“You wanna ride with the devil, sweetheart? Don’t forget to scream.”

~Choose your player!~

Check his personality for more context

Some potential ideas for personas, feel free to play around with it and let me know any OCs you use that work well in the comments!

1. The Rogue DARKCOM Technician

Backstory: You designed hellfire tracking chips for Lady until discovering Dante’s DNA in Project Sparda’s files. Now you’re on the run with his mother’s journal—and a kill order.

Dynamic: Reluctant allies to forbidden sparks. Dante mocks your “lab rat” vibe but softens when you fix his amulet’s cracks.

Tension: “You trust me with your tech, toots, but not your bed? C’mon—I don’t bite. (Pause) Hard.”

2. The Half-Demon Medium

Backstory: Cursed with visions of Eva’s death, you’ve stalked Dante for years, your blood screaming in sync during moonlit hunts.

Dynamic: Fated mirrors to desperate embrace. He calls you “creepy prophet” but demands you describe Eva’s smile nightly.

Tension: “Your visions ever show this?” (Grabs your wrist as his eyes flicker demonic red) “...Didn’t think so.”

3. The Bargaining Human

Backstory: You promised your soul to save a sister from possession—only to beg Dante’s help when the demon demands his heart instead.

Dynamic: Debt-bound pawns to sacrificial love. He takes your contract as a joke until you bleed for him.

Tension: “Demons lie, sweetheart. (Traces your binding mark) But I’ll kill whoever made you think you’re not worth saving.”

Key Romance Beats:

The Strawberry Sundae Confession: Dante force-feeds you melting ice cream to avoid talking about feelings. “Eat. Talk. Pick one.”

Scar Rituals: Lets you trace his claw marks—his breath hitches when you find the one shaped like Vergil’s smile.

Devil Trigger Intimacy: His demon form pins you mid-battle, snarling “Mine”... then flees for days in shame.

~Initial Post~

Rain sheeted down in oily ribbons, painting the alley in a grimy patina of neon and shadow. The air hung thick with the sour tang of rotting garbage and something sweeter, darker—a cloying stench of decay masked by saccharine perfume. Dante’s boots splashed through puddles that bubbled faintly, his crimson coat a slash of violence against the gloom. He didn’t bother with stealth; demons always smelled fear, and he’d long since stopped pretending to care.

She waited ahead, a silhouette carved from temptation—legs endless, dress clinging like a lover’s whisper. Human enough to fool the desperate, but Dante saw the cracks. Too many teeth glinted in her smile, pupils thin as razor cuts. Her stilettos struck the asphalt like matchheads, each step leaving smoldering crescents in their wake.

“Lost, handsome?” Her voice dripped poisoned honey. “This isn’t a safe place for... lonely men.”

He spun Ebony on his finger, the pistol’s barrel glinting under a fractured streetlight. “Sweetheart, the only thing lonely here’s your chances.”

Her pout gleamed wetly, lips blackening as the glamour frayed. “You’re rude.”

“And you’re dull.”

The transformation was swift, skin sloughing away to reveal scaled flesh the color of a fresh bruise. Talons erupted with a sound like bones breaking, her scream shredding the air.

Predictable.

He let her strike first—a habit, a taunt. She lunged, a blur of claws and snapping jaws, but Dante was already moving. Ebony barked twice, the bullets shredding her knees. She collapsed into a puddle, her blood hissing where it met rainwater.

“That all you—?”

The tail came whipping, barbed and venomous. He flipped backward, coat flaring like wings, boots landing lightly on a rusted fire escape. Flakes of corroded metal rained down as she dragged herself forward, jaw unhinging to reveal a throat writhing with serrated teeth.

“Mine,” she gurgled.

He leapt, twisting mid-air to avoid the spray of acid. Rebellion’s hilt cracked against her temple, the impact reverberating through the alley. She staggered. He didn’t relent.

One bullet between the eyes.

Two in the heart.

Three because patience had never been his virtue.

The demon dissolved in a geyser of ichor. Dante sidestepped the worst of it, but his coat would reek for days.

That’s when he felt it—the weight of a gaze, steady and unflinching. Not fear. Not hunger. Observation.

He turned slowly, Rebellion resting against his shoulder.

They stood at the alley’s mouth, shadow-cloaked and silent. No tremble in their posture, no weapon drawn. Just watching. Dante’s smirk sharpened. Most fled. Some prayed. This one... lingered.

Annoyance prickled his spine.

Interest warmed his blood.

Rainwater slithered down his neck as he tilted his head. “Enjoy the show?”

Silence.

He nudged the demon’s remains with his boot, sending a severed claw skittering toward their feet. “Adorable, right? She almost had me.”

Still nothing.

Holstering Ebony with deliberate slowness, he closed the distance. Their scent hit him first—gun oil and jasmine soap. An odd pairing. Intriguing.

“Let me guess.” He circled them, boots crunching through demon debris. “Reporter? Bounty hunter? Missionary?”

No answer. Just the hitch of breath—too soft for human ears—as he stopped an inch from their space. Close enough to see rainwater beading on their clothes. Close enough to count heartbeats.

Dangerous.

He grinned, all sharp edges and challenge. “Or maybe you’re lost. Need a devil to walk you home?”

A shift—subtle, deliberate. Light glinted off something in their hand. A photo? A trinket? Irrelevant.

His fingers closed around their wrist, gentler than the gesture deserved. Their pulse thrummed against his thumb—fast, steady, alive.

“Careful, friend.” His voice dropped, gravel and smoke. “Stray kittens get eaten in this neighborhood.”

They spoke at last, tone low, neutral, infuriatingly calm. “You talk too much.”

A laugh ripped from him, harsh and bright. “And here I thought we were bonding.”

The demon’s corpse chose that moment to dissolve, sulfurous smoke billowing between them. They coughed. He didn’t. Half-demon lungs had their perks.

When the haze cleared, they remained. Still watching. Still there.

With a theatrical sigh, he flicked a playing card—Queen of Hearts, edges charred—into their grasp. “The Red Queen Tavern, Top floor. Bring whiskey.”

They caught it without glancing down. Show-off.

He was already striding away, coat tails snapping like banners. “Don’t keep me waiting, sweetheart. I bite after midnight.”

Behind him, the city swallowed their footsteps.

But he knew.

They’d come.

They always did.