Dante shows up post-mission smelling like demon guts and bad decisions, and has the nerve to climb into bed without showering. His partner, clean and cozy, isn’t about to let him off easy, but can’t help teasing him when he tries to act all nonchalant about it.
Pairing: Dante x Fem!ReaderRating: T
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: Mild language, mentions of demon gore/blood, soft physical intimacy, stubborn man being dramatic
She had done the holy ritual.
The everything shower. Hair washed, skin scrubbed, legs shaved, even the good moisturiser, the kind that made her smell like warm vanilla and felt like silk. She was clean, exfoliated, and glowing.
The sheets were fresh. The room smelled like lavender spray and peace.
She was in bed, finally.
And that’s when the front door opened.
She heard the shuffle of boots being kicked off, the low metallic clink of a sword carelessly leaned against the wall, and a familiar grunt, the sound of a man dragging himself in after a long fight.
She didn’t move. Eyes closed. Not yet. Maybe he’d go to the shower first. Maybe she wouldn’t have to kill him tonight.
The bedroom door creaked open.
Heavy steps.
And then...
“Don’t,” she said, voice sharp as a blade.
Dante froze halfway through pulling off his shirt, blinking in the doorway like a raccoon caught in the fridge light. His skin steamed faintly, probably still supercharged from his Devil Trigger not long ago. His chest glistened with sweat, blood dried in the bend of his elbow, and his hair was sticking up in every direction.
“You didn’t shower,” she accused without opening her eyes.
“I was gonna,” he said, slowly walking in.
“You’re walking toward the bed, not the shower.”
“I just wanted to-”
“Don’t you dare touch these sheets, Dante.”
He groaned, flopping forward dramatically on the edge of the mattress. “Babe, my soul is leaving my body. Just five minutes. I’m still kind of smoking.”
“Exactly! You’re a walking biohazard.”
“You smell amazing,” he mumbled, face buried in a pillow. “Like cake and clouds.”
“Then don’t taint me with your demon stank.”
He cracked one eye open. “Wow. Demon stank? Harsh.”
“Don’t care. I can see the blood on your neck. And is that black goo on your pants?”
“…Might be.”
She shoved him with her foot. “Get off. Go shower, Dante.”
He groaned again, rolling onto his back like a cat trying to get attention. “I can’t. I’m too tired. My limbs are optional.”
“You’re optional,” she snapped.
He pouted.
Actual lower lip pout.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered.
“You used to be nice.”
“I'm not used to sleep with someone who's drenched from head to toe with sticky blood.”
He reached under the covers with his foot and brushed her calf.
She kicked it away.
Another try. A sneaky toe, curling gently against her ankle.
“Dante,” she warned.
He said nothing. Just slowly, silently tangled their feet together, stubborn and smug.
She exhaled like she was carrying the weight of the world. “I hate that you’re warm.”
“Liar,” he said into the sheets.
She muttered something unholy under her breath and turned away from him but didn’t pull her leg back.
He smiled, barely.
Then she added, deadpan, “If I feel even a drop of demon goo, I’m kicking you straight out of this bed.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”
He laid there: radiating hellfire, stinking like victory and sin, grinning like he’d won something.
And maybe, just maybe, he had.
Ten minutes later, he was still lying there.
Still smug. Still shirtless. Still sweaty.
Still refusing to move.
She stared at the ceiling, counting backward from ten. Again. And again.
He hadn’t stopped inching closer, either. One arm now sneakily draped across her waist. His leg practically trying to merge with hers under the covers.
“You’re still warm,” she muttered.
“Warm is nice,” he mumbled, nuzzling her shoulder. “You’re all soft and clean. It’s like sleeping with an angel."
“You smell like the wrong side of hell.”
He gave a dramatic sigh, clearly playing dead again. “I’m conserving energy.”
She stared at him for another beat.
Then she got up. Quietly.
Too quietly.
Dante barely cracked an eye open. “Where ya goin’, sweetheart?”
“Nowhere. Just gonna grab some water.”
She walked to the kitchen.
Poured a tall, cold glass from the water tap.
And walked calmly back into the room, like she was ready to exorcise a demon, armed with nothing but cold water and zero patience.
He didn’t suspect a thing. Just gave a lazy little smile as she approached.
“Changed your mind about snuggles, huh?”
She raised the glass.
“Last chance, Sparda.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
Then she poured it straight over his chest.
Cold. Righteous. Glorious.
He shrieked.
It wasn’t a yell, it was a high-pitched, full-body yelp, like a startled 90s anime schoolgirl caught in a love triangle.
“WHAT THE HELL?” he gasped, falling off the bed like he’d been electrocuted.
She stood over him unfazed, holding the empty glass like a queen who just issued judgment.
“You’re going to shower now.”
He sat on the floor, drenched and wide-eyed, water dripping from his chest, hair sticking to his forehead. He pointed at her, betrayed. “You ambushed me!”
“I warned you.”
“That was evil.”
“I learned from the best.”
He groaned, dragging himself to his feet. “Fine. I’m going. You win. Shower of shame, here I come.”
As he sulked toward the bathroom, still grumbling, she called after him sweetly: “And scrub behind your ears!”
He flipped her off without turning around.
She smiled to herself, crawled back into the clean bed, and let out a satisfied sigh.
The bedroom door creaked open with exaggerated drama, and Dante stepped in like the world’s most tragic war hero.
Hair soaked, towel slung low around his hips, a long-suffering frown on his face.
He stood there, dripping water onto the floorboards, steam still clinging to his bare skin, and glared at her like she was the root of all his problems.
“You happy now?” he muttered.
She didn’t even look up from the bed, already tucked beneath the covers. “I am,” she said simply. “You’re clean, the room isn’t suffocated in demon gore, and you’re no longer boiling like a furnace. That’s a win.”
He grumbled something under his breath and stalked toward his side of the bed, dragging his towel off before pulling on a pair of boxers and laying awkwardly on the bed.
But when she rolled over, moving toward him with that familiar softness in her eyes, the one that said “I forgive you, now come cuddle me”, he didn’t move to meet her.
In fact, he shifted away.
She blinked. “…What?”
He threw an arm over his eyes. “Don’t get too close. I still smell bad. You said so.”
She stared at him.
“You’re joking.”
“I reek. Filthy. Practically radioactive,” he deadpanned, voice dry as ash. “Wouldn’t want to offend your delicate nose again.”
“Oh my god, you’re being petty.”
“Me?” he gasped dramatically. “Petty? Nooo.”
She scoffed, then reached for him anyway, sliding across the bed and wrapping an arm around his bare waist. His skin was warm from the shower, still slightly damp, and she could feel the muscles in his back tense beneath her touch.
“Pretty sure you smell like soap and regret now,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I think I can survive.”
He grunted, trying to act unaffected, but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
“I’m warning you,” he said, still in that fake nonchalant tone, “you cuddle me now, you’re asking for trouble. Might still be contagious.”
“Contagious with what?” she teased, lips ghosting just below his ear. “Sarcasm? Chronic martyr syndrome?”
He tried to hold his expression but the second her fingers slipped beneath the blanket to curl around his stomach and she moved closer, spooning him from behind, Dante broke.
His breath caught. Visibly.
She felt him flinch ever so slightly under her hands, the way his shoulders tightened, not in protest, but in desperate restraint.
“Goddammit,” he mumbled, voice muffled against his forearm.
She grinned.
“What was that?” she asked sweetly, trailing a few soft kisses along his spine. “I didn’t catch that, baby.”
“I said,” he hissed, face burning, “this is unfair.”
She hummed against his back, smug and victorious. “You’re warm again.”
“I just showered.”
“And now you’re mine.”
He groaned in defeat, letting his head drop back onto the pillow with a dramatic sigh.
“Fine,” he muttered, reaching back to blindly tug her arm tighter around him. “But if I start overheating again, it’s on you.”
“You can sweat it out on me.”
He shuddered, and not from the heat this time.
“…You’re evil,” he said, voice low and hoarse.
“Learned from the best, didn’t I?”
He didn’t argue. He just sighed again, melted a little more into her hold, and finally let the last of his resistance crumble.
Everyone's heard of everything showers, but do you guys ever take nothing showers? Where the sole purpose is feeling the hot water on your skin and letting go of some stress.
For an everything shower go from top (hair) to bottom (body). Do some prep before getting into the shower.
1: massage the roots of your hair with hair oil.
2: use hairmask on the ends of your hair.
3: clip your hair up and let it sit.
02. Shower
Shower time - get in and wash your hairmask off.
1: shampoo the scalp.
2: condition the ends of your hair.
Use a scalp massager while wasing your hair.
Wash your body with gentle soap, then exfoliate with a sea salt body scrub. Scrubbing before shaving helps get a closer, cleaner shave.
03. After shower
Put a soft fresh robe on, get cozy and move on to the after shower care - do your nails and don't forget to use nourishing oil afterwards.
Scrubbing and shaving might leave your skin sensitive and bare - use a moisturising cream.You can go for a high-end branded product, or you can go for the best stuff - baby products.Mom's best-kept secret. Do your facial skincare at this step.
Finally, change into fresh pyjamas and set the right atmosphere. Enjoy!
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