Chapter Text
Honestly? He doesn't know what to think at first. His line of work isn't very forgiving on the best of days, so an s/o whose eyesight is gone is... it's not that it sits wrong with him, but it stresses the poor man out, you're just so small and so gentle and sweet! What if you get attacked by a demon? What if you stub your toe?
Once his concerns are assuaged good old playful Dante comes out in full force, including but not limited to: putting his hands over your eyes and asking you to guess who it is, jumping up and down and asking if you can see him through the vibrations- he's an ass, but you knew that already.
On the note of questions, he does have legitimate questions, some of them aren't the most politely worded, but be patient- he really truly is trying. He'll ask about the age old myth of feeling someone's face to see them, and be disappointed when you gently let him down.
(He still uses that as an excuse to put your hands on his face.
“Here, baby. Don't wanna forget these rugged good looks.”
“Dante that's not-”
“Shhh...just accept it.”)
Another is about heightened senses and while- No Dante, I'm not Daredevil.- it's not to the extent he believes, you do inform him you take in your other senses more intensely than average, and when you arrive at Devil May Cry a week later, you keenly note how much cleaner the place smells- and sounds, if the lack of crumpling papers under your feet is anything to go by.
As a matter of fact, Devil May Cry is so clean it baffles the others, furniture kept in place, shit is kept off the floors, everything mopped and wiped down, tidier than it's ever been, just shy of spotless. Upon being pressed by Trish and Lady, Dante mentions as casually as he can that it's best that things stay in one place and clean until you learn the layout of his business.
Dante isn't afraid to admit it, he wants you there all the time, he doesn't like being without you, whether it's to tease you or love on you or just simply to bask in your existence in his life. You're his special lady.
One of his favorite things to do his hand you things and ask you what it is as if you can't immediately parse it out, remind him with “I'm blind, Dante, not stupid.”
Either way he likes to try and throw you off guard, and it's a great excuse for him to give you gifts without admitting that's what he's doing.
He loves to kiss your eyelids, you don't know why but he does, it becomes a bit of a ritual between the two of you, one on the lips, one on the cheek, one on each eyelid. It's also how he wakes you up those few days he rises early naturally. Rubbing a calloused thumb gently across your cheekbone as he peppers kisses against your eyes, your nose, your forehead.
Dante has some burning insecurities that he tries to hide with his humor, joking about his issues rather than just talking to you and seeking comfort, as is totally within his rights to do, jokes about how he's stupid or how his family is fucked or how he never manages to save his brother, one of his biggest insecurities was how you'd react to his devil trigger, the raw symbol of his inhumanity- that insecurity was reborn a thousand fold when he returned from the Qliphoth.
“Babe, we really don't have to do this, you'll never even be around for this kinda shit.”
“Maybe, maybe not...but it doesn't matter, can't have me forgetting those rugged good looks, remember?”
God he's scared, so so scared that this will be it, that he's finally gotten to the breaking point and you'll leave and he'll be alone again, you're so good to him, too good to him, so patient with all his- his bullshit you can't possibly tolerate this too...right?
You lift your hands up beside your head and stretch them outright, not sure what to expect or where your hands will even land, you meet an unusual combination of soft fleshiness like skin and something rough like leather but much harder.
Slowly your hands slide up and you realize you haven't even reached his chest, and as you do the expanse of his body broadens exponentially compared to what could only have been his waist. Fingers dance along jagged edges of a strange material but you're simply too short to reach his face and shoulders.
“Dante...Dante…lift me sweetheart, I can't reach.”
A inhuman grumble shakes you where you stand, and a single large arm comes to raise you up until your hands meet a face not anything like your lovers, and instead of brushing your fingers across soft lips you find jagged teeth the length of your fingers.
“I knew it... you're gonna need a bigger toothbrush.”
He makes a sound not unlike a puppies curious whine and you giggle, pressing lips to fangs.
Months pass and Dante finds you have a harder time handling his brothers insufferable arrogance than the fact that they turn into demons on occasion- and decides that maybe, just maybe, you'll be batshit crazy enough to love him forever.
“Hey hot stuff, guess what this is.” The object in your hand is soft and velvety, and when you rub your fingers across it you find a seam that follows most of the objects parameter, and in your fumbling it around you manage to open it away from you, fingers probing inside to come into contact with the stone of a delicate ring.
“Awe, come on doll, I was supposed to be proposing to you, not the other way around.”