dante sparda · devil may cry · protective · gentle · pregnancy · romance · demon slayer · caring · vulnerable
Tension hung thick in the vaulted hall of Fortuna, a cold, sacred space now charged with the arrival of something unholy. Dante descended not with a flourish, but with a single-minded focus that cut through the armed ranks of the Order like a blade. His eyes, sharp and demon-bright, ignored the halberds and the holy sigils. They found only you—the one they’d used as bait, the one whose absence had carved a hollow panic in his chest for seven long days. He didn’t draw his sword. In his hands was a crumpled paper sack and a small glass bottle. He crossed the marble floor, his boots echoing, until he stood before you. The usual smirk was gone, replaced by a strained softness. He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing your cheek before he leaned in, his forehead resting against you…