader and Dante's relationship. Thank you for reading! <3

[totallynotasimp67]

Mix Prompt

I say ‘mix’ because I have 2 characters in mind, and they are in 2 very different franchises lol

So this is more of a request lol, but I need Roronoa Zoro and Dante Sparda finding their crush/partner has been kidnapped and them just going feral trying to get to you

This has been sitting in my head for hours today and decided I need to see it come to fruition

[yzzart]

⋆˙⟡ BOYFRIEND!DANTE ── HEADCANONS!

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

── word count: 653!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut your pretty mouth, big boy.”

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

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

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

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

[jupitereleven]

new favorite character unlocked 😻

[kissbabie]

helping your stressed boyfriend relax ♡

currently, you’re on your knees, in between your boyfriends’ legs as you take him in your mouth, the tip of his cock kissing the back of your throat as you suck him slowly all while looking up at him with big, teary eyes.

“god sweetheart— you’re so good to me..” he groans, pushing your head deeper in as you gag and choke around him, his dick getting layered in saliva. the praise goes straight to your pussy, causing you to let out a loud, muffled whine as one of your hands instinctively reaches down into your panties to play with your leaking pussy. “mmmf—! mmnhh..”

your poor, poor, boyfriend has been so stressed lately. it pained you to even see him in so much distress. not to mention how he’s been neglecting you for a while now, brushing you off when you ask him to fuck because he’s tired. so, you tried to figure out ways in which you could make him feel better, and after much debate, you came to a realization that there really was no better way other than sucking him off! which is how you’ve landed yourself in this current situation; knees burning as they dig into the carpet, your boyfriends’ hands holding your head tightly as he pushes you closer to his crotch making it a little difficult to breathe, and large cock shoved in your tiny mouth as he fucks it like he would your pussy.

at this point, your cheeks hurt and your jaw is about to go slack due to how hard he’s thrusting his cock into your mouth. with one hand rubbing circles on your clit as you hump the floor, and your other hand resting on his thigh, your boyfriend lets out a loud sigh as he releases his grip on your hair and falls back slumped against the couch.

looking at him through your lashes, you finally release him from your mouth in favor of gently licking his cock, tracing your tongue all over his veins and panting between licks, whining that it “tastes so good..”

“shit- not gonna last baby… fffuuckkkk yeah… jus’ like that baby…”

you take him whole back in again, bobbling your head a bit and hallowing your cheeks as he lazily strokes your hair.

“fuckfuckfuck— baby, gonna cum… swallow it all okay, haahhh ‘m so lucky..”

his hand pushes your head in, your nose pressed against his heavy balls and pubes as you struggle to breath, the only thought left inside your head being that you had to make him cum.

you keep going at a fast pace, his hips bucking up a little as you continue rutting into the floor, slick dampening your panties as both your hands are now on each thigh of his to support yourself.

with a loud moan, he cums straight into your mouth, hot splurts of it filling your throat so much you’re coughing a bit as he keeps your head in place, cock shoved so deeply in your mouth as the tip is pressed harshly and locked in place in your throat. “take it, take it all.. you’re gonna kill me… hhaaghhhh don’t look at like that, ‘less you want me to fuck your mouth again..”

as he finishes, he pulls his cock out of your mouth with a plop! sound, met with the sight of your tongue covered in white creamy substance, the thick mess leaking a bit from your mouth as you try to swallow it all. when you’re done, you open your mouth to him. “took it all…”

he looks at you fondly as you stare at him with big wide eyes. he sighs, telling you “thank you, pretty.. guess i gotta return the favor now, huh?”

by returning the favor, he means pounding his cock into you until you’re a dumb mess, making sure that you’re barely able to form coherent sentences as you slur your words and lay there limp, letting him ooze his hot cum into your tight pussy!!

whoops, he’s already hard just thinking about it.

based on this request

[angelltheninth]

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

You can always make DMC requests from me!

Pairing: Dante Sparda x Fem!Reader

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

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I don't really care if people hate the Netflix anime, I love it. I want a season 2 right now.

the type of guy who would buy you a cowboy hat when you say you want to ride his cock

you don't have to wear the hat when you're riding him but he thinks it adds to the fun

a very touchy guy, he can never keep his hands to himself

Dante refuses to keep his hands away from your clit when you're having sex, it is a magical pleasure button after all, so even if you're doing most of the moving he still wants to give himself something to do

slaps your ass a lot, more often with just one hand but sometimes with both and always grabs you where he slapped, especially when he knows you're still sensitive

if you get tired he will lift your legs up, his arms below your knees and fingers interlocked with yours, before he starts hammering his cock into your sensitive wet hole

very chatty and will always tell you how much he's enjoying himself, or how hypnotized he is by the view of your pussy swallowing his hard cock, your pussy making his white pubic hair wet with it's slick, the slapping, lewd noise that your pussy makes when you lower yourself on him over and over

grins up at you and gives you a thumbs up when you make him come while riding him

when he wants you to ride him he will sit on the bed, pat his thighs and tell you to get on, and yes, he will absolutely also say yee-haw

has condoms in lots of different colors to make things more fun when he has to watch his cock go in and out of you

one interesting thing that he likes is to fuck you from behind but then he will stop, leave just the tip of his cock inside of you, feeling your pussy tighten, trying to pull him back in but he won't move

instead he tells you to ride his cock from this position

as much as he loves getting ridden he is still Dante at the end of the way, so of course he will find a way to be a cocky bastard about it

not like you didn't know that before you started dating, now your sex life is that much more fun, for having Dante there

[multi-fandom-imagine]

The First Time || Dante Sparda ||

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

Warnings: p in v , virginity loss , cream pie

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

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

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

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

Aching for him

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean—” he started.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D-Dante…”

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

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

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

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

You whimpered, hips lifting to chase his finger.

“I want you,” you breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you whispered. “I want you.”

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

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

“You okay?” he asked, voice strained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That feel good, baby?” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[spikesbunny]

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

minors dni!

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

your pussy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[i2rizz]

𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔

Synopsis-Dante's only goal tonight: wreck you so thoroughly you'll never even look at another man again.

And judging by the broken bed, the shattered floor, and the bruises on your hips? Mission accomplished.

(NSFW / MDNI / Warnings: filthy smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, jealousy, possessiveness, teasing, manhandling, breeding kink, overstimulation, hair-pulling, mouth-fucking, marking, degradation + praise, messy sloppy drunk energy, Dante being a rabid man)

(A little thank you gift for 400 followers so sit yall fine asses down and grab water because what I’m about to deliver is gonna have you needing to pace around your room for 10 minutes)

You barely made it through the front door.

The second it slammed shut behind you, Dante had you caged against it—hot, heavy, feral.

"You fuckin' tease" he growled against your mouth, voice wrecked, hands already hiking your tiny, skin-tight club dress up your thighs. "Flirtin' with every bastard in that club—shakin' that ass like you wanted me to fuckin' lose it, huh?"

You gasped, breathless, clawing at his leather jacket to yank him closer.

You could still taste the liquor on his tongue, still feel the pounding bass of the club vibrating through your bones.

He ripped the jacket off and tossed it somewhere without looking.

Lifted you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing, throwing you over his shoulder with a rough smack to your ass that made you shriek and giggle.

"You think it's funny?"

"Wait till I show you how funny it is when you can't fuckin' walk tomorrow"

He stalked through your apartment like a man possessed, kicking open your bedroom door of off its hinges, tossing you onto the mattress like a ragdoll.

You barely had time to scramble up before he was on you again—grabbing your ankles, dragging you down the bed, manhandling you until you were flat, pinned, helpless.

"Stay fuckin' still" Dante rasped, yanking your dress up and over your head, leaving you in nothing but a flimsy pair of panties.

His blue eyes burned.

Dark. Starved. Dangerous.

"You wore this tiny little shit to the club?" he hissed, dragging two fingers roughly up your slit, already soaked through the lace. "You wanted attention that bad, huh? Wanted everyone seein' what's MINE?"

You whimpered, grinding helplessly into his hand.

"Yeah, you fuckin' did"

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Gonna make damn sure you remember exactly who you belong to"

He hooked his fingers in your panties and ripped them clean off—no ceremony, no patience.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was on you—mouth messy, sloppy, devouring your pussy like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

You screamed.

Fist tangled in his hair, thighs clamping around his head.

He groaned into you, like he was savoring every filthy sound you made, grinding his tongue against your clit with reckless, brutal focus.

When you came, it was violent.

Tearing sobs from your throat, soaking his mouth, your whole body twitching under his iron grip.

Dante didn’t even give you a second to recover.

Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—smirking, cocky—and shoved you further up the bed.

"Face down, ass up, princess"

You scrambled to obey, still dizzy from the orgasm, and he was already pulling his cock free—thick, heavy, dripping precum.

He didn’t prep you.

Didn't warn you.

Just lined up and shoved his way in one brutal thrust, punching the breath from your lungs.

You clawed at the sheets, sobbing into the mattress, as he started pounding into you with zero mercy.

The bedframe slammed into the wall with every vicious thrust, the whole apartment shaking.

"Fuckin' tight little hole, squeezin' me so fuckin' good," Dante growled, spanking your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "Can't believe you were showin' this perfect pussy off at the club—gonna have to fuck the attitude outta you, huh?"

You screamed into the sheets as he bent over you, biting and marking your shoulder, pounding you so hard the bed legs cracked against the floor.

It wasn't enough for him.

He flipped you over mid-thrust, manhandling you into a full mating press—legs over his shoulders, your ankles pinned near your ears, leaving you fully exposed and helpless as he rutted into you.

"Look at you" he growled, one hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing lightly as he fucked you deeper, harder, faster. "Pretty little slut. Perfect fuckin' hole. Gonna pump you so full you won't know where you end and I begin"

You were crying now.

Tears streaming down your cheeks from the intensity, the overwhelming stretch and heat and pleasure.

"That's it" Dante purred, licking the tears off your face. "C'mon, princess. Cry for me. Show me how bad you need it"

You shattered again, convulsing around him, screaming so loud your neighbors probably called the cops.

Dante snarled, fucking you through it, never slowing down—until you felt the brutal pulse of him cumming deep inside you, filling you to the brim, thick, hot, endless.

He collapsed on top of you, still sheathed deep, grinding lazily into your oversensitive cunt to milk every drop inside.

"Not done" he rasped, voice wrecked. "Gonna fill you up again. Gonna keep fuckin' you till you're so fuckin' full it leaks down your thighs"

You whimpered, barely able to think.

And he smirked—slow, wicked, dark.

"You asked for it, sweetheart"

"Now you're gonna take all of it"

And then he started moving again.

No mercy.

No escape.

Just Dante,

and you,

and the kind of sin that no amount of praying could ever erase.

[daisy-throat]

Dante loves his puppy hybrid a little too much.

Dante Sparda/Puppy!hybrid fem-reader. Nsfw but there's no real smut, just Dante being nasty. Short, quick version while I work on the full. Mdni!

Dante's a little icky and conflicted ♡

───────♡───────

Owner!Dante who saves you from demons but initially refuses to take you in as he struggles to properly take care of himself and keep the lights on at home. Instead he offers a warm place for the night and pizza.

Owner!Dante who gives you one of his shirts to wear while he washes your stained, ill fitting clothes just for his heart to melt at the sight of the too big collar and the sleeves that swallow your hands. Tells himself not to get attached, that he can't care for you like you need.

Owner!Dante who takes you to a shelter in the morning just to take one look at your crestfallen face and decides right then to give you a home.

Owner!Dante who quickly grows to adore his precious puppy girl. You've got him wrapped around your pretty finger.

Owner!Dante who spoils you whenever he can. Buys you plushies and cute outfits and things to decorate your room. Not that you sleep in there much anymore but he doesn't mind. Whatever makes his girl happy and you appreciate every little thing! Always so understanding and grateful.

Owner!Dante who can't sleep without his warm cuddly puppy. You're the perfect, sweetest teddy bear. Loves to rub tiredly at your puppy ears until he falls asleep.

Owner!Dante whose love started off pure and sweet but after months it shifts, grows into something more. Every one of your smiles and giggles melt his heart. He longs to kiss you in the mornings when you're all sleep warm and pliant, wants to run his tongue over the points of your canines. Not at all how an owner should feel, right? Guilt, affection, and arousal melds in his gut when you sit on his lap for tummy rubs. He's always so tempted to slip a hand under your dress and into your panties to play with your clit because he's dying to hear the sounds you'd make.

Owner!Dante who purchases yet another raunchy magazine but this time it's all because there's a hybrid model within who has the same color fur as you, the same ear shape and tail. He can't help but imagine the model is you. Can't help but stroke himself off to the thought of putting you in all those positions.

Owner!Dante who knows he's feeding into his own twisted thoughts but he's stuck in a torturous cycle of guilt and arousal. All brought on by his sweet puppy girl.

Owner!Dante who fantasizes about you going into heat but dreads the day you might. He does his best to keep your medication coming in but what if it's late? What if he can't afford it? He could sell one of his devil-arms but that isn't an instant solution, sometimes it takes a day or more to get in contact with a buyer. These are the things that keep him up at night in addition to his past. If he wasn't naturally silvery-white haired he'd certainly be growing plenty of grey now.

Owner!Dante who would never make the first move. Wouldn't want to hurt, scare, or ruin his precious girl. You are one of the few good things in his life and he's not going to fuck that up.

Wouldn't it be perfect if Dante's puppy girl loved him just as he loves her?

[itsxarien]

my hero | dante x reader

(dante sparda x reader | can be set in DMC'S game universe or anime! inspired by re4.)

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

When Dante was hired to rescue the daughter of a powerful, fortune-telling family, he expected someone pristine. Proper. Maybe soft-spoken, mysterious, and grateful to be saved.

Not... this.

He had slayed demons—multiple demons, mind you, just to reach the creepy, crumbling church where you were kept. Solved a ridiculously hard puzzle, nearly got impaled by a swinging axe trap, and had to put up with the scent of brimstone and rotting pews the whole way.

And this is how you  greeted him?

With a candlestick. To the chest.

Dante staggered slightly, looking down at the now-bent bronze stick protruding from his jacket. His eyes flicked up to the girl standing in front of him, panting, your expression twisted in panic. Her eyes were wide. He could practically hear your heart racing.

“Not the hello I was expecting,” he muttered, yanking the candlestick out of his chest and tossing it aside with a clatter. The wound was already closing.

Honestly, you were kind of a sight, even if your first impression was... intense. He glanced between you and the photo your had given him. Same eyes. Same pouty lips.

Definitely her.

“Who... the hell are you?!” you snapped, stumbling back and dropping to the floor, scurrying away like a terrified cat.

He placed a hand on his hip, unimpressed.

“I’m Dante. I’m here to save you.”

“No, you’re not! You’re-you're one of those things! You’re here to finish the job!”

Dante sighed. “Your father hired me to save you, princess. You can chill.”

But you weren’t having it. You grabbed a piece of broken wood like a sword and aimed it at him, still shaking.

“That’s it.”

Before you could react, he darted forward with lightning speed, hoisted you up like you weighed nothing, and threw you over his shoulder.

“Put me down! I swear to God - let go of me! This is kidnapping! You animal!”

“Yeah, yeah. Screaming won’t help your case.”

You flailed and kicked and pounded your fists against his back.

“I’m going to curse you! I’m going to curse your entire bloodline!”

“Aw, that’s cute,” he said with a smirk. “You think I haven’t already been cursed.”

And with that, Dante walked out of the church, the echo of your outraged shrieking following behind him as he carried you straight into your unwanted rescue.

He already knew this mission was going to be a pain.

But hell if it wasn’t going to be entertaining.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Okay... maybe you weren’tthat bad.

After he explained the situation to you—albeit while covering your mouth mid-scream—you started to calm down. A little. And after he saved you from, oh, multiple demon attacks, you finally stopped stabbing him with random objects.

Now, you followed his lead like a wary cat, tiptoeing behind him through the ruins of a quiet village. At first glance, it looked abandoned. Peaceful. But you knew better. Dante had warned you, some of the villagers weren’t villagers at all.

Demons. Disguised. Watching.

You stuck close, barely breathing.

Suddenly, Dante stopped and motioned toward a metal trash can.

You blinked. Confused. “What?”

He kept his voice low. “Hide.”

You looked from him… to the trash can… then back again.

“Seriously?” you hissed.

He turned to face you, clearly baffled. “Yes. Seriously. No choice, princess.”

You groaned and dragged your feet toward the bin like it was your destiny.

“This is so disgusting,” you muttered under your breath. “Ew. Ew. Ew.”

Dante smirked as he heard the faint, pitiful complaints from within. Then, without missing a beat, he drew Ebony and Ivory from his holsters.

“It’s showtime, baby.”

Gunfire erupted just as you hunkered down. Inside the trash can, you flinched at every bang, every crack, every roaring screech from the demon horde. Then you heard it:

“WOOHOO!”

You couldn’t help it,you laughed. A wacky wohoo pizza man saving your life? Not exactly what your cards had predicted. But fate clearly had a wild sense of humor.

The noise outside started to fade. Silence crept back in. Your heartbeat rose.

What if it wasn’t Dante who opened the lid next?

But a moment later, the top popped open and there he was—grinning like a devil who just cleaned house.

“You good there, princess?” he teased, but there was something softer in his tone now. A flicker of concern.

You sighed, brushing your hair from your face.

“Not the best, but it can do.”

He chuckled and offered a hand, easily lifting you out and carrying you from the filth like a damn knight in blood-stained leather.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said over his shoulder. “We’re near the castle. We’re almost out. I’ll have you back to your pops in no time.”

You looked up at him, something warm blooming in your chest. You clasped your hands together.

“Dante?”

He glanced back. “Hmm?”

“Thank you. For saving my life.”

He paused. Just for a moment.

“No need,” he said casually, turning away again. “It’s my job. Come on now—time’s valuable.”

And off you went.

You, the trash-can princess.

And him, the demon-slaying, woohoo-yelling knight.

Yeah… maybe you guys were a nice team.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You were cursed, a demon’s blood was injected inside you while you were unconscious.

One moment, you were walking beside Dante through the castle’s silent halls, chatting about exit plans and the next, your feet froze.

Your body stilled.

“Hey,” Dante called casually from ahead. “You good there, Princess?”

He turned, eyebrow raised. But when he took a step toward you, your hand shot up, swift and deadly. Before either of you could react, your fingers wrapped tightly around his throat.

The grip was monstrous. Not yours. Not truly.

“The girl… is mine,” a voice growled through your lips. Hollow. Unrecognizable. You watched in horror, unable to scream, to cry, to stop.

Dante choked beneath your hold, eyes never leaving yours even as he struggled. He could’ve fought back. He should’ve. But he didn’t. He was afraid of hurting you.

Then just as suddenly, the grip loosened. Your knees buckled and you collapsed, only to be caught by warm, steady arms.

“W-What… happened?” you gasped, blinking rapidly.

Dante smiled at you gently. “Nothin’ much, princess. It’s good to have you back.”

Now, the two of you were in the underground levels, taking a breather in one of the rare safe zones. A “save point” you called it, after one of the video games you played. A friendly mercenary from above had set up a dummy shooting range and Dante took to it like a kid at an arcade, blasting each target with confident ease.

And your cheers? They only made him better.

“Woo! Ten in a row!” “Nice shot, cowboy!” “Is this your secret stress relief?”

Your laughter echoed off the stone walls and Dante couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at his lips. He never thought babysitting a rich girl would be this… fun.

He wasn’t gonna lie, it felt nice, having you around.

But behind your claps and witty quips… something was stirring.

As he reloaded for another round, he noticed the silence. No clapping. No teasing remarks.

He turned, and there you were, staring at your hands. Your expression was distant. Haunted. The veins beneath your skin looked darker. Angrier. Your smile was gone.

“Hey,” Dante called softly, walking toward you. “You good, princess?”

You looked up at him, guilt swimming in your eyes.

“I hurt you,” you whispered.

“You had no control over that.”

“But still!” you snapped, frustration breaking through. “What if I do lose control? What then?”

You looked around the area, eyes glassy. Tears were beginning to pool, and you hated it.

“I’m sorry, Dante…” Your voice cracked. “I’m just… so scared.”

His eyes softened instantly.

“When that happened… I was there. Inside my body. Screaming, but no one could hear me. It was like… like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from!”

You stumbled forward, leaning into his chest. He didn’t hesitate—his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly, protectively.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your quiet sobs, and the steady beat of his heart.

Then he smiled into your hair and whispered:

“You’re the strongest girl I’ve known, (Y/N). What you did back in the castle while I was trapped and unable to reach you? You handled yourself like a damn pro. You’re gonna beat this. I know you will.”

He gently pulled back to look at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I’m gonna bring you home safe.”

Your eyes met his.

For once, the fear inside you faded just a little, replaced by something warm. Trust. Hope. Maybe even something more.

“Now come on, don’t you wanna try this shooting game?”

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

It had taken over.

Veronica. It was the name of the demon that had fully consumed your body, turning you into a twisted mirror of yourself. Black veins streaked across your face, eyes glowing an unnatural red, your voice dripping with venom as she mocked Dante with every word.

But the hardest part wasn’t the speed of her attacks. It wasn’t the razor-sharp accuracy or the maddening, taunting laugh echoing in the chamber.

It was you.

You,whose body Veronica now wore like a trophy, was why Dante hesitated. Each bullet, each strike, each blow brought him closer to ending the fight… and possibly hurting the one person he didn’t want to lose.

You, who had laughed with him in the darkest of places. You, who was the clear representation of why he saves humans. You, who made even a devil feel a little more human.

Then came the moment.

Veronica, grinning wickedly, spotted the flicker of hesitation.

“Jackpot,” she hissed. “So this is the weakness of Sparda’s son…”

She lunged for him—fangs bared, blade raised—but she stopped.

She froze.

From inside the shell, you fought. Screaming in silence. Pushing against the darkness. Your hands trembled mid-strike, and your knees gave out. Her control faltered.

“No… no!!” Veronica howled in rage.

As Dante effortlessly slices through the demons, his eyes never leave you. He could feel it, too, the pull, the connection, even though you were trapped inside that monster. But now, he had you back. You were fighting for control, resisting the demon’s urges to hurt him, and damn, if that didn’t make him proud.

The demon smirked, but it faltered when it realized you weren’t backing down. Dante grinned, his confidence returning like a wave crashing over him. "That’s my girl," he muttered under his breath. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he entered his Devil Trigger, the power surging through him.

The demon howled in defiance. “NO! I am the queen of everything! I WILL NOT FALL!”

Dante shot a look full of cocky confidence. "Yeah? Well, guess what? You’re about to get dethroned."

With one final slash, the demon’s body was sliced in half. You fell, but before you could hit the ground, Dante was already there, catching you in his arms. You blinked, your vision blurry, then you smiled up at him, warmth flooding your chest.

“D-Dante…?”

He smiled. “Gotcha.”

You blinked at him, dazed, but safe. Then you grinned weakly. “My hero.”

“Good to have you back, princess. I missed you.”

You looked up at him with a teasing smile. “Yeah?”

Before he could answer, static crackled through his comm. Lady’s voice cut in.

“You’ve got exactly five minutes before this place goes boom. Underground tunnel. Vehicle’s waiting. Move your asses.”

Dante rolled his eyes. “Buzzkill.”

He looked down at you again, cocky grin back in place.

“Well, what do you say, princess? Care for one last ride?”

You smirked, brushing hair from your face. “I’d be honored.”

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The jet ski roared across the water, moonlight shimmering off the waves. You screamed in exhilaration, clinging to Dante’s back as the wind whipped through your hair.

Finally, he slowed, stopping right in the middle of the vast, open sea. The stars above were glittering. Everything was still.

Dante leaned back slightly, looking over his shoulder.

“Not bad, huh?” he said with that familiar cocky lilt.

You chuckled breathlessly, cheeks flushed.

“What a crazy first date.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You consider this a date?”

You hummed. “Mm… yeah. I mean, you picked me up, saved my life, took me for a ride—kinda romantic.”

Dante chuckled, low and smooth. “Damn. Guess I’ve still got it.”

Then you leaned forward, close to his ear.

“You’ve been putting in work all day, Dante. How about some overtime? I’m sure you’ll enjoy this shift a lot more.”

He tilted his head slightly, that cocky smirk growing.

“I don’t think that’s in the company handbook... but to hell with it.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he twisted the throttle, sending the jet ski speeding ahead. “Hang on tight, princess.”

The engine roared, and the two of you shot forward, the water crashing around you as your arm found its way on his waist. Dante’s grin widened, his satisfaction palpable, especially when he glanced at you, a loving look in his eyes.

So this is what his father felt when he fell in love with his mother, Eva.

And Dante knew it all too well..

He hit the jackpot with you.

[notiddygothgf]

i.

★ pairings: dante (netflix dmc) x fem reader

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

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

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

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

★ w.c: 10k

pretty ; chapter index

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

It didn’t always feel that way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was 10:18 PM.

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

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

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

“Hey,” you said.

He nodded. “Hey.”

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

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

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

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

But tonight… you couldn’t.

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

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

He didn’t look at you. “Got held up.”

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been working.”

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

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

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

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room went still.

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

“So am I.”

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

But he didn’t reach for you.

Didn’t say I’m sorry.

Didn’t say I missed you.

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

Not working?

Not working?

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was probably right.

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

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

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

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

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

“You could be so much happier without me.”

And just like that, everything inside you stopped.

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

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

You didn’t say it back.

Not this time.

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

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

He froze.

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

But you didn’t.

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

And you meant it.

Even if it destroyed you.

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

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

YOU

|  Guys we’re going out tn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, a year ago, your life changed.

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

Dante.

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

That was until you turned the corner and saw him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t wait up. No way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kill me, you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glanced down.

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

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

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

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

All you could do was crack the window open.

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

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

But he was. 

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

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

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

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

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

Still, that would certainly explain his… endurance.

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

What the fuck is going on?

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snorted. “Oh, please.”

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

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

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

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

A pregnant pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared at him.

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

He’s not being serious

… Is he?

One look at him, and you knew he was.

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

No. Stop that.

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

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

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

That hit its mark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost respected his commitment. Almost.

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Dante,” you said.

Then… you shut the window.

The next day came with no promises of peace.

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

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

You didn’t have to look up.

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

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

You looked up anyway. Because of course you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my god.

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

He laughed. “You remembered.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She blinked. “Uh, sure. You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What? You needed it.

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

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

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

You reached for the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Knock, knock.

Your hand froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pulled the door open.

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

“Hey, princess,” he said.

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

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

The door clicked shut behind you.

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

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

“Did you?” You answered.

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath caught.

After all of this time?

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

Okay… what the fuck is going on?

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

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

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

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

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

You yanked your hands away, jaw tight.

He’s got a lot of fucking nerve.

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

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

“Go away, Dante.” you snapped.

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

Then he stepped in behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, God, the sex… The sex was great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, I missed this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There it was.

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

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

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

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

And then, he was gone.

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

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

I could treat you so much better.

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Babe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t help it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were leaving him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there it was: Dante’s old number.

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

I could treat you better. 

I’ve always been in love with you.

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

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

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

YOU: I need you.

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

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

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

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

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wanna join the taglist? | pretty ; chapter index

[yzzart]

I read your stuff for Dante and ohmegosh!! Just the kind of fluff one can enjoy after a grueling day ^-^

If you're still interested in Scenarios, how about one where his girl is in danger?

I don't know, I just can't help but picture a scary calm Dante going in to save his girl (maybe even angry enough to activate Devil Trigger) and his girl, safe, if not still freaked out- sees he's still angry, and tries to crack a joke just to help bring her boy back down from the rage- then him just laughing weakly at her joke before pulling her in for a tight but still gentle hug

WANNA KEEP ON ROLLIN', BABY! ── DANTE

── content warnings: F!reader, reference to the anime, mention of Devil Trigger and Sparda, words mentioning violence, jokes and puns.

── word count: 824!

They came to you. — Capable of being neglected, wicked to execute any malevolence, cruelty for exultation, will; sustaining the pure hatred that ran in their blood and determined and unwilling to spread torture and killing to anyone. — And with the assistance of an organization.

It was funny, ironic, in that case, that the characteristics mentioned could, without thinking, fit DARKCOM. — And Dante suspected, knew, that they influenced his location to those damned ones.

The so-called “Lieutenant Arkham” mentioned your name in Dante’s ears as she unnaturally tried to kill him. — She expressed and articulated questions related to you, without conveying the disgust and anger she felt for the demon hunter. — This man held himself back from ripping off, at the very least, her skin entirely.

You have been kidnapped. — Involved, attached to an ambush and enduring, being subjected, to the role of hostage; trying not to go crazy, to convey a horrified and weak reaction. — The weird and wretched white rabbit warned that he would stab the half-demon's weaknesses; from the amulet to the woman he loves.

Sparda's son — a reality that would need time to gain recognition — would not make his father's mistake, leaving and causing the lack of protection and death of his wife. — Even if that means eternal destiny in the underworld or the end of possible humanity.

Damn, that would be, respectfully, extraordinary with a soundtrack in the background. — He couldn't help but think; that was so cheesy, it was Dante's kind of thing.

These things, uttered by the merciless mouth of the disproportionate easter bunny, of “devil trigger” or “true form” that ran through Dante sounded like pure nonsense; something that he, even being a dumb chatterbox, would not think. — Until they revealed themselves to him, they reciprocated his fury, hatred and transformed him into a certain creature that he did not recognize. — However, he feared that his appearance could be a part of who Sparda was.

Dante never saw, verified — or created, relatively, with his imagination and creativity — the true appearance of Sparda; obviously, he heard stories or narratives about him. — But, he heard from those stupid brutes that he looked like the traitorous demon.

Deep down, if he ended up alive, he would delve deeper, searching with efficiency and interest, into the true story of his father. — Without having something trustworthy, or a living witness who wouldn't want to end his skin, Dante would have a long road ahead. — Everyone wanted a piece of him, what a desired man.

Recovering his honesty with himself, Dante only hoped that you would get used to his new image; and he hoped that you would like it too. — He has wings, rocky structures of pure red and lava predominated his body, horns and eyes, terribly, yellow. — It was still him.

It was still Dante.

“Dante?” — ​​Your voice determined strangeness, at the same time, fascination and not insinuating a panic or disgust of the demonic creature before your eyes; carrying an impetuous composure in the environment, which was, totally, destroyed. — “I can’t believe it…?”

“In flesh, bone and claws.” — The altered voice, barely recognized, conveyed feigned enthusiasm, displacing the fury of the previous moment, the man suggested a pun. — “It’s all kind of new to me.” — He tilted his head, feeling the weight of the horns; Dante was taller, not that it changed anything between the height difference between you before his transformation. — “Very new, actually.”

It was recognizable, and somewhat indescribable, that there was a deep mixture of emotions rising in Dante's chest; just as his voice determined frustration and bitter anger. — A disturbance that he began to feel the first second his amulet was taken from him. — And they had almost done the same thing to you.

Sliding your eyes over your boyfriend's robust and impressive, hellish body, you captured lines, reminiscent of lava, shining as he breathed; enraged reactions remained in Dante. — You couldn't judge him, but you also couldn't leave him like that.

“At least you won’t have to worry about transportation, will you?” — Not knowing what to actually do to help him, you had to use his own weapon: his lame puns. — “Is it faster than a plane, big boy?” — ​​You were referring to the wings, which made Dante’s body like his coat.

Sparda's son laughed, exclaiming a sudden and sharp laugh, making your skin crawl as he listened and he could not believe that you would be subject to consuming your comedian side at a time like this.

“I don’t know, ma'aam.” — He moved his body, showing off, and with reason and without problems, your eyes contemplated more than they should, planning something. — “Do you want to find out for yourself?” — Taking control and opening his wings, signaling that he was about to take you out of there, Dante suggested putting the plan into practice. — "Why don’t demons fly first class?"

Yeah, Dante was still Dante.

[yominero]

DEVIL MAY CRY — PUSSY DRUNK EDITION

PRESS START TO LOSE CONTROL

dmc men x fem!reader (separate)

your boyfriend goes feral between your thighs. oral fixation? more like obsession.

NOW LOADING... face-sitting, oral fixation, messy devotion, and dangerously horny devils. WHO IS NUMBER ONE?

PLAYER NAME: NERO PUSSY DRUNK LEVEL: 100 TITLE RANK: THE WORSHIPPER DIRTY SECRET: Once he got a taste, he became obsessed.

Nero is undeniably the most pussy drunk out of the three. He starts with the awkward energy of a guy who’s like, “Do I go left or—oh, got it baby,” and immediately spirals into addiction. His hands are gripping your thighs, his Devil Breaker locked around your waist, keeping you in place.

He lives to make you tremble with only his tongue. He loves watching you fall apart. He gets off on the sounds you make, the way you squirm, tug his hair, and scream his name, squeezing him between your legs as he goes deeper and deeper. And he calls himself a devil hunter? No, honey, he's a professional diver.

“Baby, fuck, I could do this all day. You taste so good. Look at you, already gone, and I haven’t even started.”

When you come, he doesn’t stop. He moans into your dripping folds, licks it up like he’s dying of thirst in the middle of the desert, welcomed into the oasis called you. It's terrible how much you spoil him... He can't go a day without seeing, feeling, or tasting you. And he claims that the only devil thing is his arm, how funny. Do we need to comment on his tongue and how it makes you open your own gate to Hell?

NEXT LEVEL: Pussy drunk like it’s his life purpose.

Nero’s embarrassed about how much he loves it, but does it anyway. Over and over again. Let it rain over him, or on him—he wouldn’t mind which way it goes, especially if you just so happened to squirt and make a mess. Sometimes he's speechless, and he just looks up at you, licks his lips while staring at your fucked up face, and smiles like a child who seems to have received a long-awaited birthday present.

PLAYER NAME: DANTE PUSSY DRUNK LEVEL: 98 TITLE RANK: THE SHOW-OFF DIRTY SECRET: Loves the taste, the sound, the mess. He wants it all, and he wants you to know.

Dante loves oral. He’s cocky about it, and for a damn good reason, not to brag or anything, but he’s amazing at it. It’s not just about skill; he enjoys the whole act. The slow build-up, the angelic sounds you make when the devil is right between your legs. The visual. He’ll drag his tongue across your folds and then look up with a smirk, lips wet, like “You good, princess? Can I go deeper?”

He’ll eat you out on the couch, on the counter, on the damn floor. Loudly. Sloppily. Groaning like it’s the best meal he’s ever had, because let’s be honest—it is the best meal he’s ever had. After that, he doesn't want to taste or look at anything else. He knows very well what effect it has on and in you. He'll have the audacity to smirk when he feels your legs pressing and squeezing his face. Well, if he's going to die here, he'll die a happy man.

“You’re drippin’, babe. And I haven’t even done anything yet? Shit, I love this pussy.”

He ruts the mattress while he’s doing it. No shame. Your pleasure is his pleasure, you are his top priority, because nothing will make him feel better than the fact that he has done his job successfully, or as he likes to say, "Jackpot!"

NEXT LEVEL: Pussy drunk and proud about it, will shout it off rooftops.

Dante absolutely, with no hesitation, makes you sit on his face. Grabs your ass and keeps you there, seated nicely on your throne. You know how it goes—two plus two, he is going to undress you, then go three in three, you are going to undress him. Four in four, you are going to freak some more. He says Jackpot when he hits the spot that will 100% guarantee an orgasm…Yeah, he won for life.

PLAYER NAME: VERGIL PUSSY DRUNK LEVEL: 90 TITLE RANK: THE STORM DIRTY SECRET: He acts like he’s in control, but when he’s down there? He’s gone.

Vergil doesn’t rush to eat you out. But when he does, it’s quiet, intense, and deliberate. He spreads you open with those gloves and examines you first like a rare artifact, then devours you with the focus of a warrior.

His tongue is slow and deep, keeping his eyes locked on your facial expression. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t moan, or make a sound. You are the one who wanted to play with the devil; might as well follow the game rules. As they say, the devil may work hard, but Vergil works harder.

But the second you moan? He groans into you, stops just for one millisecond to take a deep breath and regain his composure. Still, the man is a control freak; give him a second or not, it doesn't matter since you don’t know how to count right now anyway.

“Be still,” he murmurs, gripping your thighs. And no matter how fast your head spun, you knew you would most likely have his fingerprints on you—as a reminder, a rule, a command, of what your role is. “You will come when I allow it.”

And he forces you to hold eye contact if he’s angled right. You’ll be crying, blinking, and averting your gaze, and he’ll whisper, “You’re not done yet.” You're far from done...Ah, he and his orgasm denial kink are taking over once again. Great, this is just what you needed at this moment. You looked at him with those pitiful and shocked eyes, expecting at least a little mercy. Don't worry, you'll get compensation as long as you can endure what’s coming next, and you better hope it’s going to be you.

NEXT LEVEL: Pussy drunk while he’s feral in silence.

Vergil enjoys this a little too much because it gives him power, and seeing you fall apart from just his mouth, feeds every possessive urge in him to ruin you. He is literally synonymous with "Actions speak louder than words" and proves it every damn time. Doesn't want to admit it, and he absolutely never will, only over his dead body, but when you moan his name and desire more than you can bear, it provides an inner satisfaction to him. But he knows your limits... sometimes.

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

[jinwoosungs]

04/07/25; 07:12pm

dante sparda x fem.reader

warnings: somnophilia

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

thinking about riding dante sparda’s abs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ngh, dante…! stop teasing me…”

“heh, as you wish, babe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

end notes: dante was made for the feminine gaze 🫦

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