Archive of Our Own

The bell above the flower shop door gave a cheerful jingle, as if it hadn’t just witnessed the most awkward ten minutes of her entire life.

The florist wiped her hands on her apron—half from nerves, half from the faintest trace of leftover pollen—and tried not to pace. Again. She had already walked from the rose display to the counter three times, muttering under her breath.

What was that?
What was he thinking?

It had started so normally. A delivery. A box of sunflowers, fresh from Fortuna’s outskirts. She was in the middle of unpacking them when he strolled in like he owned the sun itself.

Dante.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he drawled, hands in his red leather coat, all smirks and swagger, “You got anything in here that won’t make me sneeze?”

She didn’t look up right away. “You only sneeze when you get caught snooping in my storage closet. Coincidence?”

He chuckled. “Hey now. That closet's got some interesting stuff. Saw a little bottle labeled ‘Love Potion #9.’ Gotta ask—does it work on devil hunters?”

“Only if they behave,” she said dryly, brushing a petal from her wrist.

He leaned against the counter with the casual ease of a man who’d never been told to get lost in his entire life. “What if I want to misbehave?”

She did look up at that. Slowly.

His eyes were the color of too many sins. She hated how handsome he was when he was being ridiculous. Hated it more when he lowered his voice and added, “You know, you’ve been awfully cute lately with that apron on. I’m starting to think it’s your battle armor. Bet there’s some serious lingerie under there, huh?”

The room dropped ten degrees.

“…Excuse me?” Her voice was soft, but icy.

Dante blinked. “What?”

“Did you just say what I think you said?”

He scratched the back of his head, clearly not reading the room. “I mean, come on, it’s just a joke. You’ve been flirting with me for weeks now.”

“I’ve been friendly,” she said sharply, her cheeks flushing hot—equal parts fury and embarrassment. “There’s a difference.”

“Whoa, whoa, don’t get all twisted—”

“I trusted you, Dante!” she snapped, stepping out from behind the counter. “You come here, you flirt, I laugh—but never once did I say it was okay to sexualize me. That’s not funny. It’s not cute. It’s creepy.”

He straightened, hands up, as if warding off a punch. “Okay. Alright. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Well, you did.” Her fists were clenched at her sides now. “You think you can say whatever you want just because you’re charming and older and you’ve killed a thousand demons? That I should be grateful you’re paying attention to me?”

His smirk was gone now. Just his mouth, pressing into a tight line. “No,” he said, quieter. “That’s not what I thought.”

“I’m not some damsel waiting to be rescued with a compliment. And I’m not wearing lingerie under this,” she added furiously. “I’m wearing old pajama shorts because I woke up late and I was in a rush and I still have dirt under my nails from repotting—God, I can’t believe I even have to say this.”

Dante looked like a man who’d taken a hit from his own sword. “You’re right,” he muttered.

She glared. “Damn right I am.”

“I—I’ll go,” he said, awkward now, stepping back toward the door. “I crossed a line. I’m sorry. Seriously.”

She didn’t answer.

The jingle of the bell was a lot less cheerful when he left.

Back at the Devil May Cry office, Dante sat slumped in his desk chair, feet propped on the cluttered table, a beer bottle untouched beside him. He hadn’t even cracked it open. That was how bad it was.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself. “You just had to open your mouth.”

He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to the mysteries of women, floral metaphors, and how one pervy joke had sent everything crashing.

“Bet there’s lingerie under there,” he groaned aloud, dragging his hands down his face. “God, what the hell is wrong with you?”

The office was quiet, save for the faint ticking of the dusty wall clock and the whir of the fan spinning too slowly to help. Nero wasn’t around, and Trish and Lady were both off on contracts. It was just him, his guilt, and the mounting shame that even the cockroaches under the fridge could probably sense.

He picked up the beer. Set it down again. “Okay,” he muttered. “You’re gonna fix this. You’re gonna apologize like a man. No jokes, no dumb flirting. Just—you know—words. From the heart. That you definitely still have.”

Dante sighed and stared up at the cracked ceiling. “How the hell do I apologize to a girl who talks to daisies for a living?”

There was something about her that made him nervous. And that was saying something—he'd been face-to-face with demon lords, ancient evils, hellfire and worse. But one soft-spoken florist had him pacing his office like an awkward teenager.

He leaned forward, reaching for a pen and scribbling onto a notepad:

• Say sorry.

• No jokes.

• No staring at her chest.

• Maybe flowers?? Too cheesy??

• Buy her a new bucket??

• Ask Morrison what normal people do.

BANG!

The door slammed open with all the subtlety of a demon busting through a stained-glass window.

“Dante!”

He jumped, the chair tipping dangerously before thudding back into place. The bottle of whiskey did fall this time—shattering into golden regret across the floor.

He whipped around, instantly on alert. But it wasn’t a demon.

It was her.

Breathless. Hair a little windblown. Apron still on, but her eyes were wide with panic.

“Sweetheart,” he said, blinking. “Didn’t expect you here…”

She took two stumbling steps inside and said—

“T-there are demons… all over the city…”

Dante barely had time to move before she was in front of him—panting, flushed, trembling so hard he swore the floorboards felt it too. He stepped forward instinctively, the way a man might reach out to catch something precious teetering off a shelf.

“Hey, hey—breathe,” he said gently, placing both hands on her shoulders. “Talk to me. What happened?”

She looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, her breath coming in fast bursts. “Th-they were everywhere,” she whispered, voice cracking like old glass. “I—I just stepped outside to check on the flower crates and then—I saw them. Crawling out of the alley, from the sewer grates, just—appearing out of thin air. I—I dropped my phone and ran. I didn’t know where else to go, Dante—”

“You did good,” he murmured, drawing her into a hug before she could collapse. She was so small against him, and she clung to his coat like she was trying to squeeze the fear right out of herself. Her face was pressed against his chest, and he could feel her heart hammering through the layers of fabric like a war drum.

“I didn’t know where else to go…” she repeated weakly.

He gently rubbed a hand up and down her back, his usual bravado slipping away like fog. “Hey. You’re safe now. You came to the right place.”

She sniffled. “Dante, I’m scared…”

That did it.

Every part of him that made jokes or acted cool just—shut off. There was nothing funny about her voice when it cracked like that. Nothing charming about the way she looked at him like he was her last solid ground.

“Hey,” he said again, softer now, pulling back just enough to look into her face. “Look at me.”

She did.

“I got you, okay?” he said. “You’re not alone. You never have to be scared alone. Not with me.”

“But there’s so many of them,” she whispered. “What if they’re heading here next? What if—what if they already know where I went? I—I was just running—I didn’t even check if one of them followed—”

“Then I’ll take care of ‘em,” he said, calm as a loaded gun. “I always do.”

He let her go gently and turned to grab Ebony and Ivory from the desk—his twin pistols gleaming with that special kind of promise only Dante could make. Then he reached back and slung Rebellion across his back, the sword fitting like it had missed him.

She watched him with wide eyes, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“I wanna leave you here,” he said, glancing toward the locked door of his office. “That was my first thought. Lock the doors, tell you to hide in the back. But…”

He looked back at her, blue eyes serious for once.

“You’re right. If there’s that many out there, this place might not hold long. And I can’t fight with my mind split wondering if you’re okay.”

Her breath hitched. “Then what do we do?”

“How about you come with me?”

She blinked.

“I’ll keep you close. Real close.” His voice softened. “I’ll protect you, baby. You’ve got my word. You stick to me like a shadow, alright? Let me do the killing.”

“Dante…”

“Trust me.”

He held out his hand. Gloved. Scarred. Strong.

She hesitated—but only for a heartbeat.

And then she took it.

She had heard stories, sure.

From Morrison, usually between sips of whiskey and heavy sighs.

From Trish, with her dry wit and arched brow, like recalling a misbehaving dog she couldn’t help but love.

From Lady, who’d once said flatly, “If you’re smart, you’ll never stand in the splash zone.”

But none of them—none of them—could have prepared her for the whirlwind of chaos and grace Dante became when he fought.

It was like watching a symphony performed with gunpowder.

They hadn’t even gotten past the end of the street when the first pack of demons appeared. Twisted, snorting things, like if nightmares and wet cement had decided to grow legs and teeth. She froze at the sight of them, heart leaping into her throat—but Dante didn’t stop walking.

Didn’t pause. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even draw his sword.

“Oh look,” he muttered, like a man spotting pigeons near a park bench. “Ugly’s out early today.”

She pressed close behind him, as he’d told her to. Like a shadow. Her breath shallow in her chest, hands clenched tight to the edge of his coat.

One demon lunged.

Dante pivoted and kicked.

It went flying with a crack that echoed down the street, slamming into the side of a truck with enough force to dent metal.

She gaped and looked at his sword, untouched. “You didn’t even—?”

“Didn’t need to,” he said, and fired. Twice.
Ebony. Ivory.
The two demons flanking him dropped in perfect sync, heads evaporating in a neat cloud of infernal gore.

It was… horrifying. And bizarrely beautiful.

He moved like he was dancing with destruction. Guns flashing, coat billowing, boots hitting pavement with a rhythm she couldn’t name. Not frantic. Not even hurried. He wasn’t trying. He didn’t need to.

One lunged at her. She shrieked—but Dante was already there.

“Wouldn’t let you get close to my sweetheart,” he said with a grin, pulling the trigger point-blank. The demon’s head burst like overripe fruit.

She gasped, heart skipping. And not just from fear.

Sweetheart.

Her cheeks flushed instantly. She hated that she blushed in the middle of a street painted in monster entrails, but her heart did that stupid little jump and she swore it was louder than the next gunshot.

“Y-you could’ve just pushed it away…” she murmured, voice faint.

“Pushed it away?” Dante repeated with a grin. “Nah. I’m making a statement.”

Another demon screeched behind them, but he just kicked backward without looking, catching it under the chin. It sailed into the air and exploded mid-spin with a quick spray from Ivory.

“Statement?” she echoed.

“That no one, and I mean no one, gets close to you without going through me first.”

She stared. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Sweetheart, I’m Dante,” he said over his shoulder with a wink. “Dramatic is part of the package.”

The pack kept coming—dozens, now. But Dante didn’t let them near. Not even once.

He guided her gently with one hand, always keeping his body between her and danger. Always aware. Even while flipping through the air or kicking off a wall to aim better, he’d land and instantly glance over his shoulder, eyes checking hers.

“You okay?”

She nodded. Every time. Though she didn’t feel okay. She felt like she was inside a fever dream made of adrenaline and awe.

And still, the demons fell. One after another. They came in snarling hordes and left in pieces.

Bang. Bang. Twirl. Kick. Quip. Bang.

She whispered once, almost to herself: “He’s… incredible.”

Dante casually landed beside her after taking out three in one dive. “You say something, angel?”

She shook her head fast, cheeks blazing. “N-nothing!”

He smirked. “Thought so.”

More demons. More carnage. But he never lost that swagger, never lost control. She had heard tales—but seeing it… feeling the way he moved the battlefield like a seasoned conductor… it changed something in her.

He was dangerous.

And she was safe.

Because he was with her.

By the time the last demon dissolved into the ash-soaked wind, the sun was bleeding across the horizon—fiery orange fading into soft pinks and bruised purples. The kind of sunset that poets write about and lovers get lost in.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the city felt hollow.

Like it had exhaled its last breath. Like it was waiting for something to fall apart.

Dante stood in the middle of the cracked street, his coat fluttering gently behind him, the barrels of Ebony and Ivory still smoking faintly. His boots were stained with black blood, demon gore spattered across his gloves, the edge of his shirt torn where something tried—and failed—to land a hit.

The silence rang louder than the gunfire ever did.

And then—he turned.

She was sitting on the hood of an abandoned car, legs curled up, arms hugging herself so tightly it looked like she was holding in what little strength she had left. Her eyes, wide and shiny, watched him like she wasn’t sure if he was real.

He didn’t holster his guns right away. He just crossed the distance in a few long strides and crouched in front of her, voice low, eyes scanning her face like he needed to see it to believe it.

“Are you alright, baby?”

Her lip trembled. “Y-yeah,” she said, but it was a lie. A paper-thin one.

“You sure?” he asked, gentler now. “You’re shaking.”

She nodded, but he didn’t buy it.

“Not hurt?”

“No…” she whispered. “Just… just scared still.”

His shoulders relaxed just slightly. “Good,” he said. “Come here.”

He opened his arms—bloody, battered, and maybe a little gross-smelling—but she didn’t hesitate. She slid off the car hood and folded into him like he was the only solid thing in a city made of ghosts. His arms wrapped around her, firm and warm, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head.

“Sorry if I smell like demon blood,” he muttered into her hair. “I know, not exactly roses and rainwater.”

She gave a shaky laugh, muffled by his coat.

“But hey… it’s alright now. I got you.”

Her hands clutched at the front of his shirt. “I-I don’t wanna be here…”

His brows pulled together. “Hmm?”

“I wanna… go,” she said softly. “I don’t wanna be here in this city. I don’t wanna look at it right now. Every corner feels like something’s still watching me. Like they’re hiding behind the buildings. I just—I can’t be here.”

He pulled back just enough to see her face. The way her eyes shimmered with tears she wouldn’t let fall. The way her lower lip trembled when she spoke.

He nodded, brushing a thumb under her eye. “Yeah. I get that.”

“I-I know it sounds silly—”

“Not silly,” he said quickly, firmly. “Not even a little.”

She sniffled. “I don’t even care where we go. I just—need to breathe.”

He tilted his head, thinking. A few strands of silver hair fell into his face, and he didn’t bother fixing them.

“…How do you feel about the outskirts?” he asked. “There’s a place. Not far. Quiet. Trees. No demons, no traffic, no neon signs blinking at you like they know your secrets.”

She looked up. “Really?”

He offered a half-smile. “Yeah. Got a little cabin out there. Used to go there when I wanted the world to shut up for a while.”

The silence between them settled softly now. Less suffocating. More… tentative. Hopeful.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked.

He grinned. “What kinda question is that?”

Then, gentler: “I’m not leaving you, sweetheart. Not tonight. Not ever—if you’ll have me.”

She blushed, and he could feel the warmth of it even through the dusk.

“Alright,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s get outta here.”

She didn’t let go of him for the rest of the walk back to his bike.

And he didn’t let a single shadow come close.

The cabin welcomed them with a groaning creak of old wood and the soft sigh of pine trees rustling outside. It was small—barely enough room for the worn couch, the stone fireplace, a narrow kitchen, and, tucked in the corner like a quiet secret, one bed. Just one.

He hadn’t lied. The place was quiet. No humming neon signs. No sirens. Just the occasional hoot of an owl and the steady beat of nature existing without apology.

“Here we are,” Dante said as he swung the door open with a flare of his wrist. “Mi casa... literally, there’s no staff, no service, and no complaints.”

She stepped inside, arms wrapped around herself. Her eyes flicked from the couch to the bed to the fireplace, before she finally murmured, “It’s perfect.”

He watched her for a beat longer than he meant to, then cleared his throat. “Alright. You warm up. I’m gonna get us some firewood. Don’t wanna let you freeze your toes off—unless you wanna share that one blanket and make it a very cozy night.”

She turned to him with a tired but amused look. “Dante.”

“Right, right,” he smirked. “Behaving now. You’ll see.”

He headed out, and true to his word, within ten minutes he was back—shirtless, of course, because apparently that’s the required uniform for “woodsman mode.”

He tossed the chopped logs into the hearth, muscles flexing, sweat glistening on his collarbones, and not a single demon in sight to ruin the view. He knelt, lit the fire, and coaxed it to life with surprising gentleness. Flames flickered up, casting gold against the curve of his shoulders and dancing shadows across his back.

She sat on the couch, watching quietly, wrapped in a knit blanket she found folded near the bed. The warmth was welcome. But it was nothing compared to the heat sneaking up her neck the longer she looked at him.

He finally sat beside her, close but not quite touching. The fire crackled between them and silence filled the space where words should have gone.

He glanced at her.

She glanced at the fire.

Neither spoke.

Awkward.

Dante rubbed the back of his neck. It wasn’t often he got flustered—but this? This was weird. She hadn’t said much since they got here. He figured she might still be mad. Or worse—disappointed. And damn it, he hated disappointing her.

He opened his mouth to say something—

“Sorry.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

She wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were still on the fire, but her fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket. “For earlier,” she whispered. “For yelling. For kicking you out of the shop. I—I overreacted.”

He stared at her, mouth open. “Wait, you’re sorry?”

“I was scared,” she said. “You joked, and I didn’t know how to react. I thought—I thought maybe I was just being sensitive.” She finally turned toward him, her eyes shiny with guilt. “But I shouldn't have pushed you away.”

Dante let out a breath—half laugh, half disbelief. “Baby,” he said, voice low and warm, “you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m the one who screwed up.”

He turned to her now, more fully. “I wasn’t thinking. I was being a jackass. I crossed a line and made you uncomfortable. I hate that I did that. And I hate that I made you feel like I didn’t respect you.”

His hand moved—careful, slow—and came to rest against her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Truly.”

She didn’t speak right away. Didn’t flinch.
Instead, she… leaned into his touch.

Her cheek nuzzled into his palm like she needed it. Like she had been aching to feel it again. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes catching the firelight. Her eyes fluttered closed for just a second. Like that single gesture unraveled something inside her that had been coiled too tightly all day.

Dante felt it. The quiet surrender. The trust.

His thumb moved slowly against her cheekbone.

Dante stared. His thumb brushed across her skin—just once—and his voice dropped into something that wasn’t cocky or teasing.

Just… real.

“You forgive me?”

She nodded softly, still pressing into his hand.

“I do.”

He swallowed.

The fire crackled. The warmth wrapped around them both. And in the quiet space between guilt and forgiveness, something began to stir. Outside, the woods whispered in a hush of wind through pine and the distant cry of a nightbird, but in the cabin, time pressed in close—tight as skin, thick as breath.

Dante hadn’t moved his hand.

And she hadn’t pulled away.

Instead, her eyes opened again, glassy with something deeper than forgiveness. Her fingers, hesitant at first, reached up and curled around his wrist like she was afraid he might vanish if she didn’t hold him there. His skin was hot—feverish, almost—and trembling beneath the calm.

“Dante…” she whispered. Not with scolding. Not with hesitation. Just his name, gentle and raw.

He leaned closer—slow, slow, like approaching a wild creature in the woods, like even one sudden word might shatter whatever fragile magic this was.

“You don't know,” he murmured, “how long I’ve wanted to hear you say my name like that.”

She didn’t blink. Just stared, lips parted, breath catching in her throat.

“How long?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

His smile was quiet. No teasing, no swagger—just that firelight version of Dante that showed up when the world stopped spinning so fast. “Since the day you tossed that damn hydrangea in my face and told me to go to hell.”

She laughed—soft and broken and beautiful. “That was your fault. You said the lilies looked like—”

“—like something Freudian, yeah, I remember,” he chuckled. “Still worth it.”

Her smile faded, but not in a bad way. It melted into something more fragile. Her fingers slid down his arm, slow as candlewax, until they met his hand, and held it.

“I was scared...” she said again, voice low. “Not of the demons. Of… you.”

That hit him hard. His brow furrowed, and he tried to pull back, but she didn’t let him.

“Not because you’re dangerous,” she clarified. “But because you make me feel too much. You barge in with that stupid grin and you act like nothing gets to you, and meanwhile I’m in the back room arranging roses and feeling everything. It hurts.”

He looked at her like she’d just handed him his own heart, bleeding and bright in her hands.

“Hurts you,” he echoed softly. “To want me?”

“To not know if I’m just another flirt to you. Or if it’s real.”

Silence fell again—but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Sacred.

Dante exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice rough. “I’ve been dancing around you, trying not to mess this up, because fuck, you’re young, and I’m me, and I figured you deserved someone who wouldn’t joke through everything just to keep from cracking open.”

Her lips trembled.

“I thought… maybe if I flirted just enough, you’d smile, and I could pretend I didn’t want to tear my goddamn walls down every time you looked at me like that.”

She leaned in.

His hand went to her jaw, slow and reverent. Her breath brushed his skin.

“I’m done pretending,” he whispered, foreheads nearly touching. “I love you. And I want you to know that.”

Her hands slid to his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles still warm from chopping wood. She leaned closer still, lips ghosting against the corner of his mouth.

“Then show me,” she whispered.

Dante closed the space.

He kissed her cheek first, soft as smoke.

Then again—her jaw, her temple, a trembling pause at the edge of her lips.

She turned her head and kissed him, and the kiss was real. Not hungry. Not desperate. Just steady. Certain. Like a promise passed between mouths.

When he pulled away, just for breath, she followed, lips chasing his, a small, sweet sound escaping her throat.

The second kiss was deeper. Slower.

His tongue touched hers—not greedy, just exploring. Tasting. Worshipping.

The fire had burned down to a glowing bed of embers, casting amber light across the cabin. Shadows stretched long across the walls, but neither of them noticed. Not with how close they were sitting now. Not with how his arm brushed hers every time he breathed.

Dante pulled away and looked at her—really looked—and saw everything she was trying to hide behind lowered lashes and the nervous twist of her fingers in the blanket.

She was blushing. Again.

God, it did things to him.

He leaned back slightly, gaze soft but teasing, as if trying to play it cool even as heat roared beneath his skin. “You know,” he said, voice low, “you don’t care that I’m old enough to be your father?”

She blinked, startled—and her blush deepened to something positively crimson. She looked like she was about to vanish into the couch, tugging the blanket tighter around her chest like a lifeline.

“I… no,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He raised a brow, lips quirking. “No?”

She shook her head quickly, fingers tightening. “Of course not.”

Dante’s grin slipped into something else. Something slower. Deeper. He turned toward her fully now, elbow resting on the back of the couch, the fire catching gold in his eyes.

“Not even a little weirded out?” he pressed, voice velvet-dark. “Not even when you were twenty and I was already getting grey hairs in… very unfortunate places?”

“Hmm. Wait. Weren't they always gray?” she blurted.

His brow rose.

She froze—eyes wide, mouth snapping shut the second the words left her. “I-I mean—! Your hair! Your head! I just assumed—!”

Dante blinked.

Then his grin exploded across his face, slow and dangerous.

Her cheeks ignited.

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud!” she squeaked, hiding her face in both hands.

Dante laughed—full-throated, warm, delighted. “God, you’re cute.”

She groaned into her palms. “Please pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Too late,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and dragging her closer. “Now I know what you’ve been thinking about, flower girl.”

“Danteee..!!”

His laughter only deepened, head tilted back, eyes crinkling at the edges with pure joy. She looked away fast, cheeks glowing hot, lips trembling with something between amusement and uncertainty.

“I mean it,” he said more gently. “It doesn’t bother you?”

She finally met his gaze—shy, but steady. “You’re Dante,” she said. “It’s always been you.”

That silenced him. Truly. His heart stopped for a second, like her words reached into the deepest part of him and tugged.

He reached for her slowly, hand brushing her knee beneath the blanket. His touch was warm. Reverent.

“Come here,” he murmured.

She blinked again, startled, but didn’t resist when he pulled her—gently—into his lap. Her knees straddled his thighs, her dress bunching slightly as she settled on him. Her hands found his shoulders, tentative, fingers barely touching skin.

Her breath hitched. Her lashes fluttered.

Dante waited. Just a moment.

Then he kissed her once more.

It was fuller now. Less hesitant. His mouth claimed hers with a slow, aching kind of certainty—like he was memorizing her, letting it sink into his bones. His hands cupped her face, fingers threading into her hair.

She made a soft sound into his mouth—half surprise, half surrender—and leaned in.

Dante groaned against her lips, low and deep in his chest.

One hand slid from her cheek down the column of her throat, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just under her jaw. Her pulse leapt under his touch. She gasped softly. His other hand moved to the small of her back, steadying her, guiding her closer, until their bodies pressed together fully.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he whispered against her lips.

She shook her head, cheeks burning. “No,” she said softly. “I just… I’ve never…”

Her voice trailed off. But she didn’t need to finish.

He understood.

His thumb brushed her lower lip. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I want to,” she breathed. “I… I’m just nervous.”

His expression softened like melted chocolate. “Good. You should be,” he murmured with a wink. “I’m terrible news.”

She gave him the tiniest smile—barely a twitch of lips—but her hands were already moving, shyly exploring the ridges of his shoulders, tracing the curve of his collarbones. Her fingers trembled against his skin.

Dante let his own hands trail down, finding the hem of her dress where it clung to her thighs. He didn’t rush. Just a slow glide, fingertips brushing the backs of her legs.

She gasped again—quieter this time. But her hips shifted in his lap, uncertain, curious.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, fingers ghosting just above her knee.

She nodded once. “Y-Yeah.”

He leaned in again, this time letting his lips travel. Her cheek. Her jaw. The soft, exposed skin below her ear. He kissed her there—gently—and felt the way her breath caught.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

She whimpered—barely audible—but it stirred something deep in him.

His hands moved again—slow, reverent—and this time, he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her dress, easing it upward. Her body stiffened instinctively, and he paused.

“Still okay?”

She nodded again. More slowly. Her hands clutched his shoulders now, nails pressing just slightly into skin.

He continued—inch by inch—sliding the fabric higher until it bunched around her waist. He leaned back slightly to look at her.

She was breathing hard. Her face was flushed, lips swollen from kissing. Her eyes shone.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly.

She nodded. “I know.”

Dante brushed his hand down her thigh, then leaned in again and kissed her forehead.

“We can stop,” he murmured. “Anytime. No pressure.”

“I don’t want to stop,” she whispered. “I just… don’t know what I’m doing.”

Dante smiled—gentle and warm. “That’s okay,” he said, voice thick. “Let me show you.”

His fingers found the zipper at the back of her dress.

He moved slowly.

Pulled it down—inch by inch—until it stopped at the curve of her lower back. The dress loosened. Slipped slightly. Revealed the pale strap of her bra beneath.

She exhaled shakily.

Her hands clung to him.

He kissed her again, this time deeper. Slower.

The fire sputtered out with a final flicker, leaving the cabin draped in shadow and stillness. The faint scent of smoke lingered in the air, but the only true warmth left was them—skin flush against skin, breath mingling like whispered promises.

Dante’s arms tightened around her, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. She gasped softly, arms clinging around his neck as he carried her—slowly, carefully—to the cabin’s single bed.

Her dress and undergarments lay already forgotten somewhere behind them on the floor. He’d undressed her with hands that trembled more than he let on. Not from haste—but reverence. His mouth had pressed soft kisses against every inch he revealed, murmuring quiet things she could barely process through her pounding heart.

Now, she lay beneath him on the bed—bare, blushing, eyes wide with nervous wonder.

Dante hovered over her, one arm braced beside her head, his other hand gently stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Still okay?”

She nodded, face turned to the side, cheeks pink to her ears. “Y-Yeah. I just… I feel…”

“Exposed?” he murmured.

She bit her lip and nodded again.

He leaned down and kissed her brow, then the tip of her nose, then finally her lips—slowly. Deeply. His body pressed against hers with aching care, chest against her chest, stomach brushing hers, hips barely aligned but not pushing, not rushing.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed into her mouth. “We go slow. No pressure. Just you and me.”

She whimpered against him, hands clinging lightly to his biceps. Her fingers trembled where they touched.

He noticed.

And he stopped.

He lifted one hand and gently pried her fingers from his arm, lacing them with his instead.

“Look at me,” he said, voice soft and firm.

Her eyes fluttered open.

He held her gaze. “You’re doing perfect. I’ll hold you. Every second.”

Their fingers tangled tightly—his warm and steady, hers small and shivering. He kissed her again, and this time let it stretch out—open-mouthed and slow, tasting the breath she offered with a careful tongue.

She gasped into it—eyes fluttering shut, lips parting wider in response.

He groaned low in his throat and kissed down her jaw, then down the slope of her neck. “God, you taste like something I’ve been chasing forever,” he murmured between kisses.

Her breath hitched when his lips found the soft place just above her collarbone. Her back arched—just a little—and he felt it: her body giving in, melting into his touch even as she trembled beneath it.

“You’re shivering,” he whispered.

She nodded. “I-I can’t stop.”

He smiled against her skin. “That’s okay, baby. Let me help.”

His mouth moved lower. He kissed down her chest—first one side, then the other—soft, lingering touches that left her gasping and pressing her thighs together beneath him.

Then, slowly, reverently, he cupped one of her breasts in his hand.

She stiffened.

But he didn’t rush. Didn’t grope.

Just gently cradled her, thumb brushing softly over the sensitive peak in slow, teasing circles.

Her breath hitched again—then broke into a soft moan when he kissed her there, lips hot and open, tongue brushing with agonizing care.

“Ah—Dante…”

He looked up at her, hand still holding hers. “Too much?”

She shook her head fast, eyes wide and shimmering. “No. Just… I’ve never… it’s never felt like this.”

He smiled—soft, grateful, hungry. “Good.”

He returned to her body, mouth working over her breast in slow, suckling kisses. Her back arched again, hips shifting beneath him with restless tension.

“God,” he growled, “you’re so fucking beautiful.”

His free hand moved down—slowly—tracing the soft curve of her side, her hip, the trembling skin just above her thigh.

She gasped again, the sound turning into a low whimper when his hand slid to her inner thigh and stopped there, just resting. He didn’t go further.

Instead, he kissed her again—deep and slow, tongue brushing hers in a rhythm that made her toes curl.

Her fingers gripped his hand tightly. “Dante—”

“Shh,” he murmured. “Just me. Just feel. That’s all you have to do.”

He kissed her neck again, murmuring into her skin. “I’ve got you. Every breath. Every sound. Every second.”

She nodded wordlessly, overwhelmed by how safe she felt beneath him—even as every nerve in her body burned with new sensation.

And still, he didn’t rush. His hand returned to her chest, massaging gently, thumbs brushing over peaks gone taut with desire. He alternated—mouth on one, fingers on the other—until she was writhing softly under him, gasping into his shoulder.

“I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he said, kissing her again, swallowing her cry. “You’re doing so good.”

Her legs shifted beneath him again, thighs rubbing together—desperate for friction, unsure how to ask.

He noticed. And he finally slid down her body, trailing kisses like breadcrumbs down her throat, across her chest, the swell of her stomach.

She shivered violently. “D-Dante… what are you…?”

His voice, already hoarse, rasped against her navel. “Relax, baby. I told you I’ve got you.”

He kissed the inside of her thigh—hot, open-mouthed—and her hips jerked. A soft, strangled whimper spilled out of her, and she tried to close her legs. But he growled—soft, low—and placed both hands on her thighs, keeping them spread.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured. “Let me see you.”

She tried to speak, but her words melted into a gasp when he leaned in and pressed his mouth there.

Just a kiss.

Just lips brushing her folds, a soft tease—and already her hands flew to her mouth, muffling a cry.

“D-Dante—oh God—”

He grinned against her.

“Mm. That’s it. That’s the sound I wanted.”

His tongue darted out, slow, deliberate—tracing up her slit, curling slightly when it reached the sensitive bundle at the top. Her thighs tensed under his hands, and she made the tiniest sound—half sob, half moan.

“Nngh—wait, that—!”

He licked her again—slowly. Then again, faster. His tongue circled, flicked, tasted. And then he sucked.

Soft. Then harder.

She arched violently off the bed.

“Oh f-fuck—Dante, wait—” Her voice was tight, breathless, cracking apart at the seams. “It feels—it feels too—”

“I know,” he whispered, breath hot against her slick skin. “That’s the point.”

His fingers slid up to join his mouth—first one, then another, slow, gentle, coaxing her open. Her walls fluttered around him already, soaked and trembling.

Her legs twitched. Her hands reached for anything—his shoulders, the sheets, her own hair—desperate to ground herself.

His mouth never stopped.

Tongue lapping, fingers stroking that front wall, curling expertly.

She cried out.

“I—I’m gonna—I think I’m—”

She choked on her next breath.

“Dante—stop—I’m gonna—pee—”

He groaned, low and filthy and satisfied.

“I want you to,” he growled. “Give it to me.”

She shook her head, mortified, but he never let up. His tongue flicked faster, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm, and her back arched again.

Then it hit her.

Her thighs locked around his head.

Her hands clawed into the sheets.

Her voice broke on a scream—high, sharp, and desperate.

And then—

She gushed.

Her body spasmed, overwhelmed by release, trembling uncontrollably as wetness spilled out of her. She cried out again, thighs trembling, nails dragging across the mattress.

Dante didn’t stop.

He held her through it, mouth still moving, fingers still stroking her until she was gasping and begging.

“D-Dante—too much—I can’t—”

Only then did he finally ease up.

He pressed kisses against her trembling thighs, her soaked center, her hips. Soft. Worshipful.

Then he moved back up, sliding over her spent, shivering body, cupping her cheeks in both hands.

Her face was streaked with tears.

“You okay?” he whispered, kissing her jaw.

She nodded weakly, barely able to speak. Her legs were still twitching.

He chuckled—low and warm—and held her face still.

“God, you’re so beautiful when you come apart like that,” he said, brushing sweat-soaked hair from her brow. “You did so fucking good.”

Her lips quivered. “I thought—I thought I was gonna die.”

He laughed gently. “You almost did.”

He kissed her lips—soft, this time. Barely a brush.

Then he kissed her again.

And again.

And again.

His hands never left her. One stayed at her cheek. The other wrapped around hers—still trembling—and squeezed.

The bed creaked under their weight, quiet and slow, like it too was holding its breath. The fire was out. The world had gone black—except for the burn of their bodies pressed together, skin sticky with sweat and slick, tangled in sheets, in each other.

Dante lay beside her, lips brushing her shoulder, fingers stroking her side in long, soothing sweeps.

She was still trembling from the aftermath—her legs barely steady, her eyes glassy and dazed. But she wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.

His mouth found her temple. “You okay, baby?”

She turned toward him slowly, blinking like she was still swimming her way back to her body.

And then—softly—she whispered, “Dante?”

He looked down at her.

She reached up, fingers tracing his jaw, feather-light. “Aren’t you going to…?”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

She swallowed hard, cheeks going pink again. “You didn’t… finish.”

He tensed slightly, expression shadowed. “I wasn’t planning to.”

“Why not?”

Dante’s voice cracked with honesty. “Because it’s your first time. And I didn’t want to take anything from you. I just wanted you to feel good.”

She looked up at him, lashes fluttering, and then—God help him—she cupped his cheek.

“Dante…” Her voice was shy but certain. “I want you to.”

Dante went still. Entirely.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded—slow but steady. “Please. I want to feel you. I want to feel everything.”

His throat worked, swallowing hard.

He cursed softly under his breath and kissed her—harder this time, with a hunger he’d kept caged for too long. His hand cradled the back of her head, the other slipping down to her hip, guiding her gently onto her back again.

Then he pulled back just far enough to look into her eyes.

“I’ll go slow,” he murmured. “You tell me the second it hurts. I’ll stop. I swear.”

She nodded. “I trust you.”

And she did. She meant it.

He kissed her throat, her chest, her stomach, every inch of her he’d already worshipped—but now with more urgency, more meaning. As if this was his prayer and she, his altar.

After he took off his pants and brief, Dante shifted over her, bracing himself above her body, muscles flexing with restraint. One hand guided himself down, between her legs—still slick from his tongue and her trembling, messy release.

He lined himself up, just barely, the blunt head nudging her entrance.

She gasped at the contact.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “Just… nervous.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Breathe.”

With one hand, he guided himself to her slick heat. With the other, he held her hand—tight. And then, slowly, carefully, he pushed.

Her breath hitched, eyes going wide as she felt him stretch her. He went a little further—then paused.

She clung to his arms, fingers digging into the muscle.

He leaned down, kissing her cheek, whispering, “Breathe. Just like that. You’re doing so good.”

She nodded again, tears brimming but not falling. “You’re so… big…”

Dante smirked through his tension. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She laughed—and that helped.

He moved again, sliding in deeper.

The pressure was sharp, full, new. Her body stretched around him, fluttering with resistance—but it wasn’t pain. Not exactly.

He kissed her again. “Almost there.”

And with one slow, final thrust, he sank fully inside.

She gasped—arched—froze.

He stayed perfectly still.

“Talk to me,” he whispered, trembling with the effort not to move. “You okay?”

“I…” She swallowed. “I feel so full.”

“You are,” he said, brushing her hair back. “You’re taking me so well, baby. So fucking good.”

He kissed her nose, her brow, her jaw—then rocked his hips just once, barely moving, testing.

She moaned—soft, breathy, high-pitched.

“There you go,” he murmured. “That feel good?”

She nodded. “Mmhm…”

He started to move—slow strokes, barely pulling back, letting her adjust. His hands framed her waist, steady, careful, reverent. Her hips began to rise to meet his, shy but needy, like her body was learning him by instinct. And he matched her—slow and smooth, making her feel every drag, every pulse.

Their bodies found a rhythm. His hands held her tight. Her legs wrapped around his waist. The sounds she made turned from gasps to moans, soft and high-pitched and helpless.

“God, you feel like heaven,” he rasped.

She whimpered, breath catching with every roll of his hips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down to kiss her again.

And again.

And again.

Soon his rhythm deepened—still slow, but needier. He groaned into her neck, muscles twitching as he tried to hold back.

“Fuck—you’re so tight, baby…”

She moaned, wrapping her arms around him, letting him fill her over and over, each stroke stealing the air from her lungs.

“More,” she whispered. “Please. Just a little.”

He groaned into her throat and gave it—deeper, harder, still careful but now more real.

Their skin slapped. Their breath tangled. She moaned—loudly—and arched into him, her nails dragging down his back.

“Dante…”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He choked—just a little—and kissed her harder. “God. I love you too.”

He kissed her again—wild and wet and loving—and thrust harder, deeper, until she was crying out beneath him again, trembling all over.

And when she clenched around him—her second orgasm building fast and brutal—he knew.

“I’m close,” she gasped. “I—Dante—I’m—”

“Let go,” he panted. “I’ve got you. Let me feel it.”

She shattered beneath him.

He started to move faster—still gentle, but desperate now. Her name broke from his lips over and over like a prayer. She felt him twitch inside her, hips stuttering.

Then he started to pull out.

But her legs locked around him.

“No,” she gasped. “Don’t… don’t pull out. Please.”

He froze, eyes blown wide. “You—you sure?”

She nodded, cheeks flushed, lips trembling. “I want all of you. Inside.”

He groaned—broken, wild, worshipping.

And then he let go.

He buried himself to the hilt with a deep, shaking moan, his body shuddering above hers as he came, hot and hard, spilling deep inside her. She gasped at the sensation, at the warmth of it, her arms holding him tight as he pulsed inside her again and again.

They stayed like that—locked together—breathing each other in, hearts pounding.

Finally, when he could move again, he kissed her forehead and whispered, “You’re mine now.”

She smiled—soft, flushed, full of joy.

“I always was.”

The cabin had gone still again. Only the wind outside whispered through the trees, the occasional creak of old wood settling into the silence. Inside the bed, tangled in warm sheets and warmer arms, she lay curled against Dante’s chest, her ear pressed to the rhythmic thud of his heart.

It was steady.

Like he wasn’t an overthinking mess inside.

Like her soft skin and steady breathing weren’t undoing him moment by moment.

She shifted slightly, her bare leg sliding over his thigh, her fingers absentmindedly tracing his arm.

He caught her hand.

Held it.

Pressed it to his lips.

The kiss lingered.

She smiled, cheeks still pink, voice a breathy whisper. “You’re quiet.”

He exhaled hard through his nose, the sound almost a laugh. “Trying not to ruin it.”

She blinked up at him. “Ruin what?”

“This,” he said, voice low and a little rough. “You. Us. The moment.”

She frowned—softly, innocently. “You couldn’t ruin this if you tried.”

He looked at her, really looked—eyes traveling her face like he was trying to memorize every curve, every freckle, every little tremble of emotion behind her lashes.

“I have to tell you something,” he said finally.

She shifted, propping her chin on his chest, watching him with curious, cautious eyes.

He swallowed.

“I’ve always loved you,” he said. “Since the moment I saw you.”

Her breath caught.

He stared at her like the memory was still burned into the inside of his skull. “You were standing in your shop window, hands covered in soil, sun catching in your hair. You looked up like you’d just heard a secret, and smiled—at nothing. Just... smiled.”

His voice dropped, barely a whisper. “And I remember thinking, God, if you exist, help me, she’s the most alive thing I’ve ever seen.”

She blinked, stunned.

Dante gave a shaky little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve stared down hellspawn, taken gut punches from demons twice my size, and none of that knocked the air out of me like you did that day.”

A pause.

Then his voice dropped again—softer this time, heavier.

“I loved you then. From that second.”

She blinked, lips parting.

“I tried to ignore it. I told myself it was just a crush. That it would fade.” His hand moved to her waist, thumb brushing gently over her bare skin. “But it didn’t. It just got worse. Every day I saw you, every smile you gave me, every time you yelled at me for tracking dirt into your shop, I fell harder.”

She swallowed.

“I didn’t say anything because—hell, look at me,” he went on, voice tight. “I’m forty. I kill demons for a living. I drink too much, I sleep too little, I flirt like a jackass to hide the fact that I don’t think I deserve to be loved.”

She tried to speak, but he shook his head.

“I thought… you deserved someone younger. Someone without all the baggage. Someone who could give you a future. I’m just—” he laughed bitterly—“some old bastard with a sword and a death wish.”

There was a long silence.

Then her small hands reached up and cradled his face.

She leaned in close.

And kissed him.

Not like before. Not rushed. Not heated.

Just soft. Certain.

When she pulled back, she whispered, “I never cared about the age gap.”

He stared at her.

“I never cared that you were older. Or that you kill demons. Or that you think you’re broken.” Her eyes shimmered, lips trembling, voice steady now with something fierce. “You think you’re broken—but you’re not. You’ve never been.”

He opened his mouth—nothing came out.

She leaned in, hands cupping his jaw, soft but sure. “You’ve spent your whole life fighting like you're trying to prove you matter, but you already do. Not because of the monsters you’ve killed. Because of the man you are. You love with everything you have, even when you're scared. Even when you think you shouldn't.”

She paused, a single tear slipping down.

“I love you because you’re you. Not in spite of your scars—because of them.”

“I love how you always check my windows after I lock up the shop. I love how you complain about your knees and still fight like a goddamn superhero. I love how you flirt with every heartbeat like you’re afraid you’ll run out of time.”

A tear slid down her cheek.

“I’ve always loved you. I was just… scared. Like you were.”

Dante stared at her like she’d reached into his chest and yanked out whatever was left of his restraint.

And then he kissed her.

He grabbed her face and kissed her like she was salvation. Like she was oxygen. Like if he didn’t kiss her right then and there he would fall apart completely.

When they broke apart, breathless, foreheads pressed together, he whispered, “I want to be with you.”

“I want that too,” she said, voice shaking.

“For real. Not just tonight. Not just until you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” she said, more firmly. “I know what I want.”

He pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight.

“I’m yours,” he murmured.

“You always have been.”

They stayed like that for a long time. Wrapped in each other, hearts raw, words finally spoken.

Outside, the forest wind howled.

Inside, a man who thought he couldn’t be loved held the only person who ever truly saw him—and finally believed it. And maybe, just maybe, he was grateful for the misunderstanding that morning because in the end, it led him to her.

His Miss Understanding.