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.
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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!
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!!
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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
"So, I'm hoping you're not stupid, you just have no idea what shit show you just opened yourself up to by inviting that guy into your shop." The way Lady said it, like Dante'd invited in a vampire or something, almost had him laughing. But when he met her gaze, Dante saw something he hadn't expected: fear. That tempered whatever wisecrack he would've made otherwise.
"Obviously not. You wanna let me in on the secret?"
Scowling, she looked away. "You said you were an orphan. Have been for years. Didn't you grow up in the system?"
At this, he snorted. "Please. I knew damn well what would happen if I lived with ordinary humans." His mind flashed to a workshop in flames, and a woman who had dared to care about him more than she should have. "The adults tried to catch me, but they never could. Well, they did once, but I kicked out the back window of the car and escaped."
Lady sighed. "Of course you did. That is so… you." Releasing Nero to continue pretending to maul Dante's wrist, she instead wrapped her arms around herself in a surprisingly vulnerable gesture. "For those of us without super strength, the foster system is waiting with open arms. Whether we like it or not." The bitterness in her voice didn't surprise him. He'd heard plenty of horror stories from other street kids, so the emotion was nothing new. But what she said next did surprise him, in the worst sort of way,
"They're going to try to take Nero."
Dante recoiled like he'd been slapped, and it was his turn to snag Nero in a protective embrace. "They can't! You… You said that lawyer was the real deal, and all the paperwork went through! Nero's mine, legally. Hell, if they do a DNA test, I'll register as his father! They can't take him!"
"They can if someone like upstanding member of the community Headmaster Albus fucking Haas tells them that there's a baby living in a shithole like this! With a broke nineteen year old mercenary as his only guardian!" she snapped.
The urge to Trigger itched beneath his skin. "They… They can't take him. Haas… he knows what I am, Lady. He saw me in full Trigger yesterday, and a partial one today. He knows Nero and I aren't all human. He wouldn't…" Haas and Gwen were kind. Ordinary humans with extraordinary kindness and tolerance. Their concern for him had seemed too good to be true… and maybe it had been.
worked with @stashoflostsouls over a enemy design: the mirage spider. We took an unused concept from DMC5 and ran with it. look for this freaky guy in raven's wonderful fic Brother mine, we will be fine, I'm pretty happy with how he turned out, and i really miss creature design 😭😭😭
Dante & Vergil helping their s/o through mourning
Pairings: Dante x Reader; Vergil x Reader
Summary: The Sparda twins can say they have only one very old friend in common – mourning. And now, you are meeting them.
Author’s notes: This week, my grandma passed away. She is one of the most important people in my life and, as much as I know I have to let go, I can’t help myself but feel the emptiness of not having her around. As we say it over here, it’s “saudades”; I miss her. And I’m still learning to navigate that. My deepest condolences to all who are going through the same thing. I’m writing to process my own feelings, and maybe this can be a little bit of processing to you as well.
Dante
You rarely walked so far away from him as you did in that day.
Dante knew about your loss and he was the one to hold you together when it hit. He also knew it wasn’t just a one day thing and then shrug it off: after the initial shock, grief would remain and keep rippling until your heart got used to it.
He had never seen you so quiet, though. Around him, you always blossomed like you didn’t around anyone else, but throughout the past week you were quiet, looking a little off. Trying your best to remain as if everything was normal, but he could see it in your eyes… The same look he had for so long in his.
That was mourning. Dante could identify it a mile away.
He insisted in doing things with you, so at least you would have some company when things got a little too much to bear – even the smallest of things. Dante would be there to carry groceries, help you pay for something, order whatever you wanted in case you forgot, hold your hand in the street so you wouldn’t get hurt for not paying attention to your steps.
He had it happen to himself when he was a kid with no one to help him properly through it – now, at least, he could do something about it; he could help you.
Still, you decided to walk a few steps ahead of him when returning to the shop during one of the errands he decided to keep you company through. Dante observed you calmly with his sky-blue eyes, hands in his pockets, assessing how introspective and pensive you were; walking around observing the smallest of things, as if everything was new and different, only to silently watch your own boots slowly walking on the pavement as if you never walked that path before. And he could almost hear the gears inside your head turning, as you kept thinking, and thinking, and thinking, and thinking…
Dante had to let out a silent sigh. You and Vergil were quite the pair in his life.
“Hmmm, big guy…” He immediately snapped out of his thoughts, though, when you turned around – still with that melancholy hidden in the back of your eyes – and nodded towards the heavy Devil May Cry wooden doors. “I forgot my keys.”
“Don’t sweat it, babe. I got you covered.” And even if you spoke normally, with the same loving and carefree inflection you always did, Dante couldn’t really answer the same way. His voice was softer, with a warm smile on his lips as he got the keys from his pockets to show them to you.
The way you peacefully smiled in return made his heart glow. Dante knew how a genuine smile could be so hard at a moment like that – and he would always appreciate he could at least bring that comfort to you.
Going up the few steps in front of the shop, Dante diligently used the keys to unlock the doors, already holding one side open so you could go in and he could follow.
When he looked back at you, though, Dante found you sitting on one of the steps by the door; head leaning on one of your hands, elbows resting on your knees… Eyes completely lost in the distance, along with the setting sun that tinged everything in orange golden rays, ever so slowly hiding behind the buildings to give room for the quiet, dark night.
Dante furrowed his brows a bit. He lost count how many times he did the very same thing; sitting at the front steps of the shop, watching the sun setting, thinking of all the people he lost in his life – mourning Eva, Sparda, Vergil, Nell… The list was so big, he couldn’t even keep up with it. Every day would be a different person; and every day, he would be sitting at those steps. Doing exactly the same thing you were doing.
The only difference, was that now he could be there for you and you didn’t have to sit there alone. You didn’t have to mourn all by yourself.
Quietly, Dante approached and sat right next to you; his shoulder touching yours, and his thigh brushing against your thigh. You couldn’t help but lower your head for a while, with a faint smile on your lips: given his heritage, Dante was naturally warmer than a human – you used to say he burned hotter than a furnace – and for some reason, that always felt like comfort. Like home.
He could make you feel safe just by being there, close to you, like at that moment. Dante didn’t need much to disarm your natural defenses and help you be just… You.
“Feels different.” You murmured, raising your head again; eyes back to the setting sun in the distance. Almost as if you couldn’t look at him while speaking. “Everything, I mean. It feels different. Strange.”
“I know what you mean.” Dante turned his sky-blue eyes to the horizon like you. Even though he was attuned with his heart and humanity, that wasn’t an easy conversation – and he understood why you didn’t want to look at him while speaking. He was guilty of doing the same. “Life goes on, but you don’t. You stopped inside.”
“Hmmm.” You slowly nodded in agreement, with a slight sigh at the end of your hum. “But life didn’t. Life doesn’t. And you have to keep doing what you always did, and keep living, as if nothing is different. But…”
“Everythin’ is different now.” It was Dante’s turn to nod, remembering how strange it was to navigate all that as a child. And then as a teen. And then as an adult. Over, and over, and over, and over again. Everything changing faster than he was ready to and could change. “Every mornin’, every afternoon, every night. Every cup of coffee. Every shower, every meal…”
“Something is missing. And will never come back.” You let out a heavy sigh now, making Dante look at you at the corner of his eyes. Those sighs usually denoted you were about to cry – though your tears didn’t start falling. Your empty eyes just kept staring at the street. “And now, you think…”
“What the fuck am I doing with my life?”
As you said in unison, both of you couldn’t refrain from looking at each other with a faint smile on your lips – of knowing, of belonging. At least for once in your lifetimes, you were quietly sitting down and talking to someone who understood.
“I don’t know… It almost feels pointless. Everything, I mean.” You vaguely waved with your hand, knowing Dante would get what you meant. “And I know it’s for a while. That all this grief is temporary; and it will eventually disappear only for bittersweet memories to remain. But still. Doesn’t make it easier.”
“Hmmm… Someone told me once grief is just love with nowhere to go.” Dante now rested his weight by leaning his elbows on his knees, almost mirroring you. “No regret, no shame, nothin’ of that. It’s another form of love; one we’ll all feel, sooner or later.”
“Huh…” You took his words into consideration, turning your gaze now to the last tinges of rosy orange in the sky, as the purple hues of the night started to take over. “It doesn’t sound that bad then, putting it that way. I guess I must be lucky…” You heavily sighed once more, now leaning your head on his warm shoulder. “That I loved and was loved so much, for my heart to be feeling the last form of love.”
“Huh. Guess I’ve got somethin’ to think ‘bout too now…” Dante looked down at your head on his shoulder, slightly adjusting his posture so you would be more comfortable. “How lucky we both are to have people to mourn.”
“Some people go their entire lives without experiencing something like that.” you whispered back; and now Dante could hear it in your voice: the tears already forming, wanting to come out.
“Hmmm. And some people waste their whole lives not knowin’ how to deal with it… Verge’s livin’ proof of that.” As Dante murmured in return, you couldn’t help but giggle, even if against your will, slightly slapping his thigh in return as a halfhearted scolding. “What I wanna say is, don’t hold it in, babe; it’s ok to cry. I’m here with you and I’m not goin’ anywhere. We got the whole night.”
You furrowed your brows, now staring at some lost spot in the pavement right in front of you. Of course Dante heard it in your voice how much you wanted to cry but you were trying to hold it in – you didn’t even know why: you knew you didn’t have to prove anything to your red devil, and you were more than comfortable being vulnerable around him… But never in a situation like that.
Perhaps it would be from hearing people telling you since childhood you shouldn’t cry too much when mourning, so the deceased’s soul wouldn’t be trapped or in agony from watching you miss them. Perhaps it would be the amount of people saying you shouldn’t cry and get over it, so mourning wouldn’t take over your life. That you should take only a week and move on, or else you would risk falling into depression. That you shouldn’t be sad or else: or else the deceased would be displeased, or else they wouldn’t move on, or else you would spiral, or else your life would be stuck, or else you would waste yourself in sadness, or else you would be stuck in lower vibrations; or else, or else, or else.
But with Dante, it was almost as if time had stopped. You were both encased, suspended in Time and Space, right at the front of the Devil May Cry. There was no urgency, nobody watching, no rules, no do’s and don’t do’s; just you and him.
And around Dante, it was always ok to cry.
He softened his expression as soon as he felt your body relaxing on his – you allowed yourself to lean further into him, and he promptly welcomed you. Dante wouldn’t stare, wouldn’t comment, wouldn’t make a fuss about it; but he did feel when your tears started to fall – your breathing changed, and you let go a deep sigh as if you had been holding your breath ever since the funeral.
Dante wrapped one of his arms around you, having you rest your head more comfortably against his chest – his whole body warming you up as the slightly chill air of the upcoming night started creeping up your legs and arms.
All the tears you both cried; they were not from attachment or being unable to move on. They were from all the love you still had inside your hearts that had nowhere to go anymore.
And now, both you and Dante could see how lucky you were to have experienced such a thing; including the bad, yes, but most importantly, the good.
Vergil
Sighing.
Vergil had never seen you sighing so much in your life.
After your loss, Vergil made it his mission to be there for you; to be the pillar you could always lean on whenever you needed, to be the one to hold you together when you couldn’t do it yourself. It was something he never had, and that, in all honesty, would have made a world of a difference when he was only a child.
He couldn’t deny it did bring him back to that bloody night at the cemetery, when his house burned along with his family and he died. But it was only a fleeting moment: when Vergil saw you cry – quietly, serenely, almost as if your own heart hadn’t fully understood the implications of what had just happened – his whole self was pulled back to the moment and to that intense need of offering you all he didn’t have.
Differently from the rest of the crew, Vergil got to watch as you silently retreated inside yourself. After the funeral, you went back to your normal life – even if slower than usual, more pensive than usual – but you didn’t stop completely as he had watched some people do. Around the crew, you kept on talking normally: smiling when you needed to, laughing a little less than the usual but still doing it, talking about mundane and work related things as you always did.
No trembling of tears in your voice, no difference of intonation; just you, as you always had been.
But when you were both alone, Vergil could see a change: you got more introspective, constantly thinking and observing mundane things – sometimes even watching ants walking along the sidewalk for hours if you could – almost as if your body was present, but your mind and your soul were somewhere far away.
Having already a quiet nature, Vergil observed the home you shared suddenly become silence incarnate. You didn’t put on music anymore, and he didn’t hear your voice sing the melodies his heart always longed to hear while he studied or trained. You did everything quietly, almost as if you were a silent ghost yourself. And your eyes… Filled with a melancholic longing, far away, in a place where Vergil could not reach you.
Whenever he started a conversation, though, he managed to bring you back. If only for a few moments; where you would talk, smile, and act as you always did – but Vergil could see it, in the back of your eyes as you stared at him.
Mourning, ever so present, an old friend he knew so well.
And then, you would sigh. In those moments you were both alone, and you would go about your life in silence, you let out long, deep sighs. Vergil always thought tears would follow, but they never did; and then, he started noticing it happened around the crew as well. No matter what you were doing, sometimes, you would let those sighs out – never rushed, never quick, never dismissing whatever they were there to do.
At your home, Vergil enjoyed staying around whenever you were painting in the living room, while reading one of his many books. You had been working on a beautiful nighttime landscape, carefully applying the shades of blue you loved so much, and he always found pleasure in watching you concentrate on the details every now and then – and how every time, you ended up getting some rogue paint on your face; from mindlessly brushing your hair away without noticing how dirty your hands were.
This time, he couldn’t get any reading done. You were working on your painting, but there was no progress: Vergil knew how much you could get done in one day; but now, you would work a little only to stop and stare at the canvas, thinking. In that far away place he couldn’t reach you.
That, he could understand. It took him a long time as a child to get used to it, to get his mind to quiet the ruminating thoughts so he could get some living done. Vergil had no one around to teach him how to get over losing everything in his life in such a horrible manner as he did: he was completely alone, with no one to lean on, and knowing the only thing he had to do was to survive, no matter what.
He used to sigh. He used to cry. Hopelessly. Sometimes, he would sit down in a safer corner at some backstreet, hug the Yamato and cry. Cry, cry, cry; until his body couldn’t handle it anymore. He would call for Eva, for Sparda, for Dante, ask why they abandoned him. What did he do for them not to love him and leave him to die. He would call for all the deities he knew and had heard about, for them to turn back time. To have mercy on him. To give his family, his home, his heart back. And every time, he would go unanswered and wake up exhausted, having to roam aimlessly until he found the solution to all that pain, all that grief he couldn’t handle: rip off his heart, that stupid human heart, and fight to survive.
With time, the crying stopped… But the sighing remained. Almost as if the tears were ingrained in him like a memory, and his human heart fought his body and his demonic will to come out one way or another – and Vergil would always suppress them; having them become his long, drawn out sighs he still let out, every now and then.
You were trying your best to hold yourself together, but Vergil could hear it in your sighs – the tears coming and going, like waves. Maybe you weren’t even consciously suppressing them, like he did, but something in you wasn’t allowing them to come out.
Vergil perked up his head as soon as he saw you fumbling on your painting chair; laying your brush down and slowly getting up. You didn’t seem to pay attention to where you were looking at; once again your eyes and thoughts far away from the things your body was doing.
But then, you held a little porcelain plate in your hands with some paint swatches and immediately stopped. He furrowed his brows, following your gaze to a few pieces of candy that, honestly, had been sitting on your painting table for months now – something you always liked to have around to snack during long sessions.
Your eyes, though, froze on them; as if nothing else was as important as those pieces of candy at the moment. Vergil kept quietly observing you, trying to understand what you needed – and he lost count of how long you stared at that same spot; thoughts as a tempest inside of your heart, as Vergil could only helplessly watch the calm at the surface.
Letting out a long sigh, you lowered your head, as your eyes filled up with tears. You furrowed your brows and sighed once more, almost as if trying to get those tears away without letting them stream down your face. Lifting the little porcelain plate from the table, you mechanically tried to get something done; but your hands trembled and your tears blurred your vision.
Vergil wasn’t fast enough to avoid a disaster, but he was enough to contain it. As soon as he noticed what was going to happen, he dropped his book on the reading armchair and ran to you as fast as he could – standing behind you, strongly holding both of your hands, as the little plate fell from your trembling fingers and broke into pieces, cutting your right hand in the process; the red blood giving you a very good reason to allow the tears to stream down your face.
“I… I’m sorry, I… It slipped…” You tried whispering, holding your feelings in and remaining as calm as possible; having almost no inflection in your voice, not allowing it to tremble. Vergil, though, could feel your arms trembling inside his hold, and your hands fighting, and failing, to remain stable.
“Shhh. It’s alright.” He whispered back, holding your left hand with a gentle firm grip – seeming so small inside his – while grabbing one of the pieces of cloth you used to clean excess paint to stop the bleeding on your right hand. “It’s not your fault.”
“It… I was trying… I don’t know what happened…” You still tried to justify yourself, still calmly, almost as if you were crying with no emotion behind. Vergil could feel it trying to fight between your words to burst out, as it had happened to him his entire life. “I…”
“I know. It’s fine.” His voice was a low whisper, reverberating on your back as his chest pressed behind you, keeping you stable on your feet. For someone with his renown and the most vicious of titles, Vergil could be quite delicate with his hands; softly wiping the blood that dripped through your fingers, and encasing your right hand with the cloth and his own soft, albeit strong grip to make sure it would stop the bleeding.
You remained quiet for a while, inside his arms. The tears kept falling, and you kept trembling in his grip; feeling his calm, rhythmic breathing pressing on your back, quietly leading you to do the same. If you wanted to stay silent, he would; if you wanted to talk he would. It had always been like that with Vergil, and he never feared the parts of you deemed too much or unacceptable – he himself had worse demons inside his own head to judge the ones inside yours.
And so, you let out a sigh.
“They love those candies.”
As you said those words, your voice finally started trembling. Vergil looked down only to see you starting to cry – honestly, freely, as you should have been doing ever since it happened. He held you slightly tighter, making sure you would understand he would stay through all your tears, your pain, your grief... Your worst.
“Every day I see them in something… But now I know they’re not coming back. They aren’t here. And it’s… Everything, it’s all… Everything is empty.” You tried to explain, having Vergil lean his head on yours – and somehow, that was the reassurance you needed to keep on speaking. To keep on opening your heart, in a way you never did with anyone else. “It’s not that I can’t let them go, it’s that… There’s this… This thing, I don’t know. It’s strange… This knowing, that I can’t go to them; I can’t talk to them, I can’t show them something, I can’t bring them their favorite candy, when they are a part of me. It’s…”
“Hollow. I know.” Vergil’s answer was quiet, still holding you together; even if now you cried freely in his arms. “It took me a long time to stop having the instinct of showing something I did to my mother. And everything would feel empty. Pointless.”
Vergil still remembered as if it was a fresh wound: him managing to do something complicated with Yamato, having that golden warmth of pride wash his heart, turning around to find Eva so he could show her what he managed to do… Only to immediately remember she was gone, he was alone, and his whole life had burned to the ground. For a fraction of a second, the world would be colorful and exciting, but then… Hollowness came back like a punch in his gut, knocking the air out of his lungs, and filling his eyes with tears he refused to cry.
And so, he would sigh; going back to whatever it was he was doing; with that neutral, melancholic grief finding home in his eyes.
“Pointless…” You repeated in between your tears, sobbing quietly as Vergil started slowly massaging your left hand; still holding the cloth on your right hand to make sure you wouldn’t hurt even more. “Something is missing. And life feels so… Strange. So alien. It goes on, I am going on, it can’t stop, but… Feels like something is off. Not something big, something small and daily, granted; that isn’t there anymore. Something that can’t go back. Can’t go back, because…”
“It won’t.” Vergil whispered quietly, now looking at a random spot on your painting table. He was living proof of that, and he knew exactly what you meant: people talked about ‘life going back to normal’ after something like that; but the truth was that life didn’t go back. Because it wouldn’t. “Life changed. Without warning, without asking… What is left, is to adapt. And it takes time. Don’t rush it.”
“Hmmm… Adapt to a new normal…” You nodded as you slowly absorbed his words, letting out another deep, long sigh and closing your eyes. Vergil pressed his body even more against yours, as he felt you leaning back on him; almost as if you were welcoming, accepting his whole presence, his help and his thoughts.
“I’ll always be here; through happiness or sorrow.” With those words, he placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, feeling as you seemed to cry even more. “And you don’t have to rush any of those. I’ll be here.”
His hands always seemed so big next to yours; that was something you would always notice whenever you decided to play with his fingers or hold them between yours. Vergil wouldn’t say it, but he had a strange appreciation to how easily he could envelop you, with his hands or his arms, and keep you safe. Protected, no matter what.
And he did allow a faint smile to paint his lips as you turned around in his arms, hiding your face on his chest and allowing yourself to let all that mourning stream down your face with abandon; as he kept you in a secure embrace, with one of his hands calmly, rhythmically going down your hair.
It took him time to learn that mourning came from love – and with you, Vergil could remind himself that, when it came to an end, it was natural to cry.