Summary: The Sparda twins can say they have only one very old friend in common – mourning. And now, you are meeting them.
Author’s notes: This week, my grandma passed away. She is one of the most important people in my life and, as much as I know I have to let go, I can’t help myself but feel the emptiness of not having her around. As we say it over here, it’s “saudades”; I miss her. And I’m still learning to navigate that.
My deepest condolences to all who are going through the same thing. I’m writing to process my own feelings, and maybe this can be a little bit of processing to you as well.
Dante
You rarely walked so far away from him as you did in that day.
Dante knew about your loss and he was the one to hold you together when it hit. He also knew it wasn’t just a one day thing and then shrug it off: after the initial shock, grief would remain and keep rippling until your heart got used to it.
He had never seen you so quiet, though. Around him, you always blossomed like you didn’t around anyone else, but throughout the past week you were quiet, looking a little off. Trying your best to remain as if everything was normal, but he could see it in your eyes… The same look he had for so long in his.
That was mourning. Dante could identify it a mile away.
He insisted in doing things with you, so at least you would have some company when things got a little too much to bear – even the smallest of things. Dante would be there to carry groceries, help you pay for something, order whatever you wanted in case you forgot, hold your hand in the street so you wouldn’t get hurt for not paying attention to your steps.
He had it happen to himself when he was a kid with no one to help him properly through it – now, at least, he could do something about it; he could help you.
Still, you decided to walk a few steps ahead of him when returning to the shop during one of the errands he decided to keep you company through. Dante observed you calmly with his sky-blue eyes, hands in his pockets, assessing how introspective and pensive you were; walking around observing the smallest of things, as if everything was new and different, only to silently watch your own boots slowly walking on the pavement as if you never walked that path before. And he could almost hear the gears inside your head turning, as you kept thinking, and thinking, and thinking, and thinking…
Dante had to let out a silent sigh. You and Vergil were quite the pair in his life.
“Hmmm, big guy…” He immediately snapped out of his thoughts, though, when you turned around – still with that melancholy hidden in the back of your eyes – and nodded towards the heavy Devil May Cry wooden doors. “I forgot my keys.”
“Don’t sweat it, babe. I got you covered.” And even if you spoke normally, with the same loving and carefree inflection you always did, Dante couldn’t really answer the same way. His voice was softer, with a warm smile on his lips as he got the keys from his pockets to show them to you.
The way you peacefully smiled in return made his heart glow. Dante knew how a genuine smile could be so hard at a moment like that – and he would always appreciate he could at least bring that comfort to you.
Going up the few steps in front of the shop, Dante diligently used the keys to unlock the doors, already holding one side open so you could go in and he could follow.
When he looked back at you, though, Dante found you sitting on one of the steps by the door; head leaning on one of your hands, elbows resting on your knees… Eyes completely lost in the distance, along with the setting sun that tinged everything in orange golden rays, ever so slowly hiding behind the buildings to give room for the quiet, dark night.
Dante furrowed his brows a bit. He lost count how many times he did the very same thing; sitting at the front steps of the shop, watching the sun setting, thinking of all the people he lost in his life – mourning Eva, Sparda, Vergil, Nell… The list was so big, he couldn’t even keep up with it. Every day would be a different person; and every day, he would be sitting at those steps. Doing exactly the same thing you were doing.
The only difference, was that now he could be there for you and you didn’t have to sit there alone. You didn’t have to mourn all by yourself.
Quietly, Dante approached and sat right next to you; his shoulder touching yours, and his thigh brushing against your thigh. You couldn’t help but lower your head for a while, with a faint smile on your lips: given his heritage, Dante was naturally warmer than a human – you used to say he burned hotter than a furnace – and for some reason, that always felt like comfort. Like home.
He could make you feel safe just by being there, close to you, like at that moment. Dante didn’t need much to disarm your natural defenses and help you be just… You.
“Feels different.” You murmured, raising your head again; eyes back to the setting sun in the distance. Almost as if you couldn’t look at him while speaking. “Everything, I mean. It feels different. Strange.”
“I know what you mean.” Dante turned his sky-blue eyes to the horizon like you. Even though he was attuned with his heart and humanity, that wasn’t an easy conversation – and he understood why you didn’t want to look at him while speaking. He was guilty of doing the same. “Life goes on, but you don’t. You stopped inside.”
“Hmmm.” You slowly nodded in agreement, with a slight sigh at the end of your hum. “But life didn’t. Life doesn’t. And you have to keep doing what you always did, and keep living, as if nothing is different. But…”
“Everythin’ is different now.” It was Dante’s turn to nod, remembering how strange it was to navigate all that as a child. And then as a teen. And then as an adult. Over, and over, and over, and over again. Everything changing faster than he was ready to and could change. “Every mornin’, every afternoon, every night. Every cup of coffee. Every shower, every meal…”
“Something is missing. And will never come back.” You let out a heavy sigh now, making Dante look at you at the corner of his eyes. Those sighs usually denoted you were about to cry – though your tears didn’t start falling. Your empty eyes just kept staring at the street. “And now, you think…”
“What the fuck am I doing with my life?”
As you said in unison, both of you couldn’t refrain from looking at each other with a faint smile on your lips – of knowing, of belonging. At least for once in your lifetimes, you were quietly sitting down and talking to someone who understood.
“I don’t know… It almost feels pointless. Everything, I mean.” You vaguely waved with your hand, knowing Dante would get what you meant. “And I know it’s for a while. That all this grief is temporary; and it will eventually disappear only for bittersweet memories to remain. But still. Doesn’t make it easier.”
“Hmmm… Someone told me once grief is just love with nowhere to go.” Dante now rested his weight by leaning his elbows on his knees, almost mirroring you. “No regret, no shame, nothin’ of that. It’s another form of love; one we’ll all feel, sooner or later.”
“Huh…” You took his words into consideration, turning your gaze now to the last tinges of rosy orange in the sky, as the purple hues of the night started to take over. “It doesn’t sound that bad then, putting it that way. I guess I must be lucky…” You heavily sighed once more, now leaning your head on his warm shoulder. “That I loved and was loved so much, for my heart to be feeling the last form of love.”
“Huh. Guess I’ve got somethin’ to think ‘bout too now…” Dante looked down at your head on his shoulder, slightly adjusting his posture so you would be more comfortable. “How lucky we both are to have people to mourn.”
“Some people go their entire lives without experiencing something like that.” you whispered back; and now Dante could hear it in your voice: the tears already forming, wanting to come out.
“Hmmm. And some people waste their whole lives not knowin’ how to deal with it… Verge’s livin’ proof of that.” As Dante murmured in return, you couldn’t help but giggle, even if against your will, slightly slapping his thigh in return as a halfhearted scolding. “What I wanna say is, don’t hold it in, babe; it’s ok to cry. I’m here with you and I’m not goin’ anywhere. We got the whole night.”
You furrowed your brows, now staring at some lost spot in the pavement right in front of you. Of course Dante heard it in your voice how much you wanted to cry but you were trying to hold it in – you didn’t even know why: you knew you didn’t have to prove anything to your red devil, and you were more than comfortable being vulnerable around him… But never in a situation like that.
Perhaps it would be from hearing people telling you since childhood you shouldn’t cry too much when mourning, so the deceased’s soul wouldn’t be trapped or in agony from watching you miss them. Perhaps it would be the amount of people saying you shouldn’t cry and get over it, so mourning wouldn’t take over your life. That you should take only a week and move on, or else you would risk falling into depression. That you shouldn’t be sad or else: or else the deceased would be displeased, or else they wouldn’t move on, or else you would spiral, or else your life would be stuck, or else you would waste yourself in sadness, or else you would be stuck in lower vibrations; or else, or else, or else.
But with Dante, it was almost as if time had stopped. You were both encased, suspended in Time and Space, right at the front of the Devil May Cry. There was no urgency, nobody watching, no rules, no do’s and don’t do’s; just you and him.
And around Dante, it was always ok to cry.
He softened his expression as soon as he felt your body relaxing on his – you allowed yourself to lean further into him, and he promptly welcomed you. Dante wouldn’t stare, wouldn’t comment, wouldn’t make a fuss about it; but he did feel when your tears started to fall – your breathing changed, and you let go a deep sigh as if you had been holding your breath ever since the funeral.
Dante wrapped one of his arms around you, having you rest your head more comfortably against his chest – his whole body warming you up as the slightly chill air of the upcoming night started creeping up your legs and arms.
All the tears you both cried; they were not from attachment or being unable to move on. They were from all the love you still had inside your hearts that had nowhere to go anymore.
And now, both you and Dante could see how lucky you were to have experienced such a thing; including the bad, yes, but most importantly, the good.
Vergil
Sighing.
Vergil had never seen you sighing so much in your life.
After your loss, Vergil made it his mission to be there for you; to be the pillar you could always lean on whenever you needed, to be the one to hold you together when you couldn’t do it yourself. It was something he never had, and that, in all honesty, would have made a world of a difference when he was only a child.
He couldn’t deny it did bring him back to that bloody night at the cemetery, when his house burned along with his family and he died. But it was only a fleeting moment: when Vergil saw you cry – quietly, serenely, almost as if your own heart hadn’t fully understood the implications of what had just happened – his whole self was pulled back to the moment and to that intense need of offering you all he didn’t have.
Differently from the rest of the crew, Vergil got to watch as you silently retreated inside yourself. After the funeral, you went back to your normal life – even if slower than usual, more pensive than usual – but you didn’t stop completely as he had watched some people do. Around the crew, you kept on talking normally: smiling when you needed to, laughing a little less than the usual but still doing it, talking about mundane and work related things as you always did.
No trembling of tears in your voice, no difference of intonation; just you, as you always had been.
But when you were both alone, Vergil could see a change: you got more introspective, constantly thinking and observing mundane things – sometimes even watching ants walking along the sidewalk for hours if you could – almost as if your body was present, but your mind and your soul were somewhere far away.
Having already a quiet nature, Vergil observed the home you shared suddenly become silence incarnate. You didn’t put on music anymore, and he didn’t hear your voice sing the melodies his heart always longed to hear while he studied or trained. You did everything quietly, almost as if you were a silent ghost yourself. And your eyes… Filled with a melancholic longing, far away, in a place where Vergil could not reach you.
Whenever he started a conversation, though, he managed to bring you back. If only for a few moments; where you would talk, smile, and act as you always did – but Vergil could see it, in the back of your eyes as you stared at him.
Mourning, ever so present, an old friend he knew so well.
And then, you would sigh. In those moments you were both alone, and you would go about your life in silence, you let out long, deep sighs. Vergil always thought tears would follow, but they never did; and then, he started noticing it happened around the crew as well. No matter what you were doing, sometimes, you would let those sighs out – never rushed, never quick, never dismissing whatever they were there to do.
At your home, Vergil enjoyed staying around whenever you were painting in the living room, while reading one of his many books. You had been working on a beautiful nighttime landscape, carefully applying the shades of blue you loved so much, and he always found pleasure in watching you concentrate on the details every now and then – and how every time, you ended up getting some rogue paint on your face; from mindlessly brushing your hair away without noticing how dirty your hands were.
This time, he couldn’t get any reading done. You were working on your painting, but there was no progress: Vergil knew how much you could get done in one day; but now, you would work a little only to stop and stare at the canvas, thinking. In that far away place he couldn’t reach you.
That, he could understand. It took him a long time as a child to get used to it, to get his mind to quiet the ruminating thoughts so he could get some living done. Vergil had no one around to teach him how to get over losing everything in his life in such a horrible manner as he did: he was completely alone, with no one to lean on, and knowing the only thing he had to do was to survive, no matter what.
He used to sigh. He used to cry. Hopelessly. Sometimes, he would sit down in a safer corner at some backstreet, hug the Yamato and cry. Cry, cry, cry; until his body couldn’t handle it anymore. He would call for Eva, for Sparda, for Dante, ask why they abandoned him. What did he do for them not to love him and leave him to die. He would call for all the deities he knew and had heard about, for them to turn back time. To have mercy on him. To give his family, his home, his heart back. And every time, he would go unanswered and wake up exhausted, having to roam aimlessly until he found the solution to all that pain, all that grief he couldn’t handle: rip off his heart, that stupid human heart, and fight to survive.
With time, the crying stopped… But the sighing remained. Almost as if the tears were ingrained in him like a memory, and his human heart fought his body and his demonic will to come out one way or another – and Vergil would always suppress them; having them become his long, drawn out sighs he still let out, every now and then.
You were trying your best to hold yourself together, but Vergil could hear it in your sighs – the tears coming and going, like waves. Maybe you weren’t even consciously suppressing them, like he did, but something in you wasn’t allowing them to come out.
Vergil perked up his head as soon as he saw you fumbling on your painting chair; laying your brush down and slowly getting up. You didn’t seem to pay attention to where you were looking at; once again your eyes and thoughts far away from the things your body was doing.
But then, you held a little porcelain plate in your hands with some paint swatches and immediately stopped. He furrowed his brows, following your gaze to a few pieces of candy that, honestly, had been sitting on your painting table for months now – something you always liked to have around to snack during long sessions.
Your eyes, though, froze on them; as if nothing else was as important as those pieces of candy at the moment. Vergil kept quietly observing you, trying to understand what you needed – and he lost count of how long you stared at that same spot; thoughts as a tempest inside of your heart, as Vergil could only helplessly watch the calm at the surface.
Letting out a long sigh, you lowered your head, as your eyes filled up with tears. You furrowed your brows and sighed once more, almost as if trying to get those tears away without letting them stream down your face. Lifting the little porcelain plate from the table, you mechanically tried to get something done; but your hands trembled and your tears blurred your vision.
Vergil wasn’t fast enough to avoid a disaster, but he was enough to contain it. As soon as he noticed what was going to happen, he dropped his book on the reading armchair and ran to you as fast as he could – standing behind you, strongly holding both of your hands, as the little plate fell from your trembling fingers and broke into pieces, cutting your right hand in the process; the red blood giving you a very good reason to allow the tears to stream down your face.
“I… I’m sorry, I… It slipped…” You tried whispering, holding your feelings in and remaining as calm as possible; having almost no inflection in your voice, not allowing it to tremble. Vergil, though, could feel your arms trembling inside his hold, and your hands fighting, and failing, to remain stable.
“Shhh. It’s alright.” He whispered back, holding your left hand with a gentle firm grip – seeming so small inside his – while grabbing one of the pieces of cloth you used to clean excess paint to stop the bleeding on your right hand. “It’s not your fault.”
“It… I was trying… I don’t know what happened…” You still tried to justify yourself, still calmly, almost as if you were crying with no emotion behind. Vergil could feel it trying to fight between your words to burst out, as it had happened to him his entire life. “I…”
“I know. It’s fine.” His voice was a low whisper, reverberating on your back as his chest pressed behind you, keeping you stable on your feet. For someone with his renown and the most vicious of titles, Vergil could be quite delicate with his hands; softly wiping the blood that dripped through your fingers, and encasing your right hand with the cloth and his own soft, albeit strong grip to make sure it would stop the bleeding.
You remained quiet for a while, inside his arms. The tears kept falling, and you kept trembling in his grip; feeling his calm, rhythmic breathing pressing on your back, quietly leading you to do the same. If you wanted to stay silent, he would; if you wanted to talk he would. It had always been like that with Vergil, and he never feared the parts of you deemed too much or unacceptable – he himself had worse demons inside his own head to judge the ones inside yours.
And so, you let out a sigh.
“They love those candies.”
As you said those words, your voice finally started trembling. Vergil looked down only to see you starting to cry – honestly, freely, as you should have been doing ever since it happened. He held you slightly tighter, making sure you would understand he would stay through all your tears, your pain, your grief... Your worst.
“Every day I see them in something… But now I know they’re not coming back. They aren’t here. And it’s… Everything, it’s all… Everything is empty.” You tried to explain, having Vergil lean his head on yours – and somehow, that was the reassurance you needed to keep on speaking. To keep on opening your heart, in a way you never did with anyone else. “It’s not that I can’t let them go, it’s that… There’s this… This thing, I don’t know. It’s strange… This knowing, that I can’t go to them; I can’t talk to them, I can’t show them something, I can’t bring them their favorite candy, when they are a part of me. It’s…”
“Hollow. I know.” Vergil’s answer was quiet, still holding you together; even if now you cried freely in his arms. “It took me a long time to stop having the instinct of showing something I did to my mother. And everything would feel empty. Pointless.”
Vergil still remembered as if it was a fresh wound: him managing to do something complicated with Yamato, having that golden warmth of pride wash his heart, turning around to find Eva so he could show her what he managed to do… Only to immediately remember she was gone, he was alone, and his whole life had burned to the ground. For a fraction of a second, the world would be colorful and exciting, but then… Hollowness came back like a punch in his gut, knocking the air out of his lungs, and filling his eyes with tears he refused to cry.
And so, he would sigh; going back to whatever it was he was doing; with that neutral, melancholic grief finding home in his eyes.
“Pointless…” You repeated in between your tears, sobbing quietly as Vergil started slowly massaging your left hand; still holding the cloth on your right hand to make sure you wouldn’t hurt even more. “Something is missing. And life feels so… Strange. So alien. It goes on, I am going on, it can’t stop, but… Feels like something is off. Not something big, something small and daily, granted; that isn’t there anymore. Something that can’t go back. Can’t go back, because…”
“It won’t.” Vergil whispered quietly, now looking at a random spot on your painting table. He was living proof of that, and he knew exactly what you meant: people talked about ‘life going back to normal’ after something like that; but the truth was that life didn’t go back. Because it wouldn’t. “Life changed. Without warning, without asking… What is left, is to adapt. And it takes time. Don’t rush it.”
“Hmmm… Adapt to a new normal…” You nodded as you slowly absorbed his words, letting out another deep, long sigh and closing your eyes. Vergil pressed his body even more against yours, as he felt you leaning back on him; almost as if you were welcoming, accepting his whole presence, his help and his thoughts.
“I’ll always be here; through happiness or sorrow.” With those words, he placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, feeling as you seemed to cry even more. “And you don’t have to rush any of those. I’ll be here.”
His hands always seemed so big next to yours; that was something you would always notice whenever you decided to play with his fingers or hold them between yours. Vergil wouldn’t say it, but he had a strange appreciation to how easily he could envelop you, with his hands or his arms, and keep you safe. Protected, no matter what.
And he did allow a faint smile to paint his lips as you turned around in his arms, hiding your face on his chest and allowing yourself to let all that mourning stream down your face with abandon; as he kept you in a secure embrace, with one of his hands calmly, rhythmically going down your hair.
It took him time to learn that mourning came from love – and with you, Vergil could remind himself that, when it came to an end, it was natural to cry.
Dante & Vergil with an s/o who doesn't enjoy their birthday
Pairings: Dante x Reader; Vergil x Reader
Summary: Unspoken rule of the Devil May Cry: no one talks about your birthday. You’ve always been very adamant on disliking celebrations and wanting to treat it as just a normal, uneventful day. And your lover respects that… To some degree. After all, he just wants you to be happy.
Author’s notes: Yours truly birthday is coming up and, as you can guess, I don’t like it – for a myriad of personal reasons. If you’re anything like me 1 – I’m so sorry and I wished you could enjoy it better and 2 – I hope this can at least bring you something nice in that time 🖤
DISCLAIMER: The Vergil one gets very emotional and a little heavy. Also, there’s a whole thing of him giving his s/o a little bracelet with his name on it: I now realized some people might read it as a toxic/marking kind of thing, but it ISN’T. My parents had a very old people custom of giving their baby a gold bracelet with the baby’s name engraved on it. I still have mine, as my sister has hers, and I thought it’d be right up Sparda and Eva’s alley to do something like that. I wanted Vergil to give his s/o something special; and if it was me, I would give my partner my bracelet with my name I got when I was born. Not a property thing, but as a piece of something so intimate to me. Sappy, I know.
Dante
If Dante knew you well, he was certain you would drown yourself in work until you passed out on the shop’s couch as soon as you crossed the heavy Devil May Cry doors.
It had been a very long time Dante didn’t celebrate his birthday – but, once, he did tell you when he was born, and you quietly appeared with enough so just the two of you could celebrate.
“Guess what I got for us tonight…?” You had a satisfied smile on your face, as you placed two boxes of pizza on the desk while Dante curiously watched you from his chair.
“Pizza, from the likes of it…!” He giggled, taking his feet of the desk and leaning on it – as you did the same, your face close to his. And that beautiful, smart, devilish and loving smile on your lips. Dante could kiss them to oblivion.
“A very special kind of pizza. C’mon, cowboy, humor me.” You tilted your head, playing a little with his strands of hair. Dante smiled but he did furrow his brows a bit – now that his hair was a little longer, you took a liking to playing with his locks; but only when you were in flirty mode.
And that was a little rare.
“Special, huh? Let’s see ‘bout that…”
Opening the pizza box, Dante found a pizza packed with chocolate and sprinkles of the same kind, covered in sliced strawberries and having some of them spell ‘Happy Birthday, Dante”, with a little happy face on the side.
You wished you could keep his shocked expression etched in your mind forever. The way he raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, completely at loss of words – which was quite rare for him – made your heart soar and a bright smile shine on your lips.
“You did this for me, babe…? C’mon, you shouldn’t have…”
And you could swear those were tears marinating in his sky-blue eyes.
“I should, and I will. Every year, til the end of time.” You giggled, leaning even further on the desk so you could grab his dumbfounded face and place a passionate kiss on those beautiful lips. “Happy birthday, Dante. I love you, big guy.”
“Well, I love you too, babe. This…” And he looked down at the pizza again, with that happy little strawberry face smiling at him. “This is nice. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. You’re stuck with this forever now.”
And Dante really hoped he was.
He knew very well why you didn’t take a liking to your own birthday, and, honestly, the first time he heard about it… Well, to say it was one of the things that fueled his Devil Trigger every time he remembered it, was an understatement.
Dante just crossed his arms and listened to it seriously, as he always did, and gave it the solemn treatment it deserved, but his heart boiled. If he could argue with every single person in the world that made you dislike the day you were supposed to celebrate your own life, he would; but, unfortunately, he couldn’t.
Whenever he complained about it, though, you pointed out his own disdain for his birthday – and he always said it was different. The irony wasn’t lost in you, but, perhaps, you really deserved each other in all aspects of life – even that one.
Dante sighed while reading the brownie powder cake mix packet, leaning on the kitchen counter. It had been a week you’ve been telling him you wanted to do your brownie recipe – which was, in fact, just a brownie cake mix you added your own spin to – but everything had been so hectic you didn’t have the time to work on it.
Given it was your birthday, Dante was now on a mission to prepare your brownies, that you wanted so bad to eat but couldn’t prepare yet.
“Hey, Dante? Got your call, I’m here…!” Nero’s voice echoed from the shop, as the kid quickly came in through the front door. “Lady’s helpin’ y/n with the job and… Where the hell are you…?”
“Back here, kid…!” Dante screamed back, hearing Nero immediately approaching with his heavy combat boots.
“Lost somethin’ in there…?” Nero’s head came through the door, one eyebrow raised. “You’re really not the kitchen type, ya know.”
“Hey, we all have our moments.” Dante shrugged, smiling back at his nephew. Nero furrowed his brows, fully entering the kitchen.
“So. Nico took Lady and y/n to work, like you asked.” The kid crossed his arms, curiously eyeing the package in Dante’s hands. “You said you needed my help? What’s up?”
“Bet’cha know how to make one of these.” And Dante threw the cake mix over to Nero, who caught it immediately. And furrowed his brows even further upon reading what it was. “Must’ve watched your girl doin’ it, right?”
“Kyrie doesn’t really use cake mixes… She likes doin’ everythin’ from scratch, ya know? Says it tastes better.” Nero raised his aquamarine eyes from the packet to Dante – who was still leaning on the kitchen counter, with his arms crossed. And Nero was completely lost on what was going on. “Wait. Lemme get this straight. You called me here to help you… With a cake mix?”
“It’s y/n’s birthday. I wanna make ‘em somethin’ special.” Dante now had a gentle smile on his lips as it seemed like Nero had a whole bucket of water dropped on him – and his eyes carried shock alongside horror.
“Y/n’s… Birthday?! I didn’t know that!! I didn’t even…!”
“Ei, chill out, kid. Y/n doesn’t like talkin’ ‘bout it, I’m the only one who knows.” Dante sighed, taking the cake mix from his nephew and putting it back on the kitchen counter, trying to at least start doing something. “I figured I could trust you with that.”
“Oh. Oh. Yeah, well… Yeah. You can trust me, just…” And Nero was the pure representation of confusion. As his uncle walked around the kitchen gathering the ingredients, he tried to make sense of what was going on. “I, hmmm. Y/n’s pretty private ‘bout some things, huh…?”
“They sure are, kid.”
Dante didn’t even look back to answer Nero, making him know that was as far as he would go into that subject – it also made him know you must have had a pretty good reason to avoid it so much. And that stung Nero’s heart.
“Hmmm… Says here ya need a bakin’ tray. Where can I find one of those…?”
“Under the sink. I dunno which one y/n uses.” Dante pointed at a small cabinet, to which Nero immediately walked over too.
“Don’t worry, Kyrie told me some stuff ‘bout bakin’ trays. You gotta know how to choose the size…!”
Dante couldn’t help but smile, watching his nephew promptly helping without even asking more about it. Nero understood, as Dante knew he would. After all, he had something different than everyone at the Order of the Sword, something Dante sensed years ago just by watching him from afar – and it wasn’t the blood of Sparda they shared.
Nero did inherit his power from Vergil – but he got his heart from Eva.
*
It had been a long day.
You could feel every single muscle in your body starting to complain – and you knew it was just a matter of time before you started feeling the aftermath of that day’s job.
Still, it wasn’t that bad. You could at least take your mind off things and keep yourself busy, without sulking in self-pity or just sitting around, staring at the wall, waiting for the day to be over.
You did need a shower, though.
Suddenly, the peace and quiet of the Devil May Cry at the beginning of the evening was disrupted by the sound of, well, everything violently clashing in the kitchen.
You immediately took your hand to one of your guns, ready to shoot.
“I told you not to leave it there, kid…!”
“Well, your bossin’ around ain’t helpin’!”
That was… Nero? And Dante? Arguing in the kitchen…? You narrowed your eyes, putting your gun away. Whatever the hell those two were doing, you were certain the kitchen would be looking like the aftermath of a battlefield.
“Hmmm… Dante? Nero? Everything alright in there…?” You asked as you approached with caution.
After all, the only reason you could think of for those two being in the kitchen was demons. And kitchen demons were a very annoying kind.
“Y/n…!” You heard both of them almost screaming at the same time, and a cacophony of noises – as if they were trying to get everything back in place before you could get there.
“Don’t come in! Everythin’ is fine, babe!” And that was Dante, with a nervous laugh, forcing his laid-back everyday tone – but you knew him quite well to know everything was not fine.
“You don’t need to come here…! We got everythin’ under control!!” And Nero followed, as bad as his uncle in pretending you shouldn’t be worried.
You and Kyrie constantly talked about how similar they were in that aspect.
“Are we having a kitchen demon infestation…? Because if we are, I swear…” You sighed, already dreading the nightmare that would be to get those creatures out of there.
“No demonic infestations, of that you can be sure!” And Nero almost jumped out of the kitchen – you even had suspicions Dante pushed him out while locking himself in. The kid in front of you had a big smile on his face, not wearing his coat and…
“Is that choco…?”
Before you could finish speaking, though, he took you in a tight hug, lifting you from the floor as he did so. You couldn’t help but yelp and hold him tightly back, with your feet dangling from side to side as Nero gently swayed you.
“Hmmm, are you ok? Do you have a fever…? Is that how half-demons react when they’re sick?” Of course, you couldn’t refrain from teasing him a little bit. Nero was one to be honest about his feelings, but not so upfront like that.
Although, he was a hugger, just like Dante. You just had to unlock that level of intimacy and trust with him.
“Ei, I’m just happy to see you! Can’t hug my fave devil hunter anymore?” Nero swayed you a little more until placing you back on the floor – that proud smile still on his lips.
“Oh, I’m your favorite now?” You laughed back, making him giggle a little bit with that slightly embarrassed demeanor he always got when he was afraid of having been a little too much. “You just gave me material to tease everyone in the shop for eternity now, kid. They will never have a single day of peace after today.”
“Well, what can I say. You are the most competent out of the bunch in here.”
“Ya know, I can hear ya, kid…!” And once again you heard Dante’s voice from the kitchen, having your attention back to that.
“So, what’s going on? You two were locked in there and there’s some chocolate in your face, kid.” You finally pointed out, making him immediately search for it to rub it out.
So far, they were doing a very poor job at lowering your suspicions.
“Is the kitchen ok…?”
“Fine. You don’t have to worry, c’mon…!” Nero physically turned you around, gently pushing you away from the kitchen.
“But…”
“Ya know, you’re kinda needing a shower.”
“Are you calling me stinky, kid…?!” You couldn’t help but to try to turn around and argue. Now he managed to divert your attention – and Nero had to laugh about it.
“I mean, you’re covered in demon blood…”
“You guys always come back worse! You…!”
“Hey, it’s just like you always tell me…” And now, he had the same playful voice he used with the children whenever he was teasing them to get them to do something. “A shower doesn’t hurt…!”
“Oh, you’re the worst…!” You had to roll your eyes – but you also had to smile upon hearing Nero laughing behind you. When you got to the foot of the stairs, you turned around; going up one step to at least be a little taller next to him. “I am going to take a shower, but only because I need to. When I come back, you guys better tell me what in the hell is going on.”
“Don’t’cha worry ‘bout it, y/n. We will.” He winked back at you, watching dutifully as you went upstairs to make sure you wouldn’t come back as soon as he turned his back. “Stinky hunter…!”
“Oh, get outta here…!” You rolled your eyes, hearing as Nero laughed on his way back to the kitchen.
You did smile, though. It was nice having him around.
*
“Oh, hey there, cowboy. Finally decided to leave your mystery kitchen to say hi to me?”
As you went down the last steps of the stairs, still drying your hair with the towel, you finally saw Dante – putting away a few things in that mess of a side table near the couch, so he could fit better something that looked like a baking tray.
You did smell sugary treats, but something inside you kept telling it was nothing but your delirious mind making up a few things.
“Well, now that you got me here, you’ll have my undivided attention, babe…!” Dante opened his arms, flashing one of those rather convinced smiles he always did when you said something that indicated how much you liked being around him.
“Oh, what a joy.” You had all the intention to make it sound as a chore, joking around as you always would, but the smile on your face denounced how much you really liked to be with Dante.
As soon as you reached him, you threw the towel on the couch and pulled him for a rather long kiss. He expected you to kiss him, yes, but not for that long – almost as if you wanted to forget time was a concept and just enjoy his company.
Dante’s heart would always melt when realizing that.
“Please tell me we don’t have an infestation in the kitchen.” You had your eyes closed, whispering those words while barely separating from Dante’s lips; so much he could still feel them brushing on his, your hot breath warming his own.
“No infestation. That, I promise.” Dante’s voice was a little lower, with a giggle in his tone, while his hands rested on your hips and mindlessly caressed you.
You had an infestation once. Your fears were very much valid.
“So…” You sighed, finally opening your eyes and leaning back a little bit – sill in his arms, now taking your time to look into those wonderful sky-blue eyes you loved so much. And Dante loved how you liked brushing his rogue strands of hair away from them so you could gaze at him better. “What gives?”
“Got somethin’ for ya.” Dante placed another quick kiss on your lips, letting you go as he walked over to the bar and leaned on it, nodding at the table he was organizing as you arrived. “Kid had to go back home, but he also left his regards.”
When you looked down on the table, you found your old and battered baking tray with a perfectly good batch of brownies. They weren’t cut in squares, though, because on top of it, there were a bunch of mini-marshmallows spelling “happy birthday, y/n” with a smiley face underneath it.
A little wonky and somewhat melted and charred, but still.
You furrowed your brows as a smile colored your lips – and Dante himself had to mirror your smile as he saw your eyes fill up with tears; even if you would deny it to death if he pointed it out. All the time, he watched you; how you seemed so taken aback and emotional over a, quite frankly, very underwhelming batch of brownies.
“Mini-marshmallows were Nero’s idea. I swear that kid has so much of Vergil in him.” Dante still had his arms crossed, casually leaning on the bar, as if it was just another day in the shop. As you raised your glossy eyes to him, he opened a bright smile – one you loved seeing in him. “Happy birthday, babe.”
You smiled, placing your hands on your hips and shaking your head, while closing your eyes as you did so – or else, your tears would go down your face, even if you didn’t want them to. Dante couldn’t help but admire your reaction, always so glad he could make you smile like that.
“You didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to.” As he answered, you looked back at him again; finding Dante approaching you again – now with his usual laid-back demeanor of always. “Plus, it isn’t the nicest brownies around…”
“It’s the nicest thing someone has done for me in a while, big guy.” You immediately held one of his hands, pulling him back to yourself before Dante could start downplaying his own actions. “Thank you. Really.”
“No need to thank me, babe. I’ll do it a thousand times if I have to.”
“You do know what that means, right…?” You placed both of your hands on his face, pulling Dante for another kiss. He would never complain about it – kissing you like that, was one of the very few things Dante would never deny in his life. “Nero knows too much now. I’ll have to kill him.”
Dante closed his eyes and broke in a good laugh while lowering his head, your hands still cradling his face. He expected everything but that.
“C’mon, the kid did a good job. He can keep a secret.” As he looked back at you and raised his head, Dante was still trying to stop laughing. He would never get tired of you – and your sense of humor.
“Hmmm. Same secret of what the hell you both did to the kitchen…?”
“Yeah, ‘bout that. You don’t wanna go in there, ‘k?” Dante raised one eyebrow, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and starting to walk with you towards the couch. “Kid’s gonna help me with that durin’ the week. We have more important business to attend to now.”
“Such as…?” And you did sit down as Dante signaled you to do so, such an uncharacteristic compliant act from your part. He did take note of that.
“I got us some movies and the brownies for the night. Enough to stay up ‘til the sun comes out again, if you wanna.” Dante winked at you, grabbing the baking tray and offering it to you – along with two forks. “Startin’ out with Zorro.”
“Oh, so it’s Zorro night eating brownies with mini-marshmallows straight out of the pan while cuddling with you in the couch…?” As you asked, already holding the tray, you watched as Dante put on the movie on that old TV Morrison was always fixing every now and then. As your red devil turned around, already looking like he was going to tell you it was all he had to offer, you put the tray aside and took one of his hands, pulling him to the couch. “I’m starting to think I’ve done something pretty good in my life to have all of this right now. It sounds perfect, cowboy.”
“Well… I’m glad you think so, sheriff.”
And that was, indeed, how you both spent the night – the brownies, even if a little charred on the edges, were exactly how you liked them; and the movies, were the ones you always enjoyed watching. As the hours passed, and so did your time spent together, sleep quietly found you both – and none of you wanted to leave the couch, as you slept in Dante’s arms.
He did wake up after a few minutes in slumber, thinking it would be better to carry you to the room since the bed was decidedly more comfortable than staying there. But, as soon as Dante looked down at you, he didn’t have the heart to wake you up – you had your head leaning on his chest, eyebrows relaxed and a faint, chocolate-smudged smile on your lips. When he moved a little, you wrapped your arms a little tighter around him, your head instinctively moving to the place in his chest over his heart – and Dante remembered when you told him once, a little drifting into sleep, how much you enjoyed listening to his heartbeat.
And so, he closed his eyes once more, wrapping his arms a little tighter around you. Dante failed to see, though, how your smile appeared to brighten up as he did so – and he also wouldn’t know how much you appreciated your birthday this time.
Vergil
The last time Vergil had celebrated his birthday, he was a child.
Well, that was, before being with you. After spending so much time in his own path for power, he almost forgot what a birthday was – or, at least, that was what he wanted to do. Vergil wanted to erase that memory just like all other beautiful ones that could make that little light of humanity survive in his heart.
Of course, it was a weakness, as he always thought – and it was used by Mundus in his myriad of tortures. Those memories of beautiful days alongside his father, his mother and his brother; with chocolate cakes and a couple of presents; with smiles, gentle touches, warm hugs and little fun competitions with his twin. Vergil did want to have a day just for himself, but, whenever he celebrated with Dante… He couldn’t help but think it would be so alien not to have someone to share that joy with.
Locked down in Hell, completely alone, wishing for Death to take him away from that suffering, Vergil didn’t know what that joy was anymore. The memory of it ever happening only made it more painful; and, after a while, unbearable.
You didn’t push him when he mentioned not celebrating his birthday. You were only curious about the date, but as soon as Vergil mentioned how unimportant it was to him, you didn’t argue.
It was only one day, when he found a fancy chocolate muffin on his belongings, inside a little see-through box wrapped around with a beautiful blue ribbon, that Vergil remembered. When he took the little box between his fingers, he also noticed a new book – antique, a little frayed at the edges, with a heavy fabric cover and golden, worn-out letters and filigrees embellishing the tome. Opening it, there was his name written in fancy lettering, with a little message underneath “happy birthday, my love”, crowned with a small heart at the end.
Vergil took a deep breath, the book still in his hands.
It was quiet. Thoughtful. Intimate. At this point in his life he despised everything that was too loud or drew too much attention to himself – Vergil wanted peace and quiet, and time for his own thoughts. The fact you managed to respect that and still show him how much you cared…
He took a sharp breath as he closed the book. An original first edition of an old tome, which must have taken a long time to find and cost even more. He furrowed his brows even further, trying to understand the violent stirring inside his chest.
It was kind. So kind. A manner of kindness he did not deserve.
And you always seemed to remember how much he loved chocolate.
Taking the muffin in one hand and the book with the other alongside Yamato, Vergil walked out of the room on a mission to find you – his brows still deeply furrowed as he scanned the whole place in his search.
It didn’t take long for him to find you on one of the places you’d always be whenever you were both on a break: by the window, sitting on a stool while painting one of the beautiful landscapes you had found on a book or a magazine, wanting to try your hand at the colors and shapes.
As if nothing was happening and there was nothing of special on that day.
“Oh, love, do come over and help me here a bit, please…” You barely looked at him, having your attention on your painting. Nothing out of the ordinary: Vergil had good eyes and a keen sense for beauty, so you would constantly ask him for opinions on your work.
When you extended him your free hand, while still looking at the canvas, Vergil put aside the muffin on the side table with your painting supplies, promptly holding the hand you were offering. And, as soon as you realized how tightly he was holding, you immediately turned around – knowing it was Vergil’s way of saying he needed to talk to you.
And you were promptly met with a kiss. A deep, passionate kiss, taking longer than you would ever have expected.
Not that you were expecting. In a fact, it was one of the rare moments Vergil caught you completely by surprise.
“Everything ok…?” You whispered as soon as he broke the kiss, resting his forehead on yours; his hot breath still rhythmically brushing your lips.
“Thank you.”
You only smiled, having your eyes closed as well as he. You knew Vergil wouldn’t say much more than that, at least not in that moment, but it was enough; considering how hard it was for him.
He spent quite a while with his forehead leaning on yours that day, and you didn’t brush him away. You never deemed Vergil too much, or too dramatic, or too emotional; whenever something like that happened, you only accepted him with open arms and few words, until he himself was ready to do more about his feelings.
It was quite understandable, then, for him to be so vexed when you told him you didn’t want anything to be done in your birthday. Vergil listened quietly and only what you were comfortable enough to tell him; and he didn’t make a fuss about it – something you would always be very thankful about your lover.
But it did bother him. To think a creature like yourself, who always thought of others and did your best to show them how much they were wanted, how much they were loved, didn’t want the same kindness extended to yourself was… Unfair.
And unfairness was always something that bothered Vergil’s heart, as much as he wanted to pretend he didn’t have one.
Apparently, you also wanted to pretend your heart didn’t exist… That you didn’t care. But Vergil knew quite well how much avoidance came from feeling too much, caring too much. From wanting to shut everything good down because expecting and not receiving was much worse than cutting every wish right at the bud, never allowing it to blossom.
With you… He did allow some flowers to blossom for the first time; tending to the small, quiet and rather secret little garden he had in himself, with some fear to have those flowers violently maimed and destroyed as before; but this time knowing there was a little more safety for them to grow… And someone like you to help protect and care for them.
Vergil wanted to extend to you the same grace.
And that was why he found himself standing in what was left of his childhood home once more, after so many years.
*
As Vergil’s steps went through the debris of the entrance, its echoes rippled in his mind like the memories of what he had done to win… To survive.
At that point in his life, defeating Dante wasn’t just to end a feud, it was for himself. So Vergil wouldn’t have to look back at all the things he had done and admit that, after all the time, he had been wrong and power wasn’t the only thing he needed. That Dante, even not as powerful as him, would always win, no matter what.
That Dante, who didn’t sacrifice everything like Vergil did, would always win because of his heart.
When he was dying, when he was fading, writhing in that never-ending suffering that burned his heart just like that fateful night, all Vergil wanted was to survive… To win. To tell himself he did the only thing he could have done and that power was the only thing that could have kept him safe. That someone was to blame for all that pain, that Dante was to blame.
And he was so blind. If he wanted, he could have had a very different life, but he couldn’t see. He chose not to see.
“There was nothing you could’ve done differently, after everything that was done to you. You were just a child and you did your best with what you had at the moment.”
Vergil had to close his eyes, a ghostly smile gracing his lips as he stood in the living room, before his family’s blighted portrait – as he did years prior. Whenever his thoughts started spiraling out of control, constantly blaming him in that endless parade of self-flagellation, your voice always echoed in his mind; a glimmer of light to pull him out of all that darkness.
“You have to learn to forgive yourself for not knowing how to properly handle what happened to you.”
As Vergil opened his eyes again, he rested his silvery gaze on his father and his mother. Would they be able to forgive him, if they knew…? He was there, after all, and that was what really mattered – alive, breathing, trying to live a new life after… Everything. He knew his father would see things from that more practical approach, so to speak, but his mother… Would Eva ever forgive him? Would her human heart have room for empathy for his actions…?
Vergil frowned after a couple of seconds watching her painted face; after all, his mind was playing tricks on him and he could swear he saw her gently smiling.
*
He didn’t expect much to have survived the fire. There was little left from what once was his home, but he did have a very faint light of hope in his heart that he could find what he was looking for.
Upstairs, it was a lot more difficult to walk than on the first floor; precisely because one never knew if the structure could hold some weight. Vergil walked slowly, with precise steps, always hearing for some creaking or rumbling that could indicate the floor was about to give out.
The fall wouldn’t kill him, but… He didn’t want the structure to fade away. A stupid little dying wish from his silly human heart, yes, but he didn’t want his childhood home to be completely lost to memory. There was a sense that, with it being there, everything did happen: he did have a family, he did have a home, he did have a happy life; even if it didn’t last too long. If that house crumbled…
Vergil understood quite well why you always enjoyed Blade Runner so much – and why you always cried when you heard everything would be lost, like tears in the rain. He didn’t want his home to crumble. He didn’t want his life, his history, his family to become tears in the rain… At least, not for the moment. His heart wasn’t ready for that yet.
After a careful walk down that silent corridor, Vergil spotted the door he was looking for: his bedroom.
To be honest, it barely had a door anymore. He gently pushed the piece of charred wood that was left on the broken hinges, as a horrible creaking slowly dragged it open – luckily, it didn’t crumble away.
Vergil stood by the door for a while, watching the room quietly. Everything was so dark: there was only a few rays of light that managed to slither through the blocked windows, but everything else was as if bathed in charcoal. He couldn’t make out the silhouette of any of his stuffed animals or toys, even his favorite ones, only being able to identify the bigger things: his bed, desk, chairs, wardrobe… Only parts of a whole, eaten away by fire and decay.
He wasn’t sure he would be able to enter. Not because of the crumbling floor, but because of his heart. It was so stupid, and so easy: he just had to put one foot in front of the other and walk in. Just walk in. Hardly the most impossible thing he had ever done.
And still… It felt like it. As if his feet were weighed down, unable to move. He couldn’t lift them, neither to move forward nor to move back. He could just… Stand. Watch. Feel the air in his lungs running out, as if that stuffed heat in the atmosphere hadn’t left after all those years.
It was pathetic.
Trying to move his feet, Vergil did manage to take one of them off the floor, only to step almost in the same spot it was before. His heart raced in his chest and Vergil couldn’t move. Those silvery eyes went back into his room, searching the thing he was there for, thinking that maybe, if he spotted it, he would be able to walk again.
But how was he going to find something that was hidden? Vergil sighed upon his own stupidity: he knew where it was, where he had left it long ago. It was just a completely illogical wish of his anxiety flooded mind to find it in a different place.
Vergil closed his eyes. He wouldn’t get anywhere like that. Taking a deep breath, he rolled his shoulders back rhythmically, slowly getting his heartbeat at a normal pace again. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, going back there… But he could do that for you.
Opening his eyes again, Vergil raised his head and took a step in.
And the world didn’t seem to end. Of course.
“Foolish human heart…” He mumbled under his breath, almost rolling his eyes at himself. Such a drama to do something so mundane.
“You have to offer yourself some kindness, the same you always offer me. You don’t have to be strong and stoic all the time.”
Once again, your voice echoed through his mind, as the gentle reminders you always worked so hard to etch into his soul even. Vergil couldn’t help but lightly shake his head, with a tired sigh he would only let out around you.
“Kindness is easier to be offered to the likes of you, dear saint…” Vergil knew you couldn’t hear him nor his words would be known by anyone; but, after so long on his own, surviving completely alone, he took a habit of talking to himself and having conversations in his own mind.
Something you were very aware of and, thankfully, never teased him for it.
“Thus from your lips, by mine, thine sin is purged.”
Vergil did stop in the middle of his room, closing his eyes once more – but this time, trying to control the hot flushing of blood immediately running to his face. He could also hear your giggle, from when you told him that adaptation of Juliet’s line from Shakespeare’s work, after the first time he called you “dear saint” – and how you kissed him, so passionately, right after; causing him to freeze for a few seconds, the same way as he was at the moment.
If only he could purge all his sins with kisses of yours. By now, he would probably be absolved from his crimes, how many of them you liked to place all over him.
Taking a deep breath once again, Vergil opened his eyes. Everything was strangely where he last left them – the fire, even if all consuming, didn’t move his things out of their place. Piles of books were still where Vergil last arranged them, his small clothes hanging inside what was left of the closet, the rug still a little too much to the left, his wooden sword almost all gone by his bed side.
With his careful steps, Vergil unconsciously ran his fingers at the top of the remnants of his desk – with a touch so light, he could barely feel the texture of the wrecked furniture. Just like the rest of the house, he wasn’t ready to have it all gone; he wanted his room to stay there, at least just for a little while. He wanted to be sure that, at some point in time, young Vergil did exist; and he was happy.
Getting to his bed, Vergil stopped by its side and tested the floorboards with his weight – even forcing a little bit by bouncing a couple of times. The spot near the head, by the wall, seemed sturdy enough; and so, he knelt, looking under the burned covers that draped over the edge of the mattress.
The satisfaction that flooded his chest poured over his lips as Vergil smiled, seeing it had been there all that time. Badly burned, yes, but apparently his bed was enough to take most of the damage for the things he left underneath it.
Pulling out a wooden box – which, once, was beautiful and carefully embellished, with iron details and a clasp to avoid prying hands – Vergil placed it over the nearest furniture so he could check its contents while standing.
It was a delight to know most of the things he kept in there were almost intact. An old book, a little jewelry box and…
Vergil’s smile slipped through his lips like water, as his eyes found it. His fingers fidgeted, as his hands hesitated to touch it… Scared it would crumble and that memory would fade away; that part of that little Vergil who hid it under his bed.
A little teddy bear.
Now with its caramel fur all dirty and slightly charred, glassy eyes with one of them almost falling out, with a big, beautiful blue bow around his neck – now dirty and frayed at the edges, but Vergil could remember as if it was yesterday, when Eva’s delicate hands tied it so gently around the bear’s neck, so they would know it belonged to him.
It was his favorite plush as a child. As they grew up, Dante teased him for still sleeping with his little teddy bear, but Vergil didn’t want to throw it away – after Sparda disappeared, whenever the nights were too dark and he was afraid of demons coming in silence, he would hold his teddy bear and close his eyes, telling himself everything would be alright.
And so, young Vergil would hide the plush in his prized wooden box under his bed: the one where he would keep all things he didn’t want Dante to touch. He had a hunch Eva knew about it; and whenever his mother mentioned, vaguely, a box under his bed, she just flashed him a knowing smile, as if it was their secret. As if she knew Dante would take everything Vergil owned and be not so careful with them; and, if Vergil kept them there, it was because he loved them too much to risk losing them.
Vergil took the little teddy bear in his hands, finally resting Yamato by the bed side. Now, it looked so small – just like his room: somehow, in his mind, it was a lot bigger than it now was. Vergil unconsciously ran one of his hands over the little plush’s head, almost too gently, trying to carefully get the falling eye back where it belonged.
It seemed so much bigger when he was a child. Everything seemed bigger when he was a child. And now, it was small, just like his room, just like everything else. Vergil’s hands were big, calloused, rough, used to blood and pain – quite different from those young hands, so small, smooth, soft, used to kindness and gentleness.
That little torn teddy bear, having survived for so long, forgotten in the dark aftermath of such violence… That once had been so much loved and cared for, that Vergil would keep it in that box so he could take out during the night, holding it during his darkest hours. That bear, now so little in his monstrous hands.
Vergil sat down at the edge of his old bed, forgetting, for a moment, that it could all collapse with his weight – but it didn’t; as if it remembered he was the one to safely sleep in there and call it his own.
Looking down at that little bear in his devilish hands, Vergil tried to fix its frayed blue bow as carefully as he could, without even realizing how a tear dripped from his face on the plush, clearing one of those glassy, dirty eyes.
He wished his tears could wash away all the charred remnants of the evil that destroyed that house. But all Vergil could do at that moment, was to hold his little teddy bear in his hands and cry – for all the things that were lost that night, including that little child who used to sleep in that bed.
*
You were quite thankful for how normal Vergil acted towards you that entire day.
He hadn’t told anyone in the crew about your birthday – and so, you managed to work normally with Dante and Lady without any grand gestures and celebrations. That kind of peace followed you throughout the whole day; until you got home and found Vergil calmly reading one of his own books, greeting you with a normal, uneventful kiss.
Before you took your well deserved shower for that evening, he did tell you he had ran a few errands, slaying some demons along the way – nothing out of the ordinary.
“I was wondering if you would like to watch something later, perhaps…?” Was the only thing a little out of place he said, but Vergil did enjoy to watch movies with you.
It wasn’t everyday you both weren’t too tired to do so, though, so it wasn’t that much of a daily thing – and you could see it as a way for him recognizing it was your birthday without being too obvious about it.
And you could always appreciate that.
After your shower then, you met him again in the living room, already thinking what you could have as diner. Maybe he would be interested in some Chinese food – after all, Vergil was very skilled with chopsticks.
But he was nowhere to be found.
“Vergil…? Are you…?”
“Here, love.” And you heard a dark giggle as you almost jumped out of your own skin. He was very skilled at being silent, too. “Do apologize.”
“I still have to get used to that...” You giggled back, shaking your head with a sigh, while Vergil had his hands clasped behind himself.
“I think both of us need to get used to plenty of new things.” As he spoke, you looked back at him, slightly furrowing your brows – after all, Vergil did have a faint smile coloring his lips. “I did run some important errands today… May I?”
You found it even stranger when he asked for your left hand, but you did place it on his. You noticed Vergil left something over the desk by your side, although your attention was immediately caught by a delicate chain with a small plaque he gently placed around your wrist. After clasping it securely in place, not too tight but also not lose enough so it wouldn’t spin around your arm, he fixed the bracelet to have the little plaque atop of your wrist.
It was quite old and even dirty, oxidized with time and somewhat rough because of the dirt, but it was easy to see it was made of pure gold – and, on that delicate plaque, with embellished lettering, it was written Vergil.
“When we were born, my parents made each of us a gold bracelet with our names on it. An old custom that perhaps is already lost.” Vergil considered, still gently holding your hand and admiring his old bracelet on your wrist. “As we grew older, my father had the bracelet length elongated, so we could still wear it in adulthood. I think it looks better on you.”
With that, Vergil placed a rather long kiss on your fingers, as you took a little time to understand what was going on. That was one of his most prized belongings, and he did tell you how he liked proudly wearing it as a child – but decided to keep it safe as the chain broke during a fight with Dante once, even if Eva skillfully put the links back into place.
Something so delicate, so regal, so holy didn’t fit him anymore, at least that was how Vergil saw it. He wanted to give you something special, a part of himself you could keep with you at all times… And that bracelet, the one made for when he was just an untainted baby, seemed like the best thing he could give.
It was one of the very few things Vergil had left – from that lost child he mourned earlier in his broken home.
“I also… Wanted you to have this.” Before you could say anything or even react, he took the book he left on the desk by your side, offering it to you.
Vergil wouldn’t say more, as he hoped the book could speak for itself.
Inferno, by Dante Alighieri. You had a bit of confusion in your eyes, as you gently felt the red leather of the book – strangely charred around the edges – with worn out golden filigrees that created the intricate artwork of the cover. Opening it, Vergil only watched you with gentle eyes, carefully admiring every single one of your reactions.
You could swear your heart stopped for a moment as you read the name written on the first page – Sparda, with a calligraphy that wasn’t from Vergil or from Dante. It looked old, as the pages were spotted and yellowed… And, on a smaller lettering, a little message “happy birthday, my love” – now, from a calligraphy you knew quite well.
“Vergil, I…” You didn’t even realize when your eyes filled with tears; you just felt them as you looked up at him and saw Vergil scintillating among the water.
“These are the kinds of gifts worth giving.” And even if he wasn’t one to interrupt you, he was one to call you out – especially when you were resistant to accept some love. “Please, don’t refuse them. It’s all I have.”
“Oh, I would never refuse them, Vergil…” Your answer was a whisper, as you fought your very heart, trying to keep your tears in your eyes – and failing beautifully, if Vergil had to point it out, for you had a beautiful smile spreading on your lips; probably from the golden warmth that flooded your chest. “It’s so much more than…”
“Don’t say you don’t deserve it.” He mirrored your whisper, placing one of his hands on your face, gently wiping a few of the tears away. “I’d say I don’t deserve you either, yet here we are.”
“Here we are indeed.” You whispered back with a giggle, as Vergil genuinely smiled back at watching your happiness – after all, you always knew how sincere it was from watching it spreading through his eyes, melting that icy silvery gaze at least for a little while.
You reached for him, placing a long, soothing kiss on his lips. It always warmed your heart how he always seemed so stiff at the first few seconds, only to thaw into it and pour around you like water; like a melting of the frost he always carried in his eyes. You were one of the very few people in the world who ever got to experience a warmer side of his, and that you would cherish forever as one of the greatest gifts.
To think you deserved to have that – a love so quiet, so warm, so respectful… Definitely not an easy one, but welcoming and embracing, something that honored your boundaries and still went to great lengths – silently, through actions that were worth more than a million winged words – to show you how precious and loved you were… That was much more than you had ever dreamed of.
“Nothing comes from nothing…” As you parted your lips from Vergil’s, you could barely take them away enough from him; still brushing his as you started singing, with Vergil slightly furrowing his brows in confusion. “Nothing ever could… So, somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good.”
Oh, he knew exactly what you were singing – and why. And the irony wasn’t lost in Vergil of you singing it to him… When he should be the one talking about his wicked past.
“For here you are standing there loving me…” He answered quietly, reciting more than singing – but still, a rare, rare occurrence. Your own heart was humming alongside him. “Whether or not you should.”
“So, somewhere in my youth…”
“Or childhood.” Vergil couldn’t hold back one of his dark giggles, seeing how much you seemed to glow with his prompt answer to your singing.
“I must have done something good.” You didn’t always sing together, but when you did, both of you found it rather delightful how well your voices danced together – even if his was much more contained and spoken rather than proper singing.
It was decided, then, you would spend the night watching The Sound of Music.
*
Or at least, that was what you both expected you could do – having not planned sleeping in each other’s arms, right on the couch, under a set of warm blankets and the movie’s music embracing you both like a quiet lullaby.
At some point in the night, Vergil did wake up and move around so you would both properly lay down, with you snuggled in his arms almost hiding your face on his chest, as he kept you warm and safe; turning the TV off and having only soft drops of the rain outside as something to gently keep you in your slumber.
Looking down at you in his arms, Vergil lightly caressed your hair, noticing how peaceful you seemed – the worry left your brows and the corners of your mouth, as you almost appeared to be softly smiling; gently dreaming in his company, of all creatures.
To think a dear saint like yourself would give a devil like him any chance of expiation, as mild as it could be, offering him your heart while asking for nothing in return…
Vergil never really understood how you could extend him so much grace, even after knowing of all his transgressions. Perhaps… Perhaps you had in your heart the same thing his mother had when it came to loving his father; even when Sparda was, in fact, a demon out of Hell.
“Perhaps I had a wicked childhood…” As you slept, Vergil could sing to himself; in the quietness of the dark, when no one else was watching and he was the only one to hear his whispered words. “Perhaps I had a miserable youth… But somewhere in my wicked, miserable past, there must have been a moment of truth…”
As he placed a sleepy kiss at the top of your head, Vergil closed his eyes, holding you a little tighter against his chest. He did, however, miss by a fraction of a second the pleased smile you allowed to spread over your tired lips.
You didn’t know when among many miserable birthdays it happened for you to deserve that now… But you knew, somewhere in there, you must have done something good.
Hi everyone ! My name’s Grim and welcome to my blog 𑣲⋆｡˚
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Dante & Vergil caring for their s/o pretending to be fine on a low-energy/emotionally exhausted day - Vergil Chapter
Pairings: Vergil x Reader
Summary: You could always expertly pretend everything was alright - you couldn’t, however, run for too long from the eyes of your lover. Even if you didn’t want to worry him, you were the easiest book for him to read.
Restrictions: Things are superficially mentioned and implied. Your job involves children and teens being kidnapped, and the main culprits this time… Are humans - hence your emptiness and exhaustion. There’s no more detail other than that, but I do think a warning is always nice if you want to avoid it.
Author’s Notes: 8.5k words, approximately. In my defense... It's the blue devil, and he wakes the philosopher poet inside of me. I did go over themes like forgiveness and redemption, grounding and meditation, anxiety and numbness, and the beauty of being loved so much you are seen and known. Didn't expect any of that, but it happened over the days hahaha and it has a lot of my own thoughts I have been having over those things.
And a whole Pablo Neruda poem at the end, just because :)
Vergil
The only thing that could denounce Vergil was eagerly waiting for something was the beat of his heart inside his chest.
Anyone who passed by would think his stillness mirrored his feelings: calm, collected, patiently waiting while reading another one of his many old books. Legs crossed, holding the tome with one hand, while his head gently leaned on the other one. Hours passed by, days and nights, cups of teas and quiet showers.
Only his heart knew how anxious it was, expecting you to come home.
Lady had called one day, asking for your help with something that could or could not be a job. She had uncertainty in her multicolored eyes – something quite unusual in Vergil’s gaze, since he remembered the fire and hatred on them back when meeting her for the first time at the Temen-ni-gru.
“An investigation…?” His question sounded like a judgment, but you knew from his inflection that it was more curiosity than anything else.
It didn’t help you were one of the very few people able to read Vergil. The other one would be Dante.
“Yes, investigation. Not everyone lives of killing people for fun.” Lady’s answer come as a slap on the face, while the woman crossed her arms and stared back at Vergil – and there it was, the fire and hatred he found so familiar.
“Please don’t kill each other.” You sighed, stepping in before Lady got one of her guns out and fired a warning shot right into Vergil’s forehead.
It wouldn’t kill him, but she was known to do that. Dante had told you how they first met.
“Seriously, don’t know how you put up with this guy.” Lady sighed, dismissing him with a quick hand wave. “In any case. There’s some children missing, and I got a call that it might be right up our alley. They don’t have any evidence, but seems legit.”
“You want to check with a quick investigation and then hunt the demons down? Saving the kids we can find on the way?” You already knew Lady’s work ethic for quite a while to know exactly what she had in mind – and the woman just smiled, nodding enthusiastically.
“We gotta find where those pieces of trash are hiding.” Her answer was simple, but she had a devilish smile on her lips. “I don’t think it’ll be quick, though. And it’s two cities away.”
“You will probably be away for a week.” Vergil also knew how both of you worked, making a quick estimation with the few information she had. “Don’t forget to pack a change of clothes this time. Both of you.”
Lady just raised one brow, looking back at you as Vergil finished speaking. As she opened her mouth, you just sighed.
“Yes, he usually is this bossy.” You confirmed before she could even ask – which made your lover slowly turn his silver eyes towards you. “Luckily, I am too.”
With a serene smile, the conversation was over as Lady laughed at Vergil’s empty expression. She couldn’t really read what was going on in his mind, concluding it was probably some level of contempt for what you said.
You were the only one who could read the smile he was hiding in his eyes.
The week had passed and you still weren’t home. Vergil was used to solitude, finding his own company more than sufficient to survive – but, with time, he grew accustomed to having you around. Yes, he was sufficient, but it was about time he learned life wasn’t just about sufficiency and survival. It was also about the more than sufficient things to make it worth living; about enjoying time instead of just steeling himself and powering through adversities.
It was about breathing.
Vergil never thought his heart would be similar to that of a dog, waiting for their family to come home – or maybe that of a child, eagerly expecting their favorite person to arrive. He had plenty of time to learn how to suppress all those feelings and appear as impassive and still as possible, but the only thing he couldn’t do was to control the rate of his heartbeat.
He could mask and lie all he wanted to the outside, but he couldn’t pretend on the inside.
“Hmmm.” He hummed to himself, a little bothered by his own restlessness. It was very unusual, but Vergil had to read the same paragraph a couple of times; his concentration faltering in a way that absolutely displeased him. “Time to move to other activities, then…”
Murmuring to himself, as he got used to doing in his loneliness, Vergil closed the book and left the old tome on a nearby desk, immediately moving to Yamato. Always at arm’s length, his sword was always ready to be used if he ever needed it, no matter the activity – be it cooking, during a stroll or taking a shower: wherever Vergil was, Yamato was close by.
Reading was indeed one of the best ways to occupy his mind and avoid other thoughts, but when that restlessness took over his body, Vergil had to do something a little more physical: and that’s where Yamato would come in. He practiced to perfect his skills to the most polished level, but there was something of meditative in the way Vergil could spend hours repeating the same movements to exhaustion.
Moving meditation, as some would call it. Sometimes, it was too difficult to quiet the mind by just closing his eyes and kneeling completely still – although he did learn how to do exactly that during his time in Hell under Mundus; after all, he was tortured until everything but his spirit broke, and the only thing that made it all bearable was to dissociate his mind from his body, almost as if his soul left for a walk and he could watch everything being done to him as a neutral third party.
Of course, that was far more difficult to do when the torture was psychological rather than physical. But Vergil also had plenty of time to learn how to deal with that.
Whether it was his physical body or his spiritual form, his mind dissociated from his flesh; repeating a few sets of movements and polishing them to perfection always seemed to quiet loud thoughts – or harrowing feelings, both in his body and his heart – with an efficiency that Vergil would forever appreciate.
Mastering Yamato to the peak of its abilities was always one of Vergil’s goals in life: it was his father’s sword, the one Sparda used to seal the gates of Hell, and so an heirloom to be treated with respect and reverence. If he wanted to surpass his own father, the Legendary Dark Knight, Vergil had to wield Yamato with even more dexterity than Sparda did – and that would only happen with training.
He didn’t believe it was something that would have a tangible end, though; Learning is a process for a lifetime, and so Vergil knew he would never stop learning new techniques and polishing what he already knew. But he could do it better than his father, he could hone his skills to a degree no one had achieved before: he just had to keep training and learning.
The weight of Yamato in his hands was always strangely reassuring: his power was tied to his sword, and having it stripped away from him was almost like a death sentence. And, in a way, it was: only when Vergil had Yamato back in his hands he was able to bring himself from the brink of death to a desperate act of survival.
He had to admit, Yamato silenced the desperate beating of his heart and always soothed whatever anxiety he had – only if for a while.
In the middle of the room, Vergil slowly unsheathed the blade, watching as Yamato glistened under the lights. Whenever he would practice in his own mind in order to keep himself distanced from whatever was happening with his physical body, he mustered only a memory of how his sword was – how it felt in his hands, its weight, the roughness of the grip, the texture of the little knots under his fingers, the swiftness of the blade, how perfectly balanced it was around his fingers. It was all from what he remembered, from years of carrying it close to his body so no one would be able to hurt him again.
As his feet moved around the room, Vergil started a few movements – repeating them a few times in a row, with deadly precision. He didn’t know Nero was his son. If he did… He probably wouldn’t have torn his arm apart. Though… What else could have he done? Talked to him, asked for Yamato back, with the hope Nero would believe his words he was his father, back from being kept in Hell for more than twenty years, tortured by his Sparda’s worse enemy? Would Nero believe him and give him that blade, willingly?
If his son was anything like him, he wouldn’t. He would have suspicions, he would’ve called Dante. And, given their history, Vergil had all reasons to believe his brother would’ve ended his life as soon as he laid eyes upon him – after all, it was Dante who defeated him at Temen-ni-gru, it was Dante who killed him as Nelo Angelo. It was logical for Vergil to believe Dante would take advantage of his fragile, crumbling state and finally kill whatever was left of him – Vergil had no reason to believe Dante harbored anything other than hate towards him.
And he had to admit… At that point, he truly believed Dante was the source of all his misfortune.
Only now he could see how rash he was in his youth. How blinded by pain and humiliation he was, how he could have done things differently. Moving his feet slowly, Vergil started repeating a set with seven movements, over and over again – with patience, precision and refinement. He accepted his demonic heritage with pride, but he didn’t know what to do with his human heart. It hurt too much, it bled too much – and he didn’t know how to make it stop. He didn’t have anyone to cradle it, to help him deal with it… He only knew harshness and pain. He only knew the constant taunts of the demons calling him a half-breed, looking down on him, showing contempt for his weakness – his humanity, his putrid human heart, that rot that ran in his veins and made him weak… That trash that would get him killed.
He wasn’t like Dante. He never learned to see that as a source of strength, only of weakness. It was his humanity that made him weak that night, that made those demons pin him down on a grave as a child while tearing his mother apart… It was because he was a half-breed that he wasn’t able to do nothing. Vergil believed, for so long, that if he was a full demon like his father, like Sparda, he would have been able to save her, to save himself. That his half-blood doomed him. He never had the chance to believe it was the thing that saved him, like Dante.
Everyone had all the reason in the world to hate him, and he would never ask for anyone’s forgiveness. After all, he didn’t deserve it. Still repeating those seven movements, Vergil took his time to pay attention to his footwork – one of the most important parts when fighting, to achieve the precision he was known for. He could only hope for some kind of redemption… And the only forgiveness he really needed, was from himself.
That was something he had learned from you – after all, Vergil couldn’t really understand how a human could extend him love after all the things he had done. He believed he could have only death – and that Dante would be in his right to kill him after he came back… But his son was willing to accept him.
In his own way, after fighting Vergil and, quite literally, beating his way into his heart – which Vergil sincerely thought was dead after so much pain.
But Nero did stop Dante. He wouldn’t let Dante and Vergil die: he wanted to know him, his father, Vergil… Even after everything he did. It wasn’t a forgiveness, but the redemption he thought he never deserved. And then, Dante followed him all the way into Hell, to “help” Vergil undo what he had done – something that was his only responsibility and that Dante didn’t need to help him carry. It would be right to have it be a punishment for his wayward actions, but… Dante was to human to punish his brother.
Dante accepted him. Vergil was very aware his presence in Hell with him to cut down the Qliphoth was a choice, not a duty – Dante would say it was to keep an eye in Vergil, but he did know it was for him not to lose himself again. It was for them to be together, because Dante wanted Vergil to be around; he didn’t want to kill him.
And Vergil didn’t want to kill his brother either. He might have said it out loud and be out for blood when they were younger, but, deep down… In his human heart, the only thing Vergil ever wanted was to prove himself.
Repeating the same movements again, now he focused on his hands – how his wrists moved and how he could make the swinging of his sword more fluid and powerful. Vergil had spent so much time drowning in that feeling of worthlessness, of being less because of his half-breed blood, of not being worthy of protection as a child, that he would burn the whole world just to make it go away.
And even if he did, it wouldn’t go away. He would still feel less: his mother wasn’t there to tell him he was worthy of being saved and protected, his father wasn’t there to tell him his half-blood wasn’t a weakness but a strength… His brother wasn’t there to tell him his mother did try to save him and he didn’t deserve to die. Vergil could kill Mundus, he could become Emperor, he could make all demons kneel and bend to his will… He would still have that hole in his chest; that void that told him he would never be enough.
“The only one you need to seek forgiveness from, is yourself.”
You had told him that.
Furrowing his brows, Vergil’s movements became sharper, even if he tried to keep the same flow, steady and swift. Those seven movements. Over and over. Sharper and sharper as his mind kept wandering. It was a quiet afternoon where you both were the only ones around: Vergil reading a philosophy book you recommended, while you spent your time developing your skills with watercolors on a little sketchbook you rested on your thighs – your back on the side of the couch while your legs rested over his, and Vergil kept one of his hands mindlessly drawing a few, slow patterns on your calf.
As always, he mentioned something interesting he had just read; something he would know you would appreciate having a little discussion, ideas you could tell each other and hear how your different minds gave it different interpretations – and, maybe, find new perspectives you hadn’t initially thought of. Something both of you appreciated deeply and would never shy away from – and Vergil loved talking to you. As you both had that conversation, he quietly introduced the theme of forgiveness; indicating, indirectly, his own beliefs that he was completely undeserving of it… And he did not understand how someone like you could extend love to someone like him.
And so, you told Vergil: the only one that had to forgive him, was himself. His punishment would never be over, his pain and the suffering in his heart would never quiet until he was able to forgive himself: his young, reckless, foolish self; that boy who pursued power to the farthest of consequences, the one whose heart was bleeding so much, he locked it away around an armor of hubris and harshness. That child, who would deem himself so cold, but would act so impulsively, his own actions would be his doom. That young boy, so arrogant and hurt, he thought there was no place for him among humans, and that a death by the hands of his father’s worse enemy would be better than a pitiful life begging for some love – so, so arrogant, it would never cross his mind that demons had none of his honor and wouldn’t give him a good, honorable death; only an eternity of pain and humiliation, forever paying for his rashness and hubris.
Could he ever forgive himself for being so naive? So stupid, so blind…? Vergil always tried to think highly of himself – after all, he was reminded every day he was too rotten to be a human, and too impure to be a demon; a lesser being, no matter where he was, in which world he lived. He didn’t belong: constantly reminded he was nothing but trash… So someone had to remind him he was worth something. But could he forgive the path his bleeding heart and proud soul made him tread…?
Vergil’s eyebrows furrowed further, while his hand held the grip of Yamato even tighter – more than he should to wield it. Indeed, you were right: the only one that had to forgive him was himself; and he didn’t know if he could do it. But…
You did tell him something else. “You have to know, you did the best you could with what you had, what you been through, and who you were at that moment.”
It made him wonder, if he could have done anything differently. Vergil mulled over your words for months, and over his own actions.
Could things have been different? Would he be able to do something differently, with all that he had at those moments…? All the pain, all the knowledge, all the hatred, all the anger. Would he be able to act differently? Did he really do the best…?
At the time, he thought he did. Vergil followed the path he thought was best for him; chased the power he thought he needed to have to feel safe, to feel worthy. He didn’t really have anyone by his side telling him to do it differently – in a matter of fact, he had no one. And that was something pivotal to how he developed his beliefs over the years… That boy he was; he couldn’t do anything differently, with his heart bleeding in his hands and his soul desperate for some safety.
And even though he knew that, even though he could extend sympathy for that young reckless hurt child… Vergil had a hard time extending it to himself.
“It is a long journey”, you told him. “One you have to take one day at a time.”
And he could… But when he was alone, left to his own mind and his own devices… It seemed a little more difficult not to fall back into old patterns, beliefs and repetitive thoughts.
The practice with Yamato, then, became instrumental – and that was what he would always do; especially when he didn’t have you to run for some rescue with love and understanding. Vergil learned to accept softness, but only from a select group of people – and that was mostly from you.
The repetitive movement of his hands and feet, masterfully wielding his sword and perfecting every inch that could be slightly wrong, was to keep a creeping feeling away from taking hold of his heart – but it seemed that, every time his thoughts became aware the feeling was there and he wanted to avoid it, it just became bigger and bigger, until his mind couldn’t keep it at bay anymore.
More than one week was too much for you and Lady. He knew both of you, and he had to recognize Lady’s skill as a hunter; same as your skill. A simple work like that should have been completed in no time, and you should be home already.
But everything was silence. No word from you, no call… Not even a feeling. All Vergil had was that stir in his heart, telling him something was wrong – he wouldn’t try to explain it to anyone else, for the only one who could understand it was his son: whenever you were in trouble, his heart would sway, and he knew.
It didn’t feel like trouble this time, but rather… Emptiness. A restless emptiness, that bothered him, chewed the edges of his heart until he would feel his chest tightening. If you were near, Vergil would run to you; to wipe those feelings away, to keep you close, in his vicinity where whatever it was that hurt you couldn’t get to you anymore. He would do it quietly and surely, not allowing that to linger a moment further – and having you back to safety.
Changing his movements, Vergil added a few more strikes to his seven movement routine – striking with more strength, his eyes focused on his imaginary enemy with the coldness of a shard of ice. His heart was restless, eagerly awaiting for your return like a loyal dog, for that creeping feeling gnawing at the edges of his consciousness was a fear he never wanted to look in its ugly face – the fear you wouldn’t come back home.
Not because you didn’t want to and decided to leave him – Vergil could and would accept that, for it was the most logical thing to do given you insanely decided to love a monster. But because you didn’t survive a job that was more dangerous than you could have ever imagined – and he wasn’t there to save you. With all his power, with all he sacrificed and he did over the years to become who he was… You would have perished because he wasn’t there.
Vergil’s steps became faster and his movements harsher; still repeating. Over. And over. And over. Again. And Again. And Again. And he would do it until his hands started bleeding.
The thought of you not returning… He couldn’t even imagine what would happen. Vergil liked to think he would be able to retain his humanity, but that was only him fooling himself. He knew it would damn his human heart. If he lost anyone he loved at this point in his life… The world would burn. Because Vergil would be no more, and nothing would be left. Not even his demonic instinct, for it was also part of his heart and it did care deeply about them; about you. What would be left, would be a husk: a shadow of himself, devoid of everything; Filled only by emptiness, heart eaten by void, soul engulfed in pure darkness…
Nelo Angelo.
The last strike of that string of movements was harsh enough to cut through the air and create a long indentation on the wall – making some of its pieces crumble on the floor, leaving a line at least two meters long.
Vergil frowned, anchoring himself back into the present. The meditation was supposed to help, not to let his mind wander through that fanged anxiety that was chewing his heart open. It was supposed to calm him, to quiet him, to ground him.
Vergil closed his eyes, slowly sheathing Yamato while taking a long, deep breath. The familiar clique of the guard hitting the sheathe did help unscramble his thoughts from his troubled heart; Maybe it was time to take his boots off and physically feel things that could bring him back to that moment – the slight chill of the wood, the texture of the battered ground, the hardness of the pavement… Senses he could focus on and tell him that his mind was wandering too much; Through realities that he didn’t even know if they would come to pass.
Things only his foolish heart could feel.
But Vergil shot his head up and opened his eyes at the exact moment he heard the familiar metallic noise of someone handling the doorknob – and there was only one person who opened the door that way, with that sound.
You were home.
The faint smile on his lips and the soothing wave that finally silenced his heart didn’t last too long; for soon Vergil saw your face and the shadow that appeared to linger over your eyes.
Your eyes, that always seemed to carry so much light – a light he once heard his son mentioning he forever saw in his lover, Kyrie, that guided his heart towards the correct path. Vergil only understood when he saw that glimmer in you, shining brightly deep inside your eyes – almost like a secret, only to be seen by a select few; and you graced him with the honor to be one of those. Vergil could understand the words of his son…
And that light, seemed to be overcast by a quite unusual fog of darkness at the moment.
You barely noticed Vergil was there – and, if you did, you probably didn’t acknowledge it; almost as if your mind was far away while you came in, carrying your handbag, and locked the door behind you. He didn’t take it as you ignoring him, but rather as being so disconnected from reality, you didn’t even notice what was going on around you.
“Welcome home.” His voice was quiet and dark as always, but it seemed to be enough to snap you back into reality. As soon as your eyes met him, your expression softened a bit, with a slight smile on the corner of your lips.
“Hello, love.” Even then, Vergil couldn’t refrain from noticing how stiff your smile looked, and how your eyebrows still seemed to carry a sort of worry. Softened, yes, but not gone – masking your discomfort, as he knew quite well you were proficient at.
“I’m glad you are back.” He walked towards you, as you did the same – Vergil already meaning to reach out for your handbag.
“I’m glad to be home.” When you got to him, though, it was as if you hadn’t even noticed his hand; reaching out for a kiss.
He would never deny affection whenever you sought for it – but Vergil was proficient in noticing every faint detail you either did mindlessly out of habit, or you did out of trying to hide something deep within yourself. The way your lips slightly trembled against his, a little too stiff, too contained for the kisses you would usually offer him, told Vergil today was the later.
“Something is bothering you.” His voice was almost a murmur as you separated your lips from his; already knowing in your heart there was very little you could hide from him.
As always, Vergil wouldn’t ask. He would state, waiting for you to eventually be comfortable enough to talk about it – confident in his skills of reading his loved ones, as he was in reading his enemies during a fight.
“It’s nothing.” You closed your eyes, sighing with a small smile on his lips. It was actually quite naive of you to think you could hide from those ever attentive silvery eyes. “I’m tired, Vergil. That’s all. I need some time to… Recollect.”
Your choice of words certainly made him more puzzled – evidenced by the way he furrowed his brows. Recollect was different than rest, and you rarely used words carelessly. In a matter of fact, when you used a word like that, it usually was very much attached to its meaning; something Vergil would always appreciate.
“Hmmm…” And, even if you tried to dismiss him, Vergil quietly moved his free hand over yours, holding the handbag with a silent request for you to let go and let him carry it. And let go you did, as he towered behind you, following your every step, as your very own demon of death. “Interesting choice of words.”
“I thought you would appreciate it.” Your answer, though, had a smile on your voice that didn’t mirror back to your lips – entering your room, your heart was torn between taking a shower or resting on your bed; and, if you were to be honest, you didn’t really know what to do. “You are worrying too much, Vergil, I can see it in your eyes. But you don’t have to…” As soon as you said that, you turned around and found him less than one foot away from you; still closely following his beloved. There was something of adorable in that. “I’m just tired. I am human after all, and it was a… Trying week.”
“Trying…?” He raised his eyebrows, still following you with that predator gaze – the one Vergil always seemed to wear whenever he was paying attention. He wasn’t doing that to hunt you, though, but out of all the worry that pooled around his heart… He didn’t really know how to wear a different kind of gaze. “From what I remember, Lady didn’t expect it to be a difficult job.”
“Hmmm. It wasn’t necessarily difficult…” You sighed while taking off your boots and leaving them in the corner of the room you both usually left your shoes. Vergil did notice you leaned on the wall to keep your balance… And to keep your back towards him – not allowing him to look into your eyes. “It was… Exhausting. I can’t explain it better.”
“Huh.” As soon as you heard him, though, it was like a cube of ice going down your spine. You knew quite well when your lover didn’t believe your words – when he knew you were lying. And you could bet he noticed you were avoiding his eyes so he wouldn’t be able to read you further – like one of his books. “Now that is a lie.”
And you could always count on Vergil to be starkly honest about it.
You appreciated it. But sometimes, like in that day, you absolutely loathed it.
“You know your way around words…” As he spoke, Vergil approached you, having left your handbag at the foot of the bed. You slowly turned around – meeting your blue devil calmly walking towards you… And you had to wonder if his enemies felt like that when he cornered them. “I find it hard to believe you can’t find the ones to talk to me.”
You sighed, closing your eyes. Vergil wasn’t easy to fool, only when he lost his temper and anger was boiling inside his chest. When he had his head back in place, though… The mask that you were so used to wearing was useless.
“I don’t want to worry you, Vergil. You don’t have to.” You opened your eyes, looking back into his silvery gaze. This time, though, you decided not to run from it anymore – he had already noticed, so there was no point in hiding or trying to maintain that cracked mask anymore. “You don’t have to carry more than you already have in your shoulders; I can do it by myself. And I don’t want to bother you with things that are leaving my heart restless. They will eventually wash away, I just need… Some time.”
“Time...” Once again, he frowned – that shadow Vergil carried over his eyes darkening his gaze even more. It was, though, different from the one he wore when hunting demons; this one was a shadow of worry, of debating what to do in that situation: born out of care, not of blood. “If you need me, I am here.”
And that looming presence he always was, turned around, making his way to the bed. If there was one thing you would forever be grateful for, was that Vergil understood your need for space – especially regarding sharing your feelings. He would never force you to do something you weren’t comfortable, but he would leave a path open for you to find him when you were ready.
Something you always did to him as well.
“You can talk, if you want to.” He stopped a few steps away from the bed, almost looking over his shoulder as he always did, his back still turned to you. “I’ll listen.”
Ever so quietly, Vergil resumed his steps and sat by the end of the bed, right on the edge, so he could finally take off his boots. You observed him as he undid every buckle on the side of his right leg – calmly, as a daily ritual of his, of getting dressed and undressed. It was one of his little meditations, repetitive small acts of his mundane life that grounded Vergil in reality and quieted his heart – and the demons that lived in the darkest corners; the nightmares that lingered forever in stillness until they decided to take hold of his soul whenever he wasn’t in full control of himself.
You couldn’t stop yourself from frowning. You knew that underneath that quiet demeanor, Vergil had a storm raging in his heart and mind that, sometimes, could not be contained – and he did by taking small steps; small actions, every day, steady but surely… Little meditations that helped him survive, as he did during his time in Hell.
If there was someone in this world that could help with that void eating at the edges of your heart, that someone was Vergil.
Quietly, you approached the bed. Vergil didn’t look at you: he kept on with his task of unbuckling his boots and taking them off to rest by his side. Even so, it wasn’t that he didn’t notice, it was something that he always did not to scare you away – no intrusive stares, no pressuring availability: only a quiet presence, ready to be by your side while you told him what was weighing your mind.
“I…” As you sat by his side, you started trying to find the correct words… Even though you didn’t even know where to begin. “This week… It was horrible.”
Silence lingered between you as Vergil slowly stopped his task of taking off his boots and turned all his attention towards you. It had no expectation: only a quiet look that waited, so you could find what you were searching for.
“We are used to seeing demons doing the most horrid things, but… This time…” As you spoke, Vergil couldn’t refrain from frowning: the more you tried to tell him, the more it seemed that light of yours he loved so much would never sparkle in your eyes again.
And he tried to ignore the fear that settled at the base of his stomach, almost as a still creature that would never leave. He would never stop loving you, no matter how overcast your heart became, but he did wonder… What manner of horror you had to see to engulf your soul in darkness.
“You deem yourself a devil, Vergil. That there’s no light left in you, only darkness and destruction…” You sighed, looking down at some lost spot on the floor, trying to bring into words the turmoil inside your chest. Vergil furrowed his brows further, your words taking him by surprise – something you could only read in his eyes, since he always managed to control his body so well not to show his emotions. “I don’t think you have seen true evil, then. True darkness. It’s a bottomless pit filled with muck, staining everything that it touches.”
The despise in your voice could only be compared to his, when Vergil deemed whoever he was talking to as an utterly inferior creature – usually demons, but he met many humans that deserved that tone as well. Your words, though, did catch him by surprise: after all, he was tortured by the Emperor of Hell, in the lowest of its pits. He knew true evil.
“You’re… You’re an angel compared to that. You have morals, standards. You wanted power to feel safe, not to abuse others... And now, you use it to protect the ones you love. Evil doesn’t know love. You do.”
Vergil turned his gaze to the empty spot on the floor you kept staring so intently, now lost in his own thoughts while crossing his arms in his usual pensive demeanor – and all he could think about was what was the horror you witnessed that week to have you thinking so highly of him.
For all effects and purposes, by human standards, he was a monster. Irredeemable, even, to some people. What he did as Urizen… Even if he wasn’t whole, if he as both halves of himself would probably have reconsidered the use of the Qliphoth – or, at the very least, taken into account destroying an entire city and sacrificing so many lives for his own personal gain – it was still an action to be considered his; the responsibility for what Urizen had done still rested in his hands, since it came from part of his heart, part of his mentality that kept him moving through his whole cursed life: that only the strong survived and if he didn’t do everything within his reach to become the most powerful demon that ever lived, he would always be at mercy of someone more powerful. Someone like Mundus.
That strict, harsh view of the world led him to irredeemable actions – and its consequences. Nowadays, he would’ve never raised the Qliphoth, he wouldn’t have doomed an entire city and its people just so he could feel safe. But he couldn’t go back on what he had done – he could only try to make up for his wayward actions; to pay for the dark, unforgivable soul he had inside of him and not hope for forgiveness, but for some kind of redemption – however it looked like.
And now, here you were, saying he was closer to an angel than a demon.
“There were no demons in this job.” Your voice carried a sharp coldness Vergil never heard from your lips, having him immediately snap out of his ever spiraling thoughts. “All those horrible crimes, those teens and children missing… No demons. Only humans.” There was an edge of a growl to your last word, as if you despised that kind of humanity as much as you loathed demons – that made Vergil raise his brows; he had never heard you speaking on that tone. “And I killed them. All of them.” It was a death sentence: the wrathful emptiness of a soul who faced horror and decided to put an end to it. “They weren’t humans in my book.”
You kept staring at the same lost spot on the floor, the only inflection of emotion residing in how quietly sharp you sounded. Vergil turned his silver eyes back to you, now with his jaw tense besides his furrowed brows.
If the sins of humans were comparable to that of demons, he deemed them demons too – and Vergil knew quite well some humans could be worse than demons. In his eyes, what you did was justice and he always would stand by that. But he also knew that was the kind of justice it didn’t resolve in your heart, it weighed you down.
“In arcane teachings, everything is powered by energy. And most energy is fueled by emotions.” His voice was careful, as always; slow, as Vergil found the correct words to explain his thoughts: his speech was always intentional, unless when his twin made him lose his temper. “You know the most powerful of spells are those that burn along with the strongest of emotions. We usually harness them, keep them for later, as fuel to be used when we need them the most. But when we burn…” He let out a deep sigh, correcting his posture and looking back at you. Vergil knew quite well what was like not being able to hold back on your feelings and lash out – and he also knew the aftermath. “Great deeds come from it… But it also depletes us completely.”
“Hmmm. That’s exactly how I feel…” Now it was your turn to furrow your brows, surveying that turmoil inside your heart. “Depleted. Empty. Like…”
You still searched for words. It was as if there was a fog inside your head and you had to chase in the corners of your mind to string them properly and explain how you were feeling. Luckily, you had Vergil by your side, waiting patiently and quietly, but also knowing exactly which words you were hunting down.
“Like your energy has been taken away from you and it is scattered around; for everyone else to make use of it but yourself.” He completed your thoughts after waiting a few seconds – and your eyes finally jolted back to his: now with the gentleness of someone who is being seen for the very first time.
Although it did soothe his heart, if only just a little. He appreciated your sharp look, yes, but he did adore the softness you reserved only for him.
“I…” And as you stared into his eyes, you only found patience and knowing: Vergil wasn’t going anywhere. There was no rush to figure things out, to fix them and to keep going. Everything was still; as still as your lover sitting right by your side, arms crossed, open to listen for an eternity, if you were to need it. “I don’t know what I need. I just know I’m tired. Not physically, but…”
“Inside.” Vergil nodded slowly, recognizing things he had felt before and still harbored in himself. Days like the one you were going through were hard, and sometimes could extend to weeks if you didn’t care for yourself. “You have to go back to yourself. Take some time.”
You just glared back at him: both of you weren’t exactly known for being gentle with your feelings and stopping for some rest.
“You’re one to talk.”
“I know, love.” Vergil let out a quiet giggle while slightly shaking his head – he knew he was giving advice he himself would ignore depending on the situation. “But I also know sometimes I can’t keep going without recollecting myself. When your heart is numb and your body is exhausted, it leads to… Imprudent decisions.” Vergil took a deep breath – and the eyes you found now had a certain vulnerability he would always reserve to you. “Grounding is what kept me alive, during days there was nothing to do but wait. My body and mind broke, but not my spirit. And you cannot let yours break.”
“Hmmm. That’s why you meditate so much.” As you spoke, Vergil once again slowly nodded, with a faint smile on the corner of his lips. “I… Don’t know if that would help. It feels like… I can’t feel anything at all, but exhaustion. As strange as it sounds, even sleeping sounds tiring – and that I can’t explain better.”
Vergil had to turn a smart, side-eye gaze to you, recognizing how you were referring back to when he pointed out there were very few things you couldn’t explain and you were just lying to avoid him. You didn’t have a smile on your face, but you did look slightly more peaceful than when you entered home that night – and that he could read as a good thing.
Your light wasn’t gone, it was just muted. Suddenly, that fear that settled at the base of his stomach crawled back to the depths of his soul where it came from – not lost forever but safely locked away, for the time being.
“One step at a time.”
And that was one of the rare moments you could see in Vergil’s lips a small smile – hidden like a ghost, one only a medium like you could identify in the haunted structure that he was.
You only smiled back and, with a deep sigh, you closed your eyes and rested your head on his shoulder. If you had your eyes opened, you would be able to see that now, that ghost was an entire apparition, while he silently awaited for you to grow tired of his presence.
*
If you had to walk small steps, then that was what you were going to do – and that was why you were taking your time to feel the water on your face, as you slowly did your evening bathroom routine.
It was actually Vergil who pushed you – gently, you had to note – to refresh yourself, put on some comfortable clothes and try to start winding down; and so, you decided to do it as one of his small, mundane meditations he always did.
Strangely helpful and soothing, that you had to note. Taking your time to do things, instead of always rushing as if you had an appointment you were already running late, gradually worked on grounding you back into that moment. Your heart seemed to be beating again, and that unfeeling void in your chest didn’t look anymore like a monster that would never go away.
Expecting to find Vergil in your room, you exited the bathroom with the words already at the tip of your tongue to state how much his advice ended up helping – even if just a little.
But he was nowhere to be seen.
“Vergil…?” You now wore a slight frown, quickly searching the room with your eyes only to find nothing.
Until a sweet scent reached you from the outside of the bedroom.
Intriguing, to say the very least. You left your used clothes folded on the bed, following that rich, and almost dark, sugary scent. You barely noticed how focusing on that seemed to slowly bring your heart back, with each step allowing itself to feel a little bit more, to be present once more.
And even more intriguing than the scent, was your find: Vergil in the kitchen, his eyes focused but with a tinge of tiredness – of someone who spent a whole week wasting energy on worrying and was now feeling the toll of it – carefully pouring some hot chocolate inside two fancy porcelain teacups; painted with flowers and golden filigrees, your favorite ones.
“Oh. I didn’t know that was in the Dark Slayer’s extensive roster of abilities.” You had to point it out. After all, you knew the first time Vergil ever drank some hot chocolate again was when you made him some – the last time being when Eva did it, during his childhood.
“It is a secret one.” He didn’t turn his eyes to you, but you could see that ghost of a smile hidden in the corners of his words. You would always appreciate how Vergil seemed so gentle around you, in his own way. “Reserved only to a few.”
With that, he finally turned to you by his side, offering one of the teacups. You couldn’t refrain a genuine smile to softly color your lips upon noticing he offered you the one with a plethora of purple flowers while he kept the one with the blue flowers to himself.
“Careful. It’s hot.”
Vergil didn’t have to point it out, for you were always cautious with your teacups – especially when their contents were too warm – but he did it anyway. As you both leaned on the kitchen counter side by side, you held the cup near your lips, blowing on it to cool the chocolate a little bit.
“I learned plenty from watching my father while he trained.” Vergil’s voice was quiet, almost as if his words were for your ears only and he didn’t want to risk it falling in the wrong ones. “We do learn a lot from observing the ones we love.”
This time, the smile spreading on your lips was a little more colorful, and you could feel a golden wave taking over your chest – that horrible void that had been suffocating you through the whole week finally being defeated by something else… Something better. Vergil wasn’t one to speak his feelings and make himself vulnerable out loud, but he was one to imply so only the most attentive ones would notice.
You were very well attuned to your lover to understand. He never really watched Eva in the kitchen when he was a child, only a few times; but never with enough attention on what she was doing, but on her: the lullaby she hummed, the way she smiled at him – and then, eventually, she would tell him to go outside play with his brother or read one of his books instead of wasting his time there with her. He always wished he had wasted more time with her, but that was something he couldn’t go back to.
When the taste of the chocolate hit your tongue, you closed your eyes. It tasted almost exactly like the way you did it, with a slight spin of Vergil’s own touch to the recipe. To know you were loved enough to be carefully observed by your lover, in a caring manner that made him know exactly how you did things without ever needing to ask you…
The numbness in your heart was being slowly fought away, by a silent angel of death that stood by your side with an immobile certainty he would always be there, no matter how hard – or harrowing – the storm.
“Thank you, Vergil.” Your voice was a whisper, as your lips left the porcelain – and your eyes were kept shut, as the storm in your heart started overflowing. This time, though, out of being seen… And utterly adored. “I am glad we found each other, to have you in my life… And that you exist.”
As you laid your head on his shoulder once again, still keeping your rainfall eyes closed, it was Vergil’s turn to close his.
But just like you, he couldn’t stop his silvery glaciers from melting down his face.
Neither his ghostly smile from becoming another rather beautiful apparition.
*
“I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, or arrow of carnations that propagate fire: I love you as one loves certain obscure things, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom, but carries the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself, and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where; I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love, except in this form in which I am not nor are you, so close that your hand upon my chest is mine, so close that your eyes close with my dreams.”
Dante & Vergil caring for their s/o pretending to be fine on a low-energy/emotionally exhausted day - Dante Chapter
Pairings: Dante x Reader
Summary: You could always expertly pretend everything was alright - you couldn't, however, run for too long from the eyes of your lover. Even if you didn't want to worry him, you were the easiest book for him to read.
Restrictions: Things are superficially mentioned and implied. Your job involves children and teens being kidnapped, and the main culprits this time... Are humans - hence your emptiness and exhaustion. There's no more detail other than that, but I do think a warning is always nice if you want to avoid it.
Author’s Notes: I've been feeling horribly drained and empty from watching a few news and seeing some cases that, honestly, feels like my soul has left my body. This is 1st part of me coping with that in writing, so I do hope it helps other people too.
Also: I was listening to I'll Be Your Home on repeat writing this, and it shows. Dante has been hitting me with feels for a while now, and I'll make it everyone's problem :)
Vergil version will be up with the same name with the added "Vergil Chapter" after it - I just haven't finished it yet. Halfway through it ;)
Dante
If there was one thing in this life Dante was very good at – and he was proficient in lots of things – that would be the ability to tell with a certainty when your vibe was off.
“Pfff, y/n vibe bein’ off? What’s that now? 70’s hippie new age stuff? Vibe chekin’…?” Nero made some waves with his fingers while making his voice a little spookier, poking fun at Dante the first time he absentmindedly mentioned something was wrong with your vibe.
As always, Dante shrugged it off, casually sighing.
“Hey, kid, that’s how we used to say in my time.” And of course, he wouldn’t miss the opportunity of poking some fun back at Nero. “Gimme a break, will ya? But yeah, somethin’s off. Bet’cha can feel that with your girl too.”
“Kyrie? What, like…?”
Dante would always appreciate how the simple mention of Kyrie could make Nero go from 100 to 0 in the span of a second. He could be dressed as a clown: simply by saying her name, Nero would immediately turn mindful and seriously focused.
That, in Dante’s book, was one of the best indicators Nero would never follow the same path as his father.
“Ya know. Bet she has days when she tells ya everythin’s alright, but you can feel somethin’. In the way she talks, in the way she moves. How her shoulders are slightly tighter, how her brows look like they never relax, how her hands move around nervously, almost shakin’.” As Dante described, both uncle and nephew didn’t exchange looks, but in their minds they could almost see everything he was talking about – each with their respective partners. “If you ask, she’ll smile and brush it off, ‘cause she doesn’t wanna worry you. But’cha know somethin’ ain’t right, and with only a glance you know…”
“Her vibe is off.” Nero looked back at Dante, with the man flashing him a quick smile and a wink, glad his nephew caught up. “Damn. Makes sense, I know what’cha talkin’ ‘bout. And I hate it, thanks.”
“You gotta better way to describe it?” Dante let out a hearty laugh, opening his arms. “Be my guest, come up with somethin’ better!”
“I… Tsk!” Nero almost rolled his eyes, already shaking his head. “You just explained it to me! I can’t make somethin’ up so fast…!”
“’Cause ya know the vibe is the best definition…!”
And that discussion would go on for hours – with Nero eventually giving in and adopting the “vibe is off” from Dante’s vocabulary.
Memories aside, that was precisely what the red devil was thinking about while sitting at his usual desk at the Devil May Cry: that day, your vibe was off.
You didn’t even try to convince him much: as soon as you got a call, you left for a job on your own, telling Dante you didn’t need him around and he could stay at the shop, in case someone called for him specifically. It should be easy so don’t worry about it, you said with a proper smile on your lips, before grabbing your gear, quickly kissing him and leaving on your motorcycle.
But something wasn’t right in that smile of yours: it was a little too perfect, too contained. Your shoulders were in high alert and your whole body looked tense, as if ready to be attacked at any moment. Your quick kiss trembled in his lips for a fraction of a second – but, during that half-second, you hesitated. As if maybe you should tell him something, deciding you ultimately shouldn’t.
Everything was right and you should be back by nightfall. But something in you was off, something in your vibe. Dante couldn’t quite put it into words, but he would bet he would be able to sniff it out of you when you entered in the shop.
The sky outside was already tinging with a dark shade of purple, the burnt orange shades far away on the horizon line, ready to plunge into darkness until the next day. Soon, the moon would be out, with its pale glow to faintly bright up a dark navy blue – and you still hadn’t returned; from an easy job.
If Dante was competent at what he did, you were too. He never doubted your abilities and, if you considered it easy, then he considered it easy – and calculated how long it should take by his standards. After all, you were more than capable to follow his pace, and that was something he was always so grateful for.
Looking over his magazine, Dante had been stationary on that page for almost an hour already. Nothing too special: an article about the latest guns in the market, something he was interested about, but nothing would really beat Ebony and Ivory. He had read that a couple of times already, and was beginning to string phrases that weren’t really there; piecing together words from the beginning of the paragraph with words at the end, making absolutely no sense.
He stared at the heavy wooden doors of the Devil May Cry. Dark skies, fixed silence, and you still weren’t back home.
“What gives…?” Dante sighed to himself, furrowing his brows. Turning his sky-blue eyes back to the article, he pretended to read some more, while his mind kept on thinking about you.
He was too worried, and he knew how you hated when he got worried like that – something about seeming like he didn’t trust you to do your job and get it done without getting hurt. Dante had explained a thousand times it wasn’t like that at all, and did his best to avoid smothering you and being overprotective… But he couldn’t help how his heart would beat completely out of sync when you weren’t around when your vibe was off.
He couldn’t help it. Dante loved you too much to ignore when he felt something was bothering you – and to not worry when a supposedly easy job was taking a lot more time than him, and you, expected.
“Aaah, damn… It’s hopeless…” Dante murmured to himself, finally tossing the magazine on his desk and getting up right after; tossing his hair around to see if that could at least relieve some of his anxiety.
He would never comb it back like Vergil, though. Definitely not his style.
Maybe he could take a shower, to cool his head and see if those worried thoughts would wash down the drain – at least a little. Dante was avoiding resorting to his whiskey bottle, but… Well, if it got too bad; if memories started coming back, haunting him, telling him the same thing that happened to everyone in his life was going to happen to you, that you would burn just like everyone else, then a few shots wouldn’t hurt.
Hunting wouldn’t hurt, either. Fighting and killing demons was always very efficient in making Dante’s thoughts finally shut up for a second – when he was constantly fighting for his life and with a real danger of having his head cut off his body, the fear and adrenaline were more important than whatever ghost hiding in the corner of his mind. The haunting always subsided, at least for a few moments.
“Hmmm, what y/n does again…?” Dante sighed once more, hands on his hips while slowly pacing around the shop. “Tea. Some tea... Might help.”
That was one of the things you did, whenever you noticed Dante’s demons were coming out of their cage to taunt him. It was strange, even, how well you could read him: he wouldn’t say a word, but suddenly you were bringing him something soothing – not to his body, but to his soul. A warm cup of tea, some hearty hot chocolate… You always managed to bring him something to comfort – and you stayed. Talked, until his monsters were tightly bound inside their closets again.
Not with violence. But with care.
Halfway to the kitchen, though, Dante perked up as soon as he heard the familiar noise of the front door handle being pushed. Spinning in his heels, he quickly turned around, with a satisfied smile plastered on his lips.
Dante thought the sight of you would be enough to have his ghosts disappear for the time being, back to the darkness where they belonged, far away from your light. But, as soon as his eyes met you, Dante couldn’t hold back the frown that took over his face.
“Hey, babe. Somethin’ wrong?”
Of course something was wrong – he believed he could sniff it out of you, and sniff he did: you looked up to him, blood sprinkled over your clothes and some even on your face, with the emptiest eyes he had ever seen. And that was something quite out of the ordinary: if there was something Dante adored, was the light you had inside your eyes; that spark of life that always proved him there was good in this world, and a lot of it lived inside your soul.
That evening, though, your eyes seemed opaque, completely void. They were already threatening to become like that when he sensed your vibe was off, but right now… Well, now Dante could clearly see it.
“Hmmm…?” You had your brows furrowed, looking up at Dante as if you hadn’t seen him there – which was quite a feat, considering his size and how much he always lit up the room for you. Upon finding the worry contained in his sky-blue eyes, though, you immediately forced a serene smile to spread across your lips. “Oh. It’s nothing, babe. Just… A little harder than I expected, that’s all.”
And there it was: the mask you used to hide behind every time you didn’t want to get him worried. It didn’t matter how well you crafted and wore it, Dante was still able to read the truth; after all, you couldn’t fake that spark in your eyes he loved so much. And, no matter how hard you tried to conceal it, that spark was dormant, hidden behind a cloud of conflicting emotions you didn’t want to tell him about.
“I see…” Dante slowly approached, almost casually, playing your game as you closed the door – turning your back to him, so you didn’t have to put on the act too much. He crossed his arms, still observing: you’d always find a way to avoid his eyes when your vibe was off. “Lady and Trish…?”
“We had to split up at some point, I handled things…” You shrugged, still fumbling with the door lock and your gear, as if everything else in this world was more important than Dante at that moment. You could feel his eyes burning on the back of your head. “Called them, they got their side done, I got my side done, they’re now collecting the pay. Lady will transfer my cut when she’s got the money.”
“So you came back on your own?” It wasn’t out of character for the three of you to split up and go your own ways after calling each other – but still. Your vibe was off.
“I was closer to the shop, figured three devil hunters to collect a pay is overkill.” You let a little laugh at the end of your sentence, but something about it felt a little forced. Finally, you turned around, meeting Dante only a few feet away from you – with those sky-blue eyes that always seemed to read your soul. It was comforting, even if you didn’t want to worry him. “I’m tired. I just wanna take a shower and rest. They can handle it on their own.”
“Lady can always handle the money, alright.” He had a half-smile on the corner of his lips, having you mirror his demeanor – this, at least, was sincere. It was almost like your vibe attuned back; though it didn’t last long. “You sure everythin’s alright, babe…? Your shoulders are kinda tense.”
“Well, I just spent a whole day fighting, they’re bound to get like that, I guess.” You sighed heavily, although trying to keep your voice lighthearted. Dante did notice how you said you spent the day fighting, not killing demons. You usually said the later, in a jokingly, carefree manner, even. “Nothing some hot water won’t dissolve, I think.”
“Hmmm. I can always rub that tension out of ya.” Dante winked back, with a smart smile coloring his lips – he knew how much you appreciated his playful flirting. “These hands are used to hard work, babe.”
“Oh… As much as I appreciate the massage offer, Dante…” And you turned your eyes away from him, already making your way to the stairs. He couldn’t refrain from frowning a bit – he expected one of your playful nicknames for him, like big guy, red devil, cowboy… Not Dante. It felt like being called by his full name by his mother. “I’ll have to pass. I really need a shower and some rest.”
“Can’t force you to do somethin’ you don’t wanna do, babe…” He sighed, following you upstairs almost like your very own towering guardian demon, ready to catch you if you fell. Even if you were doing something completely mundane and uneventful, like climbing a set of stairs. “I’ll be ‘round if ya need me, ‘k?”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Dante.” Still, he followed you inside the bedroom, as if now you two were connected and nothing would be enough to make him go away. And, again, he felt the same thing upon hearing you call him Dante. “You can do your own things, I’ll be fine. It’s just a shower for a tired human body, that’s all.”
“I’ve read that same damn article five times already, don’t need to read it a sixth time.” Dante finally stopped in the middle of the room, forcing you to do the same – halfway to the bathroom, with your clean clothes you gathered while he followed you around and you avoided his eyes. Now, you couldn’t avoid those piercing, but loving, sky-blue eyes. “What’s wrong, y/n? You know you can talk to me.”
You immediately frowned as your jaw tightened a little; and there you were thinking you were doing a good job at deflecting Dante’s questions and looking as fine as you could be. You also understood how he felt when you called him so starkly by his name while trying to match your usual playful, carefree talks.
“I…” Closing your eyes, you finally took a deep breath. If you kept staring at Dante for too long, you wouldn’t be able to keep your cool facade for too long. “I’m just… Tired. That’s all. I don’t want you to worry about me, Dante, I’ll be fine –“
“But I do worry ‘bout you.” He wasn’t one to interrupt you while you spoke – in a matter of fact, Dante never interrupted you. But, this time, he felt like he needed to; and you needed to listen.
“I know.” You opened your eyes again, gazing back at Dante. The more you did, though, the more the lump in your throat seemed to grow; and that turmoil stirring inside your chest started building up, almost like knowing Dante could weather the storm, whatever it was. You didn’t want him to weather that storm, though: it was yours to carry and he already had too much inside of himself to endure. “But I don’t want you to. It’s… It’s probably going to wear off in a while, I just need to wind down a little, I…” You sighed again, that frown taking over your face – your mask cracking ever so slightly. “I’m just tired. Our job is tiring and my full human body needs its time to recover. I’ve been pushing myself, I think I just need some rest. You can stop worrying.”
“Well, ok, y/n…” Dante shook his head and you knew he didn’t buy it – but, if there was something you were thankful for your red devil, was that he never pushed too much when you weren’t ready for something. Even if everyone believed otherwise, Dante was quite patient – especially with your time regarding your own feelings. “Like I said, I’m gonna be ‘round. If you need me, gimme a shout, ok…?
“Ok.” You now had a sincere slight smile on your lips – and that made Dante’s heart light up a little bit. “Thank you, Dante.”
“No need to thank me, y/n.” His answer wasn’t loud and spirited as always, but low and calm; almost like a murmur, as Dante approached and placed a kiss on your forehead.
As he moved to the bed, sitting on the edge and taking off his worn boots, you followed to the bathroom – leaving the door slightly open, as you both always did when you were in the shower. That way, you kept your privacy, but if any of you needed the other, you could always talk and easily enter without having to worry.
The warm water of the shower certainly felt like a blessing – something that could, indeed, help your tense shoulders relax a little bit. You had to admit, it wasn’t as effective as Dante’s hands: with years of devil hunting, he was quite proficient in massages to relax the muscles. As he said, those hands did do more than just killing, and you never passed the chance to have him help your tension wash away…
But you were avoiding staying near him, and you didn’t really know why. Your heart was strange, your chest feeling void and light. You didn’t expect a job to affect you that much, but it did – and you didn’t want to admit it.
You, Lady and Trish had been tracking down what seemed to be a bunch of demons that kept moving from town to town, always covering their tracks. Dante did find that job interesting, since that type of behavior indicated higher-ranking demons – the ones that weren’t moved only by their thirst of blood, but that could actually think of intricate plans and tried to stay one step ahead of hunters.
They weren’t the most common of types, but they did exist. Dante would have joined you and the ladies to track them down, but Nero had a job lined up that ended up needing more than one hunter. Since you and the ladies were more than capable to handle things, Dante decided to help the kid – if you needed a hand, he would always answer your call.
As you kept on investigating, you started picking up leads that changed your suspicions regarding those demons – but you decided to keep that to yourself. As the week went by and Trish finally found their hiding location, you were more and more certain of what your intuition was telling you – and you didn’t want to be. You hoped to be wrong.
It wore you down, though. Every time you were out working, it seemed like you were wasting double the energy you would usually waste, and it took a toll on you. Deciding to carry everything silently, you didn’t want to worry Dante with something you didn’t even know if it was true.
But it was. And that day, the job took so long because your intuition was right. And you hated it.
You could easily understand Dante when his eyes were opaque and his heart seemed to have vanished from his chest – those days when he sat on his desk, no magazine in hand, just staring at some empty spot or at the portrait of his mother. The days when his soul seemed to be gone, and all that energy he always carried around was nowhere to be seen. He needed to recharge: he needed comfort, love and gentleness; though everything he always got was blood, hatred and harshness.
It felt like your heart weighed inside your chest, and you could barely bring yourself to finish your shower. You didn’t know exactly what you were feeling, you just knew it wasn’t good. That lump in your throat reappeared and almost felt like choking – and you had to wonder if that was the same thing Dante felt in those days, when all his light was out.
He spent a lifetime without anyone to help him deal with those ghosts, and you did as well – until you found him. You always did your best to bring Dante the gentleness he always desperately needed in his life and never got to have, and you noticed he did the very same, in his own way… Not to repay your actions, but out of the genuine love and care he had in his heart for you.
Because after everything Dante had lived through, after all the fire and blood, his heart always remained loving and good.
Your eyes suddenly filled with a flood that, even if you tried to hold back, couldn’t be contained. He had always been there. During your hardest days, your bleakest of moments, Dante was always there by your side – quietly, gently, unmoving. He was always loud and lacking seriousness, but when you needed a safe place to fall and comfort, Dante was the most sincere, silent and steadfast presence you ever had in your life. He always knew how to read what you needed, and you got to experience a whole side of his personality he didn’t really show others.
You weren’t really finished with your shower. You stepped out, wrapping yourself on the fluffy towels you insisted to spend money on, and walked to the bedroom, wondering if you would find him.
And of course you did: Dante said he would be there if you needed anything, so he would be there. Standing near the chair where you two left your daily clothes and pajamas, changing his shirt for the one he wore to sleep – you caught a glimpse of his back, littered with new and old scars.
“Hey…!” His voice was a little more casual, lighthearted as always; but as he turned around – you were sure Dante had sensed you walking out of the bathroom as soon as you stepped through the door – he found your eyes marinated with tears, while you approached with hair still wet and wrapped around your towel. His demeanor changed in the blink of an eye, and there he was: quiet, serious Dante; ready to hold you whenever you needed him to. “Hey. What’s wrong, y/n?”
You didn’t answer – at least, not with words. You just closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around him, resting your head on his chest. Dante had to admit he was shocked, but that feeling lasted for a fraction of a second; soon his arms were tightly holding you, one of his steady hands resting on your head.
You took a deep breath, still trying not to cry. It always felt so warm, though, the way Dante held you: he knew the extent of his strength, and he always knew how to wrap his arms around you in a way that didn’t suffocate, but was enough to make you feel safe.
“Today sucked, big guy…” Your voice was slightly muffled by how you kept your head almost hidden in his chest, sulking in a way it seemed you would melt away on the floor. Dante couldn’t stop the slight, peaceful smile that graced his lips: the mask broke, and you were finally there. That was all he ever wanted, you; no matter the mood.
“I’ve a feelin’ it wasn’t just today…” He had that voice on. That quiet tone, the one that he always wore when things were serious and your hearts were the ones speaking. It gave you the confidence to talk about it, always did.
Dante had an expertise in dealing with emotionally hindered people, after all.
“This whole job… It was bad.” You sighed, still hiding your face in his chest. Dante kept his hand on your hair, slightly caressing you – he had to point out to himself, how precious you looked when you decided to let your guard down and trust him with your heart. “I… I don’t even know what I’m feeling, but… I’m… Empty. Like it drained me of everything good I have inside, and there’s nothing left.”
“Hey…” Now it was Dante’s turn to frown: you were both used to seeing the worst the world had to offer, so he had to wonder what the hell was that job about. As he called, you finally risked a look up, meeting his sky-blue eyes: indeed, yours were empty, even if a few tears rolled down your face. Almost as if your body was involuntarily weeping, since no emotion could be read in your expression. “Hell would need its absolute worse to take the good out of ya. And even then, I’ll be here, so that’s somethin’ that’ll never happen, pretty eyes.”
You furrowed your brows slightly, with a small smile appearing on your lips – your feelings scattered everywhere, you didn’t know if you wanted to cry, argue, smile or hug him even tighter. Dante’s hand that caressed your hair went down, his fingers wiping away the few tears on your face.
And you had to close your eyes, almost as if it hurt. All that kindness, the soft touch from his rough, calloused hands… You were not used to that, as much as he wasn’t used to receiving it – but Dante experienced it with you. And now, he was making sure you would have that as well.
It did hurt. In the best of ways.
“Wanna talk about it…?”
“It wasn’t demons this time.” Your answer was a whisper, your eyes still closed. Once again, you rested your head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart – somehow, that always seemed to calm you down and ground you; opening your eyes again, you wrapped your arms tighter around him. “There were demons involved, but they were just pawns… We split so Lady and Trish could find the missing children and teens, I told them I could take the demons responsible for the kidnappings and killings. ‘Cause I knew they wouldn’t be demons.”
It finally downed on Dante what you were talking about – and that’s why he held you a little tighter against his chest. Humans could be as evil as demons, and he had killed plenty of those who filled those shoes: Dante would spare goodhearted demons, but he would kill evil spirited, rotten humans, who were nothing more than a low-tier demon in his view.
But he also knew that kind of thing was easier to talk about than to do. Killing demons was one thing, killing humans was completely different. It helped to see them as he saw: low-tier demons, keeping a weak, human form because they were so pathetic they couldn’t even be born in a more powerful vessel. Just a sniveling little creature, whining about becoming more powerful and corrupting everything good in their way – a little weed, needing to be cut off. And that’s what he usually did.
The first time he did so, though, it wasn’t that easy. His mindset came with the years, and it helped him to do his job and uphold his morals. With time, Dante’s heart grew colder and harsher towards those who had everything and still chose to follow a path of absolute rot and filth – maybe the one who started that was Arkham, but Dante never really gave that pathetic man too much thought. He didn’t deserve it.
“I didn’t want it to be humans, calling the shots on something so horrific. I had my suspicions, but I wanted to be wrong.” You closed your eyes again, taking a deep breath. “We’d probably have a discussion if it’d be better to turn them over to Lady’s contacts in the police office, so I didn’t tell the ladies. I found them, and they’re all dead. It’s over. They…”
You stopped yourself for a while, the words caught up at the tip of your tongue. Luckily, Dante could always meet you halfway.
“They were demons.”
And, somehow, hearing him say that cleared a thorn that seemed to be lodged deep inside your heart ever since you left the Devil May Cry that morning.
“They were demons.” You whispered back, almost as if finally accepting those words. “I… Don’t know what to feel. I should be horrified, and I don’t want to become a monster, but… They deserved it. All of them. Deserved it. And…” You frowned once again, now a little more confident to voluntarily look up at him – meeting Dante’s gentle gaze for such a harrowing subject. “Maybe all my feelings are so contradictory they are canceling each other and I’m feeling nothing but extreme exhaustion.”
“Ya know, this job… It doesn’t get just your body tired, but sometimes your soul. You gotta find yours again.” Dante once more caressed your face, only to turn his fingers back to some rogue strands of wet hair on your head. “Kinda like those things sucked out your energy, and you need to get it back. You’re not a monster, y/n. You’re human. And humans get their souls exhausted too.”
“Part of me wished I hadn’t seen any of that…” You let out a tired sigh, now resting your forehead on his chest. “The other part of me is glad it was me to be there. That I got to be the one to do this job.”
“Yeah… I know what you mean.”
For a moment, you both just stayed quiet: Dante still caressing your wet hair, and you grounding with the rhythm of his heartbeat. You couldn’t really tell how much time had passed – maybe it was a few minutes, maybe it was a few hours – the only thing you were sure was that you didn’t want him to let go. You wanted to stay in his arms forever, quietly recharging from all… That.
It felt like you would never have the energy to fight and go by your usual daily activities again – and something in your heart pointed you to a belief that Dante knew exactly how that felt like.
“Tell you what…” And, as much as he wanted to embrace you forever, Dante also knew you would soon catch a cold from standing in the middle of the room like that – no matter how warm he was, he still couldn’t work miracles. “You finish that shower of yours, put on some warm clothes, then meet me in the kitchen, ‘k?”
“In the kitchen…?” You had to raise one brow as you distanced from him – something your heart was strongly opposing to. “You’re not gonna set anything on fire, are you…?”
“Eh, ye of little faith…!” Dante’s heart also opposed to letting you go, but if he didn’t, you two wouldn’t move for a long time – and you deserved to be taken care of, after taking care so much of him throughout the years. “I’ll have you know, I didn’t survive all this time only on pizza.”
“Instant noodles don’t count, big guy.”
And there it was: Dante’s ability to make you laugh even if you were absolutely miserable. With one hand over his chest, he looked at you as if he was thoroughly offended by your words – and you couldn’t help but laugh, even if softly.
“I happen to know how to cook pasta. Will do it for ya someday.” With those words, Dante placed another kiss on your forehead – lingering for a few seconds, not needing to use his words to make it clear how much he cared for you. “Take your time, I’ll be waitin’ for ya. No fire in the kitchen, promise.”
You shook your head slightly. How could you ever say no to that?
*
The smell at the main floor of the shop was sweet, as you finally went downstairs wearing your cozy pajamas and warm, fluffy socks. You could see the moon high in the sky through the windows, heading to the back – where you found Dante patiently stirring something on the stove of the small kitchen.
As soon as you got there, your nose picked up the scent: hot chocolate. That was something Dante didn’t know how to do – he and Nero famously tried to do it once during a particularly cold winter to try to impress you and Kyrie, but it ended with you and her cleaning the stove and trying to salvage the completely charred milk pitcher. The kitchen smelled of burnt chocolate for weeks.
This time, though, it wasn’t like that. Dante seemed very concentrated on his mission of stirring the content in the pitcher, controlling the low heat on the stove so it wouldn’t boil and overflow, but still warm up nicely.
You had to wonder, when did he learn that.
“Now that’s new.” You leaned by the door, resting your head on the door stop while observing him – if Dante turned around, he would be able to see the adoration in your eyes.
“What…?” And his low, quiet voice was back – although laced by the serenity you needed to have your heart calm down a bit. “I’m pretty good at learnin' from observation, ya know.”
Even if Dante’s voice had that edge of softness you needed at the moment, that comment finally made it down on you how much he observed you on a daily basis.
You weren’t really aware of it, but he would always be there, watching as you did the most mundane of things – and not in a controlling way, but with the adoration in those sky-blue eyes of someone who never had that; who thought he would never get to live that. Dante could find beauty in all things that you did: be it organizing the shop, training to refine your fighting skills… Or just preparing some hot chocolate.
He had observed with enough care to learn how you did it, without needing you to explain.
“Why don’t you do it more often, then…?” You tried to keep your voice steady, always avoiding making it clear how much your heart was affected by Dante just being… Dante.
“I like the way you do it, babe.” And meeting you halfway as always, Dante wouldn’t tell how much he enjoyed the way your hand gently stirred the chocolate, how you always seemed to hum a little song while waiting, how your foot mindlessly scratched the back of your ankle so you wouldn’t take your eyes away from the task at hand. How he loved when you did it all for him – just like now he was doing for you.
For a moment, you understood: watching as he mindlessly brushed his hair away from his eyes with his free hand, as he slowly stirred the chocolate, as he quietly waited with a patience that only seemed to be reserved to your eyes. There was a silent beauty in that; of a little moment, that you were certain would be caught in time, forever in your mind.
Maybe that was what eternity was about.
Quietly, you approached your red devil – who noticed you coming, but still kept to his task, as you would always do with him. What he didn’t expect, was for you to wrap your arms around his torso once again, now with your head resting on his back.
Dante couldn’t hold back the smile spreading through his lips, as he held your hands with his free hand – keeping at his mission of preparing you a nice cup of warm hot chocolate.
“Thank you.” Your voice was a whisper, as you closed your eyes and kept listening to his heartbeat. Such a human heartbeat.
“For what, babe? Chocolate isn’t done yet.”
“For always being my home, Dante.”
As you started to softly hum a song both of you knew quite well, Dante squeezed your hands slightly tighter; sky-blue eyes with a forecast of rain.
This time, it didn’t bother him to hear his name from your lips.
Self aware Dmc where they can hear you or see you during cutscenes or during general gameplay. Not knowing how to feel about someone watching and even controlling them. Hell, you even talk to them as if they could hear you. I mean they could but you didn’t know that, and it’s not like they could respond if they wanted to.
Self aware Dmc where they slowly grow fond of you and the way you fawn or panic over them. Getting them more skills, sounding like you’re close to tears when they get hurt on accident and start apologizing. Or hearing you praise them for a job well done after a fight and even say “We did it! Or rather you did it…still! Good job!” and them chuckling internally since they know you didn’t include yourself due to not wanting to take any credit or something similar.
Self aware Dmc where the characters recognize you no matter what console you play in or no matter which game of the franchise it is. They’re glad to see you again and how excited you are to keep learning of their world.
Self aware Dmc where they love to see your reactions to certain things in cutscenes. Like finding the small numbers of each mission hidden in the cutscenes of Dmc 3 (you looked so cute when you got excited once you found the number). Or when you fought Vergil for the first time in Temen ni gru (he couldn’t help but be amused as you panicked when Dante almost died and when you started cheering once you got a hit in on him). Or when you looked so lost during Dmc 2 (Dante almost broke out of character when he uttered the lines “Do you have to ask?” and you just blew up and begged for answers due to the lack of context of the entire thing. How adorable). Or when you cried or teared during any emotional moment and worried over them (Lady still appreciates the concern you showed when she shot her father. And Nero and Kyrie are glad they had someone who cared so much for them when they were sealed in the Savior).
Self aware Dmc where they love seeing flustered over certain moments in the game too. It’s definitely their favorite thing to hear you shamelessly fawn over them, especially since you think they can’t hear you. If you happen to have a favorite from the cast, when you’re offline, they’d brag to the others on how much they fawn over them instead of anyone else. (Nero, for example, was extremely smug when he heard you sputter after saying “Gotta pay attention, sweetheart”. You could barely speak coherently, that’s too cute)
Self aware Dmc where they have to stay in character when they hear you cuss out any minor enemies or main antagonists during boss fights or cutscenes as if you’re arguing with them. Some of the insults aren’t half bad, they’ll give you that. Even if it barely makes sense to them.
Self aware Dmc where they feel bad when you get frustrated over a particular boss fight and can’t get through it after several tries. They don’t like seeing you beat yourself up for it and it makes them want to try even harder for your sake. Anything to make sure you don’t cry…again.
Self aware Dmc where they try to tweak some of the dialogue or cutscenes to give you more content or small 4th wall breaks. It’s endearing to see you so excited and flustered when they do.
Self aware Dmc where they eventually grow possessive of you, their dear player and want your attention all to themselves. How could they not, you’re just so sweet and caring towards them even if they’re just fictional characters to you. You treat and talk them like they could reply to your remarks (and they desperately want to. How they wish they could)
Self aware Dmc my beloved.
(I’ve never written headcannons or drabbles like this before, hope it’s good. And yes, most of these headcannons or scenarios were based on my own experiences when playing the games, sue me. There’s not enough self aware dmc content. WAHHH-)
Hear me out…Dante and Vergil using his arm transformed into his Devil Trigger form to warm the belly of his partner with menstrual cramps because they don't have a heating pad around…
notes: hi, anon! In advance, sorry for keeping you waiting for such a long period. Now that's a very adorable request! Been there, went through it, wish I could have Dante to comfort me, it's such a pain in the ass. Well, in this case, in the uterus. Sorry for the bad joke btw hehe
Thank you for requesting and enjoy the reading! 🧡
♡ tags: fluffy, mentions of menstrual cycle and period cramps, (in the most subtle way fr), no reader's appearance description, 2nd pov (you/yours only), gender-neutral reader, I'm sorry if Vergil's part is short I don't know how to write him, the dorks of Sparda are the cutest.
⠀🍓 ˖ . ᵎᵎ Dante & Vergil using their DT'd arm to comfort their S/O's period cramps
ⓘ gif's not mine!!
Dante
Cuddly, attentive boyfriend is on the way!
Really, Dante is gonna do anything in his league to comfort you and make you feel good. He knows how hard this time of month can be for you and will support you and help you in any way he can.
If you have a craving for something sweet? Do not despair, he’s got this, the best sundae of your favourite flavour just for you. Your legs and feet are itchy and hurting? He’s your man and will deliver the best of his massage techniques — and honey, they’re wonderful. But most importantly, the strawberry on top: Cuddles.
As we all may know, Dante is in fact a teddy bear and has so much love to give. He’ll cuddle you no matter — it does matter sometimes — the situation, especially considering you’re on your period and are feeling down because, well, hormones are a bunch of bitches.
That means that it’s no big deal when you don’t have your heating pad on your display. Why, what is a itty bitty heating pad compared to your big, buffy warm boyfriend?
At first, Dante’s kind of unsure about your suggestion, thinking the rough texture of the scales would hurt you, yet he knows you’re well used to touching him on his DT. So he complies, one arm surrounding you and the other below the uncovered skin of your tummy, keeping your back laid on his firm chest, his chin on top of your head while cuddling in bed and gently massaging your scalp.
“There we go, babe,” Dante whispers, kissing the crown of your head. “Feeling better?” “Much better…”
In the end you two spend the rest of the day/night in pure cuddles until you both got lured enough to fall asleep.
ⓘ gif's not mine!!
Vergil
Tea. Tea is the answer to everything.
Jokes apart, Vergil is really cautious to make you feel good and free from any period pain, from your head to your toes.
Which, yeah, includes him making the most appropriate teas for you.
He won’t deny you anything, so have this chance to ask him whatever you want and you’ll have it. Vergil may be a little reluctant to cuddle you at such a time because he thinks you’re way too sensitive for it — on one hand he’s not completely wrong, the poor dork.
Much like his brother, he’s pretty unsure about the whole Devil-Triggered-arm-cuddling but if it is what you wish, then it must be done. Serving you some mint tea, Vergil hugs you from behind and slowly but surely places his scaled right arm below your belly. If you turned your head right now, you would be able to see Vergil's reddened cheeks and trembling lips.
