haii!! so liek i actually have no idea if you still write for dmc, so im ssososoossoos sorry if u dont anymore!! bur if you do, can i request dante with a reader thats extremely sweet toothed n loves to bake!! thank yuuu (^з^)-☆
# the smell of sugar wafts in the air when dante gets out of the shower, rubbing his hair with a towel as he walks out into the kitchen to give you a proper greeting.
it’s a little funny to see him, you think; clad with a worn burger t-shirt with a few holes in the sleeves and sweatpants that hang low on his hips. the legendary devil hunter dante attired so lazily makes you crack a smile.
he gives a lopsided grin in your direction. “are those cookies i smell?” you blink up before you glance back down at the oven, the warm light is seen seeping through the racks in warped rays as it projects onto your legs. it’s a nice change compared to the coolness of the hardwood against your feet.
already having an assortment of other pastries on the table, you let your eyes linger a little too long at the brownies you had brought home before focusing back on the task at hand. dante gives an amused hum as he notices.
you give a soft noise in affirmation, the scraping of the whisk against the bowl fills the silence after. dante eyes the silver pot; brown dough peeking out of the top when you whisk a certain way.
“another batch?” he makes his way over with a stifled yawn.
“nero said he wanted some the other day — thought they tasted pretty good.”
he tilts his head back with a soft hand on your shoulder. “i tell you they taste good all the time,” he starts. “i don’t get an extra batch from my sexy baker lover?” he makes sure to purr that last part in as he leans closer, chuckling a bit when you roll your eyes.
“he works pretty hard considering his age,” you tut — and he almost sighs at the way you pull away to grab something out of a nearby drawer. your warmth still lingers in his palms.
“hey, i work hard too.”
“he’s seventeen.”
dante scoffs. “whatever, i’m twenty-nine.” he goes to sit at the table, eyes glued to you as you float around the kitchen from time to time, the dim light causing him to squint. you give him a look.
“i’m just saying,” he puts his hands up. “i could’ve run circles around that kid and more by the time i was his age.”
shaking your head, you nod at the containers at the table. “eat some brownies, dante.”
and as he picks up a small brownie (quick to catch the crumbs that fall because he knows he has to savor every last bit of it), he already anticipates the way it’ll melt on his tongue and he practically salivates. he pops it into his mouth and lolls his head back against the chair with a quiet groan.
you glance at him with a sweet smile as you pour the batter into a small tin. “good?” you ask.
the muffled sigh you get in response is more than enough of an answer. you shake your head with fondness before cursing yourself as you accidentally let some of it slip onto the counter.
dante can’t even hear your mutters as he’s quite literally in heaven. eyes half-lidded, he doesn’t bother to move his head as he just paws blindly at the table until another brownie is found.
even the boring moments are nice with you, he thinks. even while your hairs pinned back, flour on your cheek and a determined look on your face — dante can’t help but tilt his head towards you and see someone who’s worth the world.
hey so i was thinking: Sparda Boys and V with a writer S/O? take as long as you need to with this (writer's block is kicking my ass rn sadly but) , i don't really mind
Hey I feel that bro, enjoy and hopefully your inspiration will return to you 💜
Sparda Boys + V x Writer!Reader headcannons
¤ Dante ¤
-He's not a scholar and knows next to nothing about books since he rarely reads, but if his sweetheart is writing stuff, by God, he will read whatever they put out there.
-Uses you as a human dictionary whenever he comes across new words, not understanding that that's not the purpose of a writer.
-"Hey babe, what's this word?"
"What word?"
"Uhh...Ink-Can-Dress-Ant."
"What?"
"Ink-can-dress-ant, I think that's how you say it."
"How's it spelled?"
"I-N-C-A-N-D-E-S-C-E-N-T."
"Incandescent, Dante, not ink-can-dress-ant."
-He'll be the first to read your work and is very proud of this fact. He, Dante, the Legendary Devil Hunter, is also your private beta reader. Awesome.
-Oddly enough, him reading all your works results in him developing a larger vocabulary--something that shocked everyone, especially Vergil.
-Congratulations! Thanks to you, Dante can use big words now!
■ Vergil ■
-You, a writer, are dating Vergil, the biggest bookworm on the planet? You are now Vergil's goddess.
-He wants to read everything, regardless of its quality. He'll visually devour all the words off the page, absorbing every word.
-You two now have yet another topic to nerd out about; you can spend hours chatting about books, writing techniques, and so on.
-Vergil is filled with a sense of pride whenever he reads your published writing; it pleases him so much to know you're growing your talents.
-He has an entire bookshelf dedicated to your books and takes special care of these books. They're more than just words on pages bound by cardboard and leather; they're treasures.
-Will take up writing as well, just so he can be closer to you.
□ Nero □
-Nero is not a bookworm by any sense of the word; he's read a few books in his time, but he's more combat oriented.
-Doesn't mind being a beta reader for anything you write.
-Your works have inspired him to take up reading again, and in doing so, he unleashes his inner book nerd. Like father, like son.
-He's always looking forward to whatever you write, and when you get writers block (as we all do) he'll take you out to a park, or a peaceful lake, in the hopes that the natural beauty of your surroundings might restore your creative juices.
-He, too, has a collection of all your works and keeps them proudly on display on a nice bookshelf in his house.
-Encourages you daily to keep writing because now he's addicted to reading your work. You really have changed him.
● V ●
-Oh congratulations, you've found yourself a soul mate.
-V loves to read (he totes his copy of William Blake poetry around and reads from it all the time, even in the middle of battle) and is more than happy to read your books.
-V is also a writer himself; he writes poetry, as we know. Because of this, he understands more than anyone the pain of writer's block and knows just what to do about it.
-He'll arrange for a relaxing movie/reading night, which in his experience, helps restore your creativity.
-If that doesn't work, Griffon's loud mouth and wise-guy (yet funny) jokes will take your mind off of things.
-V understands literature and knows all sorts of obscure things about famous literary figures; so much so that you two can converse for hours on end just gabbing away about books, their authors, and other interesting tidbits of knowledge.
So, I've never played the Devil May Cry games. However, I've fallen in love with the characters and the storyline. So have this short little Vergil fic that I just had to get out of my head.
If you guys like this, I'll add DMC to my list of fandoms I write for.
Warnings: Canon typical violence, ooc Vergil (maybe? I'm not sure)
Fandom: Devil May Cry
Feral
This job was supposed to be an easy one.
Get in, clear out the nest of demons, and get out.
And yet, here you were, fighting off waves of demons with Vergil, the two of you having separated from Nero and Dante in an attempt to cover more ground.
You are a very skilled fighter. Your ability to keep up with the sons of Sparda in a fight was what had earned you your current job at Devil May Cry.
But, right now, you felt less like a skilled fighter and more like an animal.
The two short swords you typically wielded had found purchase in a pair of demons a while ago and you hadn't been able to recover them since. The only other weapon you had was a dagger about 4 inches in length. It was effective enough, but the lack of distance between you and the creatures left you feeling almost feral. Like a caged beast, lashing out at anything that drew too close.
In a brief moment of hyper awareness, you caught a glimpse of blue leather out of the corner of your eye. You turned your gaze and spotted Vergil only a few feet away from you.
The half-devil hadn't even broken a sweat.
His silver hair was still immaculate and his gaze was as cool and confident as ever.
Vergil moved with such grace that, for a moment, it looked more like a dance.
Then you spotted it, the winged demon flying at Vergil, just out of his line of sight.
The dagger left your hand before you could even think. Within a second, the blade had connected with the creatures head. It landed with such force that it's body was pinned to a nearby wall.
The pride that swelled in your chest was cut short by the immediate realization that you were now without a weapon.
But there wasn't time to dwell on the realization as the demons wasted no time in trying to rip you apart.
You were, once again, a caged beast fighting for survival.
You immediately went on the defensive, dodging and weaving around their attacks as best you could. But there was only so much you could do without a weapon.
You desperately scanned your surroundings for anything to defend yourself.
Then you saw it, just out of the corner of your eye.
A beautiful katana sticking out of a demons body. The white cord wrapped around the hilt looked more like a beacon of hope in that moment.
With no time to think, or even fully recognize the blade, you pulled it from the deceased creature.
The blade was almost electric in your grasp, a strange energy flowing through your body.
It was as if your body began moving on it's own. You cut through every demon that came within reach with a grace you never thought yourself capable of.
As the last of the creatures fell, you were pulled from the haze of battle by a familiar voice.
"Perhaps I should let you use the Yamato more often."
At Vergil's words, you finally looked at the weapon in your hand.
Sure enough, it was the Yamato.
"I- I'm sorry. I di- didn't realize." The shock was clear in your voice.
Vergil never let the katana out of his reach. The blade being in your hand instead of his felt almost like a sin.
But, when you finally met his gaze, there was no anger there. Only pride, and something else that you couldn't quite place.
"It's quite alright." Vergil began to saunter over to you. "It looks better in your hands." He smirked.
"I'd have to disagree." You grinned, a sudden sense of confidence rising at his flirtations.
As Vergil drew closer, you held the hilt out for him to take.
He reached forward and took the hilt his grasp, but he didn't take it. Vergil simply stood there, gazing down at you.
At such close proximity, you were finally able to place that second emotion in his gaze.
It was lust.
Vergil leaned closer, his nose brushing teasingly against yours.
Your eyes fluttered shut, your body shuttering in anticipation of what would come next.
His lips brushed gently over yours.
He moved to close what little distance remained and-
"There you two are! We were wondering what was taking so long!"
At the sound of Dante's voice the two of you jolted apart, Vergil taking the Yamato with him.
WARNINGS: Not proof-read, angst, mentions of readers death, depression, loss, loneliness, a relationship that is crumbling.
WC: 1,650
DESCRIPTION: Vergil wonders what exactly he did that made him lose you. He breaks as he realizes his mistakes, and that he will never be able to hold you again.
A/N: This work was rushed!!!!!!!!!! I literally just had a vomit post of all my sad little ideas. Currently hyper-fixated on Vergil! Probably will write more for him. I imagined this concept last night, and I kid you not, I cried.
Marriage was a concept created for foolish beings who wished to bind themselves to one another. When Vergil lived through his life, blinded by a pursuit of power, such things like marriage were nothing but a stupid scheme.
Why would he wish to be controlled by someone? Tied down to them? Love was nothing. Love was idiocy. That is what he thought, after all.
Then you came.
A human, young and kind. You placed your hand in his, pressed your silken lips along his bruised knuckles, and kissed his ruined skin. You promised him love. You showed him peace. You introduced him to light and laughter and mirth.
It was then, after the many days of holding you and growing to love you, that he realized why people did such “foolish” traditions. He grew weak with you. Became sensitive. Was not embarrassed to be genuine with you. He had finally decided.
He would propose.
You had tears swelling up along your waterline, slipping down your upturned cheeks as you smiled, you sobbed the words “Of course I will marry you”.
He married you.
The marriage was simple, no one but you two to promise yourselves to each other. He had found an old church to hold the ceremony, the ceilings tall and pointing to the sky. The tinted glass waned bright colors over your bashful face, your eyes glittering with devotion before you leaned in to kiss him. A kiss to ensure eternity.
Your fingers trembled against his as he slipped the wedding band on, he had not realized his cool façade has cracked along with yours. He was crying with you, so ecstatic to finally have someone who can understand him.
Someone who won’t judge him, someone who will tell him it will be okay. To hold him close in the night when he had nightmares. To lay their head in his lap as he read out his favorite poems.
“Vergil, stand over by the tree! I want to take a picture of you!” you giggled happily, face contorting into an expression that can only be described as glee. You held up your camera, adjusting the device to be suited for the brightened, summer day.
“And what for?” your husband seemed annoyed, looking at you with a nonchalant grimace. “Because I want to capture memories, now go, go!”. You shooed him away, begging him to find purchase near the weeping willow tree. It’s arms swaying in the gentle breeze, faded green leaves swooping overhead, tangled moss falling to the soil.
He obeys, acting as if this was something pointless, but internally, he was blissful, full of pride at the acknowledgement of your adoration. He stands, watching as you snap the picture, and then returns to your side gracefully.
“Well? Was that to your liking?” he asks, leaning down to see the picture, and you nod with a grin, telling him “thank you”.
This was something that became quite frequent. You had recently started to indulge in art, and had brought up to him that you would paint his portraits.
And paint you did.
Your works were wonderful. Your art room his secret sanctuary. A gallery of only him, painted with oils and acrylics, colors that portray him to be a god amongst this tiny Earth.
Inspired by a simple, small photo of him. A photo that is always captured by you.
You enjoyed comparing his white hair to the color of a rich magnolia. Consistently painting him alongside the elegant flowers. You had told him once that they reminded you of him. They were sensitive to the human touch, turning brown from the oils of a selfish finger caressing it. They were independent, and were beautiful while they kept to themselves.
Just like him.
Relationships are hard. He understands this. He knows that if he does not give enough, the ones he finds dear will crumble away. Loyalty, honesty, generosity, quality time, devotion….. so much he must do to keep you satisfied.
He tries, he’s a perfectionist, but when you two wander in public, see the other couples mold into one another, he feels ashamed. He does not like to hold your hand in public, and he feels tense when you initiate certain intimacy. You would get bored of him, wouldn’t you?
He admires how easy you make it look, how you strip him of his clothes, settle him in the tub, speak reassuring words of praise as you scrub the grime off his beaten skin. He relaxes under your touch, wonders why of all people, you chose to be with him. How you don’t hesitate to bend to his will, run miles to retrieve whatever he wants. Speak honeyed words, just enough to make him melt.
You’ve helped rid his nightmares, you’ve made him feel alive. He only dreams of bliss, of divine moments shared with you.
Moments like you and him, taking pictures under the willow tree.
But yet, he cannot even find the courage to move forward. To give you the smallest things you desire.
He grows sour. For once, he feels powerless. Inferior.
He can never give you what you want.
Recently he has grown colder to your touch. Shallow and incoherent with any simple notion.
You will try to reach for him, your pinkie grazing the side of his firm hand. He only tugs away, resisting your affection. You will plead to bathe him, massage the ache in his shoulder blades. He only denies your wishes to care for him.
Your paintings become more erratic than before, a sense of gloom in their glistening wake. A sheen of desolation hidden amongst the thick lines of paint. You have lost inspiration. His divinity and blue aura that was once captured by the bristles of your paintbrush are now fading into a melancholic art piece.
You are afraid you have lost him.
You two seem to get in an argument one night. It is after an awkward vent of your feelings to him in the library.
“I miss when you loved me”, is what you confess.
Vergil shouts selfish comments, says he prefers to be alone. Says you bother him too much. Says that maybe marriage was the wrong decision. He does not mean these things. But you have taken them to heart.
You start to cry, the whites of your eyes now bloodshot. Hiccups erupting from your lips. Sobs that beg him to take all his words back.
He doesn’t.
“Fine” you sniff, “I will let you be “.
A sickening feeling blooms in him when you leave, your bag tossed over your shoulder.
When you pass it is like no other.
He felt it burn through him. Regret. Guilt. Loneliness. He knew something had went wrong.
Your body had been found on the streets, bloodied, bones shattered, arms disfigured. You had tried to put up a fight, that was for sure. It made him sick. He felt numb. Practically in denial of your death. Of your murder.
He could have saved you…..he promised you. You have given him everything he wanted, and yet this…he couldn’t even prevent this from happening.
Your face, swollen and bruised. Eyes blackened and cheeks cut open. Your soft lips, never to kiss his again.
If only he hadn’t been selfish, you wouldn’t have went out that night. You could have been here, with him, embracing him. Telling him that you loved him for all eternity.
The wedding band was still firm on your finger, your blood thick over Vergil’s name engraved on the ring.
Vergil kisses you one last time before your body is sealed in it’s coffin, a wooden box that shall keep your remains concealed forever. Your lips are so cold now, lifeless and chapped. Lacking it’s warmth and tenderness that you usually carried.
A part of him regrets kissing you. Your frozen face and your icy touch will now haunt him for the rest of his life. Terrorize his dreams.
Just a couple of months ago you two had stood in the old Victorian chapel, the stained glass casting an array of colors over your gentle smile. The beginning.
The last image of you is an image of death. They are lowering you into the Earth, shovels tossing dirt over the wooden case. An end.
Dante has offered that Vergil should stay with him, get away from the home that he once shared with you. His brother figured it would be best, a solution to rid him of his sorrow. The elder refuses every time.
Your presence…your glow. It still is fresh, and alive in the walls of the home. He must stay. He must stay for you. Sometimes he swears he hears your voice in the halls, your sweet tone making him panic and get up, just to realize he is only imagining it. He is only imagining that you are not gone. That you are still here with him.
He still visits your grave, as often as he possibly can. In the meantime, he tends to the tree he has planted in your garden, a magnolia tree that is fresh and desperately trying to grow. He wished he could show you.
There had been one night where he had a nightmare, images of you screaming and crying his name, pleading for help as you died, crimson leaking from your lips as you sputter blood.
“Vergil! Help me!”.
He wakes in a cold sweat, so terrified that it genuinely shakes him. This vision had stayed clinging in his dreams ever since your death, never sparing him mercy.
On nights like this, he rushes to enter your art room, sitting amongst your wooden work chair, now too restless and shaken to attempt to sleep again. He knew if he tried, he would only be met with the image of your lifeless form again.
He sits there, your painting of him underneath the willow tree sitting proudly amongst your art desk. You had told him it was your most prized possession. Your best work. He thought so too.
He cries your name under the glum luminescence of the moon.
He decides this time, he will paint you. No matter how bad he does it, your beauty will always bleed through.
V is as unique as they get being that the others find him a bit weird and mysterious. He’ll spit out haikus randomly. Like once you both went to an archery range and before starting he goes, “The eye sees target. Breathe, let the mind feel the shot. Arrow flies to spot”
Your foreign accent is very attractive to V. He gazes at your lips often as you speak (which is a rarity he cherishes) and gives you kisses when you’re done.
Partakes in all of your hobbies with you happily since they are peaceful. Many of your dates together will be relaxing and calming, be it walking around and taking in the landscape or painting.
V was walking around when he was drawn to a lovely street performer, playing a melancholic song. The lyrics spoke to him and he stopped by to listen. You were nearby, and were intrigued by this performer’s song as well. When the song ended, you both went to tip the musician. Your eyes met briefly, and he smiled. “Beautiful song, who is it by?” He asked, looking towards the musician. You blurted out the answer before the singer could, thanks to your wide expertise. V nodded appreciatively, and walked with you as you both turned away from the musician, engaging you in conversation about music. You found it easy to talk to him since the topic was of your interest but soon the conversation flowed to personal topics and you became fast friends with the man. After a few months of hanging out as friends, neither of you could deny your budding feelings for each other and soon began dating.
V would appreciate your art, he is introspective and a poet. You would be inspired by his poetry and he would be inspired by your art.
"Your art captures the essence of the shadows, Y/N," V sometimes remarked while you were deep in thought sketching, his eyes fixed on your drawing. You were caught off guard by the unexpected compliment, blushed but managed a shy grin. "Th-thank you, V. I, uh, try my best." Leaning against the bookshelf with an air of nonchalant elegance, V responded with a dry chuckle. "Well, your 'best' is quite the masterpiece, a symphony of shadows and silence. Almost as poetic as my familiars." More at ease now, you laughed softly. "I'll take that as a compliment, considering your familiars are the embodiment of your aesthetic."
You and V are both quiet. You both would spend hours listening to music together, while you draw and he sits by you with his head buried in a book, lifting his head once in a while to make a witty remark on the music choice, gently enjoying each other’s companionship.
V is a tall boy although not a strong boy. When he would misplace his walking stick, he would use your head as a handrest for balance since its the perfect height.
V gives off a mystical vibe, he would definitely burn some sage and light some candles with you while wearing his little hippie sandals.
V would advise you to not bottle up your emotions too much and try to deal with them as they come and go. He is an introspective man with the wisdom of the poets. He knows to appreciate the beauty of emotions as a part of his humanity.
NSFW
At first, V would not be that amazing at painting, but he is talented for sure. As you both paint, he keeps getting better. He’d totally paint you naked and hang it in your shared bedroom as a memento.
You can always tell V is horny by how heavy his breathing gets, you can watch his chest rise and fall rapidly. His pants also visibly grow tighter as he trembles to stand, that man is after a part of Vergil waiting to go feral.
He puts your pleasure first before his, and loves eating you out. He eats you like he’s never had a meal before, he loves licking your clit and sucking on your folds with his thick lips.
V loves restraining you using his walking stick, he pulls you closer unexpectedly using it. And sometimes teases your entrance with it by positioning it between your legs when you’re standing next to him.
V likes it when you trace his tattoos after sex, the beads of sweat along with the thick lines of the patterns on his body. It soothes him, as he would subtly place your hand on his flaccid cock leading to a handjob.
V cums a lot, he always pulls out and likes to cum on your chest. He doesn’t want to risk having children, especially with his weak state. He enjoys watching strings of semen land on your breasts and stomach.
Sometimes V would make Griffon scout an area before getting down on his knee to ask you to have sex with him in public. It probably be a park behind a tree where you ride him and he humps you from beneath, to not put stress on his legs.
V loves to suck on your breasts and kiss you during sex. It brings him a sense of intimacy and he gets to be close to you aside from his cock penetrating.
He can feel very weak and tired after ejaculating. The strenuous activity itself leaves him feeling like he’s fading, so he relies on you to cuddle him and get him up and about again.
V loves it when you moan his name out loud and in pleasure, it makes him feel remembered knowing he is going to be gone soon and become one with his other half. But even then he reassures you that as Vergil he will never forget you and your memories and will come back.
So the DMC Netflix anime is out. I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m hearing mixed opinions. For now; I’m focusing on the good thing: a whole bunch of new people becoming DMC fans and old fans becoming active again!
So, anyone wanna send me some silly prompts or headcanons to write, hmu!
(In the meantime, I gotta fix the damn links on my profile… 😭)
Hello! Hopefully I'm not too late for your milestone special. May I request "... mmm that feels nice" for Dante, Vergil and Nero? Idk maybe they're getting nice massage from reader after a tough day. All up to you!
Thank you and have a nice day!
Naah you weren't late. I AM the one who's late! And I thank you for your patience!
MILESTONE SPECIAL:
Mmmh that feels nice
For the legendary devil hunter coming home meant lots of things:
A warm meal, seeing your smile, lazily watching cheesy romcoms with you...
Although his fave one was getting a nice massage from you.
-mmhhh that feels nice-
He hummed in delight as your fingers worked on his wet, soapy neck -I could stay like this for hours, love-
-Sad you're going to wither if you stay in the bathtub for long- You let out a small chuckle.
-Five more minutes?- He turned his head to look at you with pleading eyes.
-...Five more minutes-
Convincing Vergil to relax was as easy as finding a good parking spot near the beach during summer;yet you couldn't blame him for that.
The poor man had a rough past, and he was always on the edge;even with you.
But once he let his guard down he could finally experience your massages.
He let out a small grunt as you worked on the knots on his back.
-mmmm that feels nice, right?- You chimed happily. What you got was just a little hum but that was enough for you.
series of stomps was heard from your spot on the bed.You smiled behind the book; already knowing who was coming. Only Nero could walk like that when pissed.
It didn't take long to convince him to strip, lay on the bed and let you giving him a nice massage.
-Mmmh...that feels nice...- He murmured, face in the pillow.
-Glad it's making you feel good. Mind telling me what made you this pissed?-
Nero shot his eyes open, ready to burst with complaints about what happened that day. He sighed after a second, not wanting to startled you. With a rare soft voice, he began telling you what happened.
🔥 While on a walk through the city you and Dante stumble across some demons. "Stay behind baby, I got this!" He dashes forwards and starts slaying the hell creatures one by one.
🔥 Sometimes this dude actually forgets that you're a demon hunter yourself!? You can also fight the demons, there is no need for you to stay behind or hide somewhere!
🔥 You dash forward aswell and start slicing the demons up, just like Dante does. "Woah, my baby looks hot kickin' those demon asses!" He laughs loudly. "Just be careful you don't get hurt, Dante!", you say.
🔥 Just as those words escape your mouth you feel something slashing at your arm. "Argh.. Oh fuck!!", you yell as you see the big cut at your arm. It's bleeding alot but more demons are coming and Dante is busy keeping them at bay.
🔥 You quickly run to a building hiding in there while trying to stop the bleeding. After some time the gunshots stop and you hear footsteps coming closer. "Geez, what did you do?" Dante looks at your wound and sighs. "That thing needs to be stitched.. Let's get you back home." He carries you back home quickly.
🔥 Trish tends your wound and after stitching it, she puts a bandage around your arm. "Be careful next time." She looks at you with a stern look and leaves as Dante enters while carrying two boxes of pizza. He smiles and plops down next to you on the sofa.
🔥 "Look at that, your arm is like brandnew again! Just.. Don't scare me like that next time." He opens the pizza boxes and inhales the delicious smell. "So.. Pizza?"
Nero:
🌀 Nero stood in front of a phone cell. He knew that a big demon was waiting for him just around the corner, so why not buy some gear from Nico?
🌀 "Hey, uh.. Nico, I need you real qui-" "Say no more, I'm almost there!" And it wasn't a lie. The truck fell down from a high building and drove to Nero. Nico tried to stop the truck and caused it to rollover multiple times.
🌀 It landed on its wheels but Nero heard a painful yelp from inside the truck. He went to the door and opened it as he saw you sitting there. Your forehead was bloody and your nose was also bleeding.
🌀 "Oh damn, are you okay??" Nero helped you out of the truck and inspected your face. "Damn.. Nico, you REALLY gotta be more careful with how you're driving!! Get the medkit please!"
🌀 As he got the medkit he started to clean the blood and bandaged your forehead. "There.. You're lucky it's nothing but a scratch." He chuckled and gave you a kiss on your forehead. "I gotta kick that demons ass now.. See you babe!"
V:
📖 V takes such good care of you, it rarely ever happens that you're injured. Except that one time..
📖 When V fought against Nidhogg, he told you to stay out of the fight. You did, since you couldn't fight on your own, so you just cheered for him the whole time (which made the Nidhogg really fucking annoyed).
📖 Nidhogg shoved you down from the platform you were standing on and you flew a few meters back. You landed on your bum bum with a loud thud.
📖 V saw you flying back and quickly defeated Nidhogg and gave him the rest. "Love! Love, are you okay?!" He kneeled down beside you and cradled you up in his arms. "V.. I am fine! I just hurt my butt a little, that's nothing a nice warm bath with you can't fix!
📖 Relieve washes over V and he sighed. "Alright then.. If you say everything is fine I have to trust you now, don't I?" He takes your hand and walks back home enjoying a warm bath with you. "Just.. Don't cheer for me next time.. The demons don't appreciate it.." He laughed softly while kissing down your neck. "I would be destroyed if I ever lost you.."
I have been gone. But I am back! To present you that I am also in the Devil May Cry Fandom now! Surprise! ❤️
