May 23
lil baby Nero doodles from Broken Glass in the Morning Light by @dragons251. I could not get over him wearing Dante's coat so neither will you.
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lil baby Nero doodles from Broken Glass in the Morning Light by @dragons251. I could not get over him wearing Dante's coat so neither will you.
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.
Oh, to be trapped with Dante
Pairing: Dante x fem!reader
Word Count: 1,3k
Synopsis: What's worse than getting trapped with Dante? Getting trapped with a stripping Dante.
Warnings: this is hilarious and fluffy at the same time, I'm still begging for Dante requests so get in my inbox if you have one, hope you like it @veijdana
You’re not sure what sets it off.
Maybe it’s the faulty lock. Maybe the door was always a little off its axes. Maybe the universe just has a sick sense of humour when it comes to you and that guy.
What you do know for sure is this: the door slams shut, there’s a sharp click, and no amount of jiggling the handle is getting you out of this storage room-slash-death trap. No windows, no signal, and the only light is from a flickering overhead bulb that looks like it could give up at any moment.
Perfect.
So much to being the greatest demon hunters of them all.
You turn slowly to Dante, who’s lounging against a metal shelf stacked with boxes labeled “Supplies” like this is nothing. Like he didn’t just help trap you both in a glorified closet with a single bottle of water and a half-eaten protein bar. Like he did something except for watching you struggle with that heavy ass door.
He raises an eyebrow.
“Problem?”
“The door’s locked.”
“I noticed,” he replies, utterly unbothered.
“Dante.”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
You cross your arms in front of your chest, barely able to hold it together any longer.
“Please don’t call me that right now.”
“Noted,” he declares, in a tone that means absolutely not noted.
He strolls over, casually tests the door for himself, then shrugs.
“Yeah. We’re stuck.”
“No kidding.”
“I guess we’ll just have to wait until someone finds us.”
“Which could be hours. Or days.”
He grins, shameless.
“Even better.”
You sit down hard the cold ground. It creaks threateningly, but you’re too irritated to care. He paces once, twice, then flops down across from you like this is a vacation, arms behind his head, one leg draped over the other ready to sunbathe.
Except this isn’t Miami beach but a mouse trap.
“Are you always this calm when you’re locked in small spaces with people you annoy for fun?” you question innocently.
“Only when it’s you.”
You narrow your eyes, gaze spitting thick venom at him.
“Do you actually enjoy pushing my buttons this much, or is it just some kind of defense mechanism?”
“Little column A, little column B,” he thinks out loud, flashing you a lazy smile.
“But if we’re being honest… you're kind of cute when you’re mad.”
You throw a balled-up wrapper at him. He ducks it easily, still smirking.
The minutes stretch. Then an hour. The silence tries to creep in, but Dante won’t let it. He talks. About nonsense. Old missions, weird dreams, things he overheard once that he probably wasn’t supposed to. You try not to laugh. You really try.
Eventually, you’re sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, legs stretched out, head tilted toward him without meaning to. He’s closer now, somehow. At some point. The distance between you shrunk while you weren’t paying attention.
“I think you like being trapped with me,” he mutters, voice quieter now.
Less teasing, if that’s somehow possible.
“You haven’t told me to shut up in, like, ten whole minutes.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.
“That’s because I’ve accepted my fate. Resistance is clearly useless. And somehow I get the feeling it turns you on even more.”
“Exactly. Might as well enjoy yourself.”
He bumps your knee with his. You don’t move away. No, somehow, this faint touch has a comfort to it, a warmth you haven’t felt for quite some time by now.
The silence now is different. Thicker. Weighted. Like you’re both suddenly aware of how still everything is. How alone. It’s just you and him. You and the walking sex symbol itself Dante.
Your voice comes out softer than you mean it to.
“This is the part where you make some dumb joke about body heat, isn’t it?”
He chuckles, low.
“Tempting. But no. Not yet.”
You glance at him.
“Yet?”
He shrugs.
“I’m giving you a few more hours before I wear down your defenses. I’m not a complete monster.”
You shake your head, lips twitching despite yourself.
Another stretch of silence. Then:
“You ever think about it?” he asks suddenly.
You blink, caught off guard by that strange and unexpected question.
“About what?”
“Us. Like - if this whole ridiculous situation wasn’t so ridiculous. If it was… different.”
Your stomach does something complicated. You turn your head to look at him, your palms starting to get sweaty. Why do you always feel like this when he’s around?
He’s watching you, eyes dark and serious for once. No smirk. No teasing.
“Yeah. Sometimes,” you admit quietly.
A beat.
“I like the idea,” he confesses.
You nod.
“Me too.”
He shifts closer, shoulder brushing yours now, solid and warm and real. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.
“Still not sharing my blanket, though.”
You snort.
“I’m not cold.”
“Yet.”
You laugh. And this time, you let your head rest against his shoulder. Just a little.
Just enough.
Bonus:
You're curled on one side of the room, using your jacket as a pillow. Dante's a few feet away, stretched out like he owns the floor, arms folded behind his head. The silence has gone companionable, easy. You almost forget where you are.
Until he moves.
You hear the rustle of fabric first. Then the unmistakable sound of a zipper.
You lift your head, every single alarm going off inside your head. No, he isn’t about to strip…Is he?
“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to sleep,” he remarks like it’s obvious.
Which it isn’t.
At all.
Because his shirt is coming off, and now he’s unbuttoning his pants in the dim light of the room, clearly visible to your accustomed to dark gaze.
“Dante-”
“What?” he interrupts, glancing at you over his shoulder.
“I always sleep naked.”
You sit up straighter, just the thought of seeing him naked, let alone shirtless...
“You are not - you can’t just strip.”
He shrugs, already stepping out of his jeans like this is just another Tuesday with a pizza waiting on his desk for him.
“It helps with thermoregulation. Look it up.”
“Oh my god,” you mutter, turning away.
“You’re the worst.”
“You say that, but you’re not telling me to stop.”
You don’t. You don’t want to. Which is the worst part.
He stretches out again, now under the thin blanket you both agreed to not share (but he’s already claimed half of), bare chest barely hidden in the dark, a picture of shameless comfort.
You try not to look. You try.
He catches you anyway.
“See something you like?”
“See something I want to throw a box at.”
He laughs - low, satisfied, like he just won a game you didn’t know you were playing.
“Relax. It’s not like I’m gonna pounce on you.”
“You better not.”
“Unless you ask nicely.”
You grab your jacket and hurl it at his face. He catches it one-handed, grinning like he’s thriving on your outrage.
“Goodnight, Dante.”
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”
You lie back, trying to will your pulse to settle. But you can still hear him breathing across the room, steady and slow, and you swear you feel the heat from him bleeding across the short distance between you.
The night settles heavy. And you're very aware you’re trapped with a half-naked Dante, no door, no escape, and a dangerous lack of personal space.
Sleep is going to be impossible.
And you think he knows it.
“I still feel you staring-“
“Shut the hell up, Dante.”
a devil's baptism
"I won't break," you insisted firmly, trying to protect your pride. "You will for me."
SUMMARY | The inexperienced eldest son of Sparda stumbles upon a troubled woman who entices him into an intimate tryst.
GENRE | smut, dark romance, fantasy, oneshot
WC | 4k
TAGS | 18+ MDNI, female!reader x ndmc!vergil, hard dom vergil, sexual inexperience, oral sex, breast worship, prostitution, squirting, implied masturbation, coming untouched, accidental voyeurism, outdoor sex, heavy themes, slight angst, mentions of physical abuse and violence, aftercare, vergil has a heart if you squint
Basically an AU fic about Vergil's first sexual experience. Longer A/N at the end. Enjoy reading!
© 2026 Making Devils Cry. All rights reserved. Do not translate, plagiarize, or post anywhere.
Sweat. Blood. Demon viscera. On any given day, the grime of Makai clung to Vergil like a second skin, suiting the visage of Nelo Angelo, right-hand of Mundus.
After efficiently dispatching a group of traitorous lesser demons, overseeing the western regions of Makai, and besting dozens of opponents handpicked by the reigning demon monarch for Vergil's edification, he was desperate for one thing.
Yamato sliced through the air with ease, tearing through space to create a temporary escape from the demon wasteland he called home.
Vergil sheathed the dark blade while stepping through the jagged portal, and for a moment, it was as if he were staring at the world through an amethyst glow.
Once he emerged from the other side, he'd reverted to his human form, fresh air rushing into his lungs, allowing him a reprieve from Makai's toxic ozone.
The landscape had shifted from a grey wasteland to a serene forest, moonlight filtering through lush canopies. Vergil followed the upstream river until he came upon a grand waterfall, a deep pool at the base of it.
He didn't need to glimpse his reflection in the water to know he looked every part the executioner of Hell, blood-stained red from head to toe.
Vergil spotted a suitable boulder to prop the Yamato against before shedding his coat and the rest of his soiled attire, making a mental note to purify his blade afterwards.
Based on his previous visits, the area seemed to be isolated, aside from the town nestled deep within the valley. Due to this, Vergil was able to unwind even more so than in his quietest moments on Makai. No jesters or succubus skulking about in the shadows, hellbent on testing his patience.
Vergil slipped into the pool, his body immediately submerged in frigid water. His blood naturally ran hot, especially so from his endeavors on Makai, so he found the icy sensation soothing.
Water lapped at his cut waistline, then around his ribs until he was shoulder-deep, plunging beneath the white water to reach the inner sanctum of the waterfall.
Recalling his late mother's words— it was the most dangerous part to swim in— but now he had nothing to fear.
Vergil breached the surface, finding himself in the alcove, the rush of water echoing off the stone walls. It did little to drown out the memories of his childhood, time spent racing across lakes with his twin brother in Red Grave before his home went up in flames. A lifetime ago, or so it felt.
Vergil exhaled sharply before finding his footing in the shallower part of the inner pool. When he pushed his hair back from his eyes, his hand came away smeared with damning crimson. The world outside this waterfall could wait for the half-devil to cleanse himself of sins he'd never ask forgiveness for.
It had been an impossible day, one that compelled you to risk a beating by sneaking out of town after the brothel house had settled after hours. Trekking up to the cascades was a chance you were willing to take to get away.
Once you reached the falls, you kicked off your sandals and immediately waded into the pool with a splash, welcoming the numbing sensation.
The edges of your robe became drenched as you scooped a handful of water and pressed it between your tacky thighs. You tried to focus on how the water soothed your sore skin.
For a moment, all that filled your ears was the rushing current until you heard a sob and realized it was your own. Slapping your palm against your mouth, you swallowed your voice, working to steady your breathing. Crying failed to change anything in your experience.
With this grave reminder, you tossed your robe onto a rock by the riverside to resume cleansing your body of filth.
Moments later, you were curled up beneath your damp robe, staring up at the stars ahead, worn. How much had you made today? Whatever it was, it hadn't been enough; your Mistress made that much clear. There was no other choice but to push yourself harder once business resumed the following day.
Absently, you ran your hand over your body, a weariness sinking into your bones. You had scrubbed your bruised skin raw. It was sensitive to the touch, but it still didn't feel spotless enough.
It was easy for you to dissociate during your work. To stare up at the ceiling past the shoulder of a stranger and imagine yourself on another planet entirely.
Even more so now, surrounded by vast skies and stars twinkling overhead, all tauntingly beautiful.
Silently, you dragged your hand down your sternum, finding the heat between your thighs. It was impossible to get a moment to yourself back at the brothel, but you felt more at ease out here anyway.
Enough to feel like you could take back some semblance of control over yourself, to tend to your needs on your own terms. Your eyes fluttered closed as you attempted to lose yourself in the sensations, even if just for a brief moment of reprieve.
Vergil had gone still upon sensing a single, lone presence beyond the river. His brows furrowed, not out of worry but annoyance. He had grown attached to the location and was far from enthused about being interrupted in the midst of his session.
Then again, the presence didn't feel anything like an overwhelming threat; the scent of a sapien female in the air muddled with fouler odors. If he kept concealed, perhaps he could stay until they vacated the premises sooner or later.
Vergil remained hidden behind the wide curtain of rushing water but went about his business, striving to quiet the thrumming in his veins from battle.
Just then, a small, grieved sound reached Vergil's ears, prompting him to pause. The pleading cries of demons were all the same to him. He'd been the cause of plenty in the throne room of the castle at the feet of Mundus. Humans were even less of his concern, yet he wrestled with the infuriatingly curious part of himself.
Seldom did Vergil interact with humans unless it was to trade for items used to maintain the Yamato and aid his dark rituals. He had no intention to do so now. Instead, he shifted behind the thinner edges of the cascades, where they parted slightly, allowing him a view of the sapien beyond the falls.
Sharp blue eyes rounded at the sight before him. The woman was lost in her self-pleasure.
He quickly tore away his gaze, but the image flashed in his mind, his pulse quickening in succession. Lithe fingers dancing across soft curves, doing unspeakable things.
Let us taste her flesh.
His demon side bristled— senses sharpening, clawing at his skull, the sapien's mouthwatering scent reaching him more clearly now. Vergil never entertained himself with the depraved demons of Makai, though Mundus' shameless consorts have thrown themselves at him since he was a child.
Never once felt compelled to satisfy his needs amongst demons. But for some reason, that woman's damp warmth cut through the mist in a way Vergil had not experienced before, leaving him in a rare, lightheaded state.
Vergil knew he was still keyed up from combat because his body was responding to the human's moans in troubling ways. Nothing he wasn't able to handle on his own, surely.
Realizing his effects were still strewn about on the boulders, the half-devil considered his options for escape.
Pulled from reverie, your eyes snapped open at the sound of sloshing water from an unknown source nearby. You freeze, eyes scanning the opposite side of the pool before settling on a shadowy figure emerging from behind the falls.
Blood running cold, you silently berate yourself for letting your guard down. You slam your thighs shut as you scramble for a shard of rock, anything to defend yourself.
The second moonlight illuminated the figure, your eyes widened. You recognized the silhouette was a man's as opposed to a monster's. Suddenly, you see red.
How long had this pervert been spying on you?
Self-preservation urged you to remain silent, but some weak semblance of pride came to your aid to cover up your mortification. You had been interrupted after all.
"How dare you?"
Your voice rang through the clearing, over the roar of the cascades… and seemed to fall upon deaf ears. You inhaled sharply, anticipating retaliation from the intruder.
But he didn't spare you a glance, nor did he shy away from your gaze, either. He reached for his clothing, unconcerned.
Puzzled, you swept your gaze across his body and realized his physique was that of a warrior. Not a single scar littered his pale skin, but it was the most honed body you've seen in your entire life.
With that stoic yet handsome face, he may even be a royal. Possibly one that's never seen the front lines, but the way he moved and took up space somehow felt earned.
Your gaze briefly dipped beneath his waistline just to confirm your suspicions. Ridiculously well-endowed, unlike the glutinous and vile males that passed through the brothel.
Swallowing thickly, you recognized your mistake and observed him closely. As the man dressed, you began to realize it was unlikely that he was from around here.
His slicked-back hair was as stark as the moon. It contrasted with his dark attire that appeared strange yet aristocratic. Pieces of armor fell into place above his shins and around his chest, broad shoulders filling out a long blue coat emblazoned with gold. You felt even more vulnerable as the sole one nude now, but it also gave you an idea.
You decided to try again more tactfully, tugging on your robe, allowing just enough bare skin to appear tempting. "Where do you come from, traveler?"
Ignored without so much as a glance.
You gnawed on your cheek. "Does one normally spy on women bathing from where you—"
His gloved hand retrieved a long, sheathed katana from behind a rock, and you faltered slightly.
"I was here well before you arrived."
Oh. The low timbre of his voice settled somewhere behind your ribs. Attractive-sounding despite his attitude. This only irked you further.
"Surely you were. For what cause do you wield your blade?"
Glacier eyes finally pierced yours from across the river. "Are you that desperate to find out?"
"Amongst other things."
He fell silent at the faux sultry lilt injected into your voice. All you heard in the silence was coins falling into the palm of your hand.
"Not inclined to answer? Fine," You continue boldly, riding high on his undivided attention, "I have considered the possibility that I'm not your preference, but one shouldn't assume."
You peered at him expectantly, noticing him track the way you crossed your legs with a pinched expression.
"While you may have arrived here first, it wasn't very courteous of you to interrupt my bathing session—"
The white-haired man cut you off with a scoff, "Should I have bided my time in the shadows and waited until you finished?"
You gave him a tight smile, "Ignorance is bliss."
"Wise words to heed." The stranger deadpaned, resting his hand on the hilt of his weapon and turning on his heel.
"Wait." You licked your lips, choosing your next words carefully, "What I meant to say is that we can both glean something worthwhile from this chance meeting."
He paused in his tracks.
"It's obvious that you could easily buy out my town's entire brothel if you so wished, but I can offer you a better deal than my Mistress could. Right here and now."
"A sapien has nothing of value to offer me."
A what?
"You don't converse with women often, do you?"
His stoic face remained imperceptible, but you noticed his jaw clench.
"I thought so." You lowered your lashes, openly appraising him now. You rolled your shoulders slightly, ensuring the loose collar of your robe revealed more of your cleavage. "I just might have something of value to offer you then."
In a millisecond, he disappeared from your sight, and then you were eye to eye with the hilt of his blade hanging at his waist, your hair strewn about from a large gust of wind.
He was just across the river pool a second ago, and now…
The unmistakable scent of blood immediately infiltrated your senses, emanating from his looming figure. Fear shot through your spine.
"Enough."
Demon. The word formed on the tip of your tongue, but your voice faltered.
"Still desperate for my coin? Leave now, and don't come back." A test dressed as an ultimatum.
Anybody in their right mind ought to obey. Nevertheless, your daring gaze crawled up his body until you met his challenging expression. Eyes narrowing, you decided to stand your ground.
"I'm not going anywhere. I risk plenty just coming here, and I come here often. In fact, this is my favorite waterfall in the entire valley."
Your audacity earned you a cocked silver brow. While the man exuded danger and power under control, something supernatural resided within him. Nothing human moved like that.
Regardless, you had already made up your mind, and could sense he hadn't, not really. Why entertain your conversation if he wasn't the least bit curious about your body?
"Maybe I'll allow you to stay and satisfy your curiosity if you pay me what I'm owed."
That earned you a chilling stare from the demon.
Unflinching, you waited with bated breath, hoping for an outcome that would at least leave you with your head intact and heavier pockets. The details of how could be spared, as always.
"Pay you what you're owed..." He rolled the words around his mouth, his eyes trailing over your face, assessing.
Sure, you knew you were being brazen, but it wasn't like you could afford to be anything else. If he accepted your offer, all the better. You'd scrape together any coin to lessen your debt to the whore house.
If he said no, well, you might escape with your life if the demon was still feeling generous—
"Deal."
Your brows shot up, and then determination crossed your features as you reached for his belt. Turns out good-looking men were still men after all.
However, he swiftly caught your wrist; a grip you couldn't break if you wanted to.
You froze as he lowered to his knees, pressing a gloved hand to your chest until you were displayed to his liking against the sloped boulder. The panels of your robe fell open, a shiver wracking through your body at the breeze.
Most patrons wanted you to service them and do the heavy lifting, but if he wanted to call the shots, so be it.
"Skip out on payment, and I'll chase you to the ends of the earth," you warned.
The man gathered your wrists above your head with a single hand and used the other to tug his katana from his waist, making your stomach drop.
Seeing the color drain from your face, he inclined his chin and set it aside, lips curling subtly in amusement.
"Your blade won't come into play later… will it?" As intriguing a concept as that would be, you weren't prepared for it.
"It may."
"What?"
He took hold of your chin, his touch blazing. It was startling, but his fingers felt good against your chilled cheeks.
Static flickered behind his irises. "Beggars can't be choosers. Can they, human?"
"You are a demon." The accusation escaped you in a breath.
Unfortunately, the blue-eyed stranger didn't deny it. With ease, he dragged his free hand down your throat to rest over your thrumming heartbeat, keeping you pinned against stone.
"And to think you were so curious about whether or not I could properly wield it."
Before you can retort, he squeezes your breast, testing the soft flesh before running a knuckle back and forth against your nipple. The repeated sensation dampens your thighs embarrassingly quickly.
Recognition sparked behind his stare as he categorized your reactions.
His large hand flexed against your wrists while the other slid to your opposite breast, thumb toying against your nipple in slow circles. For a moment, your eyes fluttered shut at the pleasure, heat steadily rebuilding behind your navel.
When had another's touch felt remotely bearable since being sold to the brothel? It was completely foreign.
The white-haired demon released a satisfied huff before leather gave under the tug of his teeth. With one glove discarded, his hand splayed across your belly in tantalizing arcs, mapping the skin just above the junction of your thighs.
"You feel like you've been sitting in a kiln."
He'd come from that pool of ice water; you were certain of it. With how hot he ran, you wanted him to touch you all over to keep you from freezing to death.
The blue devil mused at your squirming. He cupped the underside of your breast and tentatively slid his warm tongue over the hardened nub.
His low groan rumbled against your tit, silver lashes fluttering as if taken by surprise at the taste. Considering his expression seemed to barely budge in general, that was saying something.
Distantly, you wondered how true your teasing remark was about his lack of experience with a lover.
At this proximity, the metallic scent lingering on his skin was even more intoxicating. The back of your neck prickled as a jarring thought entered your mind. How many people had this warrior slain before you stumbled across him?
So long as he paid you after all was said and done, it shouldn't have mattered, or so you kept trying to convince yourself. For all you knew, you could be next. Though, wouldn't he have offed you already had he wanted to? Maybe he was waiting until he used you up…
Suddenly, you found it difficult to look him in the eyes, but the graze of his teeth over your chest caused you to gasp, drawing your attention back to him.
That stoic expression of his had morphed into something hungry but faintly hesitant.
However, when you arched into the heat of his mouth, he swirled his tongue to soothe and drew more of your flesh past his lips with an eager suckle.
"Haah…"
At your shaky moan, he hums in approval, his grip adjusting around your wrists.
Finally, his fingers traced a light path southward, searching for your deep source of ache. You parted your slick thighs, watching his hand descend between them.
He observed you with rapt attention, stroking your soft curls with intention but lacking in precision. Dissatisfied with your reaction, he slipped the pad of his finger lower, centimeter by centimeter, until your hips finally jolted. You almost wanted to congratulate him.
"Impossibly wet," He muttered, focused on gathering your arousal and spreading it around your swollen clit in languid circles. Mimicking how you'd been touching yourself earlier to a tee.
Your chest heaved, realizing just how closely he'd been watching you from behind the cascades.
"Do you— do you draw out your victims' suffering like you do your lovers' pleasure?"
The dizzying strokes didn't cease even as he considered you with eyes that narrowed briefly in amusement.
"What do you think, sapien?" His fingers dipped into your entrance, then tapped your clit, taunting.
That unusual term again. You really had propositioned a demon from another realm for pleasure. You exhaled, shutting your eyes tight, readying yourself for the dull ache of his digits.
Just then, you felt him pause.
You fixed him with an expectant look, fingers flexing against his unyielding grip over your head. "I won't break," you insisted firmly, trying to protect your pride.
"You will for me."
Without warning, the man dragged your lower body high upon his chest and captured you against his torso as if you weighed nothing.
Yelping in shock, you blinked rapidly to see him leaning back on his haunches, fastening a steel arm around your waist to keep you in place. His other hand gripped your thigh to keep you spread for him, settling your knees over his shoulders.
Blue eyes raked over your curves like a predator surveying its prey, deciding where to partake from first. From his vantage point, he caught sight of your round eyes staring up at him in disbelief, your flushed face framed by the swell of your breasts, and the rest of you bracketed by your silky, soaked thighs.
The view was almost excessively indulgent for Vergil, who was so used to looking at rot and unsightly demons day in and day out. He couldn't have been more entranced with the way you glistened for him beneath velvety moonlight, your sweet musk suffocating his senses.
His doing.
At his mercy.
He skimmed his nose through your wetness with a growl, gaze darkening as you bucked and clutched at his arm. It was then that you noticed it: his neglected cock pressed firm between your shoulder blades, straining against his trousers.
Unable to contain himself any longer, his hot tongue followed suit, dragging through your slick folds and settling heavy against your throbbing clit.
"Ah!" You threw an arm over your face, completely overwhelmed.
"No," He rasped, capturing your hands and pinning them against your stomach beneath his forearm. "Let me watch you shatter."
Once he sealed his mouth over your pussy, it was impossible to do anything but surrender in his hold. Each lash of his tongue was more desperate than the last, intuition driven by a thirst you underestimated in him.
"Please," You pant hotly, incapable of little else but begging to be put out of your misery. "Please, ruin me."
Something wicked possessed your captor then.
He lapped a warm, zealous stripe up your slit and buried his tongue into your dripping heat with an unholy groan that reverberated through your bones. At the same time, he slid his hand from your inner thigh and found your sweet spot with ease, beginning to rub slick circles into your sensitive clit.
Nothing could have prepared Vergil for the moment your sweetness flooded his mouth. You spilled past his lips in warm pulses, and the half-devil reveled in it.
All of his demonic senses converged to a single point: the human melting in his arms. His vision blurred as he came undone, his cock pulsing against the curve of your spine, staining his trousers.
He watched your eyes flutter with ecstasy, enthralled with how you seized against him before your body went slack with pleasure.
It was impossible to differentiate the sound of blood rushing in your ears and the cresting water of the cascades. Shimmering black filled your vision as you caught your breath.
"Ambrosia…" He sighed against your mound, stealing one last taste of your essence on the tip of his tongue before gently releasing you down onto the stone slab.
After a minute, you found yourself blinking blearily up at the starlit sky, delicate aftershocks wracking your body intermittently, mind blank. And then a cool damp cloth was being swiped across your lower body, pulling a gasp from your throat.
"That's cold." You protested halfheartedly, taken aback by his unexpected gentleness. When men touched you, it was never for your pleasure, let alone for your well-being. Especially not someone like you.
Your menial complaint earned you a slow blink from the man leaning over you. "You'd prefer I use my tongue again."
Heat crept up into your cheeks, all clever comebacks dying in your throat.
"No…" A surefire lie.
He dipped the cloth into the river again and wrung it out, rising to his feet. "I see."
A few strands had fallen across his forehead, likely the fault of your flailing legs. You noticed he'd used his grey cravat to clean you up. Without it, he looked a little more undone, like a rogue knight that hailed from a netherworld. Except that the dark energy around him seemed to have settled, if only slightly.
He turned away and reached into his coat, placing an object onto a nearby boulder. From where you sat, it glinted in the moonlight. "What you are owed."
Then he unsheathed his blade, and with two slashes, the scent of ozone filled the air, a violet glow bursting across your vision. A portal.
Your lips parted then closed, astounded. A hundred questions swamped your mind, but only one thought emerged from the haze.
"Seek me out again."
He turned back slightly, expression indiscernible at your demand. "A difficult request without a name to go by."
The heir of Sparda didn't need your name to track you down. Your scent alone sufficed, but you didn't need to know that.
"You first."
'Obstinate woman,' he thought.
"Vergil."
You gave your name without fear, committing the strange mirage before you to memory. A bewitching blue devil to dwell on when you returned to town.
───────────────────────
A/N | I have a soft spot for NDMC Vergil (And yes, I love all versions of Vergil), so after rewatching S2 for the nth time, this is what happens when I contemplate how he might find empathy for humans who mirror his struggles but also move with bravery (i.e. vergil's interactions with lady and matilda, more on that at a later date). Albeit his version of empathy is a little more twisted in this fic.
While it's not confirmed that he had already conceived Nero by season 2, I wanted to explore his inexperience as a lover and how his demon instincts influence his desire for intimacy.
He may be the Sparda brother who has more experience in integrating his dark side, but I wonder how much that control extends into his love life, or lack thereof. So consider this fic to take place in an alternate universe.
Like, reblog, or share if you enjoyed. Thanks for reading!
Kuebiko
(N.) A weariness brought on by an exposure to senseless violence and chaos.
Paring : Dante x Fem Reader
Word Count : 9004
Content Warning : Talking about gun information
A/N : this will be a series, this is Chapter One
Neon lights, cigarette smoke, shit quality rock music, and sticky floors, Bill’s bar. A run down hole in the wall type of bar, a classic dive bar at its finest – or its worst depending on how many ceiling tiles are missing and if the air conditioning was working or not; the type of place not many would have as their first place of choice in a list of bars but the beer was cheap and the refrigerators’ that were installed back in the forties still working like a charm, ice cold. The box fan sitting in the door way pushing air back to the kitchen was on its last leg, the front of the wire cage had been removed and the blades rattled like a motherfucker, probably the loudest thing in the place next to the three men in their thirties verbally sparing over at the pool table where an older woman chimed in to their bickering every now and again, clearly instigating and clearly enjoying the company. Maybe a little too much…
Overall the place was fairly decent if you kept your head down, better when you’re sitting next to the disk jockey at the bar, upfront service and first picks in music, what more could you ask for? Best you’d be able to expect on this side of town anyhow, here no one cares to know your name if you don’t include yourself into the conversation, don’t care who you are or where you came from, paradise for an introvert who doesn’t want to be noticed but doesn’t want to be home. Though there are some downsides sitting at the bar with the disk jockey, namely the drunk woman who took her shoes off and is currently walking bare foot, dancing, and rubbing against us begging Adam to play Def Leppards’ “Pour Some Sugar on Me”, someone was going to pour something on her, just wasn’t going to be sugar - not with the way she couldn’t even stand straight and barely make a reasonable hobble. The cigarette machine was a real commodity tonight it seemed, the mechanical pull of the leaver and the dull thumping of a pack hitting the tray behind me was happening rather frequently, sitting the furthest away from the main door where the pool table stood with its group seemed to be just as popular is if I had just joined them regardless.
Bill’s was rather small once you get inside, three entry doors with two wide open to let the cigarette smoke flow out in a tunnel, and letting what was left of any of the cool air out, deeming tonight be a night where the air conditioning was rather pointless. Hot summer air slowly creeping in, something that would surely and eventually get the drinking crowd drunk faster, which in turn will inevitably lead to a couple of fights; speaking of fights the group of three girls that had been sitting close to the entrance by the pool table on the other side of the bar from Adam and I ,were currently getting into it. They had already been a rather rowdy bunch, fraternizing with the three bickering men, mostly vying for the attention of an older man hoping one would take them home, clearly one of the girls stepped on the other's tail they way they were screaming like back alley cats at one another. There was always something going on at Bill’s, that was something always certain and unchanging.
“These people are a fucking mess tonight,” Adam, grumbling as he flipped through is note pad of songs, “Wasn’t that bad last Friday when I played here.”
I stayed silent, not knowing how to respond to his comment nor did I care to actually participate in the commentary on the behavior of the people in here. I was only in here for the music and cheap beer tonight, not the company of others. Settling for a shrug instead as I turned my attention to the mirror covered walls all with beer advertisements and branding etched into the glass, watching the rolling billows of smoke run out the doors on the air tunnel. This wasn’t a place I frequented but it was one where I appeared often, mostly for the music, more often for the cold drinks, rarely to chat, but even with the infrequent visits, others will eventually learn your name and you theirs. Perfect example, Adam. The bar had been packed one night and after a few too many for something celebratory I got a little chatty and asked for about a dozen songs then he started talking about bands and cars. Namely the “Eliminator”, the iconic red “33 Ford coupe on the album cover of ZZ Tops Eliminator album; going off about how the car was custom “built”, a rather over statement as it was modified versus built.
A loud crash snapped my attention to one of the speakers as it suddenly started blasting music, seeming now was the perfect time to come back from the dead only to leave out a loud squelch and stop working again.
“Would you just hit that fucking thing already?” The bartender snapped at Adam, agitated by the noise and the drunken woman who was daring to ask him for more liquor as she clung to the bar as a life line, poor man was going through it tonight. “Better yet just break down and buy a new one!”
“What, you gonna go halves?” He shot back, moving from his booth to deliver a few hefty smacks to the side, “Fuck it! Just use the damn Juke, things shot.”
I leaned back into the chair grinning to myself hopping on the train of displeasure, “You probably should’ve just been playing from that in the first place, last time I was here speakers still weren’t working.”
“Aye, pipe down didn’t ask for your two cents.”
“I know, but it seems like you could use the money.”
“Well aren’t you generous.”
“Me? Always.” I laugh standing up, shooting the rest of my drink, the glass making a dull clink on the wood counter top as I sit it down. “Hey I’ll see ya around.” Waving as I walked around the bar to leave, the three girls had long since left along with the older woman, everyone else still either playing pool or sitting at the bar chain smoking. The barefoot woman tried to grab at me to get me to dance with her claiming how hot some of the men were in here tonight. I couldn’t agree, they mostly looked like college age boys or aggressive men, but more for her, maybe she can get that “sugar” she’d been wanting – that’s if the floor doesn’t hit her before she hits it.
The air was both warmer than you’d think yet cooler than one would expect, a thunderstorm was in high chance later. It was oddly quiet for the hour yet not unsettling, though it was the outskirts of the city, well what was left of it from the whole demonic tree nearly two years ago. Life still hasn’t gone back to “normal”, or as normal as one could get here in Redgrave, like Bill's, something was always going on, the city had been placed under quarantine for the longest time followed heavily by curfews and a couple small riots. Families that had been missing loved ones and fighting to get back into the epicenter to look for them, even though there were no bodies to look for, all turned to ashen dust left to melt under the rains and blow away with the winds. Government officials were still trying to get a wrap around what had happened, why it did, and how it did; then how to prevent it from happening again. But they were doomed to fail as there was truly nowhere for them to begin, nothing left to sample - no demons, people, or trace amounts of whatever that tree thing had been.
Slowly they started shrinking the quarantine area, taking down the fences, letting some come back in while still keeping a mass majority out, of course like any restricted areas people still snuck in, party spots and familial search parties, even conspiracy theorists; though the theories weren’t even close to the truth, because the truth was - they didn’t need to know all of the dark parts of our reality, the devilish details - irony intended, it’d only cause more panic and widespread hysteria. It’d been a dark; might as well say, officially, two years because the anniversary of the event was really just behind us; May 5th, a day that’s been engraved into everyone’s memories, at least everyone that’s local’s memories.
Chaos had ensured for far longer than the month or two it had been standing, demons and people, Hell on Earth's soil, missing persons, the uptake in possessed people even, fighting off of devils and trying not to get caught in between either, just trying to survive and do a job that no one hired me for - well the rundown store cash registers paid pretty decent along with the jewelry stores, and a bank or two when you get to them before others. Though that was a rare occurrence - for anyone who didn’t know how to fight demons off that far into the city ruins; a lot of that money I stashed away for myself admittedly, the rest I figured I’d give out to some of the families with kids or something.
A couple cars passed by their rattling filling the air, tires whooshing on the pavement before getting out of earshot, the humming buzz of an occasional neon sign overhead for some random store left on either by accident or still open. It was rather meditative after a beer or two on an empty stomach; it’s the kind of feeling that leaves you feeling relaxed under the lights and city air. Not the cleanest place in the world, being biased as a country kid opposed to a city kid, but work is money and the city offers no lack in either. Sidewalks in this part of the city were often bumpy and uneven, lack of care and concern being major players here, and money from the city being the biggest issue these days, everybody loves money and needs it, but when your city is constantly being torn down either by giant ass trees or the riots of angry civilians, paying jobs tend slow down.
Charlie’s Pub, a forty minute walk from Bill’s if you don’t mind the walking part, a better bar than a hole in the wall dive bar a little more “high class” if you will, now this one? This one I frequent, at this point it’s my second home, my heaven, a place where I don’t mind being chatted with and known, even on a great first name basis with the owner – for the most part, if you don’t count getting called “Honey”, “Mutt”, or “Guard Dog” often, and sometimes the occasional “Bitch” though that one’s often mostly from the problem crowds. The sign hung off the building in a colorful array of yellow, red and green, a parrot – the bar's mascot, waving from its rhythmic flashing pattern. As often as I hang around here, I don’t actually drink all that much, mostly here for the pool table and the amazing food Gary tends to cook, reluctantly, for being the owner you can often find him in the back cooking with the rest of his team. Favors, small and one rather large one, for each other along with my frequent time spent here has let us get rather comfortable with one another, most of the favors being if a fight breaks out while he’s in the back or away and the female bartenders and the servers can’t break it up? That’s where I come in, aka “Guard Dog”, doing so has garnered me ‘favors’, payment in free food, a tally I keep tight track of as this is my dinner most nights. Unfortunately for me I can easily be bought with food, if the food is good, it’s my biggest weakness, and he’s a damn good cook.
The air is lively when I walk in, a live band playing further into the building, muffled by two closed doors. Charlie's, unlike Bill’s, is a rather large place, large enough that it has two separate bars. One half, the doors I just walked through, has a long row of eight decently tall windows, each with its own lit sign lighting the sidewalks, this room holds the pool table with plenty of space to move and bend for a great shot, it even has its own bar on this side and a small dining room attached where you can also exit and enter, window seating facing the street in the pool room and its own set of restrooms. The other half, which is separated by two metal double doors that are currently closed, houses the restaurant with the stage, main bar and its own restrooms. I’m usually found with the pool table, either playing or simply watching, and tonight it seems I’ll be watching for a couple games.
Another fun part about being friendly with the owner is that I don’t need to pay for my “event” passes; I get to come and go as I please. Usually they just close the doors and keep the bar split when they have comedic nights but when its bands they usually still charge; they must be only an hour or so into the bands. I walk through the pool room taking in a sparse amount of people, five people, that’s it, an amount that by experience tells me everyone else is on the other side of the doors and my dinner is likely to be a bit delayed tonight. Every one of them watches me as I walk through, feeling their eyes linger before starting to chat with one another again, calling out for corner pocket win; I’ve only ever spoken a handful or so times to two of them, mostly in a friendly game of pool.
It's loud, people yelling to hear one another over the band, the smoke isn’t as thick here – better ventilation and air circulation with numerous fans that hang from the ceiling. More bodies than I was expecting tonight, it’s warm on this side, uncomfortably so, something that often happens with this side as the rear of the building is built into a hillside that holds parking and with a crowd this large it’s understandable the circulation isn’t going to do too much. The bar itself is slammed, the girls look overwhelmed but are handling it like it’s nothing, something they’ve gotten used to after repeated events.
I stand at the end waiting for one of them to get to me, one of the girls Jenn, notices me, I point a thumb to the pool room as if to say ‘I’m here and I’ll be in the back if I’m needed’, she nods then moves from behind the bar and into the connecting hallway, the kitchen door and the two separate bars share a singular hallway behind the counters that connects them away from the main traffic of customers, easy flow. Taking a final look around I can’t help but let out an exasperated breath, these girls needed all the luck they could get tonight, anyone with a brain knows there’s going to be a few fights, but more tally strikes for free food is always a decent living.
By the time I make it back into the pool room a thin sheen of sweat dappled my skin, my shirt clinging to my back, I really would like to take off my coat, I feel like I’m suffocating, it really is too hot on the other side. The group of five seemed to have left and a couple more had come in, a group of both men and women all making their way past me to the bands, one of the men dropping himself off to the bar on this side, stopping at the bar just before the opening to the pool room, I pause waiting for Jenn angling my body so I can see the pool table through one of the open door ways of the dining area. From this angle I could see the table calling my name, all mine.
“Hey girl where ya been? It’s been a while!” Loud. Masculine. Gary.
I had mistaken Jenn walking into the hallway as her coming to serve me; instead I’m met with Gary, loud as ever.
“Work, as usual you know how it is.” I turn and look at him, he’s beet red, good thing for him he loves the heat. Damn lizard.
“Work picking up for ya any?” He asks leaning forward on the bar resting his elbows there, he always does, always, like the answer will somehow change in the slightest. It never does.
I just look at him then glance back to the man sitting down at the end of the bar waiting patiently; ears, “Work” in other words - contracts, back alley deals, anything dealing with demonic entities and such. Things that should be kept in the dark, dangerous things, the only reason he knew was because one of those “favors” was that his family had been targeted by demons during the events of May 5th and I happened to be in the area and been fighting to keep the outbreak relatively contained, something that was genuinely by chance and had changed his view of me after years of hanging around here, though back then I was going out of my way just to come to this place, reminded me of some good places of back home. Once everything had settled for the most part I stopped by once months after that night, nervous to show my face for the longest time as he’d already known me, to think of me as a “good girl”. One who kept her head down, tried not to start fights or get in the way, one who would help clean up a mess or offer a trip across the street to the stores if they needed something they’d run out of on a busy day, one who was always sweet saying, “Please” and “Thank you” after nearly every interaction, leading to the nick name “Honey”, that and possibly because I was only a handful of years older than his eldest daughter.
“Well, they’re certainly there, let’s go with that.” He doesn’t know I ransack places as of late, no one’s willing to pay decent money right now, not that there are that many people around here anymore. I’d rather keep my “finders keepers” mentality on the low a while longer, I’m not hurting for money but again, everyone can use it and I plan on using most of it for others who actually need it.
“Usual?” He asks, the usual being a buffalo chicken pizza or wrap with a rum and coke.
I hummed, “Surprise me, please.”
“You’re dressed up pretty fancy tonight, finally get a date?”
I glance down at my clothes, I did clean up a little more tonight, I had been told to, well more along the blurry lines of begged and commanded. Satin green button up tucked in to a pair of boot cut jeans, black belt with a silver buckle and two inch chunky heeled dress boots with life saving soft foam in the bottom, and a small silver necklace with a singular tiny diamond, something I debated on, gold or silver accents tonight, if I had worn the red shirt, would’ve been gold. To top it all off and tie it together a black trench coat that ended at the middle of my calves. Dressy and practical, could still run in the boots thanks to their wide heel and fight if need be, and the coat that was able to hide the guns I always carried, they never left my side, nor did the pocket knife I kept attached to the back of the belt.
“Well I was told I needed to, I’m meeting up with some friends here in a bit, who want me to meet someone, figured I’d get here early so I don’t get an earful. So, no, the dating pool’s still unlucky.”
He turned and started making my drink in a tall glass, “Oh good because your boyfriend was here earlier.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Ball Master.”
“Ball Master?” I parroted, confused, “BALL MASTER?” Bewildered, I couldn't help the pitch in my voice, catching the attention of the man at the end of the bar turned to watch the ordeal leaning casually back in his chair, arms crossed.
Ball Master was an odd guy who has this weird crush on me; comes in often to play pool and just lingers around me. The first interaction I had was humbling him. I was playing pool with someone who at the time was just learning how to play the game, I let them win to build confidence and he called playing the winner. Just to end up making fun of them, meanwhile he almost put the pool stick into the pool table light during that round, so I called the winner knowing he would win. I hustled him in the end; I don’t like men that act like that.
He garnered the nickname because the second time I had come in later that night, during the early afternoon a group of younger kids came in to play the table, something Gary let happen as one, money and two the fact the main bar was really in the back; they had somehow managed to get the underneath rails jammed, something that all things considered happened rather often with tables like that, so while it wasn’t the kids fault, they still managed to do it. Ball Master was a man whose name I get told often but never care to remember, I don’t like him so no point in getting friendly, was trying to fix it by getting a group of other guys to move the table around and jostle it a bit hoping the leverage would dislodge one of the stuck balls, after quite a few attempts in different forms he’d finally gotten it done, during the ordeal a drunken man kept cheering him on calling him “Ball Master” to which he started cheering with him not realizing he was being made fun of for some of the other things that had been happening in that moment. Part of me feels bad but the other part thinks it’s deserved with the way he treats people.
“If you ever call him my boyfriend again, you won’t have a bar anymore.” I toss the threat out at him as he laughs putting down my drink.
“What, you don’t want him? What about –“ I cut him off, I knew who else he was about to mention. I have a reputation for attracting the weirdoes and not in the fun kind of way either.
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, I’ll keep my single woman status, and don’t you dare curse me with that shit. Ew.” I visibly shiver at the thought, repulsed. “Ew! Damn it! You just had to put that thought in my head. Fuck you Gary!” I take the drink and walk away as he laughs, I grin; it was always like this with him, both of us having easy going natures makes it easy to banter and work together. I make my way past the man at the end, still watching us with an easy, charming grin, Gary takes his order and I’m out of earshot and eyesight.
The windows, somewhere cooler, somewhere where I can take off my coat and wait in the meantime for both my food and my friends, showers me in the reds and blues of beer signs letting me look out at the active streets. It’s later in the night, but nowhere near Ten p.m., people are still out and about either having fun with the nightlife as there’s nothing else to do these days or they’re just going home, the simplicity sometimes is rather jarring, the normalcy of it all. To go from endless days of fighting demons and other people, to this, sitting in a bar waiting for friends in a place that offers no danger or adrenaline rushes, nothing trying to kill you here, just friendly faces, warm meals and cold beer.
Charlie’s interior was majorly all wood, from the bar, to the chairs at the window and its table, to the wainscoting of the wall in custom wood paneling that reaches the shoulder before cutting off and showing bare brick the rest of the way to the ceilings. Pictures of the area’s history hung in the brick, not advertisements’ and branding like some of the other bars, blue chalk streaks colored the dark wash of the wainscoting where small ledges peaked out for players to rest their drinks should the wall tables and bar tops be full to take their aim on the pool table. Radiator heaters lined the bottom of four windows closest to the pool table, making it cozy in the winter months, being able to look out at the snow while being warm, playing pool with a drink in hand with good company? Perfect, this bar was my heaven on Earth, I always thought that people who claimed a bar was their heaven were losers, but I guess I’m a part of that club these days; I could comfortably live here if I wanted. Warm atmosphere, food that’s made and brought to you fresh, drinks that are also served and company when the company’s wanted; what more could a woman ask for? Well maybe not to get hit on constantly and man-splained a game you could easily wipe the floor with their ass at.
Sitting my coat down folded to hide the holsters, I walk to the pool sticks grabbing my go to seventeen ounce stick, the lighter weight making the stick easier to handle not having to worry about the part that’s going to impact the ball shoot up and over as you take your shot even if you’re one who wraps a finger over top, it keeps your arm from dropping from the weight. Tossing a couple coins into the slot, the balls drop in a clatter, pool’s a game I could play for hours if I wanted – something I’d actually done before, it’s mindless - keeps your focus on nothing else but your aim, it lets me block out all of the bad and dark thoughts. Ones that just don’t serve me but haunt me, all the embarrassment and regrets, right to the back of the mind, it’s meditative, the thoughts are still there they always will be, but during the fights and during the game they quiet down, it gets muted and I can breathe. By the time I’m done tossing the balls up on to the table from my crouched position and go to organize them in the rack, the man from the bar is already taking his seat at the small round table of the in-between doorway for the bar hallway and the small entrance of the dining room, waiting and just watching. Lifting his red coat slightly in the back as to not sit on his own coat tails, a struggle I relate to rather annoyingly, with the way the shoulders on his coat raise as he sits it’s clear to me he hasn’t broken the leather in to sit just right, new.
Looking down at the table, avoiding his clear overly observant eyes, I ask, “You looking to play or looking to watch? I don’t mind either way.”
He unnerves me in the slightest way, not in the way most men do, like arrogance and entitlement that I have to carefully navigate around as to not start an unwanted fight or advancement, no, something deeper something I don’t find on everyday people, something dark and strong, a feeling that leaves a hollow feeling in the upper chest, a quite danger - a predator with gentle deep set eyes, a strong nose, and a charming grin when it’s flashed, like now, as he stands back up and rolls his shoulders.
“Thought you’d never ask.” His voice is smooth, light, son of a bitch.
“Oh yeah, I really had to twist your arm with that.” I laughed, rolling my eyes and making room so he could grab a stick.
“Thought you were actually about to take it off there for a moment.” He joked. He’s laid back, and I can roll with that.
“Well then I wouldn’t have someone to play pool with, would’ve been a shame, I’ll try not to twist it so much next time.” I snorted, grabbing the queue ball and setting it on the table, “I’ll let you break, don’t have a strong breaking arm.”
He nodded, chalked his stick and walked over, setting the ball where he’d want it. Standing to the side I watched him, he moved with an unhurried ease, this was something he’d clearly done countless times, it was comfortable for him. His white hair falling from its semi styled look framing his face even more, though now hiding his cheek bones and eyes, eyes that were focused on the table before taking his shot, the loud crack sounding at the balls scattering across the table far more than what my break would’ve probably allowed. Clearly I made the right choice in letting him break, a few fell into the pockets rolling down through with a hollow noise, he stood up waiting for them to stop moving before glancing at me and rounding the table passing between the table and myself, his cologne and after shave heavy on the air as he passed, something familiar, addicting. I hate this man already; he needs to go back to whatever hole he crawled out of, he smells like sex and sin.
He repeated his motions, two more down, seems I’ll be stripes this game; he took his time aiming, choosing what one he would actually before having settled on solid as the break sent one of each type down the pockets, leaving six for me and three for him after his two. Lucky for me he pinned one of the balls in front of a corner pocket in front of the eight ball; unfortunately I’m not much of a gambling woman, it’ll be my luck I’m the one who hit’s it by accident before he’s able to get his green six out of the way. He’s left for next to nothing on the table in way of clear shots or any he looks like he’s willing to risk right away. He’s focused when he comes back up, his face slightly relaxed with a small wrinkle between his brows; I start mentally making my moves, hoping to get lucky as I’m not planning to take the game as seriously as I probably could. Sometimes it’s just fun to shoot and chat.
“Well, it seems I’ve backed myself into a corner. You might actually get to win this.” He purses his lips before that easy grin comes back, shaking his head before he bends again.
“I’m not much of a betting woman, so I won’t count on that, I’ve got plenty of bad luck.” I laugh lightly cocking on my hip crossing one arm over the other holding the stick as I watch him take a shot in the dark and miss. I’m able to sink a few before one of them gets a little too uncomfortably close to his six and eight at the end there.
He lets out a noise, “You seem pretty lucky to me.”
I just look at him, “You call that luck?” I scratch my neck and shake my head, “That’s a trap!” I huffed with a playfully spooked laugh.
“I mean you left me with nothing, and you didn’t sink the eight, I’d say that’s pretty lucky.” He defended; I waved it off, shaking my head again with a grin.
He took aim again, and again I watched him. The game was going quick and the conversation was easy; because there wasn’t much of one happening, clearly both of us were content just to play the game, should conversation strike so be it.
“Here you go Honey. So by the way, how’s the shop holding up?” Gary’s voice rings from behind me dragging me from my thoughts of the game and man on the other side of the table from me, turning at the waist I watched him carrying my pizza and a rack to sit it on, with a box knowing I’m going to take home the leftovers that will stretch me the week. Sitting it beside my drink and folded coat setting me up nicely, I opened my mouth to say something before closing it and shrugging.
“Quite as always, calls here and there, like said, work’s slow right now, but at least I’m catching up on some sleep so that’s a small bonus. But I just got in from an out of town trip a couple of hours ago.” I’ve already turned back to watch my opponent take his last shot before he’ll have to start chasing the eight ball to win, he’s looking up at us from across the table, eyes bouncing between Gary and myself before the game again.
Gary stops to stand next to me, legs wide holding himself up as his arms cross his chest, a comfortable position for him, he was a taller man somewhere around five-ten, five-eleven, raising a hand to scratch his dark beard as he watched the table, “Who’s winning?” He asked casually.
I nod to the gentleman on the other side of the table who sunk his final ball and somehow didn’t sink the eight ball first, now ready to move on to the eight.
“No shit, you’re actually letting someone kick your ass for once?”
I couldn’t hold the huff I let out and the growing smile, “Don’t even start that, I’m not that good,” I shake my head looking at the red draped man, “Don’t listen to him he’s just trying to start crap.”
The easy grin showed softly again, not a full one, as he shrugged and tilted his head in a way that said, ‘hey I’m just here’. Standing to move once more before speaking, “Why you think she’s taking it easy on me? She already tried taking my arm off to get me to play a round.”
Gary laughed, “Oh so it’s like that huh?”
“No.” I counter.
“Oh yeah, border line on begging.” This fucking guy I swear.
“Next drink you get I hope you choke.” I laugh, shaking my head moving away from both of them hoping to sip my own drink that’s probably fairly watered down by now.
His mouth drops as he raises his brows, all of it in humor, his arms open before sending out a pointing toss, “See? Begs me for a game and tries to take my arm now she’s wanting me to choke, you’re a violent woman anyone ever tell you that?” Someone needs to run him over. I don’t even know his name but dear god, if you’re really there, make it happen before I do.
“Aye, no, I simply asked if you wanted to play and you said ‘sure’ don’t you dare pull that kind of crap!” I hadn’t even made it to my drink; barely through half of his sentence before I stopped and turned on my heels to look at him knowing I’ll need the correction in this banter, to point back at him. His light and airy chuckle filled the space, his eyes squinting as a smile crossed his face, nodding before he crossed his arms stick in hand spreading his legs to stand on his heels, similar to Gary.
“I’m an honest man I’ll have you know!” He defended himself. I snorted, I’ve never met an honest man.
“Right and I’m the Queen!” I rolled my eyes going back to my drink, Lady should be here soon.
“Keep it up she might take more than just your arm bud, she’s quite the spitfire! You should see the crap she’s got hanging around her shop!” Gary chimed, “I swear it’s haunted. The place gives me the creeps.”
“Awe Gary, you scared of my décor? It’s harmless!” I laugh before taking the stir straw in my mouth, he’s talking about the giant ass demon hanging on the wall of the shop with various weapons poking out of it, something I didn’t design, it’s been hanging there since the previous owner disappeared to where ever, no one would tell me and I stopped asking. As far as I cared I made payments to the current owner, Morrison, to keep the utilities on and working, especially after the top half of the building took a large hit a couple months back after a rogue demon attack. That money I’d been hoarding from scrounging around and the copious amounts I had before working under Morrison, I put back into the place to help get both ahead and put a livable apartment above the place. He gave me a place to live, I helped keep the building and business functioning, even trade to me at the end of the day. Though if it hadn’t been for Nico and Nero, I don’t think I would’ve ever gotten this chance, so I hopped on it as soon as it was presented, better than living out of hotel rooms and the back of random cars.
"Honestly I don’t know how she can sit there all day, doing nothing, waiting for a phone to ring.” He continued.
“With a chair and decent music, is usually how I sit there or I play pool. Not that hard to understand but I understand if a feeble minded bar owner can’t grasp it.” I sassed, shooting a playful glance at him.
“You know what? Kick her ass. See what I care.” Gary tossed to the man in red while throwing his hands in the air, pulling the hand towel off his shoulder before walking back to the kitchen, a large grin on his face.
Red Coat also grinned, shaking his head leaning down to finally take his eight ball shot, ”Well, you heard him sweetheart.” Down the corner pocket the ball sunk, and up my middle finger went.
“Here’s your prize.” I taunt with a large grin, yeah, this was better than the company at Bill’s Bar.
A loud laugh left him, something that was relaxed; one you can tell wasn’t fake, pared with the look in his eye, I found good company in my wait, something I wasn’t looking for.
“So, he mentioned you had a shop, what kind of work do you do?” He asked.
I wasn’t sure how to respond to a man who made it feel like he sees everything, so I settled with an extension of the truth, “A little bit of everything here and there. I’m kind of a jack of all trades, miscellaneous work really.”
“Is that so?” He asked as we moved to put our sticks back, game concluded, he was digging, most people do when presented with information that could possibly lead to either money or something interesting, while pulling the classic trick of trying to get one to talk. Make them talk about themselves.
“Yeah, nothing impressive really, rather boring all things considered.” I offered, sometimes I try to be as boring as possible, how do you go and casually say, ‘Oh yeah I hunt things that lurk in the dark that some time are able to cross quantum plains of existence, ya know things called demons?’, really goes over well with the social groups.
He hums and drops the conversation, holding his hand out looking like he wanted to ask something else before a group of girls walked in, four of them, each looking like they had just a bit too much to drink already, loud, obviously celebrating something. A perfect distraction and space maker, not only did he smell good he was a walking furnace- and somehow still comfortable wearing that coat of his, as his cologne was once again filling my scenes clouding me in a relaxed haze, dangerous. A word that kept being repeated in my mind when it came to him tonight; I didn’t like it.
The girls turned out to be more of a problem than I’d care to admit, unfortunately more for me than the man who still sat completely unbothered at his little round table, looking like he’s enjoying the show, a typical man, if he’s not getting attention - he’s enjoying the suffering of another.
“You know you’re really cute.” The red head slurred hanging off of my shoulder practically panting in my ear. My pizza was getting cold.
“So I’ve been told.” My response is dry, I lean away slightly making her catch her weight on the table, my eye line straight out across the street at one of the closed stores. Where the hell are Lady and Trish? What could possibly be taking them so long? Lady was yelling at me not to be late, but where is she? Useless lesbian, see if I ever try to take a man's unwanted attention from her again.
“Play with me will ya?” She slurred against me, I knew she was aiming for something between a purr and a tease, but falling flat on the floor like a, well really like a lasagna, flat, messy and fucking everywhere, not pretty.
I took a deep breath, she wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, that much was clear, letting it out I stood up pushing the chair out from under me consequently pushing her away. Putting on a playful teasing smirk of my own turning to look at her, “Okay baby, ya know what? Once your friends lose this game why don’t you rack on up for us? Hmm?”
She crinkled her nose and bit her nail, cute for anyone else, if they were into women, I was not. “Okay.” She giggled, oh god what have I done and where’s Gary for a refill when you need him? Actually better yet where was a fight when you needed it, and was I really about to be the reason one broke out tonight? Fuck.
While she stumbled away to try and talk her friends into hurrying the game up I quickly boxed my cold pizza, I debated making a dash for the door in this split second. I can’t. Damn it. Hanging my head mentally, I snuck behind the bar while the group of girls wasn’t looking, taking the pizza with me to hide while making myself another drink, knowing I’d be paying it back later. Genuinely what was it with women hanging off of me tonight? I should’ve just told Lady and Trish no and stayed home. I’m every dude’s wet dream tonight, if I were a guy that is.
By the time I walked back to the other side of the bar and into the open again the bands started singing “Mississippi Queen” by Mountain and they were pretty good, though most of the bands tonight from what I could hear between chatter and the unwanted heavy breathing in my ear, were pretty good.
“It’s ready baby!” I hear her call, I grin, fan-freaking-tastic, yet again I’m left feeling bad but the woman wouldn’t take no for an answer and I’m admittedly beginning to feel aggressive.
“I’m here.” I speak kindly, polite. God I don’t want to do this with someone who I know will drag the game out because they can’t shoot, but here it goes. Lady, Trish, please save me.
“You got it racked love?” I ask, walking to the table with a tight smile on my face, a double shot drink in my hand, I know she doesn’t, at least not right anyways, and I’m about to eat Gary’s words and my own from earlier. I’m going to play the game and I’m about to be the bully I hate… The rack is decent, it all depends on the game being played and I know which game she’s playing and it’s not mine.
“Would you like to break or me?” I ask sitting my drink down on one of the ledges, sighing deeply still holding my customer service smile.
“You baby.”She says, and great is all I could think while I turned away and flexed my jaw.
I grab my stick from the wire stand and turn around, when I do my eyes catch Red Coat sitting there watching, one leg crossed over the other eating this up, clearly, from that bored yet amused look in this man's eyes. Of course Lady is missing the aggressive lesbians, exactly her type. She’s like me, she loves the game, the flirting and banter, push and pull, we just swing for different teams, and rather unfortunately for both of us she’s not here currently. Once I grab the queue ball, I lean over the edge of the table aiming and taking my shot. I move the hand holding the contact end of the stick further back hoping for a pin ball effect. Once I move the ball, it works like a charm; a loud crack sounds and the balls scatter.
I might have lied to the Man in Red earlier, I do have a strong arm, but it’s not something I utilize often, or at least as often as Gary insinuated, when the company’s good, I don’t mind the long game, though like everyone else some days are good some are bad. And some days? I just don’t care, I’m here to shoot, not to be great or good but just to get out of the shop, yeah I’ve got my own table there and a dart board from the previous owner but that doesn’t mean I’m a world champion and I’m certainly not going to act like it.
The game went for a couple shots with her shakenly shooting nearly falling and me bowing my head shaking it when she and her friends weren’t looking to make a good eye roll when I moved around to get the queue ball when others were out of eye shot leading me to this moment. Bend over the table and her gripping it next to me for dear life and leaning over, Gary finally making his appearances here and there, none to save me with the news of a fight in the other room but to curse me by refilling their glasses and vanishing again. I couldn’t help the glance I sent her at this point though, her fingers well past the safety of the bumpers, leaning over me taking my glance as an advancement, before chattering at me, once again my eyes strayed to the Man in Red in an exasperated ‘can you believe this shit’ type of look and a toothy grin poked through his face, he was loving this shit.
“So what’s your type?” She asked in a deep ‘sobering’ breath.
“Not you.” I respond, dry, heartless. “Taller. Older.” I break away from his eyes and look back to the table.
She huffed and I made a lazy shot. Anyone sober enough knew I’d done it just to entertain her hoping she’d call it quits,glancing at the clock it’s now been close to forty-five minutes passed when Lady and Trish said they’d be here, still no sign of them, I’d start worrying if I didn’t know they could handle themselves, you don’t get into the business of Devil Hunting if you can’t fight and take care of yourself.
“Come on, give me a real answer.” She begged.
The lazy shot actually ended up going in by a stroke of luck, mine? Possibly, but I wasn’t holding my breath, the night wasn’t over.
I leaned back over a little ways away from her, “Taller, Older, Packing."
“Oh baby I’m packing. Just for you.” She moans in my ear the clearest she’s been in the last half hour and the straightest she’s walked too, probably with the assistance of the table,’I commend the ambition but point it elsewhere.’ I thought to myself - I snorted openly, then humored, but not in the way I knew she’d probably like.
“Oh really, what do you carry? A nine millimeter; I mean I wouldn’t judge, they’re good starter pistols, a litter harder to come by, but none the less they’re very reliable, me personally I don’t care for them, depending on the name they don’t come with a hammer, which in my opinion is a second safety.” Guns, were something I am very well familiar with, and out of a nervous reaction while letting out a dry laugh, I started on a tangent about; because I was honestly uncomfortable with the atmosphere she was creating, so laughing and cracking jokes was the easiest way to keep me from fighting, and two no faster way to get someone away from you, confuse the fuck out of them and overwhelm them with information. I wasn’t even paying her mind when I continued; I heard her voice crack as she tried to say something, more than likely trying to correct me.
I swiveled up at the waist from the hinge I created when leaning over, continuing as I look over my next couple of shots, I knew that ‘packing’ a gun wasn’t what she was talking about, I didn’t care, “Me personally I prefer the three-eighty, the recoils is less than the nine and harder to find bullets for but it’s smaller more compact - fits in the hand better if you’ve got smaller hands and frame which I do, but because it’s smaller it’s super easy for concealed carry.” I move over to my coat leaving the table for a brief moment leaning my stick against the wall, pulling it on and rolling the sleeves up to my elbows, I didn’t care for the feeling of the way she was undressing me with her eyes, before coming back and leaning over the table now choosing to ignore the Man, whose name I still do not know.
“The forty-five calibers though,” I shoot for my last four balls before the eight ball, I’m not playing the game to play, I’m playing to win; to get away, “One it’s a good number in just about everything, wine, whiskey, men; they’re a larger gun, the difference between a forty-five and a nine millimeter is the nine is fast and the forty-five is final. The forty-five hits like a train, heavy round - solid impact; the nine millimeter is a smaller round with lighter recoil with a faster follow up.” I chatter information out faster than I know she can understand what any of it means, it’s all useless to someone like her, her group of friends are watching the show with a quiet intensity and at some point started moving to gather around the table, I only had a two more left before I chased the eight ball for the first time tonight.
“The only issue with the three-eighties though is the stopping power; it also struggles with barriers meaning your shot has to be dead on, plus while it’ll protect you and get the job done it still leaves a target behind, whereas with a forty-five there’s nothing left once that bullet exits.” I continue, sinking one, then chase the queue ball to the other side of the table, closer to Red and away from her, perfect aim for a side pocket with a gentle tap, I’m running the table and not letting her speak. Rude, sure, but so is not taking no for an answer.
“Plus if you get the right style pistol you’ll get an ambidextrous safety, means a safely switch on their side of the grips, perfect for someone who likes to change up their shooting styles if that’s something their able to do; which fun fact,” I pause licking my lips before speaking again, “It wasn’t too long ago that actually got patented for production so they’re rather hard to find but worth it when you do.” I shrug and bend again to shoot, taking that gentle tap to my blue two ball, perfectly into the side pocket, now it was time for the eight. When I rose back up, Red was facing my back and the girls stood on the other side of the table watching me, finally quite, lasagna chick was looking more interested in me than I was hoping she would be, fun times.
“So my type you ask? Three-eighty, but I appreciate a good forty-five at times. But consensus is tall, older, and male preferred”. I take the final shot sinking it, finally it’s over, and taking my stick I round the back away from the girls using the quick silence and the echoes of the band as the prime opportunity to make my escape. Rounding the table once more, passing Red who caught my eye as I was leaving, was watching me with only what I could consider an interested curiosity, I could still feel his gaze after I passed like a thrumming frustrating incessant buzz under the skin, who the hell was this guy to be carry an energy like that?
I paused in the middle of the room turning on my heels, doing a performative bow, “Good game ladies.” Spinning and speeding away, grabbing my pizza box off the bar counter, get me the hell out of here; I’m hiding in the back for a while.
“Oh, that was hot.” I heard from one of the girls.
“Oh, my god.” I can’t help but mutter under my breath, dropping my shoulders.
Goodnight, Demon Hunter
Chapter 1; First Night
Summary; You're a devil hunter, who has found a child while on a mission and now is saddled with the task of raising a quarter demon baby.
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You become Nero's mom by finding him first, that's it. Romance might come later once the timeline of DMC4-5 comes up, because i'm a damned sucker. (sidenote; reader is somewhat feminine coded due to the fact author is a woman, but no actual pronouns nor parts are used.) Im going to attempt to update every sunday!!
[Title taken/inspired by "Goodnight Demon Slayer" by Voltaire]
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note: hihihi I got DMC brainwormed and the lack of parent reader made me go crazy because something about Nero sets my mind in overdrive. HES A BABY!!!!! so babyboy, thats my child my man,
I am 19 idk why i'm so attached to this man, he may be my age but he baby.
this is also available on ao3!!
~~~
next
You never really thought of yourself as parent material, no demon hunter does. But here you are, standing in your small apartment, with lingering sulphur-tinged blood soaking into your clothes and skin, with a child swaddled in your arms. It’s not yours (well, you guess it- he- is now,) but something about the unfortunate kiddo makes your heart shake in a weird way. You tug your boots off one handed, gently detach your demonic weapon from your back and rest it next to the door before heavily plopping your body down on your aged couch, baby bouncing in your secure arms. You gently bring the bundle up to your eye level and take a moment to truly look at the little guy. His hair was the most striking part of him, with it being a pure white reminding you of fresh starlight. His eyes were half closed but focused on you, his dark grey eyes seeming to simply take in your face. He takes a second more before giving a soft coo expected from a baby, arms wriggling in his blanket almost eager to reach you. Your heart nearly implodes from the sheer amount of adorableness this baby exudes.
You help him out a bit by unraveling the blanket a small bit and a piece of paper falls out onto your lap, you pick it up and it only has one thing written; ‘Nero’. You turn your attention back to him, “Is this your name? Nero?” you gesture lightly with the paper still in hand. All he gives is a nonsensical babble but you take that as confirmation, not like you really have any other idea of this kid’s origins.
You found him while clearing out demons from a dilapidated house, you didn’t even notice him at first until he started crying. He was under the corpse of a woman dressed in the Church’s cloth, you could only assume she was his mother who tried protecting her child from the horde of demons. In a daze of guilt of not coming sooner, you picked up the crying baby and went home on autopilot.
Looking at the paper, you take a moment to realize what that meant. His mother knew she likely wasn't going to live long so she took the precaution of leaving evidence of his name in his blankets. You give a soft sigh at that, the poor woman. poor kid. While you reflected on what has been the most… confusing hour and half of your life, Nero had taken to trying to grab at you with his small hands. You finally give your attention back and lay a hand on his face. He’s so… small. You’ve never really been around children, at least not in prolonged periods, you found yourself not the affectionate type that kids seemed to need.
A traitorous part of you tells you to simply make this someone else's problem, the Fortuna Orphanage maybe. But you shake your head, you don’t want him to be at the mercy of the orphanage, you remember your time spent volunteering over there. Children can be so cruel to one another when all they have is themselves and each other. It’s not their fault, not really, most of them were just angry at the world. Knowing that and having Nero stare at you with his sleepy, innocent eyes, you decide this will be your responsibility. You won’t abandon him like so many others have done to you.
You take a moment to roll your shoulders out but you soon feel the tacky blood drying against your neck and clothing. You look down at yourself and then Nero and notice how his blanket and neck managed to sustain some demonic (and maybe human-) blood. You huff lightly before pushing yourself up and off the couch and towards the bathroom.
“Alright little man, let's get us a bath.” you turn your head towards Nero, before pausing. You vaguely remember how most of the times babies are drenched using a cup or bowl or something to help control the water better, you turn on your heels towards your small kitchen and grab a small pitcher sat on the counter. You continue to the bathroom, placing the pitcher on the sink as you get the water running in the bath. Nero rests in your lap as you play the delicate dance of getting the water to something a little over room temperature. Soon enough your tub is mostly full with water, hopefully not too full as to overflow once you sit yourself and Nero in but you’ll worry about that later like most things today.
You stand up and strip off your blood-soiled clothing and toss it into your makeshift hamper (it’s an unused plastic trash can you got for about five dollars), and then you gently unwrap the kid from his blanket. You fold it and hang it on the towel rack, knowing you’ll want to keep that separate from your clothes. You hold on to Nero and sink down into the warm water. You cradle him on your chest, before leaning your head back and heaving a soft sigh. You are going to need to buy so many things, and you might not have enough in your current savings; you’re waiting on at least three clients to pay for missions. You took on multiple missions at a time but due to the… shadier nature of some clients you drew in, the chance of actually being paid was a 50/50 chance.
While you softly pet nero’s hair, you take a mental list of what you’ll need and the best place to buy from. Clothes are a big one, along with likely the most expensive; kids grow too fast, you mentally grumble. Buying them brand new is a no go, with how many shops in Fortuna make them handmade it costs an arm and leg if you aren't working with the Church. You’ll have to resort to thrift shops, while not the cheapest option (that would mean a trip over to Redgrave) it should eat less into your funds. You could also buy toys from the thrift shop, two for one trip you guess. Food… you’re stumped on what the kid should eat since you don’t know his exact age, should you buy formula? those weird purees? ugh. You might have to reluctantly visit the orphanage and ask for advice, that or borrow some books from the Fortuna Library.
You’re pulled from your thoughts by a tug on your hair. You look down and see Nero looking up at you while his small hand grips your hair. You gently take his hand and untangle it from your hair, before slowly sitting up. You grab the pitcher and fill it with the cooling water, before slowly and carefully pouring it over Nero with your hand cupping the top of his face. You repeat a few more times as he babbles in the way babies do. You then do your best to rinse yourself off one-handed with the pitcher knocking clumsily hitting the tiled walls (as well as your head), but after making far too much of a mess and noise, you give up and decide to leave it for tomorrow. You flick the drain switch and watch as the water slowly lowers. You brace yourself and pull yourself out of the tub the best you can while one arm is occupied.
Your hair drapes down in front of your face as you struggle against the weight of water and gravity to pick yourself up. You blindly yank a towel off the rack and take a moment to wrap Nero in it, setting him down on the toilet seat so you’re able to take care of your dripping self. You ring out your hair, water splattering in the near empty bathtub and you grab a towel to wrap it. You grab the last towel in the bathroom and wrap it securely around your body. You look back down at the baby and decide two things; 1. you need to learn how to properly swaddle a baby, because you seem to only know how to burrito one, and 2. you’re going to need to make a night plan. You don’t have any diapers for the kid, nor do you really want to wake up to a mess on your bed… You quickly look around your bathroom for a possible solution, before landing on your hand towel. It’s not… great. But it will have to work for now, not like it’s a prized possession so you’ll shrug at its likely departure from the house.
You unwrap Nero from the towel and replace it with the hand towel, taking care to wrap around his lower body. You glance back at the blanket he was originally swaddled in, he’ll need a blanket for the night, you speculate. You lift him up in your arms and make your way to your bedroom, knowing you’ll have one or two things that should be a workable replacement for the night. You slowly but surely make your way there, feeling sluggish and mildly exhausted from the bath. To be honest, you’re just exhausted in general from the day.
You kick the door to the room open lightly, not wanting to hurt yourself, nor the door, that and you hate causing loud noises. It's almost always unnecessary. You place the kid down onto your bed, before moving over to your small closet. You open the door and begin looking into some boxes you stuffed into it awhile ago. You have to rearrange them and get to the one on the very bottom, the oldest one. It’s dusty, unopened since… 15 years ago? 20? you can’t quite remember. You gently peel back the flaps, and see what it held. It’s your blankets from when you were just a kid. From when you were….
Shaking your head you grab the one of the very bottom of the pile, the softest one. You rise up from the floor of the closet, and turn back to the bed where Nero has started to get squirmy from the slight cold in the house. You lift him up and place him onto the old blanket, doing your best to wrap him up but eventually you just give up and roll him into the blanket.
You chuckle at your messy attempt, “Look like I turned you into a burrito lil’ man, what a horrible fate.”
All you get back in reply is a babble that emulates a laugh. Your entire expression softens at that, such a cute baby you’ve been saddled with. You rid yourself of the towels and replace them with an oversized hoodie and loose pants for sleep, or at least simply lying down and keeping an eye on Nero. But.. before that you need to check in on your damned weapon. It’s been making an odd noise ever since you got home and you can’t ignore it anymore. You move Nero over to one of your pillows, wanting him to be as comforting as possible. You get to the doorway before paranoia hits you and you return to the bed to make a wall of blankets so he doesn’t roll off somehow. You walk out the bedroom doorway and make your way to your front door, where your demonic weapon rests upside down.
It’s a hammer, or shaped vaguely like one. It’s long and massive in size, you’d say it’s probably double your size? You’re not entirely sure. Its main feature is the (usually) covered eye; wings typically block its view as well as its power. But now, it looks at you, orange leaking from its eye, wings flared out from the core.
“You’ve been making a humming noise ever since we got home, what’s the damn deal,” you kick the side of the weapon and its pupil shrinks in pain as it lets out a low groan.
“The disrespect thou displays is uncouth for a lower being such as thee,” the eye flicks up and down at you in irritation “and thee hast brought kin of a trait'r.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“trait’r of demon kind, the dark knight of the hells,-” its wings flicker and quiver as it ‘speaks’, “the child you hast hath brought into the hearth is kin of Sparda.”
Those words hang heavily in the air of the living room. You stare down at the weapon with arms crossed, quickly taking a glance towards your bedroom.
You take a breath, “You’re sure?”
“Certain, thy hast taken in a child of Sparda. However, thou art perhaps fortunate, tis energy is weak.” its eye nods in a way that mimics a head nodding
You stand still for a moment, ruminating on that. You know about Sparda and his children, despite it not being entirely common knowledge on Fortuna. Due to your connections and your occupation as a hunter, you’ve heard more about the twins than you’d like to. Dante is more known with the fact he’s been a prolific hunter for years now, with his business ‘Devil May Cry’. His twin though, from what you can recall, is unknown, non-existent. All that's been said is his blade is quick and deadly, and has been missing for quite some time.
Neither of them, from what you can glean from what knowledge you have on them, seem the type to have a child by accident. But your weapon ‘Pluto’s Judgement’ isn’t one to lie, despite its hatred of you and humans in general. You rub your hand down your face at the information you’ve been given, of course you’d somehow end up with a relative (maybe grandchild?!) of Sparda. The Savior of this stupid, stupid island.
You softly sigh in resignation, this kid is your responsibility and even with some stupid heritage, you’ll take care of him. You crouch down to the weapon and pat the bottom of it, “Thanks for the warning, even if you hate me I appreciate it.”
“Hands off thine wench, disgusting humans such as thy shan’t grace thee with touch!” it shutters in disgust, “Tis difficult enough for thou when in combat, but tis a given with thine’s state. Beyond’r that, thy must keep thee hands off thou!”
You stand back up, “Okay okay, jeez.”
You walk back to your bedroom as ‘Pluto’ finally quiets down and ‘sleeps’. Your feel pad across the wooden room and you reach your ajar bedroom door. On your bed, Nero is curled up in the cradle of bedding you made and something about the sight makes your heart swell. As you approach the bed getting ready to lay down, you remember that you have a camera somewhere in one of your many old boxes. You glance at Nero and feel a need to have pictures of the kid, you’ll be one of those parents who have an album full of memories. You return to your closet and find your camera tucked in with a bunch of old tech you’ve kept. It’s an older polaroid camera you found at one of the antique shops over in Redgrave, you’ll likely have to buy some i-film for it later but it should still have some left in it.
You hold up the camera above Nero to get the best picture you can, and click! It gives a faint flash (the flash was mildly broken when you bought it and that fact alone made it better, bright flashes ruin pictures for you) over the baby and it soon ‘prints’ out the picture with that signature noise. You fan the image a bit before placing both on your nightstand. You finally tuck yourself into bed, curling your body closer to Nero.
Everything will be fine. You’ll manage, because that’s what you’ve been doing your entire life. You’ll make sure this kid is taken care of. Tomorrow you’ll get everything you need to take care of Nero for the foreseeable future. Everything will work out.
end note: okay so yeah I hope this is good!! i've been writing it on and off for like a week,
ALSO if ur curious about the weapon, it may or may not be a part of Mundus that broke off when Dante fought him in DMC1. I'm still deciding if I want it to have a connection to Mundus/DMC story at all or if it should be it's own thing. It's called 'Pluto's Judgement' because thats (according to the wiki) one of Mundus' monikers, and pluto is the roman god of death and yeah-
also if you want to I'd love some nicknames to call Nero as a kid because i've been using 'lil man' because thats what I call my cat dfkjbdsfkjdfhkj
For the fic writing ask game:
I wish you would write me a fic where Vergil and Dante try to figure out what happened to Sparda
OMG you have no idea how many times I've thought about actually writing this fic holy. Sparda is a mystery and I Need To Solve Him.
I have some notes about how the twins would react and what kind of dynamic they would start out with if Sparda was discovered alive. I do also have a bit written for a fic like this, titled Haunted Like Every Other Holy Thing. It was inspired by another Tumblr post at one point but I can't for the life of me remember which one lol. But here's some of what I have written for it! Maybe one day it will see the light of day lol
Haunted Like Every Other Holy Thing
“How can you stand there and not be angry? From what I’ve learned, you’ve spent your life defending humans, just as I had after I sealed the demon world. Your brother has killed thousands, and you just allow him to be?”
“He’s my brother! You don’t know the circumstances that lead to everything. You left! You ran off and got yourself trapped for forty fucking years, and left us to Mundus’s mercy!”
The Dark Knight narrowed his eyes at that.
Dante seethed. “Do you even know what Mundus did to us? To Vergil?”
“Little brother, silence.”
“No.”
Sparda seemed to realize he was missing some very key information, at that one growled word, distorted by the fangs Dante had allowed to descend.
He continued regardless. “It does not matter–”
“Sorry, Sparda. I gotta agree with Dante on this one,” Nero interrupted, eyes hard. “You don’t get to judge Vergil for decisions he made when he was clinically insane.”
“Now, hang on–”
Dante snorted. “Your kid is right, Verge. Pretty sure your decision making skills were shot, so no one gets to judge you.”
Silence rang between them.
𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝓭𝓪𝔀𝓷(𝑳𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕)
𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒍 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 Chapter. 6
By the time I pushed open the glass door to Devil May Cry, I had already braced myself for the noise.
University had bled me dry today—running between lectures, trudging across campus, arms heavy with books, deadlines clawing at me. The snowy weather outside didn’t help either. Don’t get me wrong, I loved snow—the way it hushed the world, the way the air smelled sharper, cleaner. But today… today the bite of winter only dragged me further down into my bones. I wanted warmth, silence, maybe even the hum of the heater and the smell of cheap coffee.
Instead, the moment I opened the door I was greeted with laughter.
Not just Dante’s lazy chuckle, but the lighter tones of women’s voices threading through the space, high and quick and teasing.So, Lady and Trish were back.
I stepped inside, stomping snow off my boots, and sure enough the living room looked like a reunion. Dante sprawled across a bean bag as if it were his throne, Lady perched on the arm of the couch, Trish leaning against the desk with a grin stretched across her face. And then—
Him.
Sitting in the far corner of the sofa, posture perfectly straight, a book balanced in his hand. Vergil.
I froze, though only for a fraction of a second. No one noticed. They were too wrapped up in their chatter. But I noticed.
Of course I noticed.
Because no matter how much I told myself not to, I’d been thinking about it. About last night. About the blanket. About waking up to warmth I couldn’t explain, about the silence of a darkened room where the only logical answer was him. I never saw him do it, but it couldn’t have been anyone else. Dante was gone. Morrison too. No one else came around. Which left only one possibility.
Vergil.
But how did one even begin to thank him? Did he even want thanks? He hardly ever said more than two words strung together.
“Look who’s back,” Trish sang in a playful tone, snapping me out of my spiral.
I forced a smile and lifted my hand in greeting, exhaustion bleeding through despite my effort. “Hi, guys.”
I set my bag down near the desk. My eyes, without permission, trailed back to him. Vergil hadn’t moved, hadn’t looked up from his book, but I couldn’t help staring. Vergil Sparda reads? What did he even read? Philosophy? Poetry? Ancient battle records? He looked so absorbed it almost didn’t seem real that we shared the same space.
“Miss us?” Lady’s voice cut in, full of smug amusement.
“Very much,” I answered, leaning against the desk for support.
Trish gave me a once-over, one brow arched. “You look like you’ve seen better days.”
“Yeah, I mean yesterday she literally fell asleep here,” Dante chimed in, throwing me under the bus without hesitation. “Really dragging yourself, aren’t you?”
“Ooh, here with who?” Lady sing-songed, instantly pouncing on the opportunity for mischief.
Blood rushed to my face, and I tried to cover it with indignation. “Shut up. I literally slept on the couch.”
Lady scoffed, smirk tugging at her lips as she turned to Dante. “And you wonder why you don’t get the girl.”
Dante defensively shot back something crude—I tuned it out, because my gaze had drifted back, unbidden, to him.
Vergil.
For one heartbeat, his eyes lifted from the page and met mine.
It was only a second. Maybe less. But the air shifted all the same.
Blue-gray eyes that seemed to strip me bare, cold and piercing, a sword sheathed in a stare. My breath caught, but before I could blink, he had already looked away, shutting me out, retreating behind the wall of his book as if the glance had never happened.
I scolded myself silently. Idiot. Stop staring. Stop imagining.
“Earth to (Y/N)?” Trish’s voice snapped me back to reality, laced with concern now. “What’s up with you today? You sure you don’t wanna take a break?”
I shook my head quickly. “No, I’ll be fine. Just a week or two more and I’ll be done with it.”
She studied me a moment longer before nodding, though her frown didn’t vanish. I took the chance to grab a can of Coke from the mini-fridge, hoping the fizz would jolt me awake.
“So,” Trish’s tone shifted, aimed like an arrow, “you planning to stick around, Vergil?”
Silence followed. My shoulders tightened.
“…As long as I’m welcomed,” he replied at last, voice sharp, clipped, certain.
“And that is always,” Dante cut in before the tension could settle. He grinned, too wide, too forced. “I’m hoping we can look past our differences.”He looked over to lady “I didn’t even say anything yet,” Lady muttered defensively.
Vergil’s gaze flicked her way, cool and unblinking. “…Power blinds.”
Two words. That was all he gave, but they landed like steel on stone.
The room went quiet, heavy with implications. I didn’t know all the history, only the broad strokes Lady had offered me once in confidence: her father, Arkham, the disaster he had orchestrated, and Vergil’s hand in it. I understood enough to know why the air had sharpened.
Power blinds.
That was Vergil’s justification, his condemnation, and his confession, all packed into two syllables. Everything he had ever done, everything he had ever been, distilled into that truth.
The silence teetered on the edge of breaking when Dante, mercifully, shoved it off the cliff. “Well, lets deal with the devil arms you guys got!” He sprang up, grabbing a gleaming new arm that rested by Lady’s seat. “Tested it out yet?”
“Not yet. Let’s do it,” Lady said, rising with him.
Trish followed, tossing a wink over her shoulder as she trailed after them.
I blinked, caught off guard. What was that supposed to mean?
I sipped my coke again. And then it hit me.
The sudden, deafening realization:
I was alone. With him.
For the first time.
My stomach twisted, nerves crawling like ants beneath my skin. He was just a man. A very closed-off, terrifyingly sharp man, but still. Nothing to be nervous about. Nothing. Except maybe the fact that he had—no, don’t think about it. Maybe it wasn’t even him that night. Maybe I was making it all up, inventing stories in my head like a fool desperate for meaning. Maybe strangers did wander into shops just to drape blankets over random students passed out on bean bags. Totally normal.
Pathetic.
I busied myself at the desk, straightening the clutter, stacking papers, anything to keep my hands from trembling. The silence pressed in from all sides, thick and suffocating.
“…Thanks,” I said at last, softly. The word slipped out before I could stop it, fragile as glass.
For the blanket.
His head lifted slightly, eyes meeting mine just long enough to acknowledge me. A brief nod. No more.
What else had I expected? A sentence? A smile?
I swallowed and bent back to my task, cheeks heating, trying to pretend the exchange hadn’t left my heart thudding stupidly.
Minutes dragged by. His presence was a weight in the room, even though he didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t so much as shift in his seat. Eventually, he stood, setting the book aside, and made for the stairs.
I told myself to breathe. That was it. That was all.
But just before he ascended, his voice cut the silence.
“Don’t tire yourself to that extent.”
He didn’t look back. Didn’t pause. Just let the words drop, cold and sure, before vanishing upstairs.
Heat flooded my face, sudden and searing.
Don’t tire yourself.
The phrase looped in my mind like a lit match threatening to catch. Was that… concern? From him?
No. I was reading too much into it. It was nothing. A stray remark, no different from telling someone to shut the door behind them. He hadn’t meant it that way. He couldn’t have.
And yet—
My chest was tight. My pulse raced. My thoughts tripped over themselves, flailing between denial and desperate hope.
No, I decided firmly, pressing my palm against the desk to ground myself. It was nothing. Just my dry spell. That’s all.
But the warmth stayed with me anyway.
Like the phantom weight of a blanket long after it had slipped away. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ- 7. Reader ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ- 5. Vergil ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ a/n: If you guys haven't already understood, this is gonna switch between Vergil and reader POVs. I've tagged which chapter belongs to whom. Again. This is gonna be a frustrating slow burn.
❥𝖨𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽!