If you think I've been waiting to share this meme with this milestone, you'd be right...
After updating my pinned post and a few things on my account I stumbled across the figure.
Thank you to all of you who have come along with me through this creative journey of self-improvement and discovery. You didn't need to press the follow button but you guys did, and for that I feel humbled
Thank you whether you've watched the improvements and journey over a long time or just started within the last week:
I appreciate you all very much so.
[aaaaaa I'm not good at this kind of thing, but it hit like a tonne of bricks realising there are 300 different sets of eyes who have followed this little blog]
bestie you did it again, that was EXCELLENT. it was SO WORTH the wait!!! thank you for writing this really ❤️🩹 can’t wait for the next chap
Thank you so so much. I was in a shit mood and now I’m not. 😂 Honestly all of the messages and reblogs are what keep me engaged with my writing so it means so much to me!
warnings: soulmate AU, vergil’s POV, soft!vergil but he’s an asshole
notes: dear @/mcshooty i put in the thing that you sweetly and thoughtfully came up with but all fucked up pls forgib (also on ao3) (*＾▽＾)／the last bit of line is from The Chaos of Stars by Kiersten White~
summary: Vergil realised his whole life has revolved around you as of late. And he doesn’t mind at all.
[ch 1] | [ch 2] | [ch 3] | [ch 4] | [ch 5]
It used to annoy him. The fact that his soulmate words appeared on his palm. Detests how it developed in such an exposed and vulnerable place, loathed how demure and delicate it looks against his skin. Such affectionate words do not belong on the Son of Sparda, who should be the embodiment of power and strength.
He will not—should not—succumb to such trifle human things.
Being Nelo Angelo changed everything.
If Dante’s amulet broke him free of his chains, those words kept him sane, it kept him grounded, it’s a reminder that he’s has a human part inside of him. The human part that dreams of sunlight even after he had forgotten the warmth of it on his skin. He yearns to be alive once more.
But to be truly alive, he needed power.
---
Years in the demon world brought him and Dante closer together. Dante recklessly shows off his soulmate bond, told fanciful dreams of them, hearing laughter, seeing glimpses, the crinkle in their eyes as they smiled, felt the ghost of their fingers grazing his stubble. Vergil’s reluctance of sharing his soulmate words with his brother prompted a gruesome fight that lasted for three weeks in which of course he—the previous Demon King—emerged victorious, only for Dante to inadvertently see it while they were resting, not even a week later.
“Cute words.” Dante grinned, using his sword to point at it.
“Hold your tongue Dante, or I will cut it off you.”
His twin barked his comforting, heartfelt laughter. “I swear Vergil, you’re gonna say something similar to your mate and they’re gonna run.”
He despised how correct Dante’s offhanded remark was, amongst everything. He smiled to himself that you literally ran away from him the first time you met. It irked him that Dante found you first, claiming it a complete accident that a Riot caught him off guard, and had to flung it away.
He came flying to Devil May Cry as soon as you had gone from the house.
“Vergil, come with me.” Dante urged him, not even bothered to change back into his human form.
The hand holding Yamato twitched. “Trouble?”
Dante opened the door to draw him out faster. “I think I found your soulmate.”
He sighed. “My what, Dante?”
“I think I found (Name).”
His words, the sheer simplicity of them, made him feel something in his gut, so Vergil rewarded him with a sword to the leg.
“Fucking hell Vergil! I found your soulmate for you and this is how you repay me?!”
“I will not fall victim to your human pranks, brother.”
Dante doesn’t answer, just kept on constantly coaxing, insisting him towards the door.
With a shake of his head, he relents. “I will humour you just this once.”
“You won’t need to because I swear to you, she’s the one.”
The certainty his brother spoke with perplexed him. Does that mean you also have his name painted on your skin?
He wanted to kill Dante there and then when he first showed him what he meant by ‘the one’.
You liked the colour blue.
Remnants of dark blue kitchen stools, a smashed vase that once held blue roses, shards of different hues of blue ceramics.
“Dante, you have three seconds to explain before I impale all your limbs to the sidewalk.” He snarls, fingers flexing around Yamato.
He dragged him over to a broken picture on the floor of a young girl with a large black cat. “That looks like shadow!”
All eight Mirage Blades pierced Dante’s heart. That didn’t stop Dante to continue spouting his nonsense, he continued to guide him into the living room. “It’s Griffon!” He pointed at a large, light blue, bird shaped doll that sat on the sofa.
He gritted through clenched teeth, not even trying to hide his sarcasm. “You’re missing nightmare.”
Dante grabbed his upper arms, turning him towards a tidy corner where your computer and little shelf sits.
It was a dark grey blob of clay, with a purple-coloured marble stuck near the top. It was nightmare in its most basic form. He couldn’t help but to pick it off the shelf to take a closer look at it.
His stomach churned. What are the odds that a woman with the same name, has all these paraphernalia that is connected to him? Even if he dismisses the cat picture and the adorable Griffon sized plush that sits on the sofa, the nightmare shaped clay looks to be undeniable proof that this woman does have some intimate knowledge of him. He puts it back on your shelf, grimacing at how it looks grotesquely out of place next to your other displays.
The next few days went by agonisingly slow, too slow for his liking. Dante had asked for Lady to arrange so you have to take the keys in Devil May Cry, to meet you seemingly by accident. It smelled foul to him, it seemed to much like entrapment, but Dante was dead set on his plans, and he knows no matter how many swords he put through his skull, his brother would not change his mind.
But the dreaded day came, and you didn’t show up. Dante ran out of time to dawdle around and had to finish the job he had on the demon rampaging at the town outskirts, so he was left alone in the shop. He had planned to rest his eyes for a few moments before patrolling the town for stray demons, but he had forgotten how easy it was to lose track of time, doing such things.
Sunlight.
Reaching out slowly, he felt the warmth of it on his skin, the gentle tingle of the daylight sun hitting his face. A tug rippled comfortably in his chest, seeing a smile in his dreams, and seeing it widen into a silent laughter had him—
His dream is cut short as he felt someone unfamiliar in the room, slowly inching towards him.
“Come any closer and I will cut you down.”
When the awaited ramblings and apologies didn’t reach his ears, he opened his eyes and laid eyes on you for the first time. Humans usually apologise, say whatever crosses on their minds, anything to make the silence disappear. You just stood there, waiting, with your shoulders curling into itself, fingers constantly clenching and unclenching, the distinct look of a prey caught in the presence of a predator. He can tell you felt fear, but your eyes don’t leave his, not even for a moment. It brought an odd sort of satisfaction, for a mere human to be able to do so even in their state of fear.
“You’re here for the keys.” He stated in the most uninterested, aloof voice he could muster, and tested to see when you’d dare look away from him
It was when he placed the keys on your hands, you had lowered your gaze from his eyes, to the keys exchanging hands, before flitting upwards to see his once more.
He had no choice but to follow you home, to see your reactions. You were a large ball of anxiety trapped in such a fragile vessel, ready to explode and break down from the slightest provocation. Your hand kept touching your side for some reason. An old wound perhaps? A weapon?
Doesn’t matter.
He found you.
---
He saw you again weeks later. Someone had sold a demon artifact to the local antique shop and it started whispering, so of course he and Dante were called to take care of the matter. It had started to pour—to his annoyance—when he saw you. Apprehension and distress seem to naturally emanate from you, but in the midst of all those feelings, you looked oddly peaceful and happy. He eyed you as you exhausted the array of rings on display, trying the most elaborate ones and grinning to yourself.
You were about to move away—of course you’d be careless—and bumped into him.
Colour drained from your face. The fear you exuded was delicious, the sheer concern reflected in your eyes, the quickening of your heartbeat had raised his own.
“No apologies?” He struck, not even tilting his head down, merely glancing downwards in your direction. It was cute when you bowed to him, oh how it made his blood sing. The utter power that his mere presence had over you.
Of course, Dante came to your rescue, with polite conversation, which you return with curt nods, braving the storm not minutes later, no doubt to avoid him.
He suddenly had a brilliant idea on how to make you talk.
---
The library had limitless array of sign language books, and he picked up one of them. He’s not a man built for kindness and affection; he’s doing this to mess with your head. To trick you into speaking, to see when you’ll speak, if they were the correct words.
Denial was what he’s currently experiencing. He didn’t want to believe the meek, skittish woman was his soulmate.
Oh, what a fool he was.
---
Correctly guessing that you’d choose that café for shelter—after running away from him—almost made him roll his eyes. Watching you from afar, fiddling with your receipt was maddening to see. What do you have to be afraid of? You’re in a safe human space. The music blaring from the speakers has no more than one hundred beats per minute. It was supposed to calm you, trick you into a false sense of relaxation. No demon has even come close to this place, what could you possibly fear?
He chose hot assam tea from the array of drinks they have, glared the barista into silence when he asked if he would want it sweetened or add milk into it. If he wanted weak tea then he would have not asked for assam, did they not teach these employees anything about the drinks they sell?
You actually jumped when he talked to you. You motioned him to sit, and he did, smirking at the fact you’re taking the sight of him in.
Good.
I apologise if I was rude the first time we met.
He took in every micro-expression you showed in that brief moment of pure confusion, your pretty eyes widening like a little rabbit cornered by a vicious, hungry, wolf.
A shame you didn’t take the bait, but he was content to know that you’re not one of those chatty humans that needed to talk every second of everyday to fill the silence. He played the waiting game. How are you going to leave the premises? You’re not the kind of person to just stand up and leave without saying goodbye.
Of course, Dante had to come and ruin everything.
Game over.
Seeing the hurt on your face was something Vergil never wanted to experience ever again. At that moment in time, he could not understand why his demon side trembled with fury, the immeasurable urge to rip and tear apart whatever was in his reach.
Dante suggested a letter. To make peace.
Human sentiments are almost unknown to him.
He winced as he saw Dante’s horrible penmanship underneath his neatly printed ones, he might just burn the whole th—He slipped it under your door.
---
Slaughtering as many demons as he possibly could was the only thing on his mind the next day. How dare these lowly demons hinder his plans. How fucking dare they.
What would you think of him? Would you understand the situation if he explained it to you? Would you believe him? Would you accept him?
A glimpse of movement of a seemingly abandoned bus broke his train of thought. The bus strained to hold up his weight, every single movement of his sends the bus shaking. The sweet smell of fear reached him. It was some human. But before he could investigate any further, Dante flew past him, so he decided to join his brother with the fun.
Argosax was the being responsible for the attack. He thought it impossible. His father had dethroned Argosax a long time ago. The thought ran over and over in his mind, and Dante’s comments about how he also defeated the demon when he was younger did not help.
“Dante?” He couldn’t help but notice similarities between Dante’s Sin Devil Trigger attacks and the dethroned Demon King. “An explanation is required.”
“Not now Verge!” Dante dismissed him entirely, and that’s when he entirely lost focus and got hit with one of the Embodied Despair’s lethal attacks, which threw him off the skies, and back into solid ground.
Oh, the humiliation hurts more than the actual impact. Both of them will pay for this.
He turned his head and saw you.
Flashing his fangs, he had hoped to scare you off, every fibre of his being screaming,
(wrong, wrong, this is not how it should be—)
Something deep in his chest unruffled, “Walk away.” His voice is clipped, low, there’s a deep urgency for him to get you away from here right now.
But you stayed, feet firmly planted.
“Vergil, it’s me, (Name).”
His own name uttered from your mouth felt like music in his ears, and he saw you as beautiful, then. Radiant, the mere sight of you burns every part of him, slowly at first, before imploding upon itself, leaving only ashes.
“Finally.”
Nothing else mattered to him that day.
---
Not until he came upon your doorstep, fresh from battle, although his clothes are worse for wear, his wounds had closed, and maybe you’d be gracious enough to lend your showe—
The look on your face broke his heart. The same look that you always had now registered. Everything crashed down, the anxiousness you felt, the agitation. It wasn’t the rest of the world you’re worried and uneasy about.
It was him.
You feared him.
“Do I frighten you that much?” He hated how his voice wavered.
Burning agony surged through him when you nodded, but at least he gets a chance when you ushered him in.
He could tell you weren’t yourself, your eyes empty, your movements clumsy, and you were stirring a cup of water, the teabag forgotten on the counter.
His heart broke for the second time. He did this to you. He just had to involve you in his life, and of course demons crossed your path. So, he did what he wished someone had done to him.
Help. In any small way he can.
---
Nero watched him with disbelief when he dropped by unannounced in Fortuna the next day. The furrowed brow—which he inherited from him—expression felt like a hot knife against his neck. He felt judged and scrutinised for the first time, and it took all of his self-control to not draw his sword right there and fight his own son.
“Maybe just give her time.”
Oh, it stings. “Are you talking about yourself or her?”
Nero can almost taste his father’s anger in his tongue, but shrugged, “Dad,” he emphasised the word to hammer it closer to home, “She’s human. The hardest thing she probably ever had to handle was a death in the family, being lied to, got her purse stolen, or something human like that. I remember Kyrie not speaking for over two weeks after dealing with a demon face to face. Your girlfriend probably saw mangled dead bodies around. Give. Her. Time.”
Avoiding you completely didn’t work.
---
i found a psychiatrist –(name)
The tightly coiled chain in his chest seem to loosen and warmed, and for a brief moment he felt something unfamiliar flutter in his stomach. Staring at his phone for what seemed to be hours, he was on his way to type his reply when another message came from you.
he’s pretty cool, will see him again next week
I am glad things are working out for you. -Vergil
you dont have to sign your name i have your number saved lol, you gave it to me the other day rmember?
I do remember.
---
He contentedly listened to your babble as you two walked, eyeing the at the dome lidded cup in your hand that you sporadically move around as you told him the story of how your co-worker fell from her chair and rolled twice on the floor before reaching a full stop. The liquid sloshes around near the rim of the cup, worryingly close to spilling.
“—want some?”
You had shoved the cup near his face. The edge of the straw glistened by whatever product you put on your lips. He looked at you curiously.
“You kept looking at it. Here, take a sip.” Your smile had widened into laughter, and he found himself unable to take his eyes away from you. He’s dreamt of this smile for so long, the smile that kept his sanity intact, the smile that help mend his broken mind.
The drink itself was atrocious—it was corn syrup in sweetened water with whipped cream and sugar on top—but he can’t stop drinking it. Not after seeing you laugh until tears roll down your cheeks and clung onto his arm to take it away from him when he drank a third of the cup in one long inhale.
Time passes slowly for him; he finds that a curse and a blessing at the same time. He enjoys the days he gets to spend with you, and feared for your life every time you coyly ask him to come over. As much as he would love to accept your gracious invitation, as much as he would love to touch you, and be touched in return, he knows you’re not ready.
Not when you often still have that glassy look in your eyes, not when you tremble for no apparent reason when the two of you are out, not when you won’t tell him what’s troubling you. He holds you close, when you are afraid, soothes your tears when they fall, keeps you company during the day, and sometimes during the night, but always in public, there’s always at least one other person around. He’s afraid of what will come after if it’s just the two of you.
He notices your discontentedness whenever he refuses to come home with you, and when he doesn’t explain his reasons. He kisses your pouting lips when you do so, his palms settling against your face with gentleness that feels so foreign to him.
---
Days turns to weeks, and weeks turns to months. You had made progress during the past few months—even though you still won’t tell him what ails you—he can see you’re getting better and managed yourself in a different manner from before.
“(Name).” He greeted mildly, his hand slid to rest at the nape of your neck and he smiled as you leaned into his touch. “Nero’s birthday is in a few weeks.”
Your eyes brighten, and you turn to him excitedly. “Are we going to Fortuna?”
He shook his head, “Not this year.”
This year he asked Nero to come to him instead. He wanted you to feel as comfortable as you could, he doesn’t know if you’d like Nero’s brash, vibrant personality, and if you ever felt overwhelmed by him—and Nico—he can always take you home, and meet Nero at another time once you’ve calmed down. He has seen how you are around Dante, how quickly you tire during the days Dante is around.
Vergil realised his whole life has revolved around you as of late.
And he doesn’t mind at all.
---
He eyed you as you introduced yourself to Nero, Kyrie, and Nico, ready to intervene if you get too overwhelmed, but your nervousness and worry dissipates rather quickly, likely because of Kyrie. Vergil couldn’t believe his eyes when the mechanic showed you her words, lined along her numerous tattoos. As if you know he was watching, you turned your head in his direction. He was sure that you would show you hers, causing him internal conflict.
You haven’t been modest with the way you dress. The words are sure to be somewhere you haven’t revealed. If he had taken you to a date at the beach, would he had seen it?
Dante arrived late, with cake and wine. He eyed the wine suspiciously, he knows Dante couldn’t have afforded the win, not without at least selling something in his possession.
The thought dissipated as soon as it appears as he saw you pour yourself a cupful of wine. Are you uneducated in alcoholic drinks and spirits? You’re not supposed to drink that large amount in such a short time.
He stared at you carefully, watching for any signs of inebriation. You look like you can handle your liquor, but when he saw you start giggling around Nico and his brother, pouring yourself a second cup of wine, he had to put a stop to it.
“Enough.” He told you sternly as you giggled, still trying to pour the wine. He grips you securely to him, “We are going home. Please know your limits with alcohol and make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
You happily waved goodbye to everyone as he takes you outside.
“Are we going home?” you asked, softly, your gaze intent and unflinching.
How bold of you to look at him like that, when hours ago your hands shook when you met Nero and Kyrie for the first time, not even daring to make eye contact. The thought made him smile instead, how comfortable you must be to be with him if you dare to look him in the eye.
Changing into his demon form, he holds his hand out between you as a silent offering, waiting. He suppressed a smile as you slowly placed your tiny, soft hands in his large, demonic one. The same hand that wrought carnage and destruction now held yours with such care and unexpected tenderness.
Which didn’t last as long as he’d like, not when you tempt him so.
---
Heaven and hell began with his mouth on yours. You ruin him so with just timid touches and sly little comments that sends his mind swaying towards oblivion.
“You only needed to ask nicely.”
Those words alone had provoked him, his human side had to muster up all coherence self-restraint to stop himself from tearing you apart right there and then. Love might be starlight and gentle blushes, but passion will leave your fingers sore from clawing the sheets while shouting his name. His vicious but gracefully written words lie on your ribs, printed in-between bones. You stifled a giggle when his hand brushed over the delicate spot.
Hello again, my heart.
Decades had passed since he felt truly alive. The Qliphoth might have game him power, that crackle of energy still rests within him, but he had forgotten how it feels to utterly live.
“Vergil,” you had pleaded so desperately, igniting the heat of pleasure in his veins. “Please.”
Oh, how he’s going to leave you wholly spent and exhausted after all of this is done. Your eyes gleamed with lust as they met his and he after that he wasted no time toying with you.
---
Silence stretched comfortably around you as the two of you lay against each other, his hand resting against your mark, the other absentmindedly brushing against the curve of your cheekbone.
“Hey.” You whispered softly, turning sideways to look straight into his eyes.
“What is it?”
You buried yourself deeper against him, your face hidden against his chest, legs entangled even more, “You were very persistent when we first meet, even before I spoke. How did you know it was me?”
Thinking about Dante right now brought a unique kind of discomfort, he did not want to admit his idiotic brother brought you two together. But he can’t lie to you. “I didn’t.” He paused for a long time before he spoke again, “I think I dreamt of you. Sunlight. A smile turning into silent laughter. An untroubled comfort.”
He pulled you away from him to take in your features, and he spoke again, in a hushed whisper, “I think that’s what drew me to you. I felt something familiar in you that I don’t understand.” He kissed the crown of your head, “Now I do.”
Never, in the few months he had known you, has he ever felt the need to be this honest and open with you before. You watch him watch you, before you hide your face in your hands and giggling, “What? Did you fall in love with me immediately or something?”
He brought you up to him, pressing his lips onto yours for a brief moment before his gaze turns serious,
“I didn’t fall in love with you. I walked into love with you with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way.”
Carl tip toes into her room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. He eyes his dad, slumped over the edge of her bed, his head resting on her lap. Carl walks up beside his father, taking note of his fingers intertwined with hers tightly. Carl wants to be angry with him. He wants to scream at him and tell him how much of a fuck up he is. He wants to ask him why every time things get good, he has to figure out a way to ruin them. But that isn’t fair this time. He tried. Carl knows that he actually tried this time. So instead of waking up his battle worn father, he runs his hand over his damp hair softly; lovingly. Like his father has done to him so many times in the past.
Carl takes a seat next to him and turns his attention to the closest thing he’s had to a mother in over a year. Her face is puffy and bruised, no doubt from pointless beatings at the hands of Negan’s heathens. But he knew she fought tooth and nail. Refusing to stay down; getting back up each and every time they knocked her off her feet. She wouldn’t have it any other way. His father lost his mind at her appearance when they dragged her from the van after taking her nearly a week before.
“You fucking prick!” Rick screamed loudly when his eyes landed on her, struggling against the hold that Arat and Bob had on him, “Goddamnit! I did everything you fucking wanted! Everything! You fucking-”
Carl glances down at his plaid shirt, her now dried blood staining the material. Enid begged him to take it off, to change, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It would serve as a reminder to him now and always as to why that mother fucker has to die. Daryl, Rick, Gabriel, Carl, and Rosita watched in horror as Negan stabbed her with the same hunting knife he used on Spencer. She crumpled to the ground and within an instant, the war was ignited. Bullets whizzing through the air, fists flying, knives slicing.
Carl reaches out and places his hands on her forearm, a little surprised at her warmth. That’s a good sign at least. He strokes her skin gently, smiling softly for really no reason at all, which surprises him more, “I never thought this situation would be reversed. It’s usually you huddled over my bedside.” He says quietly, “I know I’ve never told you this, well, I kinda have, in my own dumb way.” He pauses, glancing to his left as his dad shifts but doesn’t wake. His breaths deep and rhythmed. He turns back toward her, his mind racing with the words he wants to say. Carl was always like his mother, never finding a time where he was lost for words. Now is no different, “That night, on the porch, after Deanna. When I told you that I would do it for you. What I meant to say was that I love you. My sister loves you.”
He drops his head a little, his voice growing softer and softer by the minute, “My dad loves you. I don’t know if he’s said it, probably hasn’t, but I know he does. He’s not a talker, he won’t say it out loud but I hope you can feel it. I hope you know it. I’ll, I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him that sometimes people just need to hear it, for no reason. I’ll make sure that you hear it. From him, from me, from Daryl, from everyone. Because we love you Michonne. We love you and we need you.”
He nods a little, growing more and more confident as he speaks, knowing that his words will come true, “Daryl and Jesus are working on a plan right now. And when you’re strong and you can fight, we’ll take that piece of shit down. Together. We’ll hang his head on the gates of Alexandria as a sign to any future fucks that wanna mess with us. We don’t die easy. But they will.”
His hair falls in his face as he looks up and gazes out of the small window. His hand grazes down her arm and rests on top of his fathers’. He laces his fingers as best he can with both of theirs just as the clock strikes one am.
