i posted this on my tiktok but just a friendly reminder that we do not support spardacest on this page and if i see you reblog my art and i go to your page and see photos of these RELATIVES. KISSING. i will steal something out your house!
*THIS INCLUDES ANYTHING WITH NERO/V.*
edit: someone please give me a blacklist of people on this site that i need to block i would be so thankful
Hiii just wondering if you stopped being a Vergil fan? Just curious cuz I knew u were(or are) the #1 🫶✨️
i haven't posted on Tumblr in years but hello yes i AM still a vergil fan i just left the fandom for personal reasons . here is proof i drew vergilius today
wake up priest!vergil nation, let’s get to fuckin’
pairing: priest!vergil/nun!reader
wc: 3.5k
warnings: nsfw! - penetration, body worship, implied self-mutilation/harm
author’s note: thank you for being so patient with me !! sorry for the delay :’) will maybe write another freak nasty chapter bc i have a few unused idea. enjoy !!
links: chapter one , chapter two , ao3
The word ‘late’ rang in your head like a gong. Father Vergil had a strong distaste for tardiness, almost as much as he disliked the lazy and the ignorant. You bowed your head in forgiveness, silently cursing yourself for letting your nerves cause time-blindness.
“Forgive me, Father. Punctuality was never a strength of mine,” you mumble out, preparing for a deserved scolding. Instead, you hear Vergil’s steps stop in front of you, the faintest sigh leaving him.
“It’s alright, y/n. Please.”
He takes a step toward you, lifting your chin with single finger to beckon your eyes to him. The wide nature of your eyes gives away your surprise from the use of your name so casually, the absence of professionalism and humility. Vergil drops his hand from you and offers a tight smile in exchange, his own inhibitions raging war in the back of his mind. He stands there awkwardly under your confused gaze, shifting his weight from left to right and back left before clearing his throat.
“I- uh.”
Christ, Vergil, pull it together. He exhales hard, his clammy hands twitching at his sides.
“…….I fear I have not been honest with you, and with God. Your confession has…rattled me deeply, and I cannot, for the life of me, find a solution that would appease both the trouble in my soul and the will of God. Frankly, I’m…I’m at a loss.”
Your heart falls to your stomach at his words, knowing that your confession was only going to create problems. Your hands fiddle with the rosary around your neck, praying that maybe God could grant you one last word of wisdom in this time of need - you are only greeted with the roar of your heartbeat in your ears. Vergil’s hand returns to his mouth, biting at the frayed skin of his nails, and starts to pace again anxiously. The silence between you two is all-consuming and seems to last an eternity before your shoulders slump, ripping the veil from your head and holding it out to him.
“I shall pack my things and be gone by noon tomorrow. I do not wish to bring any more shame to you or the coven. Plea-“
“What?! N-No! That’s not-!”
Vergil panics and interrupts you immediately, rushing to you and clasping his hands around your veil to push it back towards you. There’s a spark between the two of you at the touch of skin, a small grace in the daunting moment. He loses his train of thought at the sight of your hair pillowing down to complete the picture of your face, his breathing shallow and frantic.
“No,” he stammers out again, blinking hard and squeezing your hand. “You misunderstood me. My issue doesn’t lie with you - it is with myself.”
You blink dumbly at him, brow scrunched with returning confusion. “I…I don’t understand,” you shake your head at him, words barely a whisper.
“Neither do I, my child,” Vergil sighs, his clammy fingers still curled around yours. “I have prayed, and prayed, and prayed to The Lord for answers, and yet he has abandoned me in the dark. I fear that this is a test of my faith, that you are a test of my faith - and I am failing miserably.”
Vergil’s eyes lack their usual hardness, a man frayed to his wits end as he searches your face for the answers he longs for. A single hand lets go of yours and moves to the cross around your neck, his thumb running over the pointed ends of the pendant.
“I have stood before our congregation and preached time and time again of love and purposeful fulfillment,” He murmurs, eyes falling to the crucifix. “I can’t help but wonder when it will be my turn to be blessed with such gifts….But then, when I look at you-“
He pauses, stormy blues tracing the line of your neck up to meet your eyes - eyes that he swore held the light of the morning sun and the grace of the midnight moon all at once.
“-I swear I can see my purpose for living, for breathing, in your face alone.”
You can feel the intensity of his words prick at your heart like thorned rose. It was taking every nerve in your body not to panic and ramble out confused nonsense, uncertain if you’re hearing him correctly. You were almost convinced you were dreaming, but the tight grasp of his hand on yours was keeping you present, if the look in his eye wasn’t convincing enough.
Without a thought in your head, you close the sea of space and press a chaste kiss to his lips, pulling away just as soon. Vergil audibly makes a sound between a gasp and yelp, eyes popping out of his head. There’s a symphony of heavy breathing between you, both staring at each other with fear and desire. You immediately prepare an apology mentally, opening your mouth to verbalize it, but it doesn’t get the chance to come out.
Vergil nearly knocks you off your feet when he dives down to kiss you once more, large hands desperately gripping the side of your head and threading in your hair. Your veil falls to the ground as you scramble to grasp at his garb for stability, lips trying to keep up with the sinful motions of Vergil’s. It’s all-consuming and starving, teeth clinking together and tongues lapping with inexperience. It was everything you had imagined and more, the taste of him alone worth the shame and punishment that was sure to come from such an act.
You’re the first to pull away, gasping for air with swollen lips. Vergil heaves against you, not daring to let go of you for even a second. No words were necessary to convey the lust or longing you shared with him, and with a few passing blinks, Vergil’s hands drop from your face and pry yours from his chasuble. He entwines his fingers in one hand and whips you along behind him, his long legs striding through the courtyard and back into the church. You nearly trip behind him, being pulled like a rag-doll. Words get trapped in your throat as you attempt to ask him where you’re going, but your question is answered as he all but shoves you into one of the small sacristies. The moment the door closes, your lips magnetize to his, his hands guiding you to a shoddy wooden table against the wall. You don’t even have time to process before he’s lifting you onto the table, pushing up your tunic to your hips to stand in between your legs.
It was a mockery to preform such a crude act where they stored the ‘blood and body’ of Christ, the decanter of fortified wine jostling on the table as you clawed at each other’s clothes. The chasuble and tunic fall to the ground, your hands unfastening the buttons of his dress shirt as he trails his mouth along your shoulder with reverent kisses, teeth clamping around the strap of your underdress and sliding it off your shoulder. Freeing his torso from the shirt, your eyes immediately gravitate to the strip of red creeping up his back and over his shoulder.
“Vergil.”
His name pulls him out of his daze and he lifts his head from your shoulder with hooded, hazy eyes. He’s about to question you when your fingers graze over the somewhat fresh scar, making his nose scrunch in a faint wince. Averting his eyes from you, he stares down at your lap, breathing deeply.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing… Turn around.”
You rest your hand on his arm, beckoning him to turn and he fights against it for a moment, a deep scowl on his face. He finally obeys and slowly 180s to reveal uneven, healing marks scattered on his porcelain skin. Worry morphs your features, hearing Vergil sigh at the wall in front of him.
“Penance, for my depravity…for my thoughts of you,” Vergil whispers, an underlying shame in his tone.
It should’ve clicked sooner that these were the makings of a discipline. Self-flagellation was a dying practice, but of course someone as rigid as Vergil would partake. You’re almost too stunned to move, taken aback by the brushstrokes of red.
‘This is my fault,’ you think to yourself.
Leaning forward, you gently hold his waist and let your mouth brush against the scars, feather-light kisses gracing them. Vergil hisses at first, the raw skin bristling at the contact, but it soon gives way to breathy sighs, relishing in being adorned by your forgiving kisses.
“You’re too hard on yourself,” you murmur into his skin, nose inhaling his sweat and scent.
“Christ would come down and dispute that, if he could.”
He turns back around, looking down over his nose at you with a pensive expression. A calloused thumb traces the shape of your bottom lip, his hand tilting your chin back to let the worn-out bulb in the storage room hit your face better. It’s hard not to notice the tremble of his fingers, the slight shake drumming against your skin.
“This…this is wrong,” Vergil’s eyes are fixated on your mouth, transfixed by the soft, plump skin under his digit. “I am undeserving of you, of your flesh,…your soul.”
“That couldn’t be further from the truth,” you rebuttal, trying to focus on his words and not his thumb pressed against you lip, the muted smell of cologne radiating off of him, the heat of body between your legs. “If anyone is deserving, it’s you. It’s always been you.”
You lean your head forward and take his thumb into your mouth, tongue lassoing around it. Vergil’s own mouth parts with a throaty moan, reigning back the intrusive thought to shove his whole damn hand in your mouth just to have it touched by you. He slides his thumb out and replaces it with his mouth, desperate to quell the thirst in his lonely heart. You reciprocate immediately, scooting slightly off the table to be closer to him. Hands moving to his belt, Vergil groans into your mouth and shoves his tongue inside, deepening the kiss. Your own hand pulls off the other measly strap on your under-gown, letting it pool at your hips and exposing your chest to the dry air. Breaking the kiss, Vergil shifts back and ogles the new skin with hunger and awe, a single finger leaving a wake of goosebumps as he trails it down to a breast.
“‘You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you’.”
The verse falls from Vergil so softly that your brain almost doesn’t register it, hyper-fixated on his hand now cupping your chest, thumb flicking over your nipple.
“Song of Solomon, 4:7,” you manage to get out, swallowing thickly.
“Correct, dove.”
The smile of pride that appears on his face from your answer makes you melt in his touch, heart soaring. Your own fingers linger on his chest before slowly sliding down to the still-fastened clasp of his slack, glancing between the painful tent in them and his face. Vergil gives you a faint nod and you make work of it, undoing the hardware as he crowds over you, mouth returning to your shoulder to kiss up to your neck. His moan that rings in your ear when you finally free his length makes everything worth it alone, the sound making your heat twitch with unbridled need. Vergil’s hands fall to your hips and pull you closer to him, sweaty fingers clinging to the silk of your fallen gown. Cock pressed against your soaked underwear, his hips buck into them. Your head wobbles back from the smallest sensation, your strained whine making Vergil bite back his own groan. He gives a few more tentative rocks of his pelvis, nose pressed into your neck as he savors the newfound stimulation.
“May I…?”
You feel a hand let go of your hip and slip between your legs, tracing the border of your underwear. You nod embarrassingly fast against him, forehead coming forward to rest on his shoulder. Vergil pushes the fabric to the side and then guides his length to rub against the slick folds, his breathing labored on your skin. That alone probably would’ve made him come if he didn’t have years of self-control to hold him back - the warm and delicate skin of your sex making it hard to form coherent thoughts. He backs away from your neck to look down at you, his other hand meeting your face and caressing your cheek. All he can think about is how blessed he is in this moment, to be so close to the most divine creature he’s ever laid eyes upon. It almost brought tears to his eyes. Almost.
He shifts his hips closer to you and you subconsciously wrap your legs around his hips, ankles locking together behind him. His hand on your cheek moves to card through your hair, pushing back strands that dare to obstruct his view of you.
“Do you recall the Act of Contrition?”
You nod softly at him, eyes fluttering with every twitch of his cock against your nerves or brush of fingers in your hair. “I remember,” you murmur back.
“Good,” his hand between you two positions his head at your dripping slit, not yet pushing it in. “Recite it for me, for us. Can you do that, little bird?”
You forget to answer initially, sparks of pleasure firing in every nerve at just the feeling of him being one push away from entering you. You swallow back the pool of saliva in your mouth and nod again, eyes trying to remain locked on his.
There’s that smile again - that proud, adoring smile of his you’d see in your dreams for the rest of your days. He nods in return and looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to begin.
“My god, I am sorry for my sins with all my hea-, heart, oh my-“
Vergil pushes an inch of himself into you and the fullness makes you shudder. Your hands fly to hold his arms, brow knit together as a croaked moan disrupts your prayer. When you stop speaking, he halts his movement, despite his own desperation screaming in his body to sheath himself.
“Keep…keep going,” he breaths out, face flushing a faint red as your walls squeeze around him.
“-w-with all my heart…in choosing to do wrong and failing t-to do good..”
The descent continues, another inch separating your walls to accept him in. Vergil’s hand in your hair cradles the back of your head, holding it steady and preventing it from lolling away from him. His chest heaves above you as the prayer echoes in the sacristy, mingling with the buzz of the light above.
“I have sinned against you, whom I should love above all things. I firmly in-intend, with your help-“
You pause again, eyes rolling back as he finally hits the hilt. It was unlike anything you’ve felt before, so intimate and fulfilling, like the last puzzle piece of your body was finally put into place. Two souls no longer forming but one soul. Vergil, himself, was having a difficult time staying focused, the hug of your body around him sending signals throughout his limbs. He pulled back out, stopping just short of emptying you.
“-to do penance, to sin no more, to a-a-ahh!”
Vergil shoves himself all the way back in, a growl rumbling his chest. Your vision blurs for a second, the full feeling almost too much. He doesn’t wait for you to keep going, starting a steady, uninhibited pace as he frees himself from the shackles of guilt. It doesn’t matter anymore, anyways - he has felt you, smelled you, tasted you. It was all he needed anymore. The table rocks against the wall, glasses clinking together with the motion. A hand in your hair and a hand on your hip, he ruts over and over and over into your hole, face flushed a sunset red as he moans and gasps for air.
He asked you to recite the prayer, and damn it all, you were gonna comply, regardless of how much you only wanted to praise his name instead. Your nails dig into the skin of his arms, staccato whimpers leaving you as you try to regain your train of thought.
“…to avoid…whatever leads m-me to sin. Our savior, Jesus Christ….Christ-…s-s-suffered and died….for us..”
It was too much. There was only one line left of the prayer and you couldn’t even get it out, reduced to a moaning, heated mess as he clambered into you. Vergil was dripping sweat from his hairline, the beads falling to your face as you stared up at him. He looked like an angel - a faint halo of light around his head from the backlighting of the lamp. Your core tightens at the sight, an unfamiliar buzz forming in your heat from the sight and his ministrations. It felt like your whole body was plugged into a live socket, heart about to beat out of your chest.
“In his name,” Vergil mumbles out, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to finish the prayer and not himself. “Oh, my God…my God, have mercy.”
You mewl under him, hands shifting to hold his back. Your nails dig into the skin and Vergil lets out a mix between a growl and a moan, your fingers attacking the already raw marks on his back from the whip. He doesn’t stop, though, slamming into you repeatedly as he chases that glorious high. With a handful of more thrusts, you’re putty on the table, body taut and snapping as your orgasms ripples through you. It feels like the gates of heaven have opened, trumpets blaring and white light invading your vision. Vergil can’t hold himself back once he sees you give out, the sight of you coming around him making up for every godawful, lonely night of his life. He spills his load deep inside you, shuddering with a guttural groan. Pressed as deep as he can into you, his hips jolt uncoordinatedly as he gives you every last drop, forehead falling to press against yours. His hand on your hip leaves to join the other on your head, cupping your face to his, scared he’ll open his eyes and it’ll be a cruel dream. How could you be real? How could that sinful release he just felt be reality? It must’ve been-
“Vergil.”
His name in your mouth opens his eyes for him, making him take in the sight of you flushed and disheveled from his doing. His half-hard length twitches inside you from the image and you wince a little at the overstimulation, ushering a small laugh from him, from disbelief at what just happened and how delightful you look right now. He gingerly unsheathes himself, the wet sound mingling with the heavy breathing. Vergil can’t stop himself from looking down at where you were once connected, watching his seed muddle with your release as it gushes out of your hole. His mouth waters at the sight, the heady scent taunting him. God, he would lick you clean, if there was time, if you two weren’t shoved in a closet for anyone to walk into.
“Apologies…for…defiling you. I couldn’t ah, pull out in time,” he mumbles out, eyes following the trail of come leaking from you.
“None needed.”
You chuckle, sitting up to pull the straps of your silk gown back over yourself, taking the debauched sight from Vergil’s view. He holds still for a moment before following suit, pulling his pants back up and collecting his shirt off the ground silently. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to bear to you, but he didn’t know where to begin. He averted his eyes from you as you hopped off the table, scooping up your tunic and pulling it over your head.
“I’d like to see you again,” you start, breaking the silence with a reserved whisper. “Possibly…tonight, if you’ll have me.”
Vergil’s eyes flit back to yours at the proposal. ‘If you’ll have me’? Lord, you must have no idea what you do to him. He has to refrain from falling to your feet, kissing your hand and begging you to come to his quarters, wanting to show you just how much he worships the ground you walk on. He resigns to a curt nod, buttoning up his shirt, “Tonight, it is.”
not me coming back to post anything but the third chapter of my priest vergil fic …. anyways, have this in the meantime while i wrestle with writer’s block.
i’d love to do this for dante and possibly whomever else, if there’s any want for it - my inbox is open!
obv nsfw warning for below, tried to keep it gender neutral as well - enjoy!
xoxo, obscura
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
The eternal gentleman, Vergil is doting and attentive - making sure you’re satisfied, cleaned, and content after intimacy. He’ll always clean you before himself, offering water, back rubs, and maybe even a nice bath to get you feeling right again. If it’s in bed, cuddles are mandatory - Vergil sees sex as a bonding activity, and holding you in his arms or lying on your chest is necessary to connect with one another.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Vergil has spent years training to get the perfect physique for fighting. He takes great pride in how he looks, and is not shy about it - but a favorite thing about him? I don’t think Vergil has given it much thought.
It’s a different story with his partner. I will gladly die on the hill that Vergil is an ass man. Vergil loves to grab it, smack it, bite it - just overall handsy. Speaking of, he’s got a thing for hands. He will worship his partner’s hands, seeing them as divine devices capable of such grace and care.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Despite Vergil’s disdain for firearms, this man’s a shooter. He’s unfortunately hit an eye or two during oral with some straggling ropes, and he always feels bad but can’t help it.
He has a preference for coming inside (he will demand it most times, unless you’re adamant for something else). Though, he does appreciate the occasional facial. Something about marking his territory…
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Something tells me that Vergil picks up photography as a hobby when he returns back from hell. It’s harmless, mostly, but it’s strayed into the bedroom and he’s assembling his own photo diary of your sexual rendezvouses. On each page is detailed entries of what happened, what he found interesting, what made you tick, all alongside a photo of you folded like a pretzel or sitting pretty in a new set he bought you. ‘It’s for science’, he’ll say when you find it hidden under some other books on his desk.
I also think Vergil genuinely would love exploring being a sub to some extent. The man’s whole life has been a quest for power and control. But if he found someone he trusted enough, I think he would be willing to relinquish that control for a little bit and be at the whims of someone else. Call him a good boy? Tell him how good he’s making you feel? He’s melting like soft-serve in summer.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Vergil has experience, but it’s limited. The man is not a dog like others are quick to assume due to Nero’s conception, but he did experiment a little in his 20s.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Lotus, standing dragon, and ol’ reliable: missionary
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Vergil is a perfectionist at heart and sex isn’t an exception. It’s very few and between that you’ll have him acting silly during such an intimate act. I think the only time he’d truly be more loose and laughing is if he was inebriated in some way.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Well groomed, may let it grow in if he’s been with someone for a long time due to comfortability. I don’t think he cares how his partner grooms themselves, as long as they are cleanly - to each their own.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Sex is about devotion to Vergil. He takes it seriously and ensures his partner feels absolutely valued and worshiped. If time permits, Vergil is taking the time to set the scene. You’ll come home to freshly washed bedsheets, lit candles, and dinner already made and prepared for serving. It’s all-encompassing for him, more about the bond between you two than the result.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
I feel like he edges when he’s frustrated. Just to punish himself for whatever it is that is bothering him. However, I don’t think he masturbates often, as he finds it a waste of energy.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Bdsm is a given, duh. A rope junkie - loves to tie you down in impossible positions, or to be tied up himself, forcing himself to put his trust in you. Body worship, breeding, temperature play, pet play. Handcuffs, gags, cameras, leashes. The voices are also telling me he’s into blood play……much to think about. But ONLY on him - he’s not too keen on actually hurting you outside of hickeys and bruises.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
The bedroom, absolutely. Again, sex is not trivial to him. If not in bed, definitely in the bath. However, even the devil in him gets the best of his control sometimes and he’ll squeeze a quickie in the back of the car or the bathroom of a bar.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Seeing you do mundane tasks drives Vergil up the wall. He’ll stand there and watch you bend over the washing machine, doing paperwork, fixing your hair, and it’ll be more of a turn on than any lewd act. Something about seeing you so blissfully unaware of your natural state is too much for him. Bonus points if you’re doing housework and disheveled - clothes a mess, sweat on your brow. He’s practically foaming at the mouth.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Carelessness in any regard is a huge no for him, whether it’s out of ignorance or stubbornness. He’s a proud man and doesn’t tolerate blatant disrespect.
I mentioned it briefly above, but hurting you seriously is off the table. Safety is the utmost priority when it comes to you for him - he will not jeopardize that in any way.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
MUUUUUUNCH. He is a munch, I swear it. It’s mostly out of greed, if we’re being honest. He loves to watch you squirm, see how many times he can make you come alone from his mouth before he dares to fuck you. Loves face-sitting, he sees it as a challenge. Will also view oral as a form of body worship - he will take his damn time.
Vergil will never admit it, but he also loves to be on the receiving end. Loves to see you on your knees, taking him to the hilt and feeling you gulp around him. Careful, though! He’s a head-pusher.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Varies on the mood. If it’s more of a loving, sensual session, he will drag it out for as long as he feels necessary unless you tap out or flip him over out of impatience. Rougher, heated goes are another story. His movements will be unforgiving and staccato, ramming into your slick with purpose and ferocity.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Mentioned above. It’s only really if he physically can’t get you home quick enough. Or if you have an argument. He loves a good post-fight fuck.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Vergil is always looking for ways to push his own boundaries. He’s spent years honing his strengths and learning his every weakness - of course he’s gonna want to put them to the test. Whether that’s trying something new or getting a more risqué.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Demon genes go crazy. I think he could easily go back to back a few rounds before calling it quits. Any less would more so be for the wellbeing of his partner. I think Vergil purposely tries to last as long as physically possible to push himself, but sometimes he gets a little too lost in how soft your skin feels or how tightly your squeezing around him to hold back any longer.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Vergil wouldn’t be too knowledgeable about toys, but if he had a partner that was, he would be open to exploration. (Honey, go get the strap)
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
HE IS A BRATTTT (365 party girl)! Whether it’s orgasm denial or straight up refusal to even touch you, he’s playing the long game.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Grunts and growls, for sureeeee. It’s more animalistic than anything. Not a talker, really, as he gets near silent when he’s in the zone, but he’ll make sure to pepper in some praise or instruction here and there so you stay present.
When Vergil is on the receiving end/subbing, it’s a different story. WHINY. So, so whiny and blubbers out nonsense. Whimpers and moans so unlike the stoic warrior, you have to do a double-take to even be sure the sounds are coming from him.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Oral fixation.
Also secretly a big fan of pet names: darling, sweet, love, little one/bird, sweetheart.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Vergil is a big man. 6’5, to be exact. Add devil genes in the mix and the man’s packin’. I don’t think it’s anything ridiculous, but I’m betting on a good 8 when hard. Uncut with a slight left curve. Definitely nothing to be shy about.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Vergil spent years in solitude - I think he can handle a lot of pining. He’s patient and panther-esque, ever waiting for the right time to strike. That being said, if you and him were long-term, I think he’d make it a point to have sex integrated into your regular routine, to keep your relationship and minds secure. Health is wealth, after all.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)
He has a hard time sleeping in general, but it’s a little easier when you’re tucked in his side, bare and satisfied. He’d probably lie awake for a while, even after you dozed off, just to hold you close and remind himself you’re really there and he’s safe from harm.
pairing: priest!Vergil x nun!reader (mostly gn pronouns)
wc: 1380
warnings: mentions of religion
author’s note: priest vergil save me…..save me priest vergil…..might write a second part that’s actually spicy to this if there’s a demand for it. also i’m too lazy to proofread so you get what you get !
⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️
The seven o’clock mass had ended well over an hour ago, yet stray sinners still lined up to have their confessions heard. As the line dwindled, you wandered methodically around the church to dim the various lights and lanterns perched on pillars, leaving only the votive candles left to illuminate the grand hall. Every Sunday evening, your branch held an evening mass that was near identical to the morning service for those who couldn’t attend earlier in the day. Your fellow brothers and sisters of the church often rotated duties and you were fortunate enough to be left with attending the evening service, with hopes you could catch Father Vergil once confession had concluded.
There were two other nuns pacing about, helping escort leaving patrons out and collecting prayer books from pews, but they paid little mind to you. It was another twenty minutes before the final church-goer exited the confessional, signing himself with the cross as a nun came over to take his hand in prayer as they walked to the front door. The other nun followed loosely behind, closing stray doors, leaving only you in the echo chamber of the lord. You continue your duties of straightening the prayer candles when a loud creak of wood perks your ears. A series of expensive footsteps followed, a decibel louder with each step.
“Sister, you’re still here? The sun will set within the hour.”
You turn to acknowledge the voice: it’s Father Vergil, but you already knew that. You had practically studied the rhythm in his walk, the cadence of his voice, the soft aroma of myrrh and lavender that clouded him.
“Apologies, Father. I wished to do my work to the best degree, no matter the position of the sun. It is what our lord in heaven would wish.”
You bowed your head in atonement, not wanting to disrespect him in the slightest. It is only when you heard a hum of amusement from the priest that your head raised, greeted with stormy eyes and a smile of grace.
“God would forgive you for turning in early, sister,” Father Vergil mused, chuckling lightly. “Come, let me walk you out.”
You look down to see Father Vergil’s arm extended to you, an offering from above. If god knew of your sins, why was he indulging you with such a delight? Perhaps this was a test of faith. With hesitation, you take his arm, immediately reveling in the warmth of it. Shaking your head, you try to rid yourself of sinful thoughts, only to garner more attention from the priest. He stops you both from walking any further, you two standing in between the pews. Father Vergil turns to directly face you, clasping his hands over yours with concern and sincerity.
“You seem troubled, my child. Is there something you wish to share?”
Your eyeballs almost bulge out of your head from the accusation and touch of his hands. God has spoken to him of your impurities! Our benevolent lord has enlightened your dear priest with the knowledge of your thoughts. You immediately collapse before him to your knees, still grasping at his hands for a semblance of rapture.
“Oh, Father! I am not worthy to stand in the home of God beside you! I have betrayed my teachings, my very essence by entertaining these plaguing voices from the devil, himself!” you blubbered out, tears of shame cascading down your face.
Your hands shake as you grip his hands, fearing that he’ll turn his merciful eyes from you. The shake of your body is so persistent that your veil falls from your head, exposing your hair to the dimming light shining through the stained windows. Father Vergil stares at you with utter confusion, unsure where this fit arose from. His eyes flicker between your white knuckles and desperate eyes, not sure what “thoughts” you could be alluding to.
“Dear child, what has troubled you so?” Father Vergil questions softly, slowly bending down to speak more directly. “You are safe, and with God as my witness, I will not pass judgment on your sins. Please, share your burden with me.”
With tear-soaked cheeks, you swallow hard and bring your attention back up to him. “I wish to confess, Father,” you say meekly, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. A terrible, crude sin.”
Father Vergil lowers himself to his knees to sit across from you, still holding your hands. He nods for you to continue.
“It has been weeks- no, months, that my mind has wandered a dark path. I pray to God every night to take these…these obscene a-and lewd thoughts from me, but I fear I have strayed too far from Him, as He remains silent to me,” you exclaim to him.
Intrigued, Vergil raises an eyebrow. “What thoughts exactly?” his voice careful.
“I….I am not sure if I have the heart to voice them, Father,” you say, a frown plastered on your face.
“I understand this is difficult, Sister, but to receive penance and be absolved, you must confess to God,” Father Vergil sighs, squeezing your hands, “Has no one condemned you?… Neither do I condemn you.”
“John 8:11,” you say promptly, recognizing the verse.
Father Vergil nods and smiles gently, nodding once more. “Confess, and you will be rid of such sin.”
You look down at your joined hands and breathe deep, saying a silent prayer to God before speaking.
“Father…..I have been riddled with…disgraceful thoughts of you. I hear you speak sweet nothings to me in the lonesome night; I feel your skin on mine in times of need. I fear that my devotion to God has transformed into the devotion of you.”
Vergil’s smile falls as you speak, a cold, unreadable expression glossing over. He untangles his hands from yours and grasps at the rosary draped over his chest.
“Sister,” he starts, eyeing you warily, “such thoughts have challenged even the strongest of God’s creatures. But to worship someone other than our lord…it is sacrilege.”
There’s a long pause as Father Vergil closes his eyes, deep in thought. You watch his nose scrunch in the dim candlelight, wrinkles forming on his marble-carved face.
“You must try to rid your pure mind of such fallacies, in order to receive penance. Let us pray,” Vergil orders, making the sign of the cross. You follow suit, ‘in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,’ and clasp your hands together to your chest, bowing your head to them. You listen intently as Father Vergil recites a prayer asking for your forgiveness, soaking in every word. Even now, you can’t help but feel a warmth in your body at the hushed, intimate tone of his voice. Pushing the desires down, you return your focus in time to end the prayer, echoing Vergil’s ‘amen’.
You open your eyes to see him standing, offering a hand to help you up. You take it and grab your fallen veil off the tile. Fixing it back in place, Vergil takes a few steps back from you and seems to be mumbling a small prayer to himself, twisting the cross on his rosary in his delicate fingers. You brush off the dust and wrinkles from your garb and clear your throat.
“Shall I continue my duties for the ni-“
“No,” Vergil promptly interrupts, “no, I think I can finish closing up myself. It would be best if you found your way home.”
There’s a pang in your chest, an arrow to your heart, at the stark dismissal. You wanted to say more to him, to apologize profusely, but you knew it would only make things worse. You bowed your head in obedience.
“Yes, Father.”
You crossed yourself one last time before turning on your heels to leave, the clicking of your shoes reverberating off the church walls. Father Vergil watched you as you scurried out, tail between your legs. Everything happened so quickly that he didn’t get a chance to voice that he, too, was struggling with his faith in your presence, and instead, projected his shame onto you. Vergil exhaled the breath he’d been holding and walked into the pew of the first row, kneeling down and clasping his sweating hands together.
